the rug burns on both my knees

Later, neither of them will remember what the argument was about. They were lying on the floor of their living room, watching Transformers with beer and popcorn, and Jon said something that made Spencer disagree with him, and thirty minutes later Spencer stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Jon mashed a couple of minor chords on the piano in the room out of frustration, and there was an answering cymbal crash from the other end of the house. He played carelessly, banging at the keys as Spencer’s drums thundered through the house and their cacophony made the dogs start howling in protest. Or harmony–they could never be sure with the dogs.

Jon was moodily making himself a cup of coffee on the espresso machine he’d bought them for their anniversary when Spencer came in, a stony look on his face and his arms crossed defensively. “I’m mad at you,” Spencer informed him, and the blatantly forced casualness with which he said it made Jon’s fingers tighten on his mug. He set it aside before he spilled coffee on himself and pushed his way into Spencer’s space.

“No,” he said, relishing the way Spencer’s breathing picked up into a harried pant. “I’m mad at you,” he said as he gripped the back of Spencer’s head and pulled him down for a crushing kiss.

Spencer’s hands fell to Jon’s shoulders and pushed a little, enough to disgage their mouths, and Jon muttered a curse and stalked off to their bedroom. He threw himself down on the bed, staring at the ceiling and the red paint they had splashed there. The door clicked softly and Spencer entered, looking uncertain but pissed all at once.

“What?” Jon said mouthily. “You can just fuck off if that’s how you’re going to be.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened. “Fuck you,” he said, launching himself on the bed and on top of Jon, pressing him down into the mattress and moving his hips against Jon’s. Jon bit out a gasp and bit Spencer’s neck, harder than he would before he was so fucking pissed at Spencer, leaving a mark he knew Spencer would hate. Spencer’s muffled curse ran through him and he bucked up against Spencer. He was fucking close, and he grabbed Spencer’s hips, pulling him down rough and tight and there it was, hard and bright behind his eyes; Spencer’s stuttered breathing in his ears told him Spencer was close behind.

After, Spencer propped himself up against the headboard and Jon’s head rested in his lap, and things were silent, still tense. Spencer pushed the hair out of his eyes, and their eyes met. Jon shifted, watching Spencer’s eyes narrow, and he didn’t know what Spencer saw in him to make him shift off the bed, mutter, “Fuck,” and leave the room. Jon was left staring at the ceiling again, more mad than before because Spencer just left and they didn’t even fucking talk about it. Spencer kept a water glass on his side of the bed and Jon seized it, throwing it against the wall. It shattered and he relished the noise.

He opened the second drawer of his night table and pulled out the cigarettes and lighter he kept there. One click of his thumb and the end was lit, and he sucked in a breath and let all the smoke right back out, not bothering to open the window. Spencer fucking hated it when he smoked in the house.

Jon slept in their bed that night, and Spencer didn’t come back.

The next day, Jon was on the phone with Brendon, letting him talk about whatever it was Brendon talked about, throwing in “yeah” and “mm-hm” every now and then to make it sound like he was listening. He was in their backyard, letting the dogs run, and he hadn’t seen Spencer all day. He wasn’t prepared to be pushed against the wall of their house, the phone plucked from his hand and thrown to the side, call ended. “What the fu–” Jon said furiously before Spencer’s hand closed over his mouth.

“God, you piss me off so much,” Spencer said just this side of disbelieving. He used every inch he had on Jon to shove Jon against the wall, one hand stealing down to Jon’s basketball shorts to tug them down and the other pressing Jon’s hands above his head.

“Fuck off,” Jon snarled, pushing back, but Spencer had outgrown Jon a long time ago and Jon couldn’t get enough leverage. Spencer’s pants were pushed down too and Jon could feel Spencer rutting against his back, at the crack of Jon’s ass, while Spencer licked and bit at Jon’s neck.

“I can’t believe you left a mark on me,” Spencer said in Jon’s ear. “You fucker, you know I hate that and you did it anyway. You’re such a shit, Jon.”

“Fuck you,” Jon said, but it came out strangled when Spencer’s hand closed around his dick, squeezing hard, his palm rough and dry.

“You wish you could,” Spencer said, low and dirty in his ear. “You wish I’d roll over and ask for it, beg you to fuck me, but I’m not going to do that, Jon, because you don’t fucking get that from me right now. You wanna come, Jon? Fucking ask me nicely for it.”

“No,” Jon ground out, his hips snapping of their own accord into Spencer’s hand even though it was more than a little painful.

“C’mon,” Spencer’s voice was mocking. “You want my hand, Jon, that’s all you’re gonna get from me, so ask already.”

“Fuck,” Jon breathed out, setting his forehead on his forearm; but Spencer pulled his hand from Jon’s cock to wrench his head back so their eyes met.

“Ask me,” Spencer said roughly, his dick rubbing hard against Jon’s back.

“Fine,” Jon spat at him. “Fucking give me your hand and get me off.”

Something like satisfaction appeared in Spencer’s eyes, and he let go of Jon’s head and moved his hand back to Jon’s cock, stripping it fast and forceful until Jon stuttered out a curse and came against the stucco. Spencer stepped back, and Jon stumbled, leaning against the wall for support.

“Yeah,” Spencer said with something Jon couldn’t identify in his voice, and then he was gone, the motherfucking cocksucker. Jon shakily pulled himself together as the dogs ran up to him, wagging their tails, and he stumbled back inside. He was already thinking of a plan.

That night, Spencer went over to Ryan’s, and Jon was waiting for him when he got back. Spencer opened the door to their bedroom; the lights were off and he looked around, confused, when Jon sprang. Spencer might be taller than him, have more weight on him, but Jon didn’t grow up with two older brothers for nothing. He used every advantage he had to wrestle Spencer over to the bed, securing his wrists in the loops of the ties he’d strung from the bed. When he turned on the light, Spencer was breathing hard, his face red and angry, pulling at the ties.

“I was a Boy Scout,” Jon said from the foot of the bed. “Don’t even bother.”

“You’re a bitch, Jon,” Spencer said, murder in his eyes as he struggled anyway.

“Not tonight,” Jon informed him. “Let’s get you out of those clothes, mmm?”

Spencer turned incredulous as Jon crawled over him with scissors in his hand. “You better be fucking kidding me,” he said.

“Not even,” Jon hummed, cutting right up through the z in Zeppelin.

“That was vintage, you fucking bastard,” Spencer hissed.

“I know,” Jon agreed, setting the scissors aside when the shirt fell from Spencer’s chest. He undid the clasp of Spencer’s jeans and pulled them down, along with Spencer’s underwear. Spencer was a dead weight on the bed, not helping at all, and Jon let his nails dig in just a little to show he noticed.

“So what are you going to do now, Jon?” Spencer taunted. “You’ve got me all tied up, so what’s it going to be?”

“I’m going to suck your cock until you’re just about to come, and then fuck you until you do,” Jon said, pinning Spencer with his eyes. He was pleased to see Spencer’s breath skip, and dug a thumb into the ball of Spencer’s right foot to watch him twitch.

“I really don’t like you right now,” Spencer said, watching as Jon crawled up his body and took the head of Spencer’s cock in his mouth, a moan escaping Spencer even as he tried to cut it off.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Jon said before going back down, letting his tongue press hard against the base and the slit just like he knew Spencer liked. He kept his hands on Spencer’s hips, forcing them down even as they tried to snap up into Jon’s mouth. Jon relished every little noise Spencer made, every whimper he couldn’t control, and went down until Spencer was hitting the back of his throat and groaning high and long before Jon pulled off. Spencer’s cock bobbed in the air, wet and red, and Spencer was cursing even as he tried to push his hips up into the frictionless air.

“And now for the second part of this evening,” Jon said, his voice a little rough. He stuck a finger in his mouth and then into Spencer without preamble. Spencer’s head fell back, and Jon knew he wanted to push away but the only place to go was back on Jon’s finger, and Spencer was canting his hips downward by the time Jon had two fingers in him.

With his other hand Jon slicked up his cock, and just as he pulled his fingers from Spencer he pushed his dick in, feeling the shudders run through Spencer’s body, feeling the moans he was holding back. He grinned fiercely, baring his teeth, and Spencer’s eyes were blown wide and glittery in the half-light. “Fuck you,” Spencer said softly as Jon thrust into him.

“I am,” Jon said, hefting Spencer’s hips up to get a better angle. Spencer’s head fell back again and he gripped the ties with his hands to keep from hitting the headboard. He knew he was hitting Spencer’s prostate on each thrust because Spencer was making the deep-seated grunt he did when he was about to come; one more hard thrust and Spencer couldn’t help but shout, coming and clenching around Jon and making him come in turn.

Jon pulled out quickly, watching Spencer’s face twist up in disgust as the come leaked from his ass. He grabbed the scissors and cut the ties, catching Spencer’s eyes as he did. He wasn’t sure what they were playing at anymore, but he knew he would match Spencer step for step. He turned to go the shower as Spencer was rubbing his wrists, and when he came back out, Spencer had gone to another room.

He fell asleep hard and woke up to Spencer’s tongue in his ass, his hips pushing down into the bedclothes and pushing back into Spencer’s mouth. “Fuck,” he said, half-asleep still.

“No,” Spencer said, biting the curve of Jon’s ass. He spread Jon and licked in again and Jon couldn’t muffle his groan, couldn’t hide his erection. Spencer’s hand was there almost immediately, gripping the base of Jon’s cock and pushing him far from the edge of orgasm and Jon grunted in frustration.

Spencer dribbled some lube down the crack of Jon’s ass, using his fingers to spread it around, and then Jon had two fingers in him. The stretch and burn made him gasp, but Spencer put one hand on his back and pushed when he tried to move away. As it eased off, Spencer’s hand moved up to Jon’s head, threading his fingers through Jon’s hair and pressing his head against his pillow. He had Jon head and ass, and Jon’s eyes fluttered closed, sinking into the sensation.

Another minute and there was another finger, and Jon’s legs spread wider to accommodate them. Spencer’s chuckle reverberated against his skin and Jon frowned, struggling again. It was pointless, though, when Spencer pressed against Jon’s prostrate and Jon made an unintelligible noise and his hips snapped against the bed.

A fourth finger, and Jon wanted to protest because he was already so full and if Spencer wasn’t going to fuck him, Spencer could fuck right off, but Spencer’s callouses rubbed at the edge of Jon’s perineum and it just felt fucking good. It was painful, but good, and they’d never done this before but they’d talked about it. Jon never thought Spencer would use it against him now.

“Next time I’m going to use my whole hand,” Spencer mumbled into Jon’s skin, biting and marking the expanse of back Jon had exposed. “I’m going to fuck you with my knuckles until you come apart from it, and then you’re going to thank me after.”

Jon was too lost in the sensation of Spencer’s fingers fucking in and out of him to respond, even though part of his brain snarled and snapped at the thought of thanking Spencer for anything right now.

“I don’t need a thank you right now,” Spencer said. “I already know how you feel, don’t I, Jon?” he said, punctuating his words with a couple shallow thrusts that had Jon writhing.

In a quick second Spencer’s hand had moved from Jon’s head down beneath Jon’s body to his cock, and he used his fingers in Jon’s ass to pull him up and give him access. Jon groaned in surprise, moving because he had to, his knees shaky as he rose.

“Oh, Jon, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” Spencer said, his voice just this edge of derisive. It made Jon want to buck and kick, but he couldn’t because Spencer’s hand was on his cock and Spencer’s fingers were in his ass, stretching Jon around his knuckles and making him bite the pillow.

“I could do this all day,” Spencer said lowly, and it was more of a threat than anything else. Jon gasped and two seconds later he was coming, flexing wildly around Spencer’s hand until it finally pulled out. Jon was limp and sweaty on the bed, and Spencer placed a kiss between his shoulderblades, grabbing at Jon’s ass so his nails bit in, a little. “I’m still mad at you,” Spencer said, licking the shell of Jon’s ear, and he left, because that was what Spencer did when he was mad at Jon.

Jon struggled up from the bed and made it to the shower, ducking his head under the water and washing off for the second time in twelve hours. He put on some loose clothing, grabbed his shades and his keys, and headed out to the car, sitting gingerly in the seat.

“So let me get this straight,” Ryan said slowly about an hour later over smoothies. “You guys had an argument about Optimus Prime, and you’ve been fight-fucking over it for four days now?”

When you put it like that, Jon thought, it sounded a lot less compelling than it was.

“Can you not, just,” Ryan waved his hands around, “apologize or something?”

Jon scowled, crossing his arms and leaning back into the booth, shifting a little.

“So that’s a no,” Ryan said. “And here I thought Brendon was overdramatic, but you bitches are giving him a run for his money.”

“Ryan,” Jon said warningly, but Ryan just rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve been together for three years and this is the argument you’re having. Okay, look, go somewhere public, have some food, talk about it, and then be a fucking man and apologize for saying that Megatron would beat Optimus Prime in a duel.”

“Ryan,” Jon said again, this time pleadingly.

“Just do it, jesus. You were wrong anyway,” Ryan said, brandishing his smoothie.

“Hey!” Jon said, but Ryan just stared at him until he deflated.

He sent Spencer a text saying alberto’s 7pm no game and spent the rest of the day at Ryan’s playing the old Lion King game Ryan had resurrected from Spencer’s parents’ garage. He cleaned up a little, changed into some clothes he had left at Ryan’s, and found Spencer waiting at Alberto’s when he arrived.

“Hi,” Jon said.

“Hi,” Spencer replied, but he looked a little bitchy that he got there first, so Jon quickly sat down and ordered a beer.

“So,” Jon said. “Um. Megatron would lose.”

He watched the emotions flicker across Spencer’s face, holding onto his bottle tightly and resisting the urge to push his foot against Spencer’s like they usually did at restaurants. Spencer finally settled on a look of careful reserve, and Jon breathed out slowly.

“I didn’t mean to get so mad,” Jon said.

“Me either,” Spencer said, flicking his bangs out of his face.

“I’m sorry?” Jon said on a question, and he held his breath as Spencer decided what to say. Finally Spencer moved and Jon felt Spencer’s foot settle in next to his.

“I’m sorry too,” Spencer said, and Jon let out a noise.

“Hey,” Spencer said, pushing out of the seat and motioning for Jon to follow. “Come on.” They went through the corridor to the bathroom, and when they got inside Spencer locked the door and reeled Jon in, licking into his mouth. They were both gasping when they parted, and Spencer said, “We didn’t do that much, when we were fighting.”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “We should make up for lost time.” They made out, hands above the waist, until they were both flushed and breathing hard and Jon was pretty sure their food was waiting for them.

“When we get home,” Spencer said, tongue swiping across Jon’s lips, “I want you to fuck me.”

“When we get home,” Jon promised, “I will.”