Status: Mpreg // ♂♂
Empty Cells
almost
“Yeah?” Jon asks, voice tired, hand in Spencer’s.
Spencer stares at the stick and swallows hard. He turns his face, breath on Jon’s neck. “Yeah.”
Jon kisses his cheek, his jaw, doesn’t stop until Spencer crumbles and chokes out, “Fuck.”
Spencer wakes up to the sound of the door shutting quietly, and then soft pressure on the bed next to him. Jon is staring down at him when he opens his eyes, hands almost touching Spencer’s face. He smiles weakly. Spencer blinks.
“Okay?” Jon whispers. Spencer sits up, shrugging, curling in on himself. He doesn’t look Jon in the eye. He doesn't think he could if he tried.
Jon sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately.
There are thick purple bruises under Jon’s eyes when he steals a glance, and Spencer almost wants to press his fingers to them, but Jon is moving away, unpacking a mismatch of clothes from the cupboard with a quiet purpose.
They get dressed on separate sides of the room, Spencer’s back turned away from Jon. He’s so transparent. It makes him want to break things, break down. He doesn't really know which is which anymore.
Spencer catches a glimpse of Jon’s bare back when he reaches for his t-shirt, an expanse of brown skin and then dark hair that makes him turn away, guilty; caught.
Spencer takes a moment, three, before facing Jon. Jon reaches out for him, like he was waiting (and maybe he was), but doesn't touch. Not until Spencer does.
Spencer takes Jon’s hand and they walk.
After, he gets to go home to soft sheets and the smell of Jon, of them.
His throat is too dry, his head too quiet. His stomach feels hollow, and it’s miserable in all kinds of ironic ways. He chokes on a breath. He chokes on another.
“I wish…” Jon mumbles, face pressed behind Spencer’s ear.
Spencer tenses, rolling over, away from Jon, doesn't ask what? Doesn't want to know the answer.
“I wish…” Jon says again, and Spencer closes his eyes, because I wish we didn't is so much different to I wish we could.
“Please don’t.”
Spencer stares at the stick and swallows hard. He turns his face, breath on Jon’s neck. “Yeah.”
Jon kisses his cheek, his jaw, doesn’t stop until Spencer crumbles and chokes out, “Fuck.”
-----
Spencer wakes up to the sound of the door shutting quietly, and then soft pressure on the bed next to him. Jon is staring down at him when he opens his eyes, hands almost touching Spencer’s face. He smiles weakly. Spencer blinks.
“Okay?” Jon whispers. Spencer sits up, shrugging, curling in on himself. He doesn’t look Jon in the eye. He doesn't think he could if he tried.
Jon sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately.
There are thick purple bruises under Jon’s eyes when he steals a glance, and Spencer almost wants to press his fingers to them, but Jon is moving away, unpacking a mismatch of clothes from the cupboard with a quiet purpose.
They get dressed on separate sides of the room, Spencer’s back turned away from Jon. He’s so transparent. It makes him want to break things, break down. He doesn't really know which is which anymore.
Spencer catches a glimpse of Jon’s bare back when he reaches for his t-shirt, an expanse of brown skin and then dark hair that makes him turn away, guilty; caught.
Spencer takes a moment, three, before facing Jon. Jon reaches out for him, like he was waiting (and maybe he was), but doesn't touch. Not until Spencer does.
Spencer takes Jon’s hand and they walk.
-----
After, he gets to go home to soft sheets and the smell of Jon, of them.
His throat is too dry, his head too quiet. His stomach feels hollow, and it’s miserable in all kinds of ironic ways. He chokes on a breath. He chokes on another.
“I wish…” Jon mumbles, face pressed behind Spencer’s ear.
Spencer tenses, rolling over, away from Jon, doesn't ask what? Doesn't want to know the answer.
“I wish…” Jon says again, and Spencer closes his eyes, because I wish we didn't is so much different to I wish we could.
“Please don’t.”