livejournal fics//joncer

Do The Hellen Keller Part One

Title: Do The Hellen Keller
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer (Ryan/Brendon, Gabe/William, Tom/Keltie, one-sided Ryan/Spencer)
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Not true. Title and inspiration stolen from 3OH!3.
Summary: When Jon sees a hot guy in some random club, he thinks it'll just be some good, not-so-clean, fun. But he gets to know the guy and it turns out there's more to him than just hips that could kill - mainly the fact that he can't talk.
A/N: because someone's got to keep the joncer alive... or at least attempt to.


*

There's a very good chance that Tom is drunk, and an even better one that Jon is tipsy. They have had one too many, possibly more than one too many, but the bartender hasn't stopped serving them, and Jon is just laughing as he watches Tom eye a not-quite pretty girl at the other end of the bar. Jon, however, is just a little too tipsy to point out this fact, and so lets Tom ogle the girl all he wants.

The club is full of people and Jon doesn't really know how long they've been there by this point. He's lost count of the number of beers slid in front of him, and he doesn't really care. He and Tom are there to forget that they work for a corporate giant, selling people things they don't need.

Jon sits at the bar, a beer firmly in his hand as he scans the people in the room. Most are dancing, almost all are drinking, and a few stand in lonely corners. Jon hasn't danced with anyone yet tonight, although Tom had tried to push a pretty brunette on him earlier, ignoring Jon's protests that he didn't even like girls that way. Tom might have already been drunk by that point.

Jon hasn't seen anyone particularly interesting yet, but he thinks maybe he just hasn't drunk enough yet. Taking another swig of his beer, he nearly chokes as his eyes fall on a boy across the club.

Well, he's not a boy, he's a young man, a few years younger than Jon by the looks of him. He has dark hair and a thin torso that slides down to his hips. Oh, his hips.

Jon stares, his mouth open slightly, at the boy's hips, sharp enough to cut glass, that are cocked to the side as the guy stares across the room at something else. Blinking, Jon can't tear his eyes from the hips that were just made to be clung to, made to be bruised by hard fingerprints.

"S'pretty, right?" Tom slurs suddenly, leaning into Jon's shoulder and raising an eyebrow at the girl down the bar. The girl sort of blushes and looks away at Tom's leering smile.

"Yeah," Jon agrees, nodding along uselessly, his eyes still glued to the guy's jeans that cling to his hips, hips that Jon wants to touch.

Tom nods too, pushing himself up and sliding down a few stools to talk to the girl. Jon doesn't even notice that he's gone, and finds himself pushing off his stool and weaving through the crowd.

The boy stands on the other side and Jon sees another boy bounce up to him, hugging him tightly and shouting something over the thudding music. Jon doesn't see the boy respond, but the other nods and disappears.

When Jon finally reaches the boy, he pauses for a moment, letting his gaze slide down the contours of the boy's back, past the edge of the tee shirt that doesn't quite reach, and the strip of pale skin is revealed just above the waist of his jeans. Jon's hand itches to touch the skin, but he resists when the guy turns around, seemingly feeling Jon's eyes on him.

The guy doesn't say anything, a hand on his hip that is still jutted out to the side, and an eyebrow raised as he pauses, scanning visibly down Jon's body slowly, deliberately until he reaches Jon's eyes.

"Er, hi," Jon says, ignoring the way his syllables slur a little. The words seem like one, but he doesn't really care. "I'm Jon, wanna dance?"

Still, the guy says nothing, but his tongue, small and pink, darts out to wet his lips and he blinks slowly. Then a smirk crawls onto his face and he nods, shuffling closer to Jon, and suddenly, Jon is pressed against this boy and he can feel the hips digging into his own as they sway to the throbbing beat.

Jon knows the song but his mind isn't clear enough to recognize it. Instead, he's focused on the guy's face, his pink lips, clear blue eyes framed by dark hair. He's focused on the hips, hips, pressing against his almost purposefully hard, rubbing seductively against him as the beat changes.

The boy is grinding up into Jon and Jon bites his lip, staring down. His hands slide under the guy's tee shirt, feeling the smooth slide of skin under his fingertips. The guy's hands are under his own shirt, teasing the hem, dusting over Jon's stomach as he moves against him.

Then the boy's mouth is close to Jon's ear and Jon shivers under his hot breath.

"Are-are you gonna tell me your name?" Jon asks finally, gasping slightly and grasping the boy's sides tightly at the sudden shift.

The guy's hips, that Jon cannot stop thinking about, are rubbing against Jon's, almost wantonly, hidden behind the thumping music and other grinding couples.

The mouth moves to his ear and Jon thinks the boy is going to speak, but instead, his knees go weak at the teeth on his earlobe. His hand presses into the small of the boy's back and he can only let out panted breaths.

"We—" he stutters incoherently. "We-I have, car. Outside."

He doesn't receive a verbal answer, but he takes the tongue dipped into his ear as a yes.

*

The parking lot is dark and Jon's car is far from the entrance, sitting just outside the puddle of the orange streetlamp. As he presses the boy up against his car, his hands wandering down his body until he can finally get a good grasp on the hips he's been eyeing for the past half an hour, he lets out a long breath against the guy's jaw, teeth scraping against the skin.

The boy hasn't said anything still, but hadn't protested when Jon had led him to the car and slid a knee between his legs, nuzzling his jaw and pressing biting kisses to it. He'd just wrapped his arms around Jon's neck, let out a puff of air against it, and tilted his neck back for Jon.

Jon's car, which had seemed a good size when he picked it out, now seems far too small as he opens the back door and lets the guy climb in before him. There are too many legs, arms, hands, lips, and hips. Hips.

Jon can't help staring as the boy reaches for the button on his jeans and pulls it open. The boy pauses, though, catching Jon's eye. His smirk is hotter than should be allowed and Jon blinks as the boy leans in, catching Jon's lips in a hard kiss that leaves Jon's head spinning more than it already was.

The door slams shut behind him and he's pushed up against it, the boy climbing over him, settling on top of him, hips against hips and far too much fabric in between. His back is jammed uncomfortably against the arm rest, but he doesn't mind when the boy's hips rock into his, hard and wanting.

Gasping, Jon breaks from the kiss and lets his head fall back against the cold window pane.

"Fuck," he growls, lifting his hips up to increase the friction. He can feel the hot rush in his stomach already, the heaviness of his body as he grinds up against the other guy.

He watches the boy's face, sees the pink blossoming in his cheeks as he moves his hips carefully, almost practiced, rocking back and forth until Jon is gasping and scrabbling to grab hold of said hips, trying desperately to slow the movement.

"Hey, wait," he pants, swallowing hard but not stopping his hips that arch vainly into the others'. "Wait."

The guy's eyes are dark as he finally slows the pace, instead sinking his weight onto Jon and smirking at the low groan Jon lets slip.

"Fuck," Jon curses again. "You're too good at this, you know?"

The only response he gets is a satisfied smirk and glittering eyes. He isn't expecting the boy to crawl off him, but that's what happens, and he watches sadly as the hips disappear from view.

But then the boy's hands are on Jon's jeans, tugging the button open and sliding down the zipper. Jon just blinks but doesn't stop him, biting his lip when the guy's hands slide over his hard cock, tugging it free and stroking once, twice up the shaft.

"Shit," Jon breathes, his head clunking against the window again and he's almost glad because he can open his eyes and see the guy sinking down, his pink lips stretching over his cock.

The blood in his prick throbs as the wet, warm mouth envelops it, a tongue sliding down the underside as the boy begins to move. He slides up and down, his hand circling the base while Jon pants above him.

Jon hasn't done this in a while, and certainly not with someone whose name he doesn't even know.

Expletives stream from his mouth and his hand finds its way into the dark hair before him, twining almost too-tightly around the strands when the mouth sucks hard and he gasps sharply.

A name hangs on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say it, he doesn't know. Instead, he grits his teeth and tries to warn him, tries to tell him.

"Shit, I'm gonna, it's—I, f-fuck," is all he gets out until he's coming hard, hips jerking up into the boy's mouth.

Panting, he carefully releases the guy's hair and takes back his hand. "Sorry," he apologizes quietly and the guy doesn't speak, wiping at his mouth slowly as he lifts himself up, his eyes still dark. Jon isn't as surprised this time when the boy crawls over him and kisses him.

It's lips sliding against lips, a pair of teeth nipping at Jon's bottom lip, a hand on his neck, squeezing just a little too tightly. Jon groans into the kiss, hearing the clacking teeth and feeling the slide of the other tongue against his, scraping the roof of his mouth, plunging deep. It's obvious the boy is asking for something, and when his hips dig into Jon's again, Jon understands.

Pulling out of the kiss, he reaches for the boy's jeans, unzipping the zipper and sliding his hand underneath.

The sharp breath the boy takes is enough encouragement for Jon and he curls his hand slowly around the boy's hard prick. The boy's breath is hot against his neck and he feels a sharp bite to the skin, followed by mouthed words.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jon feels pressed against his neck, but hears no sound.

He twists his hand and another sharp gasp breaks the silence. Jon can feel the boy twitching in his hand, clinging to Jon's shoulder, his hips jerking forward into the grip.

Licking his lips, Jon moves faster, loving how the boy thrusts forward into his hand, how he mumbles silent words against his neck. Another bite tells him that he's close, and Jon slides his palm over the guy's cock hard, stroking easily.

The guy comes with a shuddered breath and a slow slide of his palm off Jon's shoulder, his fingernails digging in hard. Jon winces, but enjoys the way the guy melts into his hand, his mouth open against his neck and his breath coming in hard pants.

The panting stops after a few moments and silence falls in the tiny car. Jon slides against the seat and doesn't bother to pull up his pants just yet. His mind is still slightly alcohol-fogged, and though he knows it's a good idea, he hasn't quite processed it yet.

"So," he says after a minute and the guy next to him, his pants still opened, and looking utterly debauched (Jon likes the look on him and has to stop himself from kissing him all over again) glances over but doesn't speak. "Am I ever going to get to know your name?"

The boy pauses and then reaches for his pants, tugging them up.

Jon opens his mouth, sure the boy is about to leave him, pants-less, in his own car, but then the guy pulls a pad of paper and a pen out from his pocket and scribbles something down, passing it to Jon.

"Spencer?" Jon reads in the dim orange light.

The boy nods, lifting his hips to pull up his jeans all the way and Jon can't help but stare. Spencer stops, seeing Jon's gaze, and then smirks.

"What?" Jon asks stupidly, wondering why he's holding a piece of paper with Spencer's name on it. "What, can't you talk?" he jokes, grinning. Another piece of paper is shoved in his hand.

No.

Jon frowns and looks up. Spencer just shrugs a shoulder.

"Oh." Jon stops, feeling stupid. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

He's cut off by Spencer crawling over him yet again and kissing him. Spencer's hands are on Jon's jaw and he bites Jon's lip affectionately.

When he pulls away, Jon is dazed, but manages to read the note Spencer passes him.

I don't really want to talk about it.

"Oh, right, right," Jon agrees quickly. "No, we don't have to. I just—"

He's jerked forward against Spencer's lips again to stop him talking and the kiss is harder this time. Spencer's hand slips down his jaw and plays with his hair a little as he slides their lips together. Jon sighs against his mouth when Spencer pulls away and scribbles something else on his notepad.

I'd rather talk about when I'm going to see you again.

Jon glances up and meets Spencer smirk. He smiles hopefully. "Yeah?"

Spencer nods and writes another note, tearing it off and handing it to Jon. It's a phone number and Jon frowns.

"But how—"

Spencer slips his hand into Jon's front pocket and pulls out his cell phone, dialing his own. Spencer types something in and Jon looks at his own when it rings.

txt mssg, dmb ass.

Jon grins and can't help but laugh. Spencer just smiles, pocketing his own phone.

They part with another kiss and Spencer mouths, "Call me," as he climbs out of the car and vanishes beyond the circle of filtered light. Jon sinks back against the seat cushion and glances around at the notes that litter his backseat. Laughing to himself, he gathers them all and shoves them in the glove box before climbing out and heading back inside to save Tom from himself, or at least, that girl at the bar.

*

Jon has had the number in his pocket since that night, three days ago. When he woke up the next morning, he'd frowned at the number in his pocket and the message on his phone. It had taken him two cups of coffee and a steaming heap of pancakes in the local diner to remember.

He remembers hips and hands, unspoken words brushed against his skin that he can't quite explain.

When he opens his glove box looking for his sunglasses, little pieces of note paper flutter out and he reads them one by one, remembering.

So the number sits on his phone. He saves it under Spencer's name, and he waits. He knows he should send a text or something, but he doesn't really know what to say. Despite what Tom says about Jon being the ultra-cool, super awesome guy, he really doesn't know how to talk to guys he likes, or maybe likes, or just barely remembers.

Jon knows there's a limit too, a limit on how long he can put off sending some kind of message before Spencer will get angry and refuse to talk – or write – to him.

Tom thinks this is all hilarious, of course. When Jon tells him about it, he laughs.

"I can't believe you fell for a mute kid!" he says and Jon sighs.

He hasn't fallen for Spencer. He hasn't even texted him back.

So Jon leaves the number on his phone and waits for the courage to strike him to type in a few words.

*

"You did what?!"

Ryan turns around sharply, half in the kitchen, the fridge door standing wide open behind him, and half in the living room where Good Morning America is playing on the television.

Spencer sits at the table, rolling his eyes at Ryan, who is staring.

What? he signs, arching an eyebrow, and Ryan scowls.

"You don't even know this guy," Ryan replies sharply. "And you... you went down on him outside a random club in his car!"

Just because you're sexually repressed doesn't mean the rest of us are.

Ryan's mouth falls open indignantly. At that moment, the bathroom door opens and a boy with messy brown hair comes out, scrubbing at his eyes and yawning.

"Morning," he greets them both, plopping down in the chair next to Spencer. "What's up?"

"I am not sexually repressed," Ryan growls, shutting the refrigerator door loud enough to rattle the bottles in the door.

As his back is turned, Brendon nudges Spencer.

Why's he mad? he signs quickly.

Because he's not getting any, Spencer replies just as quickly while Ryan stomps around the kitchen, pulling open cupboards.

I'll give him some, Brendon offers and Spencer lets out a laugh.

Ryan turns sharply, his eyes narrowed. "No signing behind my back, remember?"

"Relax, Ry," Brendon says. "It wasn't anything important."

"I bet," Ryan mutters, but he clomps to the table anyway, his coffee cup full now. He doesn't say any more but blows on the steaming liquid.

You shouldn't be freaking out yet. He hasn't even called back.

Ryan scowls into his coffee and Brendon furrows his eyebrows.

"Who?"

This guy I met at the club. Spencer shrugs, reaching for the sugar and adding some to his own coffee.

"He only wants your body," Ryan butts in.

"I wouldn't say no," Brendon offers, but Ryan's glare is enough to quiet him.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer shakes his head. You're just jealous.

"Then why hasn't he called?" Ryan asks pointedly and Spencer frowns.

He's probably busy.

"He's probably forgotten. It was a bar. He was probably drunk. People look better when you're drunk."

So that explains your last two girlfriends? Spencer shoots back, eyebrow arched in a challenge.

Before Ryan can snarl out a scathing response, Brendon jumps in. He always hates when they fight.

"Come on, guys," he says desperately. "Let's get breakfast or something. This is a stupid fight."

Spencer just sits back, crossing his arms knowingly while Ryan huffs. Ryan hates to lose arguments, but Brendon can always talk him out of it. Why they aren't together is a mystery that Ryan refuses to find out. Or maybe he just doesn't get it.

Brendon looks between them hopefully, and finally, Spencer rolls his eyes.

Breakfast.

Brendon grins and turns to Ryan. "Ryan? Can we get French toast?"

Ryan is still glaring at Spencer, but sighs anyway. "Yeah, whatever."

Brendon bounces up and hugs Ryan, running to get dressed. After he leaves, Ryan turns to Spencer.

You're not getting out of this, you know, he signs and Spencer just shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

When Brendon comes back, they both rise and grab coats from where they're thrown haphazardly over the couch. Brendon bounces out of the apartment first and Ryan follows slowly. Spencer comes next, but stops as his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. Taking it out, he flips it open and reads.

"Hey, are you coming?" Ryan calls, sounding annoyed.

Flipping the phone shut, Spencer follows Ryan's impatient voice into the hall.

*

Jon keeps glancing at his phone, every five seconds, until he shakes himself and shoves it under a pile of papers and turns to his computer.

He needs to focus on work, not hoping his phone will ring and there will be a new text. He's nervous, actually. He's not sure if Spencer will be upset that he waited so long, or maybe he won't even respond. Jon doesn't know which would be worse.

He's trying not to think about his phone as he pulls up the photos from that week's shoot.

The pictures are for a shoe campaign and Jon wonders how he went from hippie photographer to selling Adidas. Tom would probably have some good explanations.

When his phone goes off, a shrill single ring in the empty studio, Jon jumps. Pushing aside the papers, he grabs it and flips open the screen.

hey 2 you 2, is the message.

Jon sighs in relief, although he isn't sure if the message is good. He feels kind of stupid, but pauses to type in a response.

whatcha doin? he types, hoping it doesn't sound stupid.

As soon as he hits the send button, he wonders what he's doing. He's already technically been with Spencer, and yet here he is being the world's hugest dork and making small talk over text message.

He tries to ignore that, though, as he sets the phone down again and tries to concentrate on his work instead of glancing every five seconds at the little darkened screen.

He manages to change the font color before the phone goes off again and he's snatching it off the desk greedily.

watching an unfortunate tragedy, u?

Jon smiles slowly at Spencer's response, not sure what to make of it, and types in his response.

attmpting ths thng called work. dare i ask what tragedy?

He doesn't have to wait long for a response this time and laughs as he reads it.

roommates fighting over best kind of jam.

raspberry, Jon types in before he even really thinks and sends it on. He feels better knowing that Spencer isn't upset that he waited so long to respond.

Turning back to his computer, he pulls up another photo just as there's a knock on his office door. Well, it's not really an office, it's more like a computer shoved in a corner of the art room, as out of the way as possible of the cameras and lighting and other things that clutter the edges of the room.

Tom is in the doorway when he looks up and doesn't wait for a response before he sweeps inside. It isn't as though he needs an invitation since it's technically his "office" too.

"Hey, did you finish that layout yet? They want it for this afternoon's presentation."

He comes over and leans into the screen, arching an eyebrow at the half-finished picture.

"It'll be done," Jon assures him, jumping a little when his phone goes off again. Shielding the screen from Tom, he reads the message and can't help smiling.

i would have said grape but raspberry works too ;)

"What's that?" Tom asks suddenly and Jon snaps the phone shut.

"Nothing," he answers easily, turning his phone to vibrate and stuffing it in his pocket.

"Hmm," Tom says, arching a knowing eyebrow, a smirk growing on his face. "And this nothing is probably from no one that you didn't meet at the place, right?"

"Exactly." Jon turns back to his computer screen, changing the font color again.

Tom leans forward on the desk, his smirk more leering than anything now. "Well, why don't you tell this no one that you haven't stopped talking about him since Saturday."

Jon doesn't flush, only pushes back his hair and purposefully ignores Tom, who cackles beside him at his silence.

*

"Strawberry."

"Marmalade!"

"Strawberry!"

Ryan sighs, frustrated as he picks up a packet of jam and shoves it under Brendon's nose. "Brendon, everyone knows that marmalade is the preferred jam in sophisticated societies."

Brendon frowns and pushes the jam away, working his lips into a pout. "Well, I don't care about sophisticated society," he replies, crossing his arms childishly.

"Obviously," Ryan mutters loudly, arching a judgmental eyebrow at the mess on Brendon's plate; eggs, hash browns, and some form of French toast, all smashed together into one lump drizzled with epic amounts of syrup.

"You're mean, Ryan Ross," Brendon only says, then leans into Spencer beside him, snuggling into his shoulder. "Spencer's not mean, are you, Spence?"

But Spencer is busy typing something into his phone and doesn't look up until Brendon sighs loudly.

What was the jam decision? he signs, and Ryan barely rolls his eyes.

"Who are you texting?" he asks instead, craning across the table to look at the phone, but Spencer pulls the screen out of sight.

What do you care? he asks, pushing it into his pocket and picking up his fork.

"It's that guy, isn't it?" Ryan accuses and Spencer only shrugs, not looking at him but taking a bite of his eggs. "It is."

Rolling his eyes, Spencer sets down his fork with a small clatter. So what if it is?

"I don't think it's a good idea," Ryan says, annoyed. Brendon sighs, feeling the fight coming on again, and hides behind his orange juice.

You haven't even met the guy, Spencer points out.

"I'm sure he's nice," Brendon interjects but only earns himself a glare from Ryan, and sinks into his seat beside Spencer.

It's my life, Spencer signs, annoyed. Just butt out.

Ryan doesn't look content to butt out, but Spencer's eyebrow is arched challengingly, and in the end, he just sighs and grabs a packet of marmalade to spread on his toast.

*

i hate blck n whte movies.

Jon stops mid-sip as his phone vibrates in his pocket.

The Starbucks is mildly full and the baristas are chatting behind the counter. Jon should be working on the project for the meeting later that afternoon, but he's decided that he'd rather take a trip to his favorite Starbucks for a venti latte and some peace and quiet from Tom's knowing smirk and the silence of his phone.

Pulling out his phone, he reads the message and smiles, setting down his cup and thinking for a second.

y? theyre artistic.

Jon isn't sure how flirting over text message goes but he's not sure asking lame questions is the best way. But his phone vibrates a few minutes later anyway.

theyre boring and ry insists we watch them.

Ry? Jon thinks but disregards it for the moment.

have you seen the old beauty and the beast?

Setting down his phone, he takes a sip of his coffee only to find it nearly empty. Shaking the cup, he sets his down and glances over at the baristas. One is missing and he isn't surprised as a few seconds later, a girl with brown hair slides up to his table.

"Hey, Jon," she greets him sweetly, picking up his cup and shaking it lightly. "Looks like you're in need of a refill."

"Perfect timing, Cassie." Smiling, Jon turns to her. "And how's my favorite barista?"

Cassie leans forward onto the tall table, sighing slightly but smiling all the same. "Well, my favorite customer has been snubbing me for a few days, how do you think I am?"

Pretending to be affronted, Jon puts his arm around her and squeezes slightly. "I have not been snubbing, Cass. I've just been busy."

"Or distracted," she comments when his phone vibrates and he immediately snatches it from the tabletop.

"No," Jon says and doesn't flip open the screen yet.

"So who is the mystery texter?" Cassie asks, stretching to see the screen. "Spencer?"

"It's just someone I know," Jon replies simply, and only protests slightly when she pulls the phone from his grasp.

"Oh really?" she asks, flipping open the screen. "'Don't get me started on French movies'," she reads. Turning to Jon, she arches an eyebrow. "What does he have against French movies?"

Rolling his eyes, Jon takes back the phone, tucking it away. "Nothing, I don't know."

"So how well do you know this guy?" she asks, nudging him in the side playfully.

"Cassie," he says, but she just grins at him.

"If I bring you a muffin, will you tell me?" She bats her eyelashes and strokes his arm. "Please?"

Jon pauses, sighing, but then. "Blueberry?"

She grins. "Blueberry." And hurries back to the counter.

Shaking his head, Jon just slips out his phone and types in something quick, hitting send and hiding it away before Cassie comes back.

*

"I. Hate. This. Thing." The words come out haltingly and mechanical, and Spencer scowls at the device sitting on his desk.

"Well," Haley says, setting down some papers and clearing away his coffee cup. "It helps the people who don't sign, and since only you, Ryan, and Brendon seem to have mastered that, I appreciate it."

Spencer's glare says more than words could and she sighs, patting his shoulder even as he moves out of reach.

"How can you work in PR when you can't speak?" she asks instead, putting her hands on her hips and tipping her head to the side.

"I. Don't." Spencer types in quickly, but the words come out slowly. "Ryan. Does. I. Gather. Papers. And." Frustrated, Spencer throws up his hands and shoves the device in his desk. He shakes his head defiantly and Haley rolls her eyes.

"Fine. Anyway, Pete called and said you should go check out the tabloids. Apparently there's something about Gabe and William splashed all over the front page."

Rolling his eyes, Spencer sighs and Haley puts on a smile.

"I know. Those two are just trying to cause trouble."

Spencer doesn't respond and Haley scoops up his coffee cup, heading to the door. As she reaches it, she turns around. "Oh, and Ryan told me to take your cell phone away. I'm not sure why, but I won't tell if you don't."

She leaves with a wink and Spencer rolls his eyes at Ryan just as his phone vibrates on his pile of papers.

Kicking up the screen, he reads the message quickly.

whats wrong with french movies?

Smiling, Spencer kicks up his feet on the desk.

they all end sad.

He doesn't have to wait long for the phone to vibrate again.

not all. Maybe ill have to prove you wrong.

Spencer smirks and types.

maybe you should.

Waiting, Spencer isn't sure he's going to get a response back, so he grabs his jacket and shoves his phone in the back pocket of his tight jeans and heads for the elevator. He may not do much working for a PR firm especially since he can't really talk for anyone, but Pete has never seemed to mind. Spencer is sure that compared to Ryan, he's probably better at it than most who work there. Ryan prefers to sit in his office and write in his journal rather than trying to spin good press for Gabe or William, or fix whatever mess they've landed themselves in that week.

In the lobby, Spencer makes his way outside into the nippy fall air. It's only early afternoon, but it's already cold as he walks down the street to the nearest newsstand. He isn't surprised when he gets there to find all the tabloids plastered with pictures of Gabe, his hand down William's pants at some overly trendy nightclub.

Why they can't keep their hands to themselves, or at least in private, is beyond Spencer. Instead, he buys a copy of all the magazines and instead of going back to the office, decides to make a side trip to the nearby Starbucks.

They know him there, and there's already a venti non-fat latte with extra whipped cream waiting for him before he even reaches the counter.

Thanks, he signs and the girl smiles.

"You're welcome."

Spencer just nods and takes the drink to one of the tables by the window. He likes that the barista is learning a little sign language, but a part of him likes to keep it to himself, Ryan, and Brendon.

Sitting at the table, he gazes out the window at the people strolling by, already wearing sweaters and scarves and bustling along. Fall is his favorite season because the leaves turn golden and red, and the air is crisp and snow is just beyond reach.

Spring is his least favorite season for reasons few people know.

When his phone vibrates, Spencer smiles and sips his coffee.

*

It's been five days since Jon was at the club, and so far he's endured Tom's endless teasing and Cassie's overly curious inquiries. Now, he's lounged in his apartment, his cat, Dylan, sprawled in his lap as he watches season two of The O.C. His cell phone is sitting safely on the couch cushion next to him and Jon is engrossed in Seth's problems at the moment.

His gaze strays from the television screen to his phone and he pauses.

He hasn't had a message from Spencer all day, but he's not really worried. He doesn't really know anything about Spencer, if he admits it to himself. He doesn't know if he has a job or where he lives, or who this "Ry" person is. It shouldn't be surprising that the most they've talked about is French movies and the best type of jam.

Hesitating a minute, Jon reaches for the phone and types in the words slowly.

hey, what r u doing tonight?

He doesn't admit that he's nervous when he hits the send button and tries to focus on the show. He tries not to glance at the phone every two seconds, and tries not to let Tom's knowing smirk invade his mind.

When his phone rings, loud and shrill over Seth's whining, Jon jerks and Dylan jumps up, skittering off his lap and disappearing into the kitchen.

Sighing, Jon grabs the phone.

nothing y? gonna get drunk at a club and pick up a hot guy again?

Smiling, Jon pushes back his hair.

i was thinking about a restaurant this time. wanna come?

Biting his lip, he sends the message.

When his phone rings, his eyes widen and he fumbles to answer it.

"Hello?" he asks quickly, tongue nearly tripping over the words.

"Hey," comes Tom's voice, sounding suspicious. "Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Jon replies, feeling stupid. "I just... thought it was someone else."

There's a pause and then Tom snorts out a laugh. "You thought it was the mute guy, didn't you? Dude! How could he use a phone?"

"I don't know," Jon says, sighing. "Did you have a reason to call me other than to laugh at me?"

"Actually yes," Tom replies and Jon thinks he can hear the shuffle of paper in the background. That can never be good where Tom is involved. If Tom is doing actual work then that can't be good. "I can't find that ad you did on Monday."

"I gave it to Keltie," Jon tells him, snapping his fingers at Dylan to come back as he rounds the corner from the kitchen and eyes him warily. "Did you ask her?"

He can hear Tom's smirk through the receiver. "Oh, I asked her."

"With words, Tom, words," Jon stresses, rolling his eyes and laughing to himself.

"Oh, with words? Well, no. There wasn't much time in between her desk and storage closet."

"And you make fun of me for texting a guy when you and the secretary can't keep away from each other for ten minutes."

"Correction," Tom says, "Keltie's kind of freaked out about getting caught, so she doesn't really let me..."

"Do I even want to hear the end of that sentence?" Jon interrupts with a laugh.

Tom pauses. "Probably not. Anyway, if you think of where it might be, let me know, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Jon agrees and pets Dylan when he jumps up on the couch.

"Okay, see you later. And hey, when Mute Guy calls, make up a signal like one beep for yes, two beeps for no, okay?"

"Goodbye, Tom," Jon says seriously, hanging up the phone and laughing to himself. Tossing the phone aside, he reaches for the remote and fast forwards through the credits to the next episode. It isn't until his phone beeps with an old text message that he remembers.

Snatching it up, he flips open the screen, slightly anxious for the response.

seven? ill text the address.

sounds good.

Jon sits back against the couch, smiling slightly to himself as the theme song rolls and Dylan curls up in his lap again.

*

Jon has mapquested directions sitting in his car, the same car that only days ago he'd herded Spencer into the back, his mind clouded by five tequila shots and a bottle of Jim Bean. As he turns down a street he's never been on, he wonders if he's overdressed. He's wearing black slacks and an old button-down shirt he'd found stuffed in the back of his closet. He's not even sure if it's his. It's quite possible that an old girlfriend bought it for him and he forgot to give it back.

Pulling up to a tall building, he cranes to look up as he steps out of the car and goes to the front door. A list of apartment numbers is there and Jon hesitates before pushing number 423.

"Yeah?" comes a monotone voice through the box and Jon swallows.

"Um, hi, this is Jon. I'm, uh, here to see Spencer?" He doesn't mean it to be a question, but that's how it comes out and he internally cringes as there's silence and the occasional crackle of static.

Then the guy coughs and sighs. "Fine, come up."

He doesn't sound excited and it makes Jon just a little more nervous as the door buzzes and he pulls it open, facing a daunting set of stairs ahead of him.

At the fourth floor, he pauses to catch his breath, feeling his heart batting against his ribs, and not just from the climb. Rubbing his face, he takes a minute to relax, pushing back his hair before starting down the hall to the right apartment.

Facing 423, he knocks slowly. He listens carefully but doesn't hear anything and the door is opened a minute later.

Spencer is there, wearing jeans and a blue button-down shirt. He smiles when he sees Jon and Jon feels nervous again.

"Hey," he says, and Spencer mouths, 'hi' before stepping back and letting him inside.

Jon comes in carefully, glancing around. The apartment is sort of small, which isn't surprising considering the city. There are a few doors off the living room and the tiny kitchen. As Jon turns, he finds a guy sitting on the couch, his arms crossed and his gaze appraising.

"Uh, hi," he says carefully, glancing at Spencer, who only meets his eyes but doesn't do anything. "I'm Jon."

"So I hear," the guy says, his tone testy and Jon wonders how he could have possibly screwed up already.

Spencer is giving the guy a look and does some sign with his hands that Jon doesn't get at all. He is so screwed.

The guy scowls but huffs grudgingly. "I'm Ryan."

"Nice to meet you." Jon isn't sure that it is, but Ryan is still scowling at him, his arms crossed tightly and hunched on the arm of the chair.

"Is he here?" A loud voice explodes from somewhere within the apartment and Jon looks up. Spencer and Ryan are both turned to the little hallway from which another boy bounces out, looking beyond excited when he spots Jon.

"Hi! I'm Brendon, you must be Jon!"

"Yeah," Jon agrees, slightly taken aback at the stark contrast between Brendon and Ryan.

"Where are you going on your date?" Brendon asks eagerly and Jon pauses a second.

Spencer is just rolling his eyes, and he signs something at Brendon, who watches the hands attentively. Jon is sort of surprised he can focus that long.

"What do you mean it's not a date?" he asks and receives a glare from Spencer. Brendon looks to Jon, who falters. He isn't used to meeting so many people when he just wants to have dinner with a guy.

"We're just having dinner," Jon supplies finally and Brendon looks slightly put-out.

"Oh," he says, sighing a little. "Okay."

Spencer looks like he wants to murder Brendon, and just tugs on Jon's sleeve a little. Jon glances at him and luckily gets the message even though Spencer says nothing.

"Uh, we should get going," he says for Spencer's (and his own) sake. He's not sure how much longer he can take Ryan's cool glare or Brendon's bouncing.

Ryan watches them as they head towards the door, Spencer grabbing a jacket from the coat rack by the door.

"Be back by midnight!" he calls after them and Jon turns just in time to catch one sign that he can decipher as Spencer shuts the door behind them.

*

In the car, Jon turns the radio on low mostly to upset the slightly awkward silence that takes over once he pulls out into traffic. He hadn't really thought about it before, but he doesn't know how this is going to work.

"Um," he says after a minute or two of them listening to a truly horrific eighties song on the radio. Spencer looks over at him, waiting patiently. "So how does this work?"

Spencer pauses for a second, looking as though he's thinking. Finally, he sighs and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a little keyboard-looking device. He types something in quickly and sits back.

"I. Have. This. Stupid. Thing. But. It. Makes. Me. Sound. Like. A. Robot."

Spencer gives him a look when the mechanical voice finishes, slightly tortured. He types something else.

"I. Prefer. To. Write. But. You're. Driving. Don't. Want. You. To. Crash." He smiles and Jon laughs a little, feeling a bit better.

"Good to know you're considerate."

"I. Just. Don't. Want. To. Die," is Spencer's response.

"Well, I'll take extra care," Jon replies, feeling better as they drive on to the restaurant.

*

It isn't particularly fancy, and Jon keeps thinking back to what Brendon, or rather Spencer, had said earlier. Was it a date? Or wasn't it? Maybe he hadn't actually asked Spencer out the right way, but they were here, weren't they?

Deciding not to think about it, Jon holds the door open for Spencer and doesn't stop himself from checking out his hips in the low-slung jeans as he goes inside. He doesn't flush at being caught when Spencer turns around, the smirk evident on his face.

They are seated fairly quickly and Jon picks at his napkin for a few minutes as Spencer looks at his menu.

Lowering the menu after a minute, Spencer arches an eyebrow at Jon. Setting it down, he pulls out his little device again, typing something in and sliding it over to Jon.

This is awkward, it reads, and Jon cracks smile.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I've never really met someone like... you."

Spencer smiles slowly and takes back the keyboard. Jon is surprised at how fast he types, but he supposes he shouldn't be considering how long he has probably been doing this.

Well, I'm pretty normal aside from the fact that I can't say out loud that you look really good in those pants.

Spencer is smirking at him and Jon ducks his head a little. He's not normally this shy, it just feels different than normal. Licking his lips, he looks up to find Spencer still smirking, but he's sitting back in his chair, letting his eyes wander down Jon's body slowly.

"So," Jon starts again, trying to get over the awkwardness because he realizes that it's not Spencer's fault for the silences. "What do you do? I mean, like, work," he clarifies.

The keys click quietly as Spencer responds.

I work for a PR firm.

"PR?" Jon asks, stopping himself from laughing at Spencer's look. "I mean, how do you..."

Jon doesn't want to be rude, but how can a guy who doesn't speak represent people?

I get all the background info and talk to the clients. I don't talk to press or anything like that. Ryan does that.

"Ryan?" Jon asks skeptically and Spencer just shrugs a little as if to say, 'he's not so bad.' Jon isn't so sure, but doesn't argue. That must be the Ry Spencer had referred to earlier.

Spencer takes back the keyboard as Jon takes a sip of his water.

I've known him forever. He's just a little anal.

"He seems awfully protective," Jon comments lightly, glancing at Spencer, who rolls his eyes.

Overprotective.

Looking down at the keyboard screen, Jon pauses.

It's not like any dinner he's ever had, and he has to ask.

"So why did you tell Brendon it wasn't a date?" he asks finally, and Spencer bites his lip for a second, staring at the keyboard for a second before he types in a slow response.

Is it?

"It could be," Jon offers slowly. "If you wanted. I think we sort of went backwards with this whole thing."

Spencer smiles indulgently and Jon feels mildly relieved.

"So is it?" he asks after a minute when Spencer doesn't respond.

Spencer pauses a second, watching Jon intently until the corners of his mouth upturn into a smile and he nods.

"Good," Jon says, sighing a little and watching the way Spencer smiles into his water glass as the server appears to take their order.

*

Jon is surprised at how fast things seem to go as the night drifts on. It still feels awkward, but Jon knows it has to be him. It can't be Spencer, who just types in his responses and says more with his face and hands than anyone Jon knows.

Back at Spencer's apartment, Jon braces himself for the stairs as Spencer opens the door with a key and leads the way inside. He starts to go up, but Spencer's hand on his arm stops him.

"What?" he asks before he can stop himself. He wonders how long it's going to take him before he stops saying things that pop into his mind, knowing that Spencer can't reply just as quickly without resorting to sign language, which Jon doesn't know at all. He can spell his name, yes, and he vaguely remembers how to say 'no' and 'socks' but the first seems like it wouldn't be a good idea to use, and the second is irrelevant to most situations.

Spencer doesn't reply to his question, not that Jon really expects him to now, but tugs him around the foot of the stairs, back into a dark corridor.

"Elevator," Jon says, surprised, as Spencer leads him to an elevator hidden behind the stairs.

Spencer smiles and pulls out his keyboard again.

It's a nine story building. You really think there wouldn't be an elevator?

Jon shrugs helplessly, but doesn't bother denying that he's glad when the door dings and opens to reveal a spacious elevator.

Spencer presses the number four and the doors slide shut.

The silence on the way up is starting to lean towards awkward as they reach the fourth floor and Spencer leaves first, Jon walking slowly behind. He isn't sure what to say. This is all so new and different to him.

At Spencer's door, Spencer pauses, turning around to Jon.

"Uh," Jon says after a minute, feeling as though he should fill the silence. Usually he doesn't feel that pressure, but something about Spencer leaves him wanting to fill up any unnecessary gaps. "This was..."

He trails off when Spencer takes a step forward, silencing him with the look on his face. His mouth is tilted halfway up and his blue eyes rest on Jon's, almost content but with something else there that Jon can't pinpoint.

Spencer's mouth quirks as he steps up to Jon, one hand resting gently against the arm of his jacket.

Jon just watches as Spencer moves forward, kissing him softly. It's slow and almost too light as they stand in the dimly lit hallway. Jon thinks that it's after midnight and Ryan is probably waiting to murder him behind that very door, but Spencer must be ignoring that fact because he licks at Jon's bottom lip just barely, just enough to get Jon to kiss him back a little harder, to smile against his lips.

But then it's over and Spencer is pulling away first. His hands leaves Jon's arm to rummage in his pocket. He pulls out a napkin that Jon recognizes from the restaurant, and a pen that Jon isn't sure how he hid that in those jeans all night. Turning away from Jon, he presses the napkin up to the wall and scribbles something on it.

When he looks back, he smiles and leans in, his lips brushing against the side of Jon's mouth as he fits the napkin into Jon's hand. He pulls away slowly, his hand already on the doorknob.

'Bye,' he mouths and Jon finds himself echoing it silently, watching Spencer disappear.

When he's gone, Jon glances down at the crumpled napkin in his hand, flattening it out and squinting in the dim light.

Because phones are fun but the internet is the future, it reads in Spencer's small, cramped writing. Below it is a name, and Jon smiles as he understands, and turns, stuffing the napkin in his pocket and heading back, intending to take the stairs down just because.

*

Spencer is at his desk and ignoring what has obviously been Ryan's version of a freeze out since the night before. He hasn't talked to him since Spencer had unlocked the front door to find him sitting in the dark, arms crossed and a frown firmly on his face.

The fight that had followed had been silent so as not to wake Brendon in the other room.

No one had won, and Ryan had just huffed off to his room after telling Spencer once again that Jon couldn't be trusted.

So Spencer has had a nice quiet morning with only Haley popping in to tell him that his meeting with Gabe and William had been pushed back to Monday. All the better for Spencer. Talking to Gabe was like talking to a rock and Pete hardly ever helped.

He is diligently (okay, not diligently. He's spent the better part of the morning playing solitaire and Wheel of Fortune online) working on the publicity for their latest and greatest client, some pop princess out of the Midwest who Pete wants to spin as the next Britney Spears, you know, before Kevin Federline.

Honestly, he's bored to death with the sweet virginal portrayal of these people who have more sex than he does.

Instead, he just starts another game of Wheel of Fortune and picks the letter N.

He's waiting for one of the other players to spin when a little window pops up on his computer.

jonsawesome1: isn't it bad manners to be online at work?

Spencer blinks for a second as he realizes. Smirking, he types in his response.

behindblueeyes: you are
jonsawesome1: well my job sucks. Whats your excuse?
behindblueeyes: my job sucks too
jonsawesome1: but you get to meet famous people
behindblueeyes: stupid famous people
jonsawesome1: aren't some smart?
behindblueeyes: no
jonsawesome1: haha you think highly of them
behindblueeyes: well when you've been working with them this long...

Spencer smiles as he types. Admittedly, he hadn't been sure that Jon was going to IM him, or if he'd gotten the message. But, Spencer notes with satisfaction, Jon is smarter than Ryan gives him credit for.

jonsawesome1: you should introduce me to justin timberlake
behindblueeyes: sadly I don't represent him
jonsawesome1: aw
jonsawesome1: you should and then get me an autograph ;)
behindblueeyes: how about I just give you one?
jonsawesome1: hm are you famous?
behindblueeyes: I'm awesome
jonsawesome1: I think you havent looked at my screen name
behindblueeyes: still awesome
jonsawesome1: okay ill let it slide this time

Spencer smiles to himself even though there's no one around. Biting his lip, he types in his response.

behindblueeyes: very generous of you
jonsawesome1: well I am awesome
behindblueeyes: just how awesome are we talking?
jonsawesome1: pretty awesome. tom says I made the sun
behindblueeyes: how are you gonna prove your awesomeness?

*

Jon stares at the screen, Spencer's last teasing words sitting in his IM window, the cursor blinking in the little box, waiting for his response.

He's supposed to be working on the advertisement for Greta's new client, a guy named Frank who has so many tattoos that Jon can't even begin to count. The campaign is for a line of clothing, or maybe it's piercings, that Frank owns.

But Tom has disappeared on his lunch break – that ended ten minutes ago – and no one has come to check up on him, so he takes a minute to think of what to say back to Spencer.

jonsawesome1: maybe ill surprise you

Sitting back, he looks over quickly at a noise outside the door, but it doesn't open so he sighs and allows his mind to wander as he waits for the computer to jingle with a new IM.

He hasn't stopped thinking about his 'date' with Spencer, and he hasn't told Tom how it went because he knows he's just going to get more devious grins and ribbing. Tom hasn't made this much fun of him since the time he woke up in their dorm with some strange girl wrapped up in his comforter and him on the floor.

He's not sure what to make of Spencer, and certainly not what to make of Ryan or Brendon. Of the three, Spencer is easiest to understand even though he can only make a few noises.

The computer makes a noise and Jon looks over.

behindblueeyes: looking forward to it

Smiling to himself, Jon pulls up Frank's account and decides to do some work for once.