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bandomstuffsitTitle: Something in the Way
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
witheveryspark
Pairing(s): Jon/Spencer
Rating: R, although it's PG-13 in most parts
Warnings: none
Word count: 26,400
Summary: A grad school/coffee shop AU. Jon and Spencer are grad students, and Jon happens to be teaching Spencer's introduction to photography course. He's also the barista who keeps Spencer in free coffee. Attraction, bantering, and misunderstandings ensue.
Why Spencer had signed up for a three-hour evening class on a Friday night was totally and completely beyond him.
The other students looked just as overjoyed to be there as Spencer did. They were spread out among the various rows of desks, about six other people in all. Most of them were checking phones or using laptops, waiting for the professor to arrive.
And when he did arrive, about five minutes later, he walked into the room wearing an orange leather jacket. On closer inspection, it didn’t even look like actual leather – maybe pleather. Not that Spencer was an expert on fabrics, but he had sat through enough episodes of Project Runway with his sisters to know the difference.
He smirked and looked down at his phone, checking for messages one last time before class started. His thumb hovered over the button to send a text; Brendon might appreciate the jacket on the same comedic level.
The professor took off the jacket – which was a completely offensive shade of orange, somewhere between a rust and a blinding neon – and draped it over the back of a chair. He took a MacBook out of his messenger bag and set it on a table at the front of the room.
“Uh, hi, everyone,” he said. He looked too young to be a professor; he couldn’t have been that much older than Spencer. He opened his computer and looked up, smiling hesitantly at the class.
“I’m Jon Walker. I’m a graduate teaching assistant, and I’ll be your teacher for this class.”
He fiddled around with his laptop, making sure it was connected to the projector at the front of the room. “So, this is Introduction to Photography.” Jon pulled up a PowerPoint presentation and clicked on the first slide. “It’s recommended that you have a digital SLR for this class; if you don’t, there are a few available to be rented from the department. I can get you details on that if you see me after we’re done tonight.”
Spencer sighed. This was going to be a long three hours, at least if the first five minutes of this class were an indication of how things were going to go.
“Hey, before we get started, I think maybe, since this is such a small group, we should go around the room and introduce ourselves,” Jon said, like the idea had just occurred to him. “Your name, what you’re studying, where you’re from, and one interesting fact about yourself.”
Spencer wanted to groan, but he held his irritation in. He had to do this in every single class. It was like the professors and T.A.’s got together and decided that the best way to torture their students on the first day of classes was to do introductions. And, lucky him, he was sitting right up front, so Jon smiled at him and said, “Why don’t you start?”
He sighed. “I’m Spencer Smith. I’m getting a master’s degree in journalism. I’m from Las Vegas, and ...” He fumbled for an interesting fact; shit, trying to think of something interesting about yourself on the spot was harder than it seemed. “I play the drums.”
Jon brightened. “You play drums? For how long?”
“Um.” Spencer looked at him. Jon was ... he was attractive, orange jacket notwithstanding. Brown eyes, dark hair that curled over his ears, tan skin, and although he wasn’t as tall as the guys Spencer normally liked, he had a solid build. And nice arms. Uh. There was a question he was supposed to be answering, right? “Sorry, had to think about it for a second. Since I was thirteen.”
“Cool,” Jon murmured, and then he turned his attention to the next student. They went through the rest of the introductions, and Spencer was only half paying attention. He stared ahead at the projection screen, until the words “Introduction to Photography” started to blur together into an indistinct blob of type.
When class actually began, Spencer startled; for a second he had that weird, awake-but-not feeling, like he might have been asleep. He reached for his coffee and took a drink, and sneaked a glance at his phone while Jon dimmed the lights. 6:25. Oh, god. Maybe the class would get better, though. Spencer wanted to kick himself because his brain-voice totally just said that in Brendon’s voice, full of cheerful, relentless optimism.
“The purpose of this class is to learn the basic concepts of photography and apply them to your own work,” Jon said. He flipped to the next slide. “Since this class meets just once a week, we’ll have an assignment due every week. Most of these assignments will be fairly simple. We’ll learn about a few concepts in class, and then you’ll go out with your cameras and photograph something that illustrates that concept. Everything will culminate in an end-of-semester portfolio project.”
It actually didn’t sound too bad. Yeah, it was a graduate level course, but as Jon handed out the syllabus and Spencer flipped through it, the amount of work seemed manageable. Of course, he wouldn’t find out until Monday how much shit he’d have to do for his two other classes, so right now he could see himself having all the time in the world to go out and wander around the city with a camera. He’d never been that interested in photography as a technical skill, but out of all the required courses he could have taken this semester, Introduction to Photography seemed like one of the more interesting ones.
And it certainly helped that Jon was cute. He wasn’t going to focus on Jon, though. Nope. He did not need to be dating anyone right now, or thinking about dating anyone. He was too busy for it between school and work. Plus he failed spectacularly at dating, a result of inexperience and meeting the wrong people.
He was getting ahead of himself. Besides, there were probably rules against T.A.’s dating students.
“Anyway,” Jon said, flipping on the lights to the sounds of muffled groans, “we’ll end a little early today. Your assignment for next week is to go out and take a picture of something. It can be anything you want. Then we’ll discuss them in class. And if you have any questions, feel free to e-mail me. I’m on my e-mail pretty much all the time so I’ll get back to you quickly.”
People started to gather their things and file out of the classroom. Jon definitely smiled at Spencer as he started to pack up his things. His stomach gave a little flutter, and god, what was he, sixteen? Then he saw Jon pick up that hideous jacket and boom, the feeling was gone.
Spencer started to head out of the room, but then he remembered that he had to stop and ask about the camera rental. The only camera he had was a little point-and-shoot his grandmother had bought him two years ago.
He realized too late that he’d paused in the doorway, and he blurted out, “Your jacket’s interesting.” Shit. Jon was technically a teaching assistant, but he was still a teacher, and there was Spencer, staring at him and commenting on his clothes.
Jon looked up from where he was sliding his computer and some papers into his bag. He frowned at the jacket and said, “Oh. Thanks.” He put the jacket on and slipped his bag over his head, so the strap cut across his chest. It looked nice that way. He looked nice that way, even with the stupid jacket.
“Did you have a question?” Jon asked.
“Yeah, about getting a camera. You said you had some information.” Spencer stood there, awkwardly shuffling his feet.
“Sure.” Jon opened his bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This has the info on it, and the form you need to fill out. Make sure you submit it to the department office as soon as possible. Those cameras go pretty fast.”
Spencer nodded and quickly glanced over the form. “Okay, thanks.”
Jon headed toward the door, and Spencer moved into the hallway to let him through. “Anyway, I’ll see you next week, Spencer.” Jon gave him a small smile, just at the corners of his mouth. “If you have any questions about the assignment, feel free to e-mail me.”
“I will. Thanks again,” Spencer said, but Jon was already gone.
Spencer stood there for a moment in the empty hallway, long enough to get sufficiently creeped out by the quiet before he headed out the front door of the building. His stomach growled, and seriously, fuck this class for being during the hours that most normal people ate dinner. His stomach growled again. The pizza place near his apartment was open; he could probably stop on his way home.
He pushed open the door to the building, digging his car keys out of his bag at the same time. When he looked up, he saw Jon across the street, climbing onto a motorcycle. Spencer wouldn’t have pegged him as the motorcycle-riding type, nor did he know he was so attracted to dudes riding motorcycles until he saw Jon get on the bike and ride away.
He was so fucked.
*
Spencer came home with pizza, and before he was even fully in the doorway, Brendon was there, taking the box from his hands and saying, “Ooh, pizza. Thank you.” He gave Spencer a huge smile and walked into the kitchen.
“It’s not all for you,” Spencer said grumpily. He followed Brendon into the tiny kitchen – there was just enough space to fit the two of them – and watched as Brendon opened the pizza box and pulled out a slice.
“Whatever, I’m hungry.” Brendon took a bite, and continued with his mouth full, “Anyway, you need to learn how to share. I’ve been your roommate for like, two years now and you are so strangely possessive about food. It’s weird.”
“That’s because you eat all of it,” Spencer retorted. He reached for a paper plate, because he was civilized and did things like eat off plates instead of standing in the middle of the kitchen refusing to use plates or napkins.
“Shut up,” Brendon said. “I do not.”
“Then please tell me what happened to the pudding cups I put in the fridge earlier this week.”
“They were delicious.” Brendon flung out his arm in the direction of the refrigerator. “And I only realized after I ate three of them that they were sugar-free, and then I was kind of disappointed. Why would you buy sugar-free?”
“The sugar-free tastes better!” Spencer opened the pizza box, and his stomach growled again. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you about fucking pudding cups, dude.”
Brendon wiggled his eyebrows. “You started it.”
“I give up.” Spencer finally took a bite of pizza, and he knew it wasn’t even particularly good pizza, but damn. He hadn’t eaten anything in seven hours; pretty much anything would taste amazing.
“How was class?” Brendon asked. He hopped up onto the kitchen counter.
“I made an ass of myself.”
“Oh?”
“My professor had this awful jacket. Like, this weird orange fake leather thing. I was leaving, and I said, ‘Hey, interesting jacket.’”
Brendon snorted. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I wasn’t saying it to be an asshole!” Spencer exclaimed. He walked over to the refrigerator to grab a beer. “It just – it came out.”
“Question,” Brendon said in a serious voice. He looked down his nose at Spencer, over the top of his glasses. “Have you always been this weird?”
Spencer popped the cap off his beer. “I can’t believe you’re asking me if I’m weird.”
“You seem very focused on this jacket. Tell me more.”
“Shut up. I’m not talking about it again.” Spencer walked into the living room and flopped onto the couch. He found the TV remote hidden behind one of the pillows. He used to drive himself crazy trying to find it until he realized Brendon always put it behind the pillows for some reason.
“Who is this guy, anyway?” Brendon asked. “Maybe I know him.”
“You’re not even in my department.”
“Yeah, but I know a lot of people.” Brendon sat down on the other side of the couch. “There’s life outside the journalism department, you know. People who actually socialize with people outside of their departments.”
“I socialize with you,” Spencer said.
Brendon rolled his eyes. “Anyway, who is it?”
“Jon ... I forget his last name now.” Spencer bit his lip and tried to remember. Wow, he must not have been paying much attention.
“Jon Walker!” Brendon said excitedly. “I totally know that dude. He’s friends with Ryan.”
Spencer rested his head against the couch cushions. “And how do they know each other?”
“Oh, Jon works at the coffee place Ryan goes to, and one day they started talking about music and had a jam session. Apparently it was amazing.” This was all said in one breath, with Brendon waving his hand around as he said “amazing.”
“I don’t even know which coffee place Ryan goes to,” Spencer said.
Brendon grinned deviously behind his can of Coke. “We should go there.”
“No.”
“But you love coffee. I love coffee. They’re going to be rolling out the pumpkin spice lattes soon. You know you want to go.”
Spencer turned his head to the side for the sole purpose of glaring at Brendon. “I have no desire to see my professor outside of a school-related context.”
“Jon is awesome,” Brendon said. “I met him twice. Wait, three times. No, twice.”
“Okay, well, since you’ve met him twice, I guess I have to take your word for it.”
“Well, you should. Also, he’s single.” Brendon cleared his throat. “And into dudes. I have that on very good authority.”
Spencer laughed. “What are you trying to say?” Spencer thought about repeating his glare – he was fucking scary when he glared – but he was being kind of mean right now. He had a bad habit of getting cranky and mean when he was tired.
“What I’m saying is,” Brendon said, carefully weighing his words, punctuating them with a sip of soda, “is that Jon is an awesome dude and you’re lucky to have him as a teacher.”
“And?”
“He makes excellent coffee.” Brendon stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go finish that pizza and write a paper.”
“My pizza,” Spencer grumbled under his breath.
“Oh my god, Spencer, you can always get more pizza,” Brendon said on his way into the kitchen.
*
On Saturday, Spencer avoided doing the assignment for Jon’s class. It wasn’t because he couldn’t do it, but there was an entire season of Parks and Recreation available on Netflix for instant streaming, and, you know. He had priorities.
Besides, he couldn’t think of anything in Chicago that he’d want to photograph. He wasn’t artsy; his brain didn’t really work that way. He was good with words and music, so he knew he could be creative, just not in a visual medium. He was the kid in elementary school who always got B-minuses in art when everyone else got A’s. He was the one making squiggles and stick figures on the page as his classmates tried really hard to make beautiful things. When it came down to it, though, as a kid Spencer wanted to write stories and play video games, not draw and paint.
The point of the assignment was probably to go out and explore the city, to find things to be inspired by, but it felt like bullshit busy work, like giving homework just for the sake of it. He could probably find some picture on his hard drive that would meet the requirements that he could pass off as a recent photo. He had to print it out, so it’s not like Jon would ever see the file properties and know it was taken a year ago.
He was the laziest grad student ever. And an idiot for taking this class. It would probably be useful someday, though: being a journalist who could write and take decent pictures might make a difference when he had to show his work to somebody in a job interview.
He found a picture on his hard drive that he could use: one of a beer glass sitting on a table in a bar with reddish light reflecting off the glass, Brendon’s arms folded on the table behind it, kind of blurred in the background. It was maybe the artsiest photo he’d ever taken, and he’d been pretty drunk at the time. Anyway, Jon said they could turn in a picture of anything that inspired them, and beer inspired Spencer on a pretty regular basis. Mostly on the weekends, but still. He had a feeling beer would be inspiring him tonight; Ryan and Z were having a party to celebrate the beginning of the semester.
The semester had started on a Friday, and the party was the perfect chance to blow off some steam before the real work began on Monday, when he would be too busy and stressed and tired to actually go out.
He loaded some photo paper into the printer and clicked “print” on the screen. Assignment done. There was no way he wasn’t getting an A in this class if it was going to be this easy.
*
“Does this party have a theme?” Brendon asked as they waited outside the door to Ryan’s apartment. “I don’t like to be unprepared.”
Spencer shook his head. Brendon did love a good theme party, though: Last year he’d thrown one a historical one for which he’d dressed as Abraham Lincoln. Spencer had collapsed in laughter upon seeing Brendon in that outfit. He still had the picture saved on his phone.
“The theme is ‘get drunk before this semester starts to suck.’”
Brendon shoved his hands into the pockets on his hoodie and shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Z opened the door wearing a short white dress and a pair of red flats. She smiled at them, a flash of white between bright red lips.
“Hey!” she shouted over the music pouring out of the apartment. “Thanks for coming.”
She tucked some of her short, blonde hair behind one ear and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “Drinks are that way. Ryan is, too, I think.”
Ryan wasn’t in the kitchen, but the drinks were. And so was Jon. Shit. Yes, exactly what this party needed was something to make Spencer extremely uncomfortable. Jon was also standing right near the beer. Of course.
“Jon!” Brendon shouted. And of course, Brendon would shout Jon’s name like they were long-lost buddies instead of people who had met only twice.
“Brendon? Hey,” Jon said. He smiled and waved. “I remember you. Caramel macchiato, extra caramel, right?”
“You remember my drink!” Brendon said this like it was the greatest thing in the world. Also, like Jon himself had created the caramel macchiato and quite possibly all coffee.
“Yeah, I remember everyone’s drinks.” Jon pressed the tip of his beer bottle to his temple. “It takes up a lot of space up here.” He gave Brendon a goofy grin.
Brendon beamed at him, and Spencer moved from where he was hiding behind a group of people to approach the counter. Instantly, recognition dawned on Jon’s face. Even though Spencer wasn’t paying attention to his face, because he didn’t care about Jon’s face. What he cared about was getting a drink and getting out of the damn kitchen.
“Spencer?” Jon said, his voice going up at the end of Spencer’s name. “You’re in my class.”
“Yep,” Spencer said nonchalantly.
He grabbed a bottle and turned to go, but Brendon gently put a hand on his arm to stop him. And just as soon as Brendon had touched him, suddenly the warmth of his hand was gone, and so was Brendon. Spencer turned his head around, looking for him, but he must have managed to escape somehow. He was smaller than Spencer and had an easier time slipping in between people in crowds.
“I hope this isn’t awkward,” Jon said, and someone pushed behind Spencer to get through the cramped room. Spencer was close enough now that Jon was against him, so Jon could talk right in his ear. A little shiver went up and down Spencer’s back as Jon’s lips brushed his ear for just a second.
“It shouldn’t be,” Spencer said-shouted back. The music wasn’t obnoxiously loud, but it was loud enough. It was some sort of 60’s-sounding stuff, go figure, since it was Ryan and Z. He was pretty sure they didn’t listen to any music created after 1969. That was fine with him, but personally he liked a little bit of variety.
He moved to go again, to go anywhere but the kitchen, and Jon said, “We should talk later.”
Spencer almost said, About what? but just nodded instead. It was suddenly too hot, and he needed to get out, to get some air. He couldn’t go outside, so he found the closest thing to it: an open window in the living room that was conveniently located away from people. He gulped down some beer and looked outside, at the lights of the city. That should have been his shot for the assignment. It was gorgeous. Maybe he could be inspired by this place after all; maybe he could understand what made people like Jon want to pick up a camera and create art.
“That’s a great view,” someone said from behind him. He knew the voice but was too lightheaded – from the heat, from all the people, from the shot he’d slammed down before he left his apartment, from being close to Jon – to recognize it.
Spencer turned around, and there was Jon. Again. He swallowed down whatever annoyance he felt and said, “Yeah. It’s nice.”
“I never, ever get tired of seeing it,” Jon said. “The skyline, I mean. I did an entire project once just on Chicago at night. I must have taken hundreds of pictures.”
“Oh. That’s – that’s cool.” Spencer took another drink, mostly to keep himself from asking if he could see the pictures sometime. He could see them in his head, though: dots of white, gold, and red light; the reflection of the skyline on the lake; the orange-yellow glow of the streetlights.
Jon leaned in, and as someone turned up the volume on the music, he did the same speak-shout thing Spencer had done earlier. “You said you’re getting your master’s in journalism?”
“Yeah,” Spencer replied.
“Good luck with that.” Jon tipped his beer bottle in some sort of salute. Spencer was pretty sure it was sarcastic.
“Hey,” Spencer said, narrowing his eyes, prepared to give a lecture about how journalism was a valid choice, dwindling circulations and scarcity of jobs be damned.
Jon raised his hands and took a step back. “I’m kidding.”
“I’m well aware a lot of people think it’s probably a stupid thing to get a master’s in,” Spencer said. “You know, considering there are no jobs and newspapers and magazines are dying. I love it, but mostly I’m biding my time by staying in school.” He shrugged.
“I think a lot of us are,” Jon said. “I’m doing photojournalism. Kind of in the same boat as you.”
“But people always need pictures,” Spencer said. God, he sounded dumb.
“People always need news, too,” Jon said. “They just don’t want to pay for it.”
“Really? Because I hadn’t noticed that.” Spencer looked down and started to pick at the label on his bottle.
When he looked up again, Jon just smiled at him. “Can I ask you something?”
Spencer tilted his head to the side. “Yes?”
“Do you think this conversation started off on the wrong foot?”
“Well. Yeah. Kind of.” Spencer stopped rubbing his thumb against the label on the bottle. It was wet and starting to peel off in little rolls of paper, and it felt gross.
Jon frowned, and his frown was so sad it made Spencer feel bad. “I didn’t mean to insult you, if you think that’s what I was doing.”
“I did, and thank you for the apology.” Spencer moved to walk away, but it was kind of hard with Jon in front of him and a radiator next to him. Jon was watching him, looking all kinds of adorable and earnest (and hot), and his stare made something churn in Spencer’s stomach. Something like a cross between nervousness and want.
Jon rocked back and forth on his feet, and said, with a hint of hopefulness, “Can I get you another drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Thinking it sounded too curt, Spencer added, “But it was nice of you to ask.”
Jon smiled then, right at him, and it made Spencer’s knees go a little weak. What was up with him tonight? But Jon did have a nice smile, a really pretty smile that lit up his whole face. “You’re welcome.”
Spencer laughed. Here he was, just hanging out with his teacher, both of them getting drunk on a Saturday night like it was completely normal, even expected.
“What?” Jon’s smile disappeared, and he pursed his lips.
“I’m just having trouble not seeing you as my teacher,” Spencer admitted. “It’s strange to be standing here hanging out with you when last night I was in your class.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jon leaned in – he liked to do that, and damn him – and the smile was back, and this was so inappropriate.
“Sure.”
“I’m a student, too.” He laughed, and Spencer realized for the first time that all the smiling and leaning in was probably just the way Jon naturally was. His getting close had something to do with the loud music, so Spencer could hear him, but Jon was also tipsy. Spencer could smell it on his breath and see it in his eyes.
Jon waved his free hand in the air. “So, yeah, I am your teacher, but I’m not like, a teacher-teacher.”
Spencer didn’t know if it was Jon, or the amount of people in the apartment and the lack of ventilation, but he was really warm again. There was sweat at the back of his neck where his hair touched his collar.
“Hey, will you go outside with me for a bit?” Spencer asked. “It’s getting hot in here.”
“Please, don’t ever say ‘hot in here.’ Because I’m going to have that Nelly song from like, eight years ago stuck in my head for the rest of the night,” Jon said. “But yes. I’ll go outside with you.”
“Great, now it’ll be stuck in my head, too,” Spencer said, laughing.
“Well, I guess there’s no going back now.” Jon started to hum it under his breath, and he moved his shoulders back and forth to the music in his head.
Spencer tried to pay attention to the song playing in the room right then, thinking that would help whatever potential earworm was about to lodge itself deep inside his brain, but the song playing over the speakers hooked up to Z’s iPod just seemed to be taunting him: I wish he was my boyfriend, a woman sang over guitars that reminded Spencer of old surf rock music.
“Come on,” Spencer said, “we should stop and get more drinks.”
He made his way through the crowd of people and into the kitchen, where he grabbed two beers. When he came back to the foyer, Jon was still waiting for him, although he was distracted by his phone. Spencer stopped for a moment and just looked at him, and when Jon glanced up, his face brightened and he reached for the beer that was his.
“Thanks.” Jon popped the cap and took a quick pull from the bottle.
“We can sit on the front stoop, if you want,” Spencer said. “Even though I’m pretty sure we’ll be violating some open container laws.” He smiled.
“If we get arrested, it’s all your fault.” But Jon was smiling, too.
Spencer opened the front door and Jon followed him out. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or if this violated some sort of code of ethics that T.A.’s had, or something. Well, Jon would know that better than Spencer did.
It was a short walk down the stairs from the second floor. Once the cool night air hit Spencer’s face, he took a deep breath of it and sighed. Spencer lowered himself onto the stoop outside the building. “Hey, I’m sorry about that comment yesterday. About your jacket.”
Jon laughed. “It wasn’t the first one.”
“I mean, why orange?”
“It was a bet.” Jon shrugged. “My friends are stupid. You’d think, hey, we’re mature now, we’re adults, but nope. They made me wear it on my first day of class.”
“Is it actually yours?”
“No.” Jon made a face like the thought of actually owning the jacket disgusted him. “It’s something my friend Tom picked up in a thrift store because he thought it looked really cool, and then it became this joke.” He took a drink and swallowed. “Trust me, it’s been retired now. I fulfilled my duties.”
Spencer shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and his leg bumped Jon’s. “What kind of bet did you lose?”
Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “You know what, I can’t even remember. I want to say I lost an intense round of FIFA ‘11, but I could be wrong.”
A breeze blew by, ruffling their hair, reminding Spencer that fall was right around the corner. “You’re into soccer?”
“Once every four years, just like every other American,” Jon said, laughing a little. He set his bottle down next to him on the stoop. “I actually watched some of the matches in 3D. It was amazing.”
“What? With the glasses and everything?”
“This bar I went to had a 3D TV.” Jon stretched his arms wide, indicating the size of the television. “And I was the only person there at seven in the morning so I got to wear the glasses and watch ESPN 3D. Pretty intense. It’s like I was right there.”
“You actually woke up that early for a soccer game,” Spencer said in amazement.
“Yes! I was obsessed. Don’t judge.”
“Not judging,” Spencer said. “I think it’s –” He almost said adorable, because that’s what it was. But that word would probably offend Jon, or make things awkward, so he settled for “cool.”
“Shut up, you don’t think it’s cool,” Jon said, laughing. “You’re probably like, ‘Okay, this guy wakes up at seven in the morning on a day he has nothing else to do just to watch a soccer match. He’s a loser.’”
“I don’t think you’re a loser!” Spencer exclaimed. “I think – I was going to say it was adorable, but ...” His cheeks heated up, and he looked away.
“But what?” Jon asked, his voice softer than before.
“I didn’t think it was the right word. I thought maybe you’d be offended.”
“Not offended,” Jon said, reaching for his beer again. “Tom said the same thing. He also stared at me for about thirty seconds, but he tends to do that a lot.”
Spencer laughed. “Okay.”
A moment of silence followed, and Jon said, “Anyway.” A car drove past, the only sound on the street besides the soft thump of music from the apartment upstairs and the sound of muted laughter.
Spencer turned his head to look at Jon, who leaned in, meeting him halfway, cupping his hand around the back of Spencer’s neck and gently pulling him in for a kiss. Spencer nearly gasped in surprise, but he held it in, moving closer, pressing his mouth to Jon’s. It was soft, just barely enough pressure, with Jon’s hand holding him steady.
Spencer was the first one to pull away. He took a deep breath and said quietly, “I should probably go now.”
Jon looked at him, confused, and said, “I – I thought –”
“You’re kind of drunk; I’ve had some drinks, too, you know, so, I don’t want it to be weird in class and I don’t even know you ...” Spencer trailed off, and his face started to flush again. But there was Jon in front of him, looking sad and hurt and also really hot, and they were still sitting right next to each other. So Spencer put a hand on Jon’s knee and kissed him again.
Jon shifted his body so they were fully facing each other, and that changed the kiss, made it deeper and hotter. Spencer tightened his grip on Jon’s knee, and ... okay, it had been a while since he’d kissed anyone. Maybe over a year (not that he was admitting that to Jon or anyone else), and before that, it had been a long time. So he wasn’t the most practiced or skilled kisser in the world – he knew that – but Jon was responding to him, moving his mouth hot under Spencer’s, pressing his tongue to Spencer’s lips, coaxing him to part them and let Jon inside.
“Wait,” Spencer breathed out. He pulled away.
Jon scrunched his eyebrows together. It made his nose look funny, and Spencer laughed. “What?” Jon asked, the line between his eyebrows deepening.
“Nothing,” Spencer said. “Just, when you do that, it makes your face look funny.”
Jon made an actual hmph sound, and Spencer touched his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean in a bad way.”
“Why’d you stop?” Jon asked, and there was his mouth again, inches from Spencer’s, wanting to kiss him again.
“I just think this probably isn’t the best idea,” Spencer said slowly. “Like I was saying, I don’t even know you.”
“Spencer,” Jon said, “we’re at a party. It doesn’t matter if we know each other. We’re getting to know each other.”
Yes, by having your tongue in my mouth, Spencer wanted to say. He bit his bottom lip, and he saw Jon’s eyes get a little darker. “Well. Just this once.”
“Just this once what?”
“I’ll kiss you this one time, but I’m not going to do it again.”
“Why? I thought you liked it.”
“I did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that we have to see each other in class again in less than week, and possibly around campus before then, because I work on campus and so do you. Don’t you think that would be a little, um. Weird?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Jon said. “But if you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. Honestly.”
Spencer wiped his palms on his thighs. “I just think we should stop here.” There’s almost a “before” added to the end of the sentence, a before we take this too far and you end up in my bed, and then Spencer imagined Jon on top of him, inside of him, sweaty and warm, his mouth everywhere. He exhaled a long breath and picked up his long-forgotten beer. He needed a drink.
“Okay,” Jon said.
“I’m – “ God, the thought of sex with Jon had rendered Spencer next to speechless. “I should go, probably. It’s getting late.”
“It’s only 12:30.”
“I should still – I have a – I have a thing.”
Jon raised an eyebrow. He had nice eyebrows, too. He had a nice everything. “A thing?” he said slowly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Yes, a thing,” Spencer shot back. “Like the assignment for your class.”
Jon nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect my students to do at 12:30 on a Saturday night. Totally understandable.”
“Do you have to be such an ass?” Spencer said, getting to his feet unsteadily (that shot he’d had was not serving him well), holding onto the railing. His legs felt like they were asleep. That, or Jon’s kisses had actually left him weak at the knees.
“May I also remind you that I’m responsible for your grades.”
Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Spencer.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re calling me an ass. I’m not trying to blackmail you; I’m just reminding you it’s not appropriate.”
“I’m pretty sure we crossed the line between appropriate and inappropriate professor/student behavior ten minutes ago,” Spencer said, and instead of responding, Jon just looked down at his hands.
“I’m not kissing you again,” Spencer continued, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket so he could text Brendon to tell him to come outside so they could get the fuck out of there. “Ever.”
“Okay,” Jon said, that amused tone to his voice again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Spencer typed, Come downstairs now, please. Time to go.
“You better,” Spencer said. “Anyway, I already did the assignment.”
Jon laughed and got to his feet then, too, and said, “I’ll see you in class. I look forward to seeing your work.”
“It’s going to blow your mind,” Spencer said, realizing after he said it exactly how ridiculous he sounded. God, where the hell was Brendon? He wasn’t even responding to Spencer’s text, and usually he was attached to his iPhone like it was an actual appendage.
“Well.” Jon brushed off the back of his jeans. “Good night, Spencer.”
Spencer didn’t look up from his phone. “Good night.”
Jon went inside, back to the party and away from Spencer. And Spencer stood there, pretending like he didn’t care, knowing that when he’d said he was never going to kiss Jon again, he was making a promise he couldn’t keep.
*
Spencer sat in the graduate liberal arts office on Monday morning at the desk across from Ryan’s. For not much money, he sat in this office every weekday from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. answering phones, filing papers, and sending out department-sponsored e-mails to students.
Ryan slumped in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t believe you didn’t even say hello to me at my own party.”
“I was occupied,” Spencer said. A pang of guilt hit his stomach. He looked at his screen instead of at Ryan. Pretending to do work here was of the utmost importance.
“With what? I asked a few people where you were, and they said you left with some guy.”
Spencer continued to stare at his screen. “Jon,” he said with the least amount of emotion possible.
“Oh.” Ryan sat back in his chair. “How’d that go?”
“Not talking about it,” Spencer said under his breath. Just saying Jon’s name made him think about those kisses and Jon’s fingers curling into the back of his neck; he didn’t need to talk about what happened.
Spencer clicked on his e-mail: order confirmation for textbooks; credit card bill; a couple of Facebook notifications. Nothing too interesting or important. The next four hours were going to drag.
“I’ll have to ask him about it, then,” Ryan said. It was times like this that Spencer wished he and Ryan didn’t have desks that faced each other. Ryan peeked around his monitor to look at Spencer, gauging a reaction that he wasn’t going to get.
“I really don’t care. It was a one-time thing.” Spencer minimized the window on his screen. “Anyway, he’s my professor, so.”
Ryan had just taken a drink from his coffee cup, and he looked about to spit it out.
“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, trying not to clench his teeth. He picked up the pair of headphones connected to his iPod and was about to put them on. Ryan wasn’t always the best at picking up signals, but Spencer was pretty sure headphones would do the job of letting him know that Spencer didn’t want to talk.
“Intro to Photography, right?” Ryan said. Spencer knew Ryan well enough by now – something like going on seventeen years – that he knew Ryan wasn’t going give up on the topic that easily.
Spencer gave up on the headphones and set them down again. “Yeah, Friday nights.”
Ryan laughed. “So this wasn’t an incident of meeting him at a party and not knowing he was your teacher. You had him for class the night before and still did …” Ryan trailed off. “Whatever with him.”
“Rub it in, Ryan,” Spencer said, shooting him his best shut the fuck up look.
“Well, he’s a good dude.” The phone rang, and Ryan picked it up, answering in a bored voice, “Graduate liberal arts, how may I help you?” He paused. “One moment please.” He pressed a button to transfer the call and then set the phone down.
“You’re such an enthusiastic phone operator,” Spencer said dryly.
“They’re going to have to pay me more than ten dollars an hour to get me to be happier on the phone,” Ryan said.
“It could be a lot worse, you know.”
“I know.” Ryan yawned and reached for his coffee. “I’m done in fifteen minutes, anyway.”
“How’d you get so lucky?”
“Class. I got assigned to teach Core English to a bunch of freshman.” Ryan stood up, stretched, and put on a plaid blazer that had been draped over the back of his chair.
“Maybe not so lucky.” Spencer set his hand under his chin, watching Ryan adjust his blazer. “You look the part of an English professor.”
“Not what I was going for, but thank you.”
Spencer almost asked what exactly Ryan was going for, but he knew better than to ask Ryan about his varied and interesting fashion choices, which over the years had ranged from vaudevillian to hobo to now an English professor phase full of plaid blazers and dress pants in weird colors.
“By the way,” Ryan said, smirking, “I know where Jon works, if you want to stop by after this and say hi.”
“No thanks.” Spencer glared. “Seeing him in class on Friday will be enough for one week.”
Ryan just kept smirking, picked up his briefcase and coffee, and left.
*
Spencer left the office right at four, figuring he’d stop at home for a little while before class. Being able to go home instead of spending hours waiting for his class to start was one of the perks of living so close to campus. He had a six o’clock class, so two hours gave him enough time to eat something and maybe catch up with some of his shows on the DVR. He knew Brendon wouldn’t be home – he’d said something about a rehearsal – so things would be quiet; he could relax for a while. He loved Brendon, but sometimes having the apartment to himself was nice.
He walked down the hallway and toward the double doors at the front of the building, only to stop, nearly tripping over his own feet, when he saw Jon standing outside. He was wearing a red button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, standing there, laughing with a woman with long, curly blonde hair and … was that Ryan? Yes, it was. It had to be. It wasn’t like there were tons of lanky dudes in paisley hanging around on campus.
Before Ryan could turn around and notice Spencer being a creep who was completely lost in his own world, Spencer went in the opposite direction to take the stairs to the building’s back entrance. Thank god the hallways were deserted at this time of day because if he’d a) had to deal with the embarrassment of his staring episode in front of other people and b) then had to walk through a crowded hallway to get to his escape route, things would be worse.
He wasn’t sure when his life got so ridiculous, or when he started avoiding things like saying hi to people, but having to walk past Jon and say “Hi” like they hadn’t drunkenly made out at a party on Saturday night was mortifying. What was he supposed to say? It just would have been too awkward. He could see Ryan pulling him into the little group, and then he’d have to stand there and smile and try not to look at Jon. Specifically, Jon’s mouth, because that’s where all of Spencer’s problems started.
But then again … part of him wanted to turn around, walk out there, be awesome, and show Jon that he didn’t care. He had to face him in class anyway, so why not own it? What happened on Saturday was just a one-time thing, anyway. He’d even said as much to Jon; he’d told him that he was never going to kiss him again (embarrassingly, after one shot and two beers, proving that he couldn’t hold his liquor as well as he could in undergrad when there were parties every single weekend).
Spencer might have said he was never going to kiss Jon again, but he could certainly still think about it. And damn if it wasn’t the hottest kiss he’d had in his entire life. Seeing Jon again just reminded him of that, of what he couldn’t – and wasn’t going to – have.
He started to walk home; because the weather was nice, he’d decided to walk to school that day. He was going to go home, relax, and then go to Magazine Writing, a class he was looking forward to.
But he was definitely not going to think about Jon.
Part Two
Part Three
Author:
witheverysparkPairing(s): Jon/Spencer
Rating: R, although it's PG-13 in most parts
Warnings: none
Word count: 26,400
Summary: A grad school/coffee shop AU. Jon and Spencer are grad students, and Jon happens to be teaching Spencer's introduction to photography course. He's also the barista who keeps Spencer in free coffee. Attraction, bantering, and misunderstandings ensue.
Why Spencer had signed up for a three-hour evening class on a Friday night was totally and completely beyond him.
The other students looked just as overjoyed to be there as Spencer did. They were spread out among the various rows of desks, about six other people in all. Most of them were checking phones or using laptops, waiting for the professor to arrive.
And when he did arrive, about five minutes later, he walked into the room wearing an orange leather jacket. On closer inspection, it didn’t even look like actual leather – maybe pleather. Not that Spencer was an expert on fabrics, but he had sat through enough episodes of Project Runway with his sisters to know the difference.
He smirked and looked down at his phone, checking for messages one last time before class started. His thumb hovered over the button to send a text; Brendon might appreciate the jacket on the same comedic level.
The professor took off the jacket – which was a completely offensive shade of orange, somewhere between a rust and a blinding neon – and draped it over the back of a chair. He took a MacBook out of his messenger bag and set it on a table at the front of the room.
“Uh, hi, everyone,” he said. He looked too young to be a professor; he couldn’t have been that much older than Spencer. He opened his computer and looked up, smiling hesitantly at the class.
“I’m Jon Walker. I’m a graduate teaching assistant, and I’ll be your teacher for this class.”
He fiddled around with his laptop, making sure it was connected to the projector at the front of the room. “So, this is Introduction to Photography.” Jon pulled up a PowerPoint presentation and clicked on the first slide. “It’s recommended that you have a digital SLR for this class; if you don’t, there are a few available to be rented from the department. I can get you details on that if you see me after we’re done tonight.”
Spencer sighed. This was going to be a long three hours, at least if the first five minutes of this class were an indication of how things were going to go.
“Hey, before we get started, I think maybe, since this is such a small group, we should go around the room and introduce ourselves,” Jon said, like the idea had just occurred to him. “Your name, what you’re studying, where you’re from, and one interesting fact about yourself.”
Spencer wanted to groan, but he held his irritation in. He had to do this in every single class. It was like the professors and T.A.’s got together and decided that the best way to torture their students on the first day of classes was to do introductions. And, lucky him, he was sitting right up front, so Jon smiled at him and said, “Why don’t you start?”
He sighed. “I’m Spencer Smith. I’m getting a master’s degree in journalism. I’m from Las Vegas, and ...” He fumbled for an interesting fact; shit, trying to think of something interesting about yourself on the spot was harder than it seemed. “I play the drums.”
Jon brightened. “You play drums? For how long?”
“Um.” Spencer looked at him. Jon was ... he was attractive, orange jacket notwithstanding. Brown eyes, dark hair that curled over his ears, tan skin, and although he wasn’t as tall as the guys Spencer normally liked, he had a solid build. And nice arms. Uh. There was a question he was supposed to be answering, right? “Sorry, had to think about it for a second. Since I was thirteen.”
“Cool,” Jon murmured, and then he turned his attention to the next student. They went through the rest of the introductions, and Spencer was only half paying attention. He stared ahead at the projection screen, until the words “Introduction to Photography” started to blur together into an indistinct blob of type.
When class actually began, Spencer startled; for a second he had that weird, awake-but-not feeling, like he might have been asleep. He reached for his coffee and took a drink, and sneaked a glance at his phone while Jon dimmed the lights. 6:25. Oh, god. Maybe the class would get better, though. Spencer wanted to kick himself because his brain-voice totally just said that in Brendon’s voice, full of cheerful, relentless optimism.
“The purpose of this class is to learn the basic concepts of photography and apply them to your own work,” Jon said. He flipped to the next slide. “Since this class meets just once a week, we’ll have an assignment due every week. Most of these assignments will be fairly simple. We’ll learn about a few concepts in class, and then you’ll go out with your cameras and photograph something that illustrates that concept. Everything will culminate in an end-of-semester portfolio project.”
It actually didn’t sound too bad. Yeah, it was a graduate level course, but as Jon handed out the syllabus and Spencer flipped through it, the amount of work seemed manageable. Of course, he wouldn’t find out until Monday how much shit he’d have to do for his two other classes, so right now he could see himself having all the time in the world to go out and wander around the city with a camera. He’d never been that interested in photography as a technical skill, but out of all the required courses he could have taken this semester, Introduction to Photography seemed like one of the more interesting ones.
And it certainly helped that Jon was cute. He wasn’t going to focus on Jon, though. Nope. He did not need to be dating anyone right now, or thinking about dating anyone. He was too busy for it between school and work. Plus he failed spectacularly at dating, a result of inexperience and meeting the wrong people.
He was getting ahead of himself. Besides, there were probably rules against T.A.’s dating students.
“Anyway,” Jon said, flipping on the lights to the sounds of muffled groans, “we’ll end a little early today. Your assignment for next week is to go out and take a picture of something. It can be anything you want. Then we’ll discuss them in class. And if you have any questions, feel free to e-mail me. I’m on my e-mail pretty much all the time so I’ll get back to you quickly.”
People started to gather their things and file out of the classroom. Jon definitely smiled at Spencer as he started to pack up his things. His stomach gave a little flutter, and god, what was he, sixteen? Then he saw Jon pick up that hideous jacket and boom, the feeling was gone.
Spencer started to head out of the room, but then he remembered that he had to stop and ask about the camera rental. The only camera he had was a little point-and-shoot his grandmother had bought him two years ago.
He realized too late that he’d paused in the doorway, and he blurted out, “Your jacket’s interesting.” Shit. Jon was technically a teaching assistant, but he was still a teacher, and there was Spencer, staring at him and commenting on his clothes.
Jon looked up from where he was sliding his computer and some papers into his bag. He frowned at the jacket and said, “Oh. Thanks.” He put the jacket on and slipped his bag over his head, so the strap cut across his chest. It looked nice that way. He looked nice that way, even with the stupid jacket.
“Did you have a question?” Jon asked.
“Yeah, about getting a camera. You said you had some information.” Spencer stood there, awkwardly shuffling his feet.
“Sure.” Jon opened his bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This has the info on it, and the form you need to fill out. Make sure you submit it to the department office as soon as possible. Those cameras go pretty fast.”
Spencer nodded and quickly glanced over the form. “Okay, thanks.”
Jon headed toward the door, and Spencer moved into the hallway to let him through. “Anyway, I’ll see you next week, Spencer.” Jon gave him a small smile, just at the corners of his mouth. “If you have any questions about the assignment, feel free to e-mail me.”
“I will. Thanks again,” Spencer said, but Jon was already gone.
Spencer stood there for a moment in the empty hallway, long enough to get sufficiently creeped out by the quiet before he headed out the front door of the building. His stomach growled, and seriously, fuck this class for being during the hours that most normal people ate dinner. His stomach growled again. The pizza place near his apartment was open; he could probably stop on his way home.
He pushed open the door to the building, digging his car keys out of his bag at the same time. When he looked up, he saw Jon across the street, climbing onto a motorcycle. Spencer wouldn’t have pegged him as the motorcycle-riding type, nor did he know he was so attracted to dudes riding motorcycles until he saw Jon get on the bike and ride away.
He was so fucked.
*
Spencer came home with pizza, and before he was even fully in the doorway, Brendon was there, taking the box from his hands and saying, “Ooh, pizza. Thank you.” He gave Spencer a huge smile and walked into the kitchen.
“It’s not all for you,” Spencer said grumpily. He followed Brendon into the tiny kitchen – there was just enough space to fit the two of them – and watched as Brendon opened the pizza box and pulled out a slice.
“Whatever, I’m hungry.” Brendon took a bite, and continued with his mouth full, “Anyway, you need to learn how to share. I’ve been your roommate for like, two years now and you are so strangely possessive about food. It’s weird.”
“That’s because you eat all of it,” Spencer retorted. He reached for a paper plate, because he was civilized and did things like eat off plates instead of standing in the middle of the kitchen refusing to use plates or napkins.
“Shut up,” Brendon said. “I do not.”
“Then please tell me what happened to the pudding cups I put in the fridge earlier this week.”
“They were delicious.” Brendon flung out his arm in the direction of the refrigerator. “And I only realized after I ate three of them that they were sugar-free, and then I was kind of disappointed. Why would you buy sugar-free?”
“The sugar-free tastes better!” Spencer opened the pizza box, and his stomach growled again. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you about fucking pudding cups, dude.”
Brendon wiggled his eyebrows. “You started it.”
“I give up.” Spencer finally took a bite of pizza, and he knew it wasn’t even particularly good pizza, but damn. He hadn’t eaten anything in seven hours; pretty much anything would taste amazing.
“How was class?” Brendon asked. He hopped up onto the kitchen counter.
“I made an ass of myself.”
“Oh?”
“My professor had this awful jacket. Like, this weird orange fake leather thing. I was leaving, and I said, ‘Hey, interesting jacket.’”
Brendon snorted. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I wasn’t saying it to be an asshole!” Spencer exclaimed. He walked over to the refrigerator to grab a beer. “It just – it came out.”
“Question,” Brendon said in a serious voice. He looked down his nose at Spencer, over the top of his glasses. “Have you always been this weird?”
Spencer popped the cap off his beer. “I can’t believe you’re asking me if I’m weird.”
“You seem very focused on this jacket. Tell me more.”
“Shut up. I’m not talking about it again.” Spencer walked into the living room and flopped onto the couch. He found the TV remote hidden behind one of the pillows. He used to drive himself crazy trying to find it until he realized Brendon always put it behind the pillows for some reason.
“Who is this guy, anyway?” Brendon asked. “Maybe I know him.”
“You’re not even in my department.”
“Yeah, but I know a lot of people.” Brendon sat down on the other side of the couch. “There’s life outside the journalism department, you know. People who actually socialize with people outside of their departments.”
“I socialize with you,” Spencer said.
Brendon rolled his eyes. “Anyway, who is it?”
“Jon ... I forget his last name now.” Spencer bit his lip and tried to remember. Wow, he must not have been paying much attention.
“Jon Walker!” Brendon said excitedly. “I totally know that dude. He’s friends with Ryan.”
Spencer rested his head against the couch cushions. “And how do they know each other?”
“Oh, Jon works at the coffee place Ryan goes to, and one day they started talking about music and had a jam session. Apparently it was amazing.” This was all said in one breath, with Brendon waving his hand around as he said “amazing.”
“I don’t even know which coffee place Ryan goes to,” Spencer said.
Brendon grinned deviously behind his can of Coke. “We should go there.”
“No.”
“But you love coffee. I love coffee. They’re going to be rolling out the pumpkin spice lattes soon. You know you want to go.”
Spencer turned his head to the side for the sole purpose of glaring at Brendon. “I have no desire to see my professor outside of a school-related context.”
“Jon is awesome,” Brendon said. “I met him twice. Wait, three times. No, twice.”
“Okay, well, since you’ve met him twice, I guess I have to take your word for it.”
“Well, you should. Also, he’s single.” Brendon cleared his throat. “And into dudes. I have that on very good authority.”
Spencer laughed. “What are you trying to say?” Spencer thought about repeating his glare – he was fucking scary when he glared – but he was being kind of mean right now. He had a bad habit of getting cranky and mean when he was tired.
“What I’m saying is,” Brendon said, carefully weighing his words, punctuating them with a sip of soda, “is that Jon is an awesome dude and you’re lucky to have him as a teacher.”
“And?”
“He makes excellent coffee.” Brendon stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go finish that pizza and write a paper.”
“My pizza,” Spencer grumbled under his breath.
“Oh my god, Spencer, you can always get more pizza,” Brendon said on his way into the kitchen.
*
On Saturday, Spencer avoided doing the assignment for Jon’s class. It wasn’t because he couldn’t do it, but there was an entire season of Parks and Recreation available on Netflix for instant streaming, and, you know. He had priorities.
Besides, he couldn’t think of anything in Chicago that he’d want to photograph. He wasn’t artsy; his brain didn’t really work that way. He was good with words and music, so he knew he could be creative, just not in a visual medium. He was the kid in elementary school who always got B-minuses in art when everyone else got A’s. He was the one making squiggles and stick figures on the page as his classmates tried really hard to make beautiful things. When it came down to it, though, as a kid Spencer wanted to write stories and play video games, not draw and paint.
The point of the assignment was probably to go out and explore the city, to find things to be inspired by, but it felt like bullshit busy work, like giving homework just for the sake of it. He could probably find some picture on his hard drive that would meet the requirements that he could pass off as a recent photo. He had to print it out, so it’s not like Jon would ever see the file properties and know it was taken a year ago.
He was the laziest grad student ever. And an idiot for taking this class. It would probably be useful someday, though: being a journalist who could write and take decent pictures might make a difference when he had to show his work to somebody in a job interview.
He found a picture on his hard drive that he could use: one of a beer glass sitting on a table in a bar with reddish light reflecting off the glass, Brendon’s arms folded on the table behind it, kind of blurred in the background. It was maybe the artsiest photo he’d ever taken, and he’d been pretty drunk at the time. Anyway, Jon said they could turn in a picture of anything that inspired them, and beer inspired Spencer on a pretty regular basis. Mostly on the weekends, but still. He had a feeling beer would be inspiring him tonight; Ryan and Z were having a party to celebrate the beginning of the semester.
The semester had started on a Friday, and the party was the perfect chance to blow off some steam before the real work began on Monday, when he would be too busy and stressed and tired to actually go out.
He loaded some photo paper into the printer and clicked “print” on the screen. Assignment done. There was no way he wasn’t getting an A in this class if it was going to be this easy.
*
“Does this party have a theme?” Brendon asked as they waited outside the door to Ryan’s apartment. “I don’t like to be unprepared.”
Spencer shook his head. Brendon did love a good theme party, though: Last year he’d thrown one a historical one for which he’d dressed as Abraham Lincoln. Spencer had collapsed in laughter upon seeing Brendon in that outfit. He still had the picture saved on his phone.
“The theme is ‘get drunk before this semester starts to suck.’”
Brendon shoved his hands into the pockets on his hoodie and shrugged. “Fair enough.”
Z opened the door wearing a short white dress and a pair of red flats. She smiled at them, a flash of white between bright red lips.
“Hey!” she shouted over the music pouring out of the apartment. “Thanks for coming.”
She tucked some of her short, blonde hair behind one ear and pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “Drinks are that way. Ryan is, too, I think.”
Ryan wasn’t in the kitchen, but the drinks were. And so was Jon. Shit. Yes, exactly what this party needed was something to make Spencer extremely uncomfortable. Jon was also standing right near the beer. Of course.
“Jon!” Brendon shouted. And of course, Brendon would shout Jon’s name like they were long-lost buddies instead of people who had met only twice.
“Brendon? Hey,” Jon said. He smiled and waved. “I remember you. Caramel macchiato, extra caramel, right?”
“You remember my drink!” Brendon said this like it was the greatest thing in the world. Also, like Jon himself had created the caramel macchiato and quite possibly all coffee.
“Yeah, I remember everyone’s drinks.” Jon pressed the tip of his beer bottle to his temple. “It takes up a lot of space up here.” He gave Brendon a goofy grin.
Brendon beamed at him, and Spencer moved from where he was hiding behind a group of people to approach the counter. Instantly, recognition dawned on Jon’s face. Even though Spencer wasn’t paying attention to his face, because he didn’t care about Jon’s face. What he cared about was getting a drink and getting out of the damn kitchen.
“Spencer?” Jon said, his voice going up at the end of Spencer’s name. “You’re in my class.”
“Yep,” Spencer said nonchalantly.
He grabbed a bottle and turned to go, but Brendon gently put a hand on his arm to stop him. And just as soon as Brendon had touched him, suddenly the warmth of his hand was gone, and so was Brendon. Spencer turned his head around, looking for him, but he must have managed to escape somehow. He was smaller than Spencer and had an easier time slipping in between people in crowds.
“I hope this isn’t awkward,” Jon said, and someone pushed behind Spencer to get through the cramped room. Spencer was close enough now that Jon was against him, so Jon could talk right in his ear. A little shiver went up and down Spencer’s back as Jon’s lips brushed his ear for just a second.
“It shouldn’t be,” Spencer said-shouted back. The music wasn’t obnoxiously loud, but it was loud enough. It was some sort of 60’s-sounding stuff, go figure, since it was Ryan and Z. He was pretty sure they didn’t listen to any music created after 1969. That was fine with him, but personally he liked a little bit of variety.
He moved to go again, to go anywhere but the kitchen, and Jon said, “We should talk later.”
Spencer almost said, About what? but just nodded instead. It was suddenly too hot, and he needed to get out, to get some air. He couldn’t go outside, so he found the closest thing to it: an open window in the living room that was conveniently located away from people. He gulped down some beer and looked outside, at the lights of the city. That should have been his shot for the assignment. It was gorgeous. Maybe he could be inspired by this place after all; maybe he could understand what made people like Jon want to pick up a camera and create art.
“That’s a great view,” someone said from behind him. He knew the voice but was too lightheaded – from the heat, from all the people, from the shot he’d slammed down before he left his apartment, from being close to Jon – to recognize it.
Spencer turned around, and there was Jon. Again. He swallowed down whatever annoyance he felt and said, “Yeah. It’s nice.”
“I never, ever get tired of seeing it,” Jon said. “The skyline, I mean. I did an entire project once just on Chicago at night. I must have taken hundreds of pictures.”
“Oh. That’s – that’s cool.” Spencer took another drink, mostly to keep himself from asking if he could see the pictures sometime. He could see them in his head, though: dots of white, gold, and red light; the reflection of the skyline on the lake; the orange-yellow glow of the streetlights.
Jon leaned in, and as someone turned up the volume on the music, he did the same speak-shout thing Spencer had done earlier. “You said you’re getting your master’s in journalism?”
“Yeah,” Spencer replied.
“Good luck with that.” Jon tipped his beer bottle in some sort of salute. Spencer was pretty sure it was sarcastic.
“Hey,” Spencer said, narrowing his eyes, prepared to give a lecture about how journalism was a valid choice, dwindling circulations and scarcity of jobs be damned.
Jon raised his hands and took a step back. “I’m kidding.”
“I’m well aware a lot of people think it’s probably a stupid thing to get a master’s in,” Spencer said. “You know, considering there are no jobs and newspapers and magazines are dying. I love it, but mostly I’m biding my time by staying in school.” He shrugged.
“I think a lot of us are,” Jon said. “I’m doing photojournalism. Kind of in the same boat as you.”
“But people always need pictures,” Spencer said. God, he sounded dumb.
“People always need news, too,” Jon said. “They just don’t want to pay for it.”
“Really? Because I hadn’t noticed that.” Spencer looked down and started to pick at the label on his bottle.
When he looked up again, Jon just smiled at him. “Can I ask you something?”
Spencer tilted his head to the side. “Yes?”
“Do you think this conversation started off on the wrong foot?”
“Well. Yeah. Kind of.” Spencer stopped rubbing his thumb against the label on the bottle. It was wet and starting to peel off in little rolls of paper, and it felt gross.
Jon frowned, and his frown was so sad it made Spencer feel bad. “I didn’t mean to insult you, if you think that’s what I was doing.”
“I did, and thank you for the apology.” Spencer moved to walk away, but it was kind of hard with Jon in front of him and a radiator next to him. Jon was watching him, looking all kinds of adorable and earnest (and hot), and his stare made something churn in Spencer’s stomach. Something like a cross between nervousness and want.
Jon rocked back and forth on his feet, and said, with a hint of hopefulness, “Can I get you another drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Thinking it sounded too curt, Spencer added, “But it was nice of you to ask.”
Jon smiled then, right at him, and it made Spencer’s knees go a little weak. What was up with him tonight? But Jon did have a nice smile, a really pretty smile that lit up his whole face. “You’re welcome.”
Spencer laughed. Here he was, just hanging out with his teacher, both of them getting drunk on a Saturday night like it was completely normal, even expected.
“What?” Jon’s smile disappeared, and he pursed his lips.
“I’m just having trouble not seeing you as my teacher,” Spencer admitted. “It’s strange to be standing here hanging out with you when last night I was in your class.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jon leaned in – he liked to do that, and damn him – and the smile was back, and this was so inappropriate.
“Sure.”
“I’m a student, too.” He laughed, and Spencer realized for the first time that all the smiling and leaning in was probably just the way Jon naturally was. His getting close had something to do with the loud music, so Spencer could hear him, but Jon was also tipsy. Spencer could smell it on his breath and see it in his eyes.
Jon waved his free hand in the air. “So, yeah, I am your teacher, but I’m not like, a teacher-teacher.”
Spencer didn’t know if it was Jon, or the amount of people in the apartment and the lack of ventilation, but he was really warm again. There was sweat at the back of his neck where his hair touched his collar.
“Hey, will you go outside with me for a bit?” Spencer asked. “It’s getting hot in here.”
“Please, don’t ever say ‘hot in here.’ Because I’m going to have that Nelly song from like, eight years ago stuck in my head for the rest of the night,” Jon said. “But yes. I’ll go outside with you.”
“Great, now it’ll be stuck in my head, too,” Spencer said, laughing.
“Well, I guess there’s no going back now.” Jon started to hum it under his breath, and he moved his shoulders back and forth to the music in his head.
Spencer tried to pay attention to the song playing in the room right then, thinking that would help whatever potential earworm was about to lodge itself deep inside his brain, but the song playing over the speakers hooked up to Z’s iPod just seemed to be taunting him: I wish he was my boyfriend, a woman sang over guitars that reminded Spencer of old surf rock music.
“Come on,” Spencer said, “we should stop and get more drinks.”
He made his way through the crowd of people and into the kitchen, where he grabbed two beers. When he came back to the foyer, Jon was still waiting for him, although he was distracted by his phone. Spencer stopped for a moment and just looked at him, and when Jon glanced up, his face brightened and he reached for the beer that was his.
“Thanks.” Jon popped the cap and took a quick pull from the bottle.
“We can sit on the front stoop, if you want,” Spencer said. “Even though I’m pretty sure we’ll be violating some open container laws.” He smiled.
“If we get arrested, it’s all your fault.” But Jon was smiling, too.
Spencer opened the front door and Jon followed him out. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or if this violated some sort of code of ethics that T.A.’s had, or something. Well, Jon would know that better than Spencer did.
It was a short walk down the stairs from the second floor. Once the cool night air hit Spencer’s face, he took a deep breath of it and sighed. Spencer lowered himself onto the stoop outside the building. “Hey, I’m sorry about that comment yesterday. About your jacket.”
Jon laughed. “It wasn’t the first one.”
“I mean, why orange?”
“It was a bet.” Jon shrugged. “My friends are stupid. You’d think, hey, we’re mature now, we’re adults, but nope. They made me wear it on my first day of class.”
“Is it actually yours?”
“No.” Jon made a face like the thought of actually owning the jacket disgusted him. “It’s something my friend Tom picked up in a thrift store because he thought it looked really cool, and then it became this joke.” He took a drink and swallowed. “Trust me, it’s been retired now. I fulfilled my duties.”
Spencer shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and his leg bumped Jon’s. “What kind of bet did you lose?”
Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “You know what, I can’t even remember. I want to say I lost an intense round of FIFA ‘11, but I could be wrong.”
A breeze blew by, ruffling their hair, reminding Spencer that fall was right around the corner. “You’re into soccer?”
“Once every four years, just like every other American,” Jon said, laughing a little. He set his bottle down next to him on the stoop. “I actually watched some of the matches in 3D. It was amazing.”
“What? With the glasses and everything?”
“This bar I went to had a 3D TV.” Jon stretched his arms wide, indicating the size of the television. “And I was the only person there at seven in the morning so I got to wear the glasses and watch ESPN 3D. Pretty intense. It’s like I was right there.”
“You actually woke up that early for a soccer game,” Spencer said in amazement.
“Yes! I was obsessed. Don’t judge.”
“Not judging,” Spencer said. “I think it’s –” He almost said adorable, because that’s what it was. But that word would probably offend Jon, or make things awkward, so he settled for “cool.”
“Shut up, you don’t think it’s cool,” Jon said, laughing. “You’re probably like, ‘Okay, this guy wakes up at seven in the morning on a day he has nothing else to do just to watch a soccer match. He’s a loser.’”
“I don’t think you’re a loser!” Spencer exclaimed. “I think – I was going to say it was adorable, but ...” His cheeks heated up, and he looked away.
“But what?” Jon asked, his voice softer than before.
“I didn’t think it was the right word. I thought maybe you’d be offended.”
“Not offended,” Jon said, reaching for his beer again. “Tom said the same thing. He also stared at me for about thirty seconds, but he tends to do that a lot.”
Spencer laughed. “Okay.”
A moment of silence followed, and Jon said, “Anyway.” A car drove past, the only sound on the street besides the soft thump of music from the apartment upstairs and the sound of muted laughter.
Spencer turned his head to look at Jon, who leaned in, meeting him halfway, cupping his hand around the back of Spencer’s neck and gently pulling him in for a kiss. Spencer nearly gasped in surprise, but he held it in, moving closer, pressing his mouth to Jon’s. It was soft, just barely enough pressure, with Jon’s hand holding him steady.
Spencer was the first one to pull away. He took a deep breath and said quietly, “I should probably go now.”
Jon looked at him, confused, and said, “I – I thought –”
“You’re kind of drunk; I’ve had some drinks, too, you know, so, I don’t want it to be weird in class and I don’t even know you ...” Spencer trailed off, and his face started to flush again. But there was Jon in front of him, looking sad and hurt and also really hot, and they were still sitting right next to each other. So Spencer put a hand on Jon’s knee and kissed him again.
Jon shifted his body so they were fully facing each other, and that changed the kiss, made it deeper and hotter. Spencer tightened his grip on Jon’s knee, and ... okay, it had been a while since he’d kissed anyone. Maybe over a year (not that he was admitting that to Jon or anyone else), and before that, it had been a long time. So he wasn’t the most practiced or skilled kisser in the world – he knew that – but Jon was responding to him, moving his mouth hot under Spencer’s, pressing his tongue to Spencer’s lips, coaxing him to part them and let Jon inside.
“Wait,” Spencer breathed out. He pulled away.
Jon scrunched his eyebrows together. It made his nose look funny, and Spencer laughed. “What?” Jon asked, the line between his eyebrows deepening.
“Nothing,” Spencer said. “Just, when you do that, it makes your face look funny.”
Jon made an actual hmph sound, and Spencer touched his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean in a bad way.”
“Why’d you stop?” Jon asked, and there was his mouth again, inches from Spencer’s, wanting to kiss him again.
“I just think this probably isn’t the best idea,” Spencer said slowly. “Like I was saying, I don’t even know you.”
“Spencer,” Jon said, “we’re at a party. It doesn’t matter if we know each other. We’re getting to know each other.”
Yes, by having your tongue in my mouth, Spencer wanted to say. He bit his bottom lip, and he saw Jon’s eyes get a little darker. “Well. Just this once.”
“Just this once what?”
“I’ll kiss you this one time, but I’m not going to do it again.”
“Why? I thought you liked it.”
“I did.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that we have to see each other in class again in less than week, and possibly around campus before then, because I work on campus and so do you. Don’t you think that would be a little, um. Weird?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Jon said. “But if you don’t want to, that’s okay, too. Honestly.”
Spencer wiped his palms on his thighs. “I just think we should stop here.” There’s almost a “before” added to the end of the sentence, a before we take this too far and you end up in my bed, and then Spencer imagined Jon on top of him, inside of him, sweaty and warm, his mouth everywhere. He exhaled a long breath and picked up his long-forgotten beer. He needed a drink.
“Okay,” Jon said.
“I’m – “ God, the thought of sex with Jon had rendered Spencer next to speechless. “I should go, probably. It’s getting late.”
“It’s only 12:30.”
“I should still – I have a – I have a thing.”
Jon raised an eyebrow. He had nice eyebrows, too. He had a nice everything. “A thing?” he said slowly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Yes, a thing,” Spencer shot back. “Like the assignment for your class.”
Jon nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d expect my students to do at 12:30 on a Saturday night. Totally understandable.”
“Do you have to be such an ass?” Spencer said, getting to his feet unsteadily (that shot he’d had was not serving him well), holding onto the railing. His legs felt like they were asleep. That, or Jon’s kisses had actually left him weak at the knees.
“May I also remind you that I’m responsible for your grades.”
Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Spencer.” Jon rolled his eyes. “Come on. You’re calling me an ass. I’m not trying to blackmail you; I’m just reminding you it’s not appropriate.”
“I’m pretty sure we crossed the line between appropriate and inappropriate professor/student behavior ten minutes ago,” Spencer said, and instead of responding, Jon just looked down at his hands.
“I’m not kissing you again,” Spencer continued, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket so he could text Brendon to tell him to come outside so they could get the fuck out of there. “Ever.”
“Okay,” Jon said, that amused tone to his voice again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Spencer typed, Come downstairs now, please. Time to go.
“You better,” Spencer said. “Anyway, I already did the assignment.”
Jon laughed and got to his feet then, too, and said, “I’ll see you in class. I look forward to seeing your work.”
“It’s going to blow your mind,” Spencer said, realizing after he said it exactly how ridiculous he sounded. God, where the hell was Brendon? He wasn’t even responding to Spencer’s text, and usually he was attached to his iPhone like it was an actual appendage.
“Well.” Jon brushed off the back of his jeans. “Good night, Spencer.”
Spencer didn’t look up from his phone. “Good night.”
Jon went inside, back to the party and away from Spencer. And Spencer stood there, pretending like he didn’t care, knowing that when he’d said he was never going to kiss Jon again, he was making a promise he couldn’t keep.
*
Spencer sat in the graduate liberal arts office on Monday morning at the desk across from Ryan’s. For not much money, he sat in this office every weekday from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. answering phones, filing papers, and sending out department-sponsored e-mails to students.
Ryan slumped in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t believe you didn’t even say hello to me at my own party.”
“I was occupied,” Spencer said. A pang of guilt hit his stomach. He looked at his screen instead of at Ryan. Pretending to do work here was of the utmost importance.
“With what? I asked a few people where you were, and they said you left with some guy.”
Spencer continued to stare at his screen. “Jon,” he said with the least amount of emotion possible.
“Oh.” Ryan sat back in his chair. “How’d that go?”
“Not talking about it,” Spencer said under his breath. Just saying Jon’s name made him think about those kisses and Jon’s fingers curling into the back of his neck; he didn’t need to talk about what happened.
Spencer clicked on his e-mail: order confirmation for textbooks; credit card bill; a couple of Facebook notifications. Nothing too interesting or important. The next four hours were going to drag.
“I’ll have to ask him about it, then,” Ryan said. It was times like this that Spencer wished he and Ryan didn’t have desks that faced each other. Ryan peeked around his monitor to look at Spencer, gauging a reaction that he wasn’t going to get.
“I really don’t care. It was a one-time thing.” Spencer minimized the window on his screen. “Anyway, he’s my professor, so.”
Ryan had just taken a drink from his coffee cup, and he looked about to spit it out.
“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, trying not to clench his teeth. He picked up the pair of headphones connected to his iPod and was about to put them on. Ryan wasn’t always the best at picking up signals, but Spencer was pretty sure headphones would do the job of letting him know that Spencer didn’t want to talk.
“Intro to Photography, right?” Ryan said. Spencer knew Ryan well enough by now – something like going on seventeen years – that he knew Ryan wasn’t going give up on the topic that easily.
Spencer gave up on the headphones and set them down again. “Yeah, Friday nights.”
Ryan laughed. “So this wasn’t an incident of meeting him at a party and not knowing he was your teacher. You had him for class the night before and still did …” Ryan trailed off. “Whatever with him.”
“Rub it in, Ryan,” Spencer said, shooting him his best shut the fuck up look.
“Well, he’s a good dude.” The phone rang, and Ryan picked it up, answering in a bored voice, “Graduate liberal arts, how may I help you?” He paused. “One moment please.” He pressed a button to transfer the call and then set the phone down.
“You’re such an enthusiastic phone operator,” Spencer said dryly.
“They’re going to have to pay me more than ten dollars an hour to get me to be happier on the phone,” Ryan said.
“It could be a lot worse, you know.”
“I know.” Ryan yawned and reached for his coffee. “I’m done in fifteen minutes, anyway.”
“How’d you get so lucky?”
“Class. I got assigned to teach Core English to a bunch of freshman.” Ryan stood up, stretched, and put on a plaid blazer that had been draped over the back of his chair.
“Maybe not so lucky.” Spencer set his hand under his chin, watching Ryan adjust his blazer. “You look the part of an English professor.”
“Not what I was going for, but thank you.”
Spencer almost asked what exactly Ryan was going for, but he knew better than to ask Ryan about his varied and interesting fashion choices, which over the years had ranged from vaudevillian to hobo to now an English professor phase full of plaid blazers and dress pants in weird colors.
“By the way,” Ryan said, smirking, “I know where Jon works, if you want to stop by after this and say hi.”
“No thanks.” Spencer glared. “Seeing him in class on Friday will be enough for one week.”
Ryan just kept smirking, picked up his briefcase and coffee, and left.
*
Spencer left the office right at four, figuring he’d stop at home for a little while before class. Being able to go home instead of spending hours waiting for his class to start was one of the perks of living so close to campus. He had a six o’clock class, so two hours gave him enough time to eat something and maybe catch up with some of his shows on the DVR. He knew Brendon wouldn’t be home – he’d said something about a rehearsal – so things would be quiet; he could relax for a while. He loved Brendon, but sometimes having the apartment to himself was nice.
He walked down the hallway and toward the double doors at the front of the building, only to stop, nearly tripping over his own feet, when he saw Jon standing outside. He was wearing a red button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, standing there, laughing with a woman with long, curly blonde hair and … was that Ryan? Yes, it was. It had to be. It wasn’t like there were tons of lanky dudes in paisley hanging around on campus.
Before Ryan could turn around and notice Spencer being a creep who was completely lost in his own world, Spencer went in the opposite direction to take the stairs to the building’s back entrance. Thank god the hallways were deserted at this time of day because if he’d a) had to deal with the embarrassment of his staring episode in front of other people and b) then had to walk through a crowded hallway to get to his escape route, things would be worse.
He wasn’t sure when his life got so ridiculous, or when he started avoiding things like saying hi to people, but having to walk past Jon and say “Hi” like they hadn’t drunkenly made out at a party on Saturday night was mortifying. What was he supposed to say? It just would have been too awkward. He could see Ryan pulling him into the little group, and then he’d have to stand there and smile and try not to look at Jon. Specifically, Jon’s mouth, because that’s where all of Spencer’s problems started.
But then again … part of him wanted to turn around, walk out there, be awesome, and show Jon that he didn’t care. He had to face him in class anyway, so why not own it? What happened on Saturday was just a one-time thing, anyway. He’d even said as much to Jon; he’d told him that he was never going to kiss him again (embarrassingly, after one shot and two beers, proving that he couldn’t hold his liquor as well as he could in undergrad when there were parties every single weekend).
Spencer might have said he was never going to kiss Jon again, but he could certainly still think about it. And damn if it wasn’t the hottest kiss he’d had in his entire life. Seeing Jon again just reminded him of that, of what he couldn’t – and wasn’t going to – have.
He started to walk home; because the weather was nice, he’d decided to walk to school that day. He was going to go home, relax, and then go to Magazine Writing, a class he was looking forward to.
But he was definitely not going to think about Jon.
Part Two
Part Three
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