Sara (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scripted_sra) wrote2010-01-18 06:30 pm
scripted_sra) wrote2010-01-18 06:30 pm
Fake News (FPF) | Four Times... | PG | Jon/"Stephen"
Title: Four Times Jon And Stephen Didn’t Have Their First Kiss (And The Time They Actually Did)
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen” (past “Stephen”/Evie; brief “Stephen”/OC; implied Tad/Bobby)
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.
Word Count: 3,055
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sahrafel in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fakenews_fanfic Secret Santa fic exchange. Thanks to Kelly and Abigail for beta'ing.
I.
Stephen always went overboard with his Christmas decorations, and Jon had started coming to expect them earlier and earlier, because Stephen liked to outdo himself if he could. Still, it was October. Not even late October, either, but October second, and already there were red and green streamers in the halls.
“Really, Stephen?” he asked, stepping into his friend’s office and glancing pointedly around at all the tinsel and snowmen. “It’s not even close to Halloween. Don’t you think you’ve gone a little—”
“A little what, Jon? Crazy?” Stephen demanded, tone near hysterical. “Do you think I’m out of control? Do you think I violently overreacted in trying to celebrate my favorite holiday without once considering anyone else because I’m too self-absorbed to stop for a second and think? Am I so insensitive that you can barely look at me, let alone talk to me? Is that what you were going to say, Jon?”
Stephen’s eyes were red and wild, and his hair was but a shadow of its usual shellacked mass, with bits sticking up awkwardly, out of place. His suit looked like he’d slept in it—at least, what was left of his suit. The tie seemed to be in tatters, and Jon didn’t see the jacket anywhere.
“Um, no,” said Jon, watching Stephen carefully. “Did something happen, Stephen?”
“No! Of course not,” Stephen said firmly. “Nothing’s wrong. What would make you think that? It’s ridiculous. I’m fine.”
Sometimes, Jon reflected, it helped that Stephen was such a terrible liar. “You sure?” he pressed, walking further into the office and closing the door behind him. “You seem pretty upset.”
“Well, I’m not.” He crossed his arms defiantly, putting on a determined expression. “I’m not.”
Jon sat down in the chair across from Stephen’s desk. “What happened, Stephen?” he asked gently, looking into his eyes.
Stephen stared for a second before he started sobbing, glancing away, and it struck Jon not for the first time how little it usually took to break the dam. Stephen had ideals of toughness and stoicism, but often only a quiet question was enough to get him to talk. It was like kicking a pebble out of the way and inadvertently setting off an avalanche.
“Evie left me,” Stephen said through his tears. “I thought—I thought it wasn’t a big deal, you know? She’s done this before, but she—she always comes back. I thought—I—she was supposed to come back.” He hiccupped. “Instead she sent me these.” He tossed an envelope closer to the opposite edge of his desk, the one Jon was near, but Jon didn’t move to pick it up. He didn’t need to. He knew what the envelope contained: divorce papers. “I tried to call her, to talk to her, but she said—she said she was done, she couldn’t pretend anymore, and she thought it’d be better for the kids this way, if we weren’t—if we—” He shook his head. “We fought. She hung up on me.”
Jon gave Stephen a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Stephen,” he said, and Stephen hiccupped again, looking Jon in the eyes. In that instant, Jon felt himself overcome with the desire to make sure Stephen never looked at him with those sad, tearful eyes ever again. Shaking his head to clear it, he let that thought go, like a wayward balloon slipping out of his grasp and floating upward, high above the rooftops. “Do you, uh, need help with the decorations?” he asked, clearing his throat and looking away, since he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t. “You haven’t covered the whole studio yet, right?”
Stephen smiled a watery smile. “Yeah, you could help,” he said. “Thanks, Jon.”
II.
Stephen narrowed his eyes when he opened his door to reveal Jon on his front stoop, holding what looked like a medium-sized ham. “You think I’m pathetic,” he accused even as he let him in.
“Nope,” said Jon. “I think it’s Christmas, and you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Same thing,” muttered Stephen, but it lacked any real heat. If he were honest, he could admit to himself that he was glad Jon was there—not that he’d ever tell him that. He didn’t need him getting smug. Jon shifted the ham in his arms, and Stephen frowned as something occurred to him. “Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to eat ham. Isn’t that a Jewish thing?”
Jon smiled sheepishly. “It’s a turkey-ham,” he said. “Is that all right?”
Stephen was about to haughtily respond that it wasn’t a true Christmas dinner without real, God-given ham, but he took one look at Jon’s hopeful expression and swallowed that urge. “That’s fine,” he said instead. “Do you know how to cook it?”
“Yep,” said Jon brightly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” They made their way to the kitchen, where Jon sat the not-ham down and started getting out various dishes, as well as other foods. “Oh, good,” he said, looking under the sink. “You have potatoes. I wasn’t sure if you would.” He pulled the sack out onto the kitchen floor.
“Of course I have potatoes, Jon,” Stephen said imperiously. “I’m an American. A meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
“Right,” Jon said, looking amused. “Well, I should get cooking, huh?”
A few hours later, they were sitting down at Stephen’s dining room table, and Jon was getting ready to serve the not-ham. “Wait!” cried Stephen, as Jon moved for the knife. “I have to say grace first.”
Jon nodded, and Stephen folded his hands, looking down. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Oh, and I know Jon’s Jewish, but you can overlook that just for today, right? Since he cooked and everything? Thanks. Amen.” Stephen looked up to see Jon raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Nothing, Stephen,” Jon said, shaking his head and smiling. He served them both, and Stephen was a little surprised to realize how much he liked the not-ham.
Later, after dinner and even dessert, Stephen deigned to help Jon clear the dishes off the table and bring them into the kitchen. It might be beneath him, but Jon had given him that look he always gave him when he really wanted him to do something, and Stephen still didn’t know how to resist it.
They stood hip to hip at the sink, as he rinsed the dishes and Jon loaded them into the dishwasher, and their sides brushed occasionally. Stephen tried not to think about the rush of heat that engulfed him every time they touched, like a glass of smooth scotch, warming him from the inside out. “Jon?” he said, after a few long minutes of companionable silence, and Jon glanced over, meeting his eyes, grey-blue irises alight with compassion, friendship.
“Yeah, Stephen?” he asked, and Stephen realized how close they really were, close enough that Stephen could smell Jon’s cologne, sandalwood and some kind of spice, mixed with something else that was indescribably Jon. He swallowed.
“Make sure you don’t pack the plates too close,” Stephen said at last. “They won’t get clean if you do.”
Jon blinked, looking like he’d been expecting something else, but he hid it quickly, with an easy smile. “Right,” he said. “No problem, Stephen.”
III.
When Jon found Stephen at the restaurant they’d agreed to meet at for lunch, he was already seated at a table, chatting amiably with another man. “Hi, Jon,” Stephen said as he approached, beaming, and he and his friend stood. “I want you to meet someone. This is Eric. He’s my, uh, well—he’s—we’ve been dating.” Stephen only flushed a little as he said this, and Jon blinked.
He knew a stipulation of Stephen’s custody arrangement after the divorce had been mandatory weekly therapy sessions, but Jon had wondered more than once if they were actually doing any good. This was apparently his answer.
“Hey, Eric,” he said, tone friendly, as he shook his hand. Eric was a good-looking guy, tall (of course he was tall) and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair, and he smiled as he returned Jon’s greeting.
“Stephen’s told me so much about you,” he said as they all sat down. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He even sounded genuine.
Really, Jon thought. Because Stephen hasn’t mentioned you at all. “Well, I hope I don’t disappoint,” he said.
After lunch, when Jon and Stephen had returned to Jon’s studio and Eric had left, citing a need to get back to work, Stephen cornered him in his office. “Well?” he demanded. “Do you like him?”
“He seems nice,” Jon hedged, which was true. Eric had seemed very nice: calm, reasonable, even witty, and able to deal with Stephen’s various quirks. For some inexplicable reason, however, Jon hadn’t liked him at all, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
Stephen didn’t notice his non-answer. “I knew you’d like him,” he gushed. “He’s smart, like you. Even talks about the things you do. I think he might be a liberal, too. You guys should hang out.” He seemed excited by this prospect.
Jon managed a smile. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “So…you’re happy? He’s good to you?” he asked.
Stephen nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “I didn’t think—when the therapist said—well,” he stopped, flushing. “I’m glad you like him, Jon.”
“As long as he makes you happy, Stephen,” Jon said weakly.
That time, Stephen did seem to notice something was wrong, because he frowned. “Wait, you’re doing it again. You’re giving me that look.”
“What?” Jon asked. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jon,” Stephen snapped. “I can tell. Whenever you’re just humoring me you always give me the same look, and you’re doing it now. You don’t like him, do you?”
“I said he seems very nice,” Jon protested.
“But you didn’t say you liked him,” Stephen pressed. “Do you?”
“I—”
Stephen gaped at him. “You don’t!” he said, outraged. “I’m finally happy, and you don’t even like him. Well, excuse me, Mr. Elitist Intellectual Bleeding-Heart Liberal Snob! You can sit in your ivory tower and look down on us all you want, because—because—you’re wrong! Eric’s great!” Stephen moved to storm out of the office, but Jon grabbed his arm to stop him, pulling him closer than he intended.
“Stephen, wait a second. I—”
“No! It’s not fair. What don’t you like about him, anyway? Why isn’t he good enough? Do you even have a good reason?”
He’s not me! Jon thought fiercely, and the force of it surprised him. He met Stephen’s eyes for the briefest of moments before letting him go. “No,” he said at last. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’ll give him a chance. I don’t know why I didn’t like him. He seemed great, Stephen, honestly.”
Stephen gave him a suspicious look at first, but eventually nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Good. I want you to like him, Jon. It’s important.”
Jon swallowed.
IV.
Jon seemed surprised when he arrived, which Stephen guessed was because he was the only one who’d come to his birthday party. “Am I first?” Jon asked, handing Stephen the neatly-wrapped gift he’d been carrying. They headed into the living room.
“No,” Stephen said, placing the present on his coffee table. “It’s just going to be you and me.”
“Really?” Jon asked. “Where’s Eric? Your kids? Tad, Bobby?”
“Tad’s sick,” said Stephen. “I think Bobby’s with him, but don’t tell, because they think I don’t know. The kids and I are going to celebrate next weekend. And, uh,” he paused for a second, “well, Eric and I broke up last week.” Stephen watched Jon’s face carefully for a reaction to that last piece of news.
“Oh, man,” Jon said. “I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”
Stephen tried not to let his disappointment show. He’d thought that, maybe, Jon had been a little bit jealous while he was dating Eric, but now he seemed genuinely upset that they’d broken up. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s not a big deal.” He glanced away, asking, “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” Jon said, surprised. “You didn’t…cook, did you?”
Stephen shook his head. “I was thinking, since it’s just you and me, maybe we could go out to eat? Evie sent over a cake that she made, as a birthday present. We could have that after.”
Jon smiled, nodding, and they headed back toward the door. “You guys are getting along better these days, aren’t you?” he asked as Stephen locked the door behind them.
“We are,” Stephen confirmed. “I guess—she said that it’s easier now. That she can talk to me and see me some and it doesn’t hurt so much.”
“Good. It’s good that things are better.” Stephen nodded in response, and they lapsed into a companionable silence.
Settling on a restaurant proved easy, and once they were seated, Stephen picked up his menu quickly, watching Jon carefully from behind it.
“So, uh,” Jon started, after a moment, “why did you and Eric break up? If you want to talk about it, I mean. You don’t have to.”
Stephen shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said, recalling exactly what Eric had said: “You’re not in love with me, Stephen. You’re in love with Jon. He’s all you talk about, you spend as much time as you can with him, and whenever the three of us hang out, I feel like the third wheel. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m sorry.” He’d actually looked sorry, too, Stephen remembered, and right before he left, he’d added, “For what it’s worth, Stephen? I do want you to be happy. And I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you too.” Stephen still wasn’t sure if that was true. “There was no specific reason,” he lied. “We just decided we weren’t right for each other.”
“Oh,” Jon said, reaching across the table and placing a hand on Stephen’s arm. It was nice, Stephen thought, as their eyes met. Comforting. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else, Stephen. Someone who is right for you. He might even be closer than you think.”
Stephen leaned in just slightly, hopeful. “Really?” he asked. “You think so?” Maybe Eric had been right after all.
“Yeah,” Jon said, clearing his throat and glancing down at his hand before pulling it away. “I mean, you never know, right?”
Stephen tried not to sigh as he leaned back in his chair. This was just confusing. “Let’s order, Jon,” he said. “I’m looking forward to that cake. Besides, I want to see what you got me.”
Jon’s smile seemed strange. “I think you’ll like it.”
Stephen didn’t know what to say, so he hid behind his menu instead.
V.
Jon knew his back was going to kill him for this, but somehow, Stephen had managed to talk him into putting down a blanket and lying on the ground to watch the fireworks show. He still wasn’t completely sure why he’d said yes—and that, of course, was when Stephen took the opportunity to grin at him happily, almost like a little kid, as the fireworks started bursting prettily over their heads. It reminded him instantly why he’d given in.
“Aren’t they awesome?” Stephen said excitedly. “Fireworks really shouldn’t be limited to the fourth of July, Jon. It’s a shame. They should be set off all year round.”
“I don’t know,” Jon said, as he watched the show. “I think there’s something to only doing it once a year. Makes it something special, you know?”
“Maybe,” Stephen said skeptically, leaning back. They weren’t quite touching at first, but then Stephen shifted, brushing against him. Jon didn’t move, unsure if it’d been accidental or purposeful; he’d been unsure about a lot, lately, when it came to Stephen, which was something he really wasn’t used to.
“You comfortable, Stephen?” he tried, figuring maybe he’d gauge what Stephen was thinking that way.
“Sure, Jon. I’m fine.” His tone seemed absent, except Jon was pretty sure he’d just snuck a glance at him. Making up his mind, Jon shifted a little bit closer, smiling when Stephen didn’t move, and they continued watching the display, neither speaking for a few minutes.
Stephen was the one to break the silence, glancing up: “Told you it’d be worth it.”
Jon smiled and looked down, struck once again by how happy he seemed, eyes bright and round. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, kissing Stephen softly, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake.
It was hard to misread a signal as obvious as Stephen’s hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, so Jon deepened the kiss, pleased by the way Stephen welcomed it. When they finally broke apart, maybe in reality only a few seconds later, though it felt like a lifetime, Stephen pulled back just far enough to give him a cross look, and Jon gave him a bewildered one in return.
“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Stephen demanded before Jon could ask what was wrong. Caught off guard, he laughed.
“Why didn’t you?” he challenged.
Stephen narrowed his eyes. “You’re supposed to be the perceptive one, remember?” he said, and Jon giggled; he had to admit that Stephen had a point there. The look Stephen gave him then was a little harder to read, at least until he was being pulled into another kiss; this time, it was much more heated. Jon gladly lost himself in it, focusing on the feel of Stephen’s lips and the warmth of his body as he shifted again, pressing closer. He let his hands roam, encouraged by the eager way Stephen responded, and time slipped away as they kissed, alternating between slow and fast, languid and frenzied. He breathed heavily when they broke apart again, giggling some more when he remembered exactly where they were.
Stephen frowned. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“We’re making out on a blanket on the ground under fireworks,” Jon said. “I was just wondering when we’d jumped into a B-grade romantic comedy.”
Stephen rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck. “Shut up, Jon,” he said firmly, “and kiss me again.”
Jon smiled at him and obliged.
Fandom: Fake News (FPF)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jon/“Stephen” (past “Stephen”/Evie; brief “Stephen”/OC; implied Tad/Bobby)
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.
Word Count: 3,055
Disclaimer: All copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. This work is not created for profit and constitutes fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
A/N: Written for
sahrafel in the fakenews_fanfic Secret Santa fic exchange. Thanks to Kelly and Abigail for beta'ing.Stephen always went overboard with his Christmas decorations, and Jon had started coming to expect them earlier and earlier, because Stephen liked to outdo himself if he could. Still, it was October. Not even late October, either, but October second, and already there were red and green streamers in the halls.
“Really, Stephen?” he asked, stepping into his friend’s office and glancing pointedly around at all the tinsel and snowmen. “It’s not even close to Halloween. Don’t you think you’ve gone a little—”
“A little what, Jon? Crazy?” Stephen demanded, tone near hysterical. “Do you think I’m out of control? Do you think I violently overreacted in trying to celebrate my favorite holiday without once considering anyone else because I’m too self-absorbed to stop for a second and think? Am I so insensitive that you can barely look at me, let alone talk to me? Is that what you were going to say, Jon?”
Stephen’s eyes were red and wild, and his hair was but a shadow of its usual shellacked mass, with bits sticking up awkwardly, out of place. His suit looked like he’d slept in it—at least, what was left of his suit. The tie seemed to be in tatters, and Jon didn’t see the jacket anywhere.
“Um, no,” said Jon, watching Stephen carefully. “Did something happen, Stephen?”
“No! Of course not,” Stephen said firmly. “Nothing’s wrong. What would make you think that? It’s ridiculous. I’m fine.”
Sometimes, Jon reflected, it helped that Stephen was such a terrible liar. “You sure?” he pressed, walking further into the office and closing the door behind him. “You seem pretty upset.”
“Well, I’m not.” He crossed his arms defiantly, putting on a determined expression. “I’m not.”
Jon sat down in the chair across from Stephen’s desk. “What happened, Stephen?” he asked gently, looking into his eyes.
Stephen stared for a second before he started sobbing, glancing away, and it struck Jon not for the first time how little it usually took to break the dam. Stephen had ideals of toughness and stoicism, but often only a quiet question was enough to get him to talk. It was like kicking a pebble out of the way and inadvertently setting off an avalanche.
“Evie left me,” Stephen said through his tears. “I thought—I thought it wasn’t a big deal, you know? She’s done this before, but she—she always comes back. I thought—I—she was supposed to come back.” He hiccupped. “Instead she sent me these.” He tossed an envelope closer to the opposite edge of his desk, the one Jon was near, but Jon didn’t move to pick it up. He didn’t need to. He knew what the envelope contained: divorce papers. “I tried to call her, to talk to her, but she said—she said she was done, she couldn’t pretend anymore, and she thought it’d be better for the kids this way, if we weren’t—if we—” He shook his head. “We fought. She hung up on me.”
Jon gave Stephen a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Stephen,” he said, and Stephen hiccupped again, looking Jon in the eyes. In that instant, Jon felt himself overcome with the desire to make sure Stephen never looked at him with those sad, tearful eyes ever again. Shaking his head to clear it, he let that thought go, like a wayward balloon slipping out of his grasp and floating upward, high above the rooftops. “Do you, uh, need help with the decorations?” he asked, clearing his throat and looking away, since he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t. “You haven’t covered the whole studio yet, right?”
Stephen smiled a watery smile. “Yeah, you could help,” he said. “Thanks, Jon.”
Stephen narrowed his eyes when he opened his door to reveal Jon on his front stoop, holding what looked like a medium-sized ham. “You think I’m pathetic,” he accused even as he let him in.
“Nope,” said Jon. “I think it’s Christmas, and you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Same thing,” muttered Stephen, but it lacked any real heat. If he were honest, he could admit to himself that he was glad Jon was there—not that he’d ever tell him that. He didn’t need him getting smug. Jon shifted the ham in his arms, and Stephen frowned as something occurred to him. “Hey, I thought you weren’t supposed to eat ham. Isn’t that a Jewish thing?”
Jon smiled sheepishly. “It’s a turkey-ham,” he said. “Is that all right?”
Stephen was about to haughtily respond that it wasn’t a true Christmas dinner without real, God-given ham, but he took one look at Jon’s hopeful expression and swallowed that urge. “That’s fine,” he said instead. “Do you know how to cook it?”
“Yep,” said Jon brightly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” They made their way to the kitchen, where Jon sat the not-ham down and started getting out various dishes, as well as other foods. “Oh, good,” he said, looking under the sink. “You have potatoes. I wasn’t sure if you would.” He pulled the sack out onto the kitchen floor.
“Of course I have potatoes, Jon,” Stephen said imperiously. “I’m an American. A meat and potatoes kind of guy.”
“Right,” Jon said, looking amused. “Well, I should get cooking, huh?”
A few hours later, they were sitting down at Stephen’s dining room table, and Jon was getting ready to serve the not-ham. “Wait!” cried Stephen, as Jon moved for the knife. “I have to say grace first.”
Jon nodded, and Stephen folded his hands, looking down. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Oh, and I know Jon’s Jewish, but you can overlook that just for today, right? Since he cooked and everything? Thanks. Amen.” Stephen looked up to see Jon raising an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“Nothing, Stephen,” Jon said, shaking his head and smiling. He served them both, and Stephen was a little surprised to realize how much he liked the not-ham.
Later, after dinner and even dessert, Stephen deigned to help Jon clear the dishes off the table and bring them into the kitchen. It might be beneath him, but Jon had given him that look he always gave him when he really wanted him to do something, and Stephen still didn’t know how to resist it.
They stood hip to hip at the sink, as he rinsed the dishes and Jon loaded them into the dishwasher, and their sides brushed occasionally. Stephen tried not to think about the rush of heat that engulfed him every time they touched, like a glass of smooth scotch, warming him from the inside out. “Jon?” he said, after a few long minutes of companionable silence, and Jon glanced over, meeting his eyes, grey-blue irises alight with compassion, friendship.
“Yeah, Stephen?” he asked, and Stephen realized how close they really were, close enough that Stephen could smell Jon’s cologne, sandalwood and some kind of spice, mixed with something else that was indescribably Jon. He swallowed.
“Make sure you don’t pack the plates too close,” Stephen said at last. “They won’t get clean if you do.”
Jon blinked, looking like he’d been expecting something else, but he hid it quickly, with an easy smile. “Right,” he said. “No problem, Stephen.”
When Jon found Stephen at the restaurant they’d agreed to meet at for lunch, he was already seated at a table, chatting amiably with another man. “Hi, Jon,” Stephen said as he approached, beaming, and he and his friend stood. “I want you to meet someone. This is Eric. He’s my, uh, well—he’s—we’ve been dating.” Stephen only flushed a little as he said this, and Jon blinked.
He knew a stipulation of Stephen’s custody arrangement after the divorce had been mandatory weekly therapy sessions, but Jon had wondered more than once if they were actually doing any good. This was apparently his answer.
“Hey, Eric,” he said, tone friendly, as he shook his hand. Eric was a good-looking guy, tall (of course he was tall) and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair, and he smiled as he returned Jon’s greeting.
“Stephen’s told me so much about you,” he said as they all sat down. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” He even sounded genuine.
Really, Jon thought. Because Stephen hasn’t mentioned you at all. “Well, I hope I don’t disappoint,” he said.
After lunch, when Jon and Stephen had returned to Jon’s studio and Eric had left, citing a need to get back to work, Stephen cornered him in his office. “Well?” he demanded. “Do you like him?”
“He seems nice,” Jon hedged, which was true. Eric had seemed very nice: calm, reasonable, even witty, and able to deal with Stephen’s various quirks. For some inexplicable reason, however, Jon hadn’t liked him at all, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.
Stephen didn’t notice his non-answer. “I knew you’d like him,” he gushed. “He’s smart, like you. Even talks about the things you do. I think he might be a liberal, too. You guys should hang out.” He seemed excited by this prospect.
Jon managed a smile. “Yeah, maybe,” he said. “So…you’re happy? He’s good to you?” he asked.
Stephen nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “I didn’t think—when the therapist said—well,” he stopped, flushing. “I’m glad you like him, Jon.”
“As long as he makes you happy, Stephen,” Jon said weakly.
That time, Stephen did seem to notice something was wrong, because he frowned. “Wait, you’re doing it again. You’re giving me that look.”
“What?” Jon asked. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Don’t lie to me, Jon,” Stephen snapped. “I can tell. Whenever you’re just humoring me you always give me the same look, and you’re doing it now. You don’t like him, do you?”
“I said he seems very nice,” Jon protested.
“But you didn’t say you liked him,” Stephen pressed. “Do you?”
“I—”
Stephen gaped at him. “You don’t!” he said, outraged. “I’m finally happy, and you don’t even like him. Well, excuse me, Mr. Elitist Intellectual Bleeding-Heart Liberal Snob! You can sit in your ivory tower and look down on us all you want, because—because—you’re wrong! Eric’s great!” Stephen moved to storm out of the office, but Jon grabbed his arm to stop him, pulling him closer than he intended.
“Stephen, wait a second. I—”
“No! It’s not fair. What don’t you like about him, anyway? Why isn’t he good enough? Do you even have a good reason?”
He’s not me! Jon thought fiercely, and the force of it surprised him. He met Stephen’s eyes for the briefest of moments before letting him go. “No,” he said at last. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’ll give him a chance. I don’t know why I didn’t like him. He seemed great, Stephen, honestly.”
Stephen gave him a suspicious look at first, but eventually nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Good. I want you to like him, Jon. It’s important.”
Jon swallowed.
Jon seemed surprised when he arrived, which Stephen guessed was because he was the only one who’d come to his birthday party. “Am I first?” Jon asked, handing Stephen the neatly-wrapped gift he’d been carrying. They headed into the living room.
“No,” Stephen said, placing the present on his coffee table. “It’s just going to be you and me.”
“Really?” Jon asked. “Where’s Eric? Your kids? Tad, Bobby?”
“Tad’s sick,” said Stephen. “I think Bobby’s with him, but don’t tell, because they think I don’t know. The kids and I are going to celebrate next weekend. And, uh,” he paused for a second, “well, Eric and I broke up last week.” Stephen watched Jon’s face carefully for a reaction to that last piece of news.
“Oh, man,” Jon said. “I’m sorry to hear that. You okay?”
Stephen tried not to let his disappointment show. He’d thought that, maybe, Jon had been a little bit jealous while he was dating Eric, but now he seemed genuinely upset that they’d broken up. “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s not a big deal.” He glanced away, asking, “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” Jon said, surprised. “You didn’t…cook, did you?”
Stephen shook his head. “I was thinking, since it’s just you and me, maybe we could go out to eat? Evie sent over a cake that she made, as a birthday present. We could have that after.”
Jon smiled, nodding, and they headed back toward the door. “You guys are getting along better these days, aren’t you?” he asked as Stephen locked the door behind them.
“We are,” Stephen confirmed. “I guess—she said that it’s easier now. That she can talk to me and see me some and it doesn’t hurt so much.”
“Good. It’s good that things are better.” Stephen nodded in response, and they lapsed into a companionable silence.
Settling on a restaurant proved easy, and once they were seated, Stephen picked up his menu quickly, watching Jon carefully from behind it.
“So, uh,” Jon started, after a moment, “why did you and Eric break up? If you want to talk about it, I mean. You don’t have to.”
Stephen shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said, recalling exactly what Eric had said: “You’re not in love with me, Stephen. You’re in love with Jon. He’s all you talk about, you spend as much time as you can with him, and whenever the three of us hang out, I feel like the third wheel. I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m sorry.” He’d actually looked sorry, too, Stephen remembered, and right before he left, he’d added, “For what it’s worth, Stephen? I do want you to be happy. And I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you too.” Stephen still wasn’t sure if that was true. “There was no specific reason,” he lied. “We just decided we weren’t right for each other.”
“Oh,” Jon said, reaching across the table and placing a hand on Stephen’s arm. It was nice, Stephen thought, as their eyes met. Comforting. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else, Stephen. Someone who is right for you. He might even be closer than you think.”
Stephen leaned in just slightly, hopeful. “Really?” he asked. “You think so?” Maybe Eric had been right after all.
“Yeah,” Jon said, clearing his throat and glancing down at his hand before pulling it away. “I mean, you never know, right?”
Stephen tried not to sigh as he leaned back in his chair. This was just confusing. “Let’s order, Jon,” he said. “I’m looking forward to that cake. Besides, I want to see what you got me.”
Jon’s smile seemed strange. “I think you’ll like it.”
Stephen didn’t know what to say, so he hid behind his menu instead.
Jon knew his back was going to kill him for this, but somehow, Stephen had managed to talk him into putting down a blanket and lying on the ground to watch the fireworks show. He still wasn’t completely sure why he’d said yes—and that, of course, was when Stephen took the opportunity to grin at him happily, almost like a little kid, as the fireworks started bursting prettily over their heads. It reminded him instantly why he’d given in.
“Aren’t they awesome?” Stephen said excitedly. “Fireworks really shouldn’t be limited to the fourth of July, Jon. It’s a shame. They should be set off all year round.”
“I don’t know,” Jon said, as he watched the show. “I think there’s something to only doing it once a year. Makes it something special, you know?”
“Maybe,” Stephen said skeptically, leaning back. They weren’t quite touching at first, but then Stephen shifted, brushing against him. Jon didn’t move, unsure if it’d been accidental or purposeful; he’d been unsure about a lot, lately, when it came to Stephen, which was something he really wasn’t used to.
“You comfortable, Stephen?” he tried, figuring maybe he’d gauge what Stephen was thinking that way.
“Sure, Jon. I’m fine.” His tone seemed absent, except Jon was pretty sure he’d just snuck a glance at him. Making up his mind, Jon shifted a little bit closer, smiling when Stephen didn’t move, and they continued watching the display, neither speaking for a few minutes.
Stephen was the one to break the silence, glancing up: “Told you it’d be worth it.”
Jon smiled and looked down, struck once again by how happy he seemed, eyes bright and round. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, kissing Stephen softly, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake.
It was hard to misread a signal as obvious as Stephen’s hand reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, so Jon deepened the kiss, pleased by the way Stephen welcomed it. When they finally broke apart, maybe in reality only a few seconds later, though it felt like a lifetime, Stephen pulled back just far enough to give him a cross look, and Jon gave him a bewildered one in return.
“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Stephen demanded before Jon could ask what was wrong. Caught off guard, he laughed.
“Why didn’t you?” he challenged.
Stephen narrowed his eyes. “You’re supposed to be the perceptive one, remember?” he said, and Jon giggled; he had to admit that Stephen had a point there. The look Stephen gave him then was a little harder to read, at least until he was being pulled into another kiss; this time, it was much more heated. Jon gladly lost himself in it, focusing on the feel of Stephen’s lips and the warmth of his body as he shifted again, pressing closer. He let his hands roam, encouraged by the eager way Stephen responded, and time slipped away as they kissed, alternating between slow and fast, languid and frenzied. He breathed heavily when they broke apart again, giggling some more when he remembered exactly where they were.
Stephen frowned. “What’s so funny?” he asked.
“We’re making out on a blanket on the ground under fireworks,” Jon said. “I was just wondering when we’d jumped into a B-grade romantic comedy.”
Stephen rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Jon’s neck. “Shut up, Jon,” he said firmly, “and kiss me again.”
Jon smiled at him and obliged.
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Yeah, tell me about it. I have a personal moratorium on any Christmas-related activity until December 1st. Stephen would not be happy.
Thank you! :D
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