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There had been a day, back when Jon was still just their temporary bassist, that their set had gotten rained on. It hadn't been a downpour and there hadn't been any lightning or thunder, so they'd kept right on playing. By the time they got off the stage, all four of them were soaked straight through to the bone.

Ryan and Spencer both had the wisdom and fortitude to push Brendon off of them and say, "Dry yourself," but Jon had just let him attack, leaving Jon rumpled and mussed and not a hell of a lot more dry than he'd been when Brendon had started.

Spencer had suspected, up until that point, that Jon was pretty much willing to let them do as they would, but the thought had never come to him in wholly cogent terms, more just, "Wow, he's really laid-back."

Watching Jon take the towel from Brendon with a smile and go to the actual work of getting himself dry, it occurred to Spencer that among the things he could never, ever do was kiss Jon Walker.


Jon, clearly, had no intention of making Spencer's noble and worthwhile efforts easy on him. Spencer was pretty sure Jon wasn't trying to undermine Spencer's ethical paradigm, it was just that his continued survival managed to do so.

For instance, there was the way Jon would come up behind Spencer as he was gently tapping out a song, getting himself into a performance space, and hum the melody of said song. Jon couldn't sing on key to save his life, but he could hum just fine, warm and low and sometimes a little whiskey-infused, when he was feeling slightly nervous about one venue or another.

Or the way he would lean over in the middle of an interview and say, "I'm pretty sure that last question didn't make any sense," and let Spencer point out that Brendon's answer didn't really, either.

Or sometimes it was just the way he would walk, or breathe, or exist.

It was--among other things--very trying.

Spencer told himself he just missed Brent.


One night, when it was their turn to share a hotel room, Jon turned to him with those lips and those eyes and the whole fucking package and said, "You could, um, sometimes I think you're looking, and I could be off, but if you wanted more, you could have it, you know?"

Spencer didn't even bother trying to explain that he wasn't the kind of guy who took something just because he could have it.


"You're both complete fucking morons," Ryan opined. Brendon nodded in agreement. Spencer thought it was kind of rich of the two of them to be calling anyone morons, but it wasn't the kind of argument he was likely to win, so he said, "Okay."

"He wants you for your body, Spencer Smith," Brendon said, quite earnestly. "Also your drum-playing skills and your--"

"Wait," Spencer said, "has he talked to you guys about this?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "If you don't get Jon Walker laid, I'm talking to Pete about FOB having a second guitarist."

"I don't think he's going to go for that."

"I'm persuasive," Ryan said.

That was true. Still, "All he said was that I could have him."

"Complete fucking morons," Ryan repeated, and went back to reading his magazine.


"You could have just said, 'I'd like to see your cock,' or something."

Jon cocked his head, "That wouldn't have been creepy?"

"Not as creepy as 'I love this band so much I'm willing to engage in uninteresting sexual activities for it.'"

"Hm," Jon said pensively. "You might have a point."

Spencer generally did. "I'd like to kiss you, now."

"Yes, please."

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Skin by egelantier, photo by microbophile