Joe/Jon, Pete/Patrick, Ryan/Spencer, others * NC-17 * 25,304 words
I disclaim
Boy meets boy, boy falls for boy, boy loses boy, boy gets over boy. Sometimes the best revenge is finding Mr. Perfect.
Written for
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bandombigbang, so first of all, we should thank the mods for getting this organized and taking care of this. THANK YOU to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
trackscovered and adellyna for making the AMAZING fanmixes (My Hat Has Three Corners and You Can Do Better (Or: Falling In Love is the Best Revenge) (respectively)), and to xingou for the GORGEOUS fanart. You both are AMAZING. And then, of course, HUGE thank yous to likealocket and adellyna for the beta, as well as to eleanor_lavish and little_whittles who helped talk me through this. This is the universe that spawned this and this.They meet at Pete’s annual Superbowl party. Everybody’s there and they – Ryan, Spencer, Brendon and Jon – show up last. “We got lost,” Ryan explains while Brendon collects coats and allows Patrick to show him where they go.
Pete introduces them to Joe. “Joe, this is Ryan,” he says. “He works at Kramer and Benis with me.” Joe nods. “And this is Spencer, his one and only, and this is Jon, and that was Brendon.”
They say hi; then face each other awkwardly.
“I stole Patrick from Joe, once upon a time,” Pete says, breaking the silence.
“He didn’t,” Joe clarifies. They were never together. They just happened to be together when Pete approached Patrick in Borders one afternoon.
“I stole Spence from Ryan,” Jon says, smiling at Joe.
“But I got him back,” Ryan says. He holds up his hand to show how it’s clasped tightly with Spencer’s, as proof.
“I um,” Joe shifts his feet but keeps his eyes on Jon. “I really never had Patrick.” He really never did. The closest they had ever come to anything was once accidentally jerking off at the same time while they were roommates in college.
Jon smiles at him and Joe excuses himself to claim his seat before anybody else does. Jon follows, taking a folding a chair next to Joe on the couch. Joe asks Jon how he knows Spencer and Ryan, and it turns out that Jon’s a talker. Joe doesn’t really mind.
Ryan works with Pete at the advertising agency. Spencer is his boyfriend, and Brendon’s new to Chicago and still doesn’t know anybody there, though it’s been six months, Jon explains. He actually likes football and invited himself along when Spencer mentioned this at work. They, along with Brendon, teach high school at the place where Joe had gone to school and Jon reports through quiet laughter that Mrs. O’Malley – who had been a new teacher and a babe when Joe went there – has not aged at all gracefully.
Midway through the first quarter they’re shushed when Gabe hisses, “The game’s actually on,” so Jon turns his attention to the television.
During the second quarter, Patrick moves from the kitchen to the backyard so he can grill up hot dogs and hamburgers. They eat dinner – all of them – watching the Puppy Bowl instead of the halftime show. “I hate aging rockstars,” Patrick says, slapping Pete’s hand away from the onions. “They’re depressing.”
Brendon loves the Puppy Bowl. So does Frankie.
Mikey wins the betting pool at the end of the first quarter, and then at the end of the half as well, so he crows about being $50 richer until Maja suggests a tactical maneuver with his balls that freaks out even Gerard to the point that he can’t defend his baby brother.
“You are such a wuss,” Mikey snaps, while Maja glowers at him.
“I’m totally okay with that,” Gerard says. “At least my testicles will still be in their appropriate sizes and shapes.”
This insane amount of luck is completely unfair, because Mikey only bought one square and Joe bought five so he excuses himself outside to go smoke. Jon follows, and when Joe offers him his pack, Jon says, “No thanks, I’ve got my own,” and holds out a joint.
They go to the farthest corner of the yard and smoke it together.
Sitting on a low wall and freezing his ass off, Joe relaxes into a bush and says, “I don’t even like baseball.”
“It’s football,” Jon says, and Joe laughs. “You’re cute,” Jon says.
Joe chokes on the smoke.
They end up missing the entire third quarter. They do, however, come back inside in time to see Pete handing Mikey another $25 for another scoreless quarter. “Didn’t you say you never win this shit?” Joe asks, throwing himself onto the sofa. He practically lands on Brendon, who awkwardly shifts out of his way. “It’s not fair, is it?” he asks Brendon while Jon sits on the other side of Joe, making himself comfortable in Joe’s old spot.
“Um,” Brendon says. “I don’t know the rules.”
“The rules should be that the person who buys the most squares wins some money,” Joe suggests loud enough so that Pete can hear. The living room opens up to the kitchen, so Joe doesn’t actually have to shout, so much as he needs to direct his voice away from the TV.
“The rules should include that there’s no whining when you don’t win,” Pete says, arms wrapped from behind around Patrick who’s doggedly trying to unwrap a plate of cookies at the kitchen island.
In the fourth quarter, each team manages to score exactly ten points, so Mikey takes home the entire pot of money from the pool. He, Gerard and Frank make a quick escape after that, and Mike and Chris leave soon afterward as well, though they’ve only a short walk to their house a few doors down.
When Joe stands up to leave, a little wobbly, Patrick looks at him with wide-eyes. “You okay to drive?” he asks, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Did you even watch any of the game?” Joe asks him, bringing some dirty plates into the kitchen. In the living room, Pete and Ryan are either arguing with Victoria and Spencer over the Bulls or the running of the bulls – it’s hard to tell which.
Empty bottles clatter loudly in the trash before Patrick answers: “I watched the Puppy Bowl.” Joe rolls his eyes in response and then picks at a bowl of cinnamon twists. “I get enough of sweaty dudes tackling each other from all the porn Pete makes me watch.”
“I’m going to go,” Joe announces. “I’m going to go right now.” He points at the door to clarify his message.
Pete and Patrick say goodbye to Joe at the door, but somehow Jon slips outside to walk Joe to his car. “Do you live far?” he asks.
Joe shakes his head. “Just.” He gestures west. “The apartment building a few streets over. There’s a bar across the street.” Jon didn’t ask him any of this, but Joe just keeps going. “It’s called My Brothers.”
Nodding, Jon slides his hands into his pockets. “I’ve seen it.”
They stand at his car and Joe feels incredibly awkward. But Jon’s cute and funny and has access to good weed so Joe’s pretty much okay to stay out here for a little while longer. “Do you want my number?” he asks as Jon’s pulling his hands out, saying, “I thought maybe we could…” and then they laugh and Joe blushes.
“I’d really like your number,” Jon says.
Joe gets into the car and scribbles his number onto a credit card offer, then hands the envelope to Jon. “Just don’t like, apply for the card in there. I know it says gold, but I’m paying off student loans.”
“I won’t,” Jon says, laughing. He leans on the door and Joe watches his breath rise in the air, it’s so cold out. “It was nice meeting you Joe,” he says.
Jon's breath is visible, white puffs of air that get closer and closer; Joe has some clue as to what's going to happen next, but it's still a pleasant surprise when Jon's lips are on his. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, and then Jon's pulling back. He's shutting the door. He's walking away.
Joe waves to Brendon, who's standing in the driveway, and then he slams the car door and leaves.
He doesn't pump his fist until he gets inside his apartment.
“So you had a good time last night,” Patrick says, stopping by Joe’s cube midmorning. He’s telling Joe, and not asking him, so Joe’s ears turn red wondering what Patrick knows. “Everything,” Patrick says, reading Joe’s mind. “But I always knew you were kinda easy.” His tone isn’t accusing, just a little bit… pitying.
“I’m not easy,” Joe hisses. He glances around, looking for their manager, but when he doesn’t see anybody, he leans in close. “It was only a kiss,” he says.
“Only a kiss,” Patrick repeats, rolling his eyes at the thought.
“It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss,” Tyson sings as he walks past. He air guitars, too, and Joe puts his hand to his forehead.
“How’d you find out?” Sure, Jon had seemed a little bit chatty when they were talking, but Joe hadn’t imagined that it would translate to coming into the house and announcing that they had kissed.
It practically wasn’t even a kiss. It was more of a general meeting of the lips.
“Brendon and Jon were arguing about it,” Patrick says.
Joe screws up his face. “That’s weird,” he says. “It seriously wasn’t like. I mean.” He licks his lips and puts his hands up. “It practically wasn’t even a kiss. It was like a gramma kiss.”
Patrick pushes away from the makeshift wall and stretches, walking backward toward his cube, a few down from Joe’s. “That’s disgusting, thanks Joe.”
“No problem,” Joe says.
He goes back to his work but now he can’t concentrate on it. He pushes the sketches to the side and spends the next hour wondering what kind of dude Jon is, and if he’s getting mixed up in something he shouldn’t be.
By the time Patrick walks back over, Joe’s decided not to take Jon’s call. “If he calls,” Joe says. “I’m not answering. What if he’s psycho obsessive?”
“He’s not psycho obsessive,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “Come on. Let’s go eat.” Joe whimpers a little. How can he eat when he’s dealing with a psycho? “I promise I’m not in collusion with your new boyfriend to woo you in the break room.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Joe murmurs, but it also just sucks that Patrick can read him like a book.
When Joe comes home he has one message on the machine. It takes him ten minutes to listen to it – he’s still convinced that Jon is a psycho stalker – but it’s just an offer from a credit card company.
He uses his company cell phone to call his house phone to make sure it’s still working (it is) and then makes dinner.
The phone doesn’t ring.
He eats in the living room, sitting on the sofa with the news on.
The phone doesn’t ring.
He takes his dog for a walk, the phone in his free hand.
It doesn’t ring.
He watches the Bulls lose to the Cavaliers and nurses a beer. The beer is for boredom.
The phone doesn’t ring.
He goes to bed early and stares at the clock for an hour.
“He didn’t call last night.”
Patrick looks up from his computer screen. Joe can see he’s got at least 30 unanswered E-mails from the time he left the office the night before.
“What?” Patrick asks, not sounding amused or like he even cares at all.
“Jon. From the party.”
“I remember,” Patrick says. He leans back, toying with the mouse but looking at Joe. “He didn’t call? That means he’s not stalking you.”
“Well, I know,” Joe says. He toes the ground, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks.
“Oh my God,” Patrick says. “You’re becoming psycho obsessive guy.”
He totally is. “I am not,” Joe says.
“You are,” Patrick says. He turns his attention back to his computer. “Get away from me. You’re creeping me out.”
“Yeah okay,” Joe says. He takes a few steps out of his cube then turns. “Lunch?”
“Totally,” Patrick says.
On Wednesday night, when Joe gets home from work, he has three messages on his machine. The first is a timeshare company interested in giving him three nights free in a hotel if he’s interested in taking a look at their new location in Wisconsin.
He also has a message from Jon. Joe, hey. It’s Jon. Walker. From Pete’s party. Anyway, um. Hope you’re having a good week. I, um, had a good time at the party. Hoped I could see you again. That’d be good. Um. Anyway. Yeah. Call me. If you want. I mean. Yeah okay. This is Jon. Bye.
Joe puts his hands out. “I want to call you,” he says over the machine announcing the time the call came in. “I need your number dickhead!”
The third message is Jon again, with his phone number.
Joe high steps around the apartment, his fists in the air, then picks up his dog and holds her to his chest. “Hear that?” She licks his nose. In celebration, Joe assumes.
Having gotten all of that out of his system, he picks up the phone, plays the third message again, and dials as he listens to Jon’s tired-sounding voice relay the numbers to him.
“Hi,” Joe says when Jon answers on the third ring. “It’s Joe. From-” he doesn’t get very far though.
“Oh yeah hi,” Jon says. “Sorry about um. The message. Well, messages.”
“No it’s cool,” Joe says. He puts his hand on the counter, lifts up onto the balls of his feet and then relaxes.
They make plans for Saturday night. Joe doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.
He’s nervous and he’s excited.
He goes into the bathroom and throws up.
Joe’s last relationship hadn’t ended well.
Like, at all.
It had been good for a while. For a long while, actually, it was really awesome. It had been Patrick and Pete and Joe and Alex and they did stuff together, the four of them. They went to dinners and movies and parties and even a few vacations. Sometimes, after too many beers, Joe would tell Patrick how he thought he was done with the dating scene for good; that he and Alex would last forever.
Alex met someone else, which sometimes happens. And it sucked. Alex was really nice about it, too, apologetic, and there were tears and they weren’t all Joe’s. So Joe got drunk on Patrick and Pete’s couch and despaired over Alex finding someone taller and funnier than him.
“I’m sure Ryland’s not funnier than you,” Patrick had said, switching out Joe’s empty for a full bottle of beer.
“But he’s taller than me,” Joe had argued.
“Height’s not everything,” Pete said, sitting with Joe and putting his hand on his head.
“You would say that,” Joe said.
So it hadn’t ended well and that was mostly Joe’s fault, but his judgment was marred by a broken heart.
Now he’s nervous about this thing with Jon. Because, okay, Joe thinks Jon’s pretty cool. There’s definitely possibility there, and this makes Joe nervous. What if he likes Jon? Life would be a lot easier for Joe if they met up and it turned out that Jon isn’t at all as fun and interesting as he was at the party. Like it was just the pot and the game and the activity and maybe Jon was nervous and showing off for Ryan’s friends, or something.
Patrick calls about an hour before Joe’s supposed to meet Jon downtown. “Don’t be nervous,” he says when Joe answers.
“I’m not,” Joe says.
“You are,” Patrick says. “Just. Not everybody’s going to like someone better,” he continues. “I mean. Look at me and Pete. Pete doesn’t like anything more than me, including himself.”
Pete’s a little special. Joe tells Patrick this, and Patrick can’t deny it. “Look, Patrick, thank you. But I’m fine. I promise.”
On the other end, Patrick sighs. “I don’t mind if you lie to me, Joe,” he says. “But don’t make a promise like that.”
Joe sighs. “I’m fine. Patrick. I’m going to be fine.” He doesn’t promise anything this time.
“Call me if you want,” Patrick says. “Afterward. Like, if you want, you should. Or whatever. We’ll be awake.”
“Patrick…” Joe says.
“There’s like a marathon on TV,” Patrick says. “Project Runway. Or something else on Bravo. Pete’s really excited about it.”
“Patrick…”
“Have fun tonight, Joe,” Patrick says, resigned. “I’ll be, you know.”
“Good night, Patrick,” Joe says sternly. He hangs up and puts his face into his hands. He wills himself not to be a girl about the date.
Jon is waiting outside when Joe walks up to the restaurant. “Hey,” Jon says. He pulls Joe into a hug, and he’s startled, but Joe totally covers well. “It’s good to see you.” He puts a gloved hand on Joe’s face, just a quick second, and then pulls back. “I already put my name in but I think it’s like, another ten minutes. Do you want to get a drink?”
“Yeah,” Joe says. He can barely think, he’s too overwhelmed. He hasn’t been on a date since Alex. He doesn’t think dating post-college is the same as dating during college. “That sounds great. Hi. I mean.” He smiles and shakes his head, softens. “Hey. Jon.”
Jon smiles at Joe and then opens the door for him, standing back so Joe can walk in first. Joe thinks he’s definitely going to be a girl tonight.
They sit at the bar and drink Kiltlifters while Jon tells Joe stories from the classroom. He has favorite students and can quote them. He talks with his hands and nearly knocks over his and Joe’s beers on more than one occasion before a girl in a short skirt comes to bring them to a table.
“I love this place,” Jon says, opening his menu. “Have you ever been here?” Joe hasn’t, though he’s always wanted to try it. “The pizza’s not, like, the best in Chicago,” Jon explains, pushing a menu toward Joe. “But for fancy gourmet shit, it’s pretty much the bomb.”
Joe snickers. “Did you just call it-”
“Shut up,” Jon says, his lips twisting up in a teasing sneer. Joe grins at him and tilts his head down to scan over the menu. “I hang out with teenagers all day.”
They decide to split an order of wings, and then a pizza that boasts both rotisserie chicken and roasted potatoes. “It’s like Shabbat dinner on a pizza,” Joe observes, once the server has taken their menus away and brought each a fresh beer. “Except for that whole sticky matter of the cheese and chicken thing.”
“You’re Jewish?” Jon asks. Joe nods. “That’s cool,” Jon says. Joe shrugs; it is what it is. “So you’re an architect, right? Spencer said that you and Patrick are architects?”
Joe nods and then leans forward in his seat. “I’m. Yeah. I guess.” It’s been a few years, but it’s still a little bit mind-numbing sometimes; the fact that he gets to design buildings. It’s pretty fucking cool.
“How’d you get into that?” Jon asks.
“I really loved Legos as a kid,” Joe says unironically.
Jon laughs into his beer. “No seriously.”
“I’m being serious,” Joe says. He puts his hands around his glass and then leans forward more. “When other kids were, like, playing sports, I was building shit. And like…” he shrugs. “I don’t know. I like designing things. And I love seeing things that I design once they’ve been built.”
Now Jon leans forward. “Would I know any of your work?”
He doesn’t, though between wings he vows to find the corners and addresses that Joe is talking about and look at the buildings he’s designed. “They’re not much,” Joe insists, sucking wing sauce off of his thumb. “I’m still just getting started. I need to improve, like, a lot.”
“I think it’s pretty fucking cool.”
Joe points a spent wing at Jon. “You’re molding young minds. You could be the history teacher of a future President of the United States.”
Snorting, Jon shakes his head. “Nah. I’m the history teacher of a lot of future managers of the Gap.” He punctuates his comment by viciously biting into a hot wing.
“Well,” Joe says, shrugging. He reaches out for the last wing and then peels at the meat on the tiny bones. “America needs more vapid people wearing trendy clothes too, I guess.”
Jon laughs and then brings his finger to his lips, sucks off the wing sauce. Joe’s skin prickles and he sets his wing down, and then gratefully pushes the plate away when the server comes with their pizza and clean plates.
After dinner Jon suggests that they walk a bit. And sure it’s cold, but Joe’s having a good time, so he nods and gamely follows Jon. They walk, and walk, and walk, and the neighborhood grows familiar. “Hey,” Joe says, slowing as they near the middle of the street. “What are you…?”
“Is this it?” Jon asks, and he points at a free-standing office space, low – only three stories – and asymmetrical. “Is this one yours?”
Joe nods slowly. “This one’s mine.”
He can’t really believe it either. He mostly didn’t think that Jon had been paying that much attention. And he definitely didn’t realize how close they were to the neighborhood. “This is so cool,” Jon says. He steps closer to Joe and looks up at the building. “How do you come up with this?”
“I just do,” Joe says, shrugging. “How do you handle all those teenagers?”
Jon laughs. “I just do.”
Joe grins. He likes Jon’s laugh. He likes Jon’s smile. He likes the way Jon’s hair sticks up from the wind that blew ten minutes ago. He likes standing in the cold and talking to Jon while his nose slowly numbs into oblivion. Maybe he could stand out here all night, looking at his building – his first completely alone – and in the morning it’d feel like no time has passed at all. “You’re pretty amazing,” Jon says, and for a moment Joe questions if this is happening at all.
“What?” And then Joe smiles, shakes his head. “Naw, but thanks.” He nods at the building. “There are like, a million people who could have done this better than I did.”
“Well maybe, but,” Jon says, and Joe doesn’t get to find out what the ‘but’ was all about, because Jon puts his hands on Joe’s arms and kisses him.
They kiss, standing outside of a building Joe can call his while the wind blows the scent of someone’s gas fire around them. It’s warm, and soft, and lasts until Joe can’t feel his feet anymore. He doesn’t know how they got there, but when the kiss ends, he needs to pull his hands from Jon’s hair. “Wow,” Jon says. Joe agrees.
“You want some coffee?” Joe asks.
“I know just the place,” Jon says.
‘Just the place’ turns out to be Jon’s condo.
“My roommate’s out of town for the weekend,” Jon says. “Tom’s got a girlfriend in Madison.”
“That sucks,” Joe says. He looks around the condo. It’s nice. A little modern for his tastes, maybe. Definitely the habitat of two men. It’s a little bit like what his apartment would look like, if his mom hadn’t raised him to be an obsessive neat freak.
Jon takes Joe’s hand, squeezes it. “Not for us,” he whispers, even though Tom’s not there.
They kiss again, standing in front of a bar – marble top – and lit by blinds-slitted light. They kiss for hours and hours and hours (or for about ten minutes, by the green glow of the microwave clock) and then Jon brushes his lips down Joe’s jaw, to his neck. “Did you want that coffee?” he murmurs.
“I don’t drink coffee,” Joe admits, tilting his head to give Jon more access to skin. Because seriously. If the whole teaching thing doesn’t work out, Jon could just do this for a living.
“Good,” Jon whispers, tugging on Joe. “I don’t have any coffee.”
They fall on the sofa and Joe thinks it’s good that Jon doesn’t have any coffee. He thinks the couch is pretty awesome too, made out of some sort of fabric. He really likes Jon’s roommate, Tony or whatever his name is. And he really likes Jon’s condo.
He really, really likes Jon. And whatever Jon is doing with his tongue? He likes that too.
When Joe pulls his buzzing phone out of his pocket, it’s telling him that it’s 1:15 am. But at least Patrick has the decency to have sent a text. Howd it go?
“Who is it?” Jon whispers.
They’re not naked, but Joe doesn’t really know where his shirt is any more. And his slacks are unzipped, the fabric of his boxers in some sort of origami-style disarray. “It’s Patrick,” Joe says, and he whispers, too, because his voice in the room would be strange.
He hasn’t made out for three hours since college. Sure, his lips are now chapped, his throat is impossibly dry and he thinks that maybe he’s got bruises on his hips from Jon holding him so tightly (not too tightly, though), but it’s all worth it.
“Does he want to know if I’ve drugged and molested you?”
Joe looks at Jon, lit only by the slats of moonlight. “Were you planning on it?”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to,” Jon says. He looks up at Joe, but his face is in shadows so Joe doesn’t know if he’s kidding or not. Joe’s breath hitches. “I’m kidding,” Jon says.
“I knew that,” Joe says, defensively, because he didn’t. “Just a sec.” He types out a response to Patrick, shows it to Jon: V v well.
“Two V’s,” Jon says. He presses a kiss to Joe’s shoulder and runs a hand along his stomach. “I like that.”
“I do too,” Joe says, putting his hand on Jon’s, guiding it over his skin. Jon laughs, his mouth pressed against Joe, and the vibrations make Joe’s head spin. The phone buzzes again and Joe looks at it.
Breakfast?
“What’s it,” Jon starts, but Joe cuts him off: “He wants to know if I want breakfast in the morning.”
“Tell him you’re having breakfast with me,” Jon says. He lowers his head to bite at Joe’s stomach, to nuzzle at the meeting of skin and boxer, the dark line of hair that leads underneath. Joe whimpers and drops the phone, but Jon reaches over and picks it up again, places it back in Joe’s hand. “Breakfast with Jon,” he whispers, breath passing lightly over Joe’s skin. “Then turn it off.”
Joe types lunch, hits the silence button and then lets Jon pull him off the couch and into the bedroom.
The only thing Joe regrets in the morning is the fact that he’s certain he had the best blowjob of his entire life, and he can’t really remember much about it. There’s a distinct image in his head of Jon taking Joe’s pants off, of him pulling the boxers down so slowly that Joe made embarrassing noises. And he remembers that Jon didn’t laugh at the noises, though he did bite at Joe’s thighs until Joe begged for him to stop, to please just fucking stop and to please fucking get on with it.
He remembers the blue glow of Jon’s bedside clock, and the way Jon looked at him as he took Joe into his mouth. And he remembers his fingers moving through Jon’s hair, and Jon’s hair was a lot softer than Joe had though the first time he put his fingers in it. And then all he remembers is a total eclipse of the sun, a star collapsing in on itself, and then his entire skeleton melting into oblivion.
(It’s been a while.)
There’s also a dim recollection of Jon’s cock, but this is mostly brought on by a familiar soreness in Joe’s jaw, and the distinct memory of Jon’s fingers moving through his hair, and a span of time during which all air smelled like Jon and made his dick ache.
In the morning they’re both naked, not really curled up around each other, though Jon’s arm is flung over Joe’s side, and their legs are sorta tangled together. And the sheet is kinda mangled around them, and the comforter has been kicked down to the bottom of the bed.
And Joe really needs to pee but he doesn’t want to disturb Jon, but he seriously can’t seem to get his leg out from the sheet which seems to have twisted itself around both of their ankles, effectively tying them together. Joe swallows hard and sighs.
“Good morning,” Jon says from behind him.
“I have to piss,” Joe says.
In the morning, Joe does not have his A-game.
Jon is a forgiving, sensitive and kind man, who helps disentangle Joe so that he can hurry into the bathroom. It’s only a little awkward that Joe’s standing naked with someone else’s dirty towel at his feet, dick in hand, when he thinks he’s in serious danger of falling in love.
“What’s for breakfast?” he asks, coming back out of the bathroom. He’s the perfect picture of nonchalance. He could walk out of this thing and never look back if he wanted to. It’d be nice if he could have the chance to find out if this man who gives awesome head could also be that amazing at other things with his tongue and other parts of his body, but if Joe doesn’t get to find out, there are worse things in the world (like genocide and child soldiers). He can totally have this ended on him, without any misgivings or tears, once he’s had his breakfast, which had been promised to him the night before.
This he remembers. Joe does not forget things when they could result in pancakes and/or waffles.
“Do you like pancakes?” Jon asks.
Joe does.
They go to a little diner not too far from Jon’s condo, which Jon swears has the best hash browns that Joe will ever eat. Hash browns don’t come with the cinnamon French toast, so Jon reaches his fork across the table so Joe can have a taste.
“What do you think?” Jon asks while Joe still chews.
He nods, mouth full, and then smiles once he’s swallowed. “Really good,” he says.
“I’ll have to bring you back here again,” Jon says.
Joe nods and tries not to choke on his orange juice.
After breakfast (Jon pays), they stand outside and talk for a little bit longer. “I had a really good time,” Jon says when Joe pulls the collar of his coat around himself a little more. “Last night. And this morning. And…” He grins at Joe, his cheeks coloring just a little bit.
“I did too,” Joe says. He licks his lips and nods. “I’m glad you called.”
“Me too,” Jon says. He hesitates and Joe steps closer.
They meet in the middle, teeth bumping before the kiss can even begin, but then it’s there and it’s real and it’s lips and tongues too and it doesn’t matter if it’s 9:30 in the morning. Joe steps closer, slides his hands under Jon’s coat and Jon presses his hips in to Joe’s.
Joe wonders if maybe they’re going to turn around and walk back to Jon’s place. And the fact is, he wouldn’t mind. But then Jon breaks away, touches Joe’s shoulder and takes a step back. “I’ll call you,” he says and Joe lifts an arm, waves. “Fuck,” Jon says, grinning. “I’ll call you today. After lunch.”
It’s an hour from the diner to Joe’s apartment, what with walking, the El, and then more walking. Joe doesn’t remember any of it.
At lunch, Pete and Patrick play good cop/bad cop. Patrick's the good cop. Pete's the bad cop, if bad cop means thoroughly annoying. Joe refuses to answer any questions, on the basis that it's his life (dammit), and Pete was more than a little creepy when going after Patrick. At least Joe and Jon met through mutual friends. Patrick swoops in and attempts to save the day, but all he really does is give Pete the absolutely horrible idea to call up Ryan and investigate. Joe loses his appetite, though the pasta is delicious.
"I'm sorry," Patrick says later.
"Can't you put a leash on him or something?" Joe wants to know.
They’re standing at the sink together, cleaning up, while Pete is holed up somewhere, no doubt embarrassing the living daylights out of Joe. “I could,” Patrick says, setting the last dish onto the drying rack. “But if the point is to punish him, that’s not the best way to go about doing it.”
“I’m going to go,” Joe says. “I’m going to go right now.” He points at the door. “Tell Pete I said fuck you.”
“See you tomorrow,” Patrick says as Joe leaves.
They see each other again on Wednesday night. In that time they’ve had three awesome phone conversations, the last of which culminated with Joe coming all over his hand, and Jon whispering that he wished he was around to lick him clean.
This absolutely did not help the situation.
They meet at My Brothers for beers and Joe spends an hour telling Jon about growing up and Hebrew School and then has no idea where the time went. “Why did you let me do that?” he asks, laughing into his beer so that Jon won’t notice the spreading blush.
“I liked listening to it,” Jon says, and Joe needs to find a menu or something in a hurry. The pink is spreading. He can feel it. “It was fun to listen to.”
“You wanna get outta here?” Joe asks.
“Yes.”
Joe orders Chinese takeout from the restaurant two doors down and they drink one last beer while they ruminate on why the Bulls are never going to be as good as they were during the Jordan years. “Jordan cannot be your answer,” Joe argues.
“It is,” Jon says. He squeezes Joe’s hand and smiles widely at him. “Has it been 25 minutes yet?”
“No,” Joe says. He grins at Jon, lifts Jon’s glass (Joe’s is empty) and finishes what’s left in it.
Jon puts his hand on Joe’s leg, slides it up his thigh and then squeezes. “Let’s go.”
Outside, Jon presses Joe to the wall of the bar and kisses him until Joe can’t see straight. “Ngh,” Joe says, and Jon’s response is to grind his hips into Joe’s. Joe doesn’t mind in the slightest. “Jesus,” he moans. Well, that’s what he would have said if Jon hadn’t been trying to lick the last traces of his beer (literally, Jon’s beer) out of his mouth.
“I want you so badly,” Jon whispers, pulling back just enough to actually get the words out. His breath, warmer than the air, floats white between them.
“We have the thing,” Joe says and Jon shakes his head. “It hasn’t been 25 minutes yet,” Joe offers.
Jon grins, nods toward the alley. “C’mere.”
Joe does.
Alex hadn’t exactly been vanilla, but he also wasn’t entirely spontaneous. For Joe and Alex, spontaneous was, say, cooking dinner, then deciding to go out instead. Driving to the theater to see a comedy, and opting for action once they got there. Driving to a concert venue and buying tickets at the box office instead of preordering.
Never before has Joe been pressed against the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant (or a pet shop, it’s hard to tell with these strip malls), with decaying pallets on one side of him and a garbage can on the other while being on the receiving end of a (phenomenal) blowjob. Jon has a different way of doing ‘spontaneous,’ clearly. “Oh my God,” Joe says.
He presses his fingers into Jon’s hair, holding onto his head before pushing him closer. “Oh my God,” Joe says again and Jon hums in response.
It’s probably not the aesthetic, but Joe comes hard, his head hitting the cold brick as he does so. Jon presses a hand to his stomach to hold him up, and Joe doesn’t think he can walk home. “You’re so hot,” Jon says as he licks Joe clean.
“Mph,” Joe says.
Jon laughs, and keeps his hands on Joe as he stands up. “You have this amazing way with words,” he says, pressing a kiss to Joe’s lips. “It really turns me on.” He kisses Joe again, this time deeper, and when Joe tastes himself in Jon’s mouth, he just presses his thigh between Jon’s legs, giving him friction that Jon so deeply deserves. “Has it been 25 minutes?” Jon asks, whispering the words against Joe’s lips as he rocks against Joe’s thigh.
“Mph,” Joe tells him.
“Let’s go.”
Back at Joe’s apartment, he blows Jon against the door while their food gets cold.
They eat absolutely everything they order but the eggrolls. Joe starts to eat one, but Jon looks at him, winks, and says, “Déjà vu,” which really makes chewing just… repulsive.
Jon helps Joe wash the dishes (Joe is defiantly against letting them sit for longer than it takes for them to make out while ice cream melts) but then they bring their making out straight from the kitchen into the bedroom.
Well. The word straight should be used loosely, as they hit the wall several times and Jon’s back hits the door jamb sharply as they enter the bedroom. But once there, Jon slowly takes off every stitch of Joe’s clothes, runs his hands through Joe’s hair, and then nudges him onto the bed. Joe doesn’t know if Jon’s performing for him as he takes off his own clothes, but what he does know is that Jon has wicked hips made for naughty things, many of them done to him while they remind Joe’s bed that it’s good for more than just sleeping.
When Jon finally collapses on top of Joe, he kisses the closest sweat-slick skin, and smiles. “So, I heard your friends were checking up on me.”
As it turns out, Jon is equally talented at killing a mood as he is at creating a mood it. “Um,” Joe says. He swallows. “Pete’s not really my friend. He’s just this guy that stalked my best friend through a book store once. We’re still trying to get a restraining order.”
Jon tilts his head up, slides along Joe’s body until their lips can touch. “It’s okay,” he whispers and Joe smiles. “It’s kinda cute.”
“I’m not cute,” Joe whispers back. “I’m rugged and manly.”
Smiling, Jon kisses him again. “Fine. Then your friends are kinda cute.”
They kiss again, and Joe thinks he could totally do this for, like, forever. And then he worries that maybe he’s falling for this guy, which… he’s already desperately close. “Do you um.” He licks his lips, getting Jon’s in the process and smiles, kisses him again. “Do you need to like, go home or anything?”
“Are you kicking me out?” Jon asks, his palm still firmly settled on Joe’s sternum, possibly contributing to the quickened heartbeat therein.
“No,” Joe whispers. He runs his hand along Jon’s back and seriously. Jon has the nicest back, like, ever. “Just. If you have to work in the morning.”
“It’s okay,” Jon says. He kisses Joe again and really. Joe is all about this kissing. “I can leave from here.” He shifts, slides one leg over Joe until he’s straddling Joe’s hips and this is like. This is like amazing. “I want to fuck you,” he whispers.
Joe dies. “I don’t have any condoms.”
Jon smiles, a bit ruefully, hesitates, and then leans in and licks at Joe’s lips. “Another time then.”
Joe dies again.
It takes about two weeks for Jon to offhandedly refer to Joe as his boyfriend, at which point Joe has absolutely no choice but to bring Jon over to Pete and Patrick’s for dinner. He makes copious threats on Pete’s voicemail throughout the day, most of which involve leaving Pete without the equipment necessary to fornicate, “I don’t care how sad it makes Patrick!”
During the two weeks they talk about absolutely everything under the sun (and around it – Jon has a fascination with astronomy, which led to the Jon and Spencer debacle of 2006) except whatever it is that Jon had heard about Pete asking about him. “We’re almost there,” Joe says, looking over at Jon quickly before back at the road. “There’s still time to, you know, warn me.”
“Shouldn’t you be warning me?” Jon asks, laughter in his voice. “I’m meeting your friends. You’re supposed to be giving me tips.”
“You’ve already met them,” Joe says.
“Yes, but not as your boyfriend.” Jon puts his hand on Joe’s thigh and squeezes it. “Not as your lover.”
Joe shivers and licks his lips at the thought of it. Joe had made sure to bring condoms to their third date, but there was no need. Jon brought him back to his place (Tom was in Madison again) and he had plenty, two different kinds of lube and some sort of warming gel that seriously is made of tiny bits of heaven, Joe is sure of this.
The first time had been embarrassingly quick – Alex liked to bottom, so it had been a very long time since Joe’d been properly fucked (and Jon made sure to do a very thorough job) – but by the time the sun rose (Three! Times! Total!), Joe finished second.
Jon had patted him on the back and said, “Way to go.”
Joe doesn’t think that anybody has actually called him a ‘lover’ before but he likes the sound of it. He’d like to get it on a business card: Joseph Trohman, Lover. Or: Joseph Trohman, Lover of Jon Walker.
Of course, that might suggest that he loves Jon, which he doesn’t. He totally doesn’t. He’s rather fond of Jon, yes. He likes Jon a lot, yes. He thinks Jon’s the hottest thing that he has ever had the pleasure of sticking his dick into, yes. Oh and the sex? The sex is amazing. The sex is the most amazing thing to which Joe has ever had the pleasure of contributing – and Joe has designed buildings.
But he doesn’t love Jon. Oh no, sir. Not Joe. Not after two (and a half) weeks.
“Hey, Joe,” Jon says, and Joe shivers and looks at Jon.
“Yes, dear?”
“I know they’re your best friends, but I think you just missed the turn.”
Joe turns the car around.
“Any last minute tips?” Jon asks as they stand on the doorstep and wait to be let in.
“If you see Pete crouching,” Joe says. “Just play dead.”
The house has more red and pink than usual in it, but Joe pays very little mind to this until during dinner, when Patrick asks if they have any plans for Valentine’s Day. “It’s in two days,” Patrick adds, before holding a bowl out to Jon. “Peas?”
“Please,” Jon says. He smiles at Pete and then, as he spoons peas onto his plate, looks back at Patrick. “I actually have some plans for him,” now glancing across the table at Joe, “if he doesn’t have any plans already.”
Joe can feel Pete’s eyes on him – Patrick’s too, actually – but he keeps his gaze locked on Jon’s. “He doesn’t,” he says.
“I think he does,” Pete says, and Joe isn’t sure if that’s a dig or not. He ignores it.
Patrick shoots Pete a look so hot, their food possibly reheats. “What are you guys doing?” he asks.
Jon smiles at Joe, the kind of smile that makes Joe’s cheeks heat up to the point where he’s uncomfortable. “He can tell you about it in the morning.”
“So you must really like our little Joey,” Pete says.
Patrick can’t reach Pete under the table, but Joe can, and he kicks Pete’s shin as hard as he can.
“Ow,” Pete says.
“I really do,” Jon says. He puts his hands in front of his lips, but when Joe looks at him he can tell that Jon’s smiling. “I really like him a lot.”
“I’m glad,” Patrick says, speaking before Pete can. “He deserves an awesome guy. More potatoes?”
On the way back to Joe’s, Jon cannot stop laughing. “I am so sorry about Pete,” Joe says. He cannot stop apologizing. “I don’t know what got into him. I am so sorry. I can’t promise he’ll never do it again but eventually he’ll get used to you.” Joe doesn’t actually know this, as Alex was already in the picture when they met Pete, and Alex was part of Pete’s master ass-kissing plan. Alex was actually a major part of it.
“Well I’m clearly not as awesome as your ex,” Jon says through his laughter. “Seriously. Pete, man. He’s a cool dude, but wow.”
“I really think he was dropped on his head as a child,” Joe says. “Or like, I don’t know, he ate paint chips.” He reaches out, takes Jon’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “But I mean seriously. He really did stalk Patrick through a bookstore, and didn’t seem to care that for all practical purposes, he had a boyfriend.”
Jon finally goes quiet.
“Oh fuck,” Joe says.
He’d slow the car, but they’re nearly at his building anyway, so he waits until he can pull into his assigned spot, and then he turns in his seat and faces Jon. “I didn’t mean it like that, dude. I’m sorry.”
“No it’s,” Jon says. He’s facing the window, looking out of it. “It’s a douchey thing to do.”
“Yeah but,” Joe unbuckles his seat belt and leans across the seats, putting both hands onto Jon’s thigh, leaning on him. “Jon, Jonny, come on.” And at least Jon turns to look at him. “I didn’t mean it like that, okay?” He smiles now. “I don’t think you’re a vagina cleaner, I promise.”
It takes a moment, but Jon smiles. “I’m not.”
“You’re not,” Joe repeats. He leans forward and kisses Jon softly, and then again, and then again, and then they’re making out in Joe’s car.
Joe hasn’t made out in a car since he was 19 years old.
When they finally pull apart, Joe has a cramp from leaning the way he had and Jon is
possibly sitting in such a fashion to ensure that Joe can see his erection. “Come on,” Joe says, unbuckling Jon’s seat belt and letting his hand brush against the bulge in Jon’s pants in the process. “I have something I want to show you upstairs.”
“Is it your cock?” Jon asks.
“Dammit, Jonny!”
It’s his cock.
“You awake,” Jon asks once they’re settled into bed; still slick with sweat but come-free and with brushed teeth. He’s on his side, an arm wrapped around Joe who’s lying on his back. Joe’s pretty sure Jon can feel his heart beat, based on the way Jon’s tracing his
fingers along Joe’s ribs. Joe murmurs in response. “Tell me about Alex?” Jon asks.
If Jon can feel Joe’s heartbeat, then he can probably hear when it skips a little at the question. “Why?”
“Because,” Jon says, and he slides up, presses his lips to Joe’s chin a moment. “He was like, your great love. I want to know what my competition is like.”
“He’s not your competition,” Joe says. He holds Jon tighter, and turns to face him. “He’s a chef,” he finally says.
“A chef?” Jon sighs. “I can’t beat that.”
“You don’t have to,” Joe says. He tugs on Jon’s arm and then smiles at him. “Come on. I like my Jonny just the way he is.”
Smiling, Jon leans in, kisses him softly. “I make mean toast.”
“You make amazing toast,” Joe says.
“I mold young minds,” Jon says.
“Frighteningly enough, yes you do.”
They kiss again, and again, and again; and Joe can’t remember the last time he got this little sleep. But it’s truly awesome.
“What are we doing for Valentine’s?” he whispers against Jon’s lips.
“You’ll find out in two days,” Jon whispers back. He slides his hand down Joe’s stomach, curls it around Joe’s half-hard dick and swipes his thumb over the head. “Hmmm?”
“Yes…” Joe murmurs.
Part 2
