Muffin Kisses.

He was quite content.

Pale lips were pulled into a tiny smile as he hummed a song low in his throat; “Mr. Tambourine Man” by Bob Dylan, that’s what it was. It had been in his head all day, but he found that he didn’t really mind. Nothing could alter his good mood, a mood that really had no origin but was still pleasing all the same. It was drastically more appealing than that stressful feeling he got all the time from this tour schedule, running around like a lunatic trying to find what chords went to his amp or where Brendon hid his distortion pedals or where the nearest shower was. Today, he had just woken up light as a feather, letting out that perfect, fresh yawn, stretching relaxed muscles, slipping on clothes with a smile on his face, and taking an amazingly wonderful breath of crisp spring air as he took his first steps off the bus. Today was just…today was just fucking great, y’know? It was like, getting the last swing at the playground good, or jumping in a giant pile of autumn leaves good. He wished that every day he could feel like this, this weightlessness that made everything seem so easy.

Was he high?

Nah, he would have remembered doing something like that.

So, it was just a good day. Jon Walker was having a fucking good day, humming “Mr. Tambourine Man” low in his throat with a tiny smile as he scanned auburn eyes over that table of food that was displayed out for their breakfast consumption. He couldn’t help but to muse to himself how everything looked quite delicious when you were so optimistic with life, not really preventative of letting a small chuckle slip from his mouth since he was in this room alone. Clutching that cardboard cup of a wonderful Starbucks’ caramel macchiato in his fingers, he played with the thin beard on his chin with the other hand, looking thoughtful and searching for something that would just make his day even more better than it was going. A bagel? Nah. Some fruit? Eh, close. Those pancakes looked kinda good…

And then he saw it. Sitting there, looking fantastic and divine on a solitary white plate, was a blueberry muffin. No…

The last blueberry muffin.

And Jon was ecstatic.

Not only was it just the sweet, symbolic food to continue on with his fantastical day, it was a nostalgic item that tugged at the strings of the bassist’s heart. No one knew much about his life back in Chicago, so they would never know what a simple blueberry muffin could do to him. It took him back home, sitting in the kitchen with Bill and Mike and swinging his feet in his chair as they waited for mom to feed them breakfast. And on those days that she would set a muffin down in front of Jon’s smiling boyish face, she would ruffle a hand in his hair, press-on nails gently scraping against his scalp in a feeling that made him shiver. She would then tilt her body at the middle, a quick mom-like kiss placed on grinning lips. “Muffin kiss!” she would say, and Jon would giggle and she would laugh and his brothers would scoff, but they were a lot cooler than him so they were allowed.

He liked muffin kisses, was that really so wrong?

So yes, this pastry sounded like the most positively best way to continue on with his morning, going along great with the coffee in his palm. And he couldn’t help but to smile more as he took his hand from his chin, reaching out for that yummy-looking food and already thinking about how nice it was going to taste.

But then suddenly, it was gone.

It caught Jon greatly off-guard, eyes blinking once as he realized that he was now grabbing for air, not that delicious muffin that had occupied his vision just milliseconds before. What…Where had it gone? When the realization hit that it was truly missing, white plate devoid of any object save for the few brown crumbs littering its emptiness, he was instantly overcome with a confusion that slightly deterred his happy-go-lucky attitude. That was, until he raised his head from the table, just then noticing that there was a person beside him, a person who had entered the room without Jon even knowing, a person that he knew. It was Spencer, paying the older man no heed as he focused his attention on peeling the thin paper wrap off of something. What was that something?

It was his fucking muffin.

“Bitch!” he heard himself squeak out, voice portraying exactly the bewilderment that had plagued his mind as Spencer tore away at his precious breakfast. The younger man instantly froze at his voice though, and for a moment, Jon was compelled to sigh in relief. But when the drummer looked up at him with a look of confusion, Jon was there to look at the boy with the same expression, which kind of made this a stalemate of puzzled demeanors, didn’t it?

“Can I help you?” Spencer replied back, an eyebrow raised above blue eyes. It was sarcastic and snarky and complete with an oblivious attitude that just made Jon want to lose it. But, he didn’t, not yet. Instead he just pointed at the pastry poised in between Spencer’s fingers, looking at the younger man like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I was going to eat that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, just give it to me.”

“What?”

“Just gimme it.”

“No, I meant ‘what’ as in the astounded way—I’m not giving you this.”

And for a moment, Jon himself was astounded. He must have been hearing things, that had to be it. So he rolled his eyes, holding his hand out to Spencer to relinquish ownership of a muffin that was truly his. “Alright, quit fucking around. Give it up.”

But instead of handing him the food, Spencer more or less hugged the pastry to himself, turning away from Jon just the slightest. “No.”

No? Wait a second, no? Was he still hearing things? He had clearly been reaching for that muffin before Spencer had even stepped in the room; what gave him the gull to stand there and deny him his rights to a food item that had clearly been deemed his? This was not going to happen. Spencer was not going to ruin this perfect day for him with something as silly and childish as a muffin. But, when he took a step forward, Spencer was there to take one back, pastry still gripped defensively against his chest. This was nonsense.

“Spencer, give it to me,” Jon said, sounding more demanding than his happy attitude should have been letting him.

“Why do you want it so bad?”

“I have my reasons that were made up long before you got here—hand it over.”

“Just tell me why you want it.”

“Spencer.”

“It’s just a simple question.”

“Yeah but one I don’t really feel inclined to answer,” he spat back, finally pushed to his point as this was beginning to go on far much longer than it should have been. He stretched the hand not holding his coffee out to snatch away that pastry, to end this foolishness so he could go back to having his perfect day and Spencer could go back to doing Spencer things. But a palm suddenly thudded itself upon his chest and Jon was forced to stop, else that hot coffee would spill all over his fingers, not having the ability to reach as far as Spencer was pulling away with that hand shoving him back.

“Ah ah!” Spencer then exclaimed, body curling from Jon and the arm not on his chest stretching out as far as it could, holding Jon’s muffin as far away from him as possible. He was suddenly grinning at him. “You really want this, don’t you?”

And Jon huffed, annoyed with all this as he kept reaching for that pastry in Spencer’s fingers, grappling at it only to have the younger man move more away from him in response. “Yes, I would really fucking enjoy having that.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough, just give it to me.”

“I don’t feel any passion in this need…”

“Spencer fucking give it to me now.”

And then Spencer was laughing at him, a small chuckle at his expense. What a fucking jerk. He was still grinning, and when Jon saw it grow, he instantly became worried for his pride, his being, and that muffin that sat helplessly in the drummer’s hand. “Say how great I am.”

“What?”

“Say that I am the greatest person ever and you will never be as good as me.”

What?! No. When had this turned into such a childish game? They were adults—this callow way of settling things just getting on Jon’s nerves even more to the point where he growled in his throat, intent on giving up and leaving Spencer to his immature games. But, he quickly remembered that was stubborn and immature too, and he really wanted that god damn muffin. So through gritted teeth, he hurriedly spat out: “You are the greatest person ever and I will never be as good as you now give me the fucking muffin before I eat your eyes out.”

But Spencer was just laughing again and Jon was about ready to explode. “Now say you’re a pretty princess.”

“What?!”

“Say it!”

“No!”

“Say it!”

“No!”

At his justifiable denial of this fact, Spencer shook his head, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in a scolding manner like Jon was some kind of child. He then watched as Spencer’s arm retracted back towards them, thinking and hoping for just a few seconds that this little game was done and the younger man realized that his male pride couldn’t quite risk calling himself something so degrading as a princess. But all he could do was watch in horror as his precious blueberry muffin was brought to the drummer’s lips, unable to do anything because of the hand on his chest pushing him back and the coffee in his palm preventing that arm from aiding in his struggle. “I guess this is mine then…” he heard Spencer say, and wanted to wail when the younger boy opened his mouth, about to take a big bite of the muffin that was his. And in this moment of desperation and terror, he suddenly found himself crying out:

“I’m a pretty princess! I’m the prettiest fucking princess you want me to be just don’t!”

And Spencer halted in mid-movement, mouth poised over his muffin and grin gradually and humiliatingly pulling at his lips. The pastry was then pulled away from his mouth excruciatingly slow and Jon wanted to collapse in relief. That was, until blue eyes shifted to the side, and that grin of amusement turned into a dark and devious smirk. “Tell Zack.”

Jon could only stare at him for a long time in a moment of confusion until he finally looked over where Spencer had glanced. There enough stood their bodyguard on the other side of the room, probably just having entered and too busy with a clipboard and pen in his hands to really notice that him and Spencer were squabbling over a muffin. After he had realized that their friend had joined them in the room, he then processed what Spencer was actually asking him to do, the thought procedure making him blink and shift his eyes in between random things in contemplation. When it finally hit him, he quickly turned his head back in Spencer’s direction, glaring hard at the younger man in a hate that was suddenly unmatched.

“No. fucking. way.”

But then Spencer’s mouth opened again, right over top of his muffin, and hate was instantaneously replaced with the reoccurring despair that he despised himself for. His head snapped back over in Zack’s direction, Jon’s face already burning with what he was about to say to save his dear muffin from consumption.

“Zack!”

The other man let a paper that he was scanning over fall from his fingertips, head raising and looking back at Jon. For a second he looked like he might care what had made Jon and Spencer mesh into the scene before him, Spencer’s mouth over a muffin and a hand pushing a desperate looking bassist away, but he wasn’t really a man to delve into situations and said nothing besides, “What’s up?”

Jon couldn’t help but to swallow, the blood in his head making him warm and incredibly uncomfortable. His voice was low and tuned down from that normally strained octave, but he said it nevertheless.

“Zack, I am a pretty princess.”

And everything became deadly silent.

Zack was staring at him and Spencer’s lips were pursing hard together to prevent the laughter that itched at his throat as Jon stood there, basking in complete humiliation that he did not deserve. But what was said was said, and it was so long before Zack finally started to hesitantly turn away, eyebrows knitted together and looking slightly bewildered at what Jon had just admitted to him.

“Well, alright…? Whatever makes you happy man.”

And Spencer finally spit out in loud laughter as Zack made his way out of the room, making Jon blush to the very tips of his ears. What had he done? This would never leave—he would be plagued with that statement the whole tour, he could just see it now. His downfall was eminent, and it was all because of the other boy howling in laughter at his mortification, all because of a fucking muffin. He was humiliated, he was pissed, he was enraged, and he was fucking fed up with this little game of Spencer’s, snapping auburn eyes to glare once more at the laughing boy with the hand on his chest.

“Give me that thing now.”

“Wait…Wait, hang…hang on,” Spencer managed to gasp out through bouts of laughter, body curling with the effort need to keep himself upright. It only made Jon feel worse, his pride dashed away to never be found again in a giant pit of nothingness. And that was when he finally let himself lose it.

He lunged forward, Spencer’s impairment due to embarrassing laughter making that hand on his chest unaware and weak enough to finally let him through. What he had forgotten in his haste however, was that scalding hot coffee with no lid sitting in his other hand, this sudden and unexpected movement inevitably causing the liquid to spill over the edges of his cardboard cup and onto his fingers. It seared his skin with a sharp pain that made him cry out, tripping over his feet just moments as he was about to snatch away the food object from Spencer’s hand. It made him falter, fate of the muffin that was pushed instead of snatched out of Spencer’s fingers unknown as his coffee cup dropped from his burning fingers to splatter unceremoniously on the hard floor. It splashed against his jeans and soaked them through, the heat sticking to his skin underneath in a sudden sting that passed as soon as it came, Jon instantly bending over at the waist to pull the soaked fabric from his leg with a pained hiss. Spencer’s hands had clasped themselves over his mouth with an audible gasp, the brunet taking a step back in surprise at what had just happened and he damn well should have. But when Jon revisited that thought, that Spencer had both of his hands clasped over his mouth, he was suddenly filled with dread. Auburn eyes glanced all around himself, searching desperately for the thing that had caused all this mayhem, soaked jeans and ruined coffee momentarily forgotten as he scanned the floor.

That’s when he noticed something was underneath his shoe. Something soft and flattened and brown with small blue spots was under his shoe.

And Jon suddenly felt like crying.

He let himself fall completely to the floor in complete wonder of what had just happened, landing on his ass with a thud as he stared mindlessly at his annihilated muffin squashed deep into the carpeted floor, spilled, delicious coffee not far off beside him either. Why? Why was this happening to him? All he had wanted was one good day, one perfect day without any stress or any mishaps. Was that really so much to ask? And it had been going on like that, until Spencer, fucking Spencer of all people had to ruin it. The boy wasn’t even in front of him anymore, having moved away just a few short moments ago to head back to the table situated behind them. Did he not care? Was he really that big of a fucking jerk?—Jon had never known. But he didn’t even give a shit about it anymore; his day was officially ruined and there was nothing he could do about it, this streak of fantastic feelings just all a build up to this giant let-down of shame and misery. It was silly to be this disappointed and depressed over something as simple as a muffin and coffee, but that had been the symbols of his nice day, and now they were gone.

This was just awful.

“Here,” Spencer suddenly softly said to him, Jon jumping just the slightest bit in surprise that the drummer was even still in here with him. The bassist’s head slowly tilted up from his disgrace just in time to watch the younger man kneel down in front of him with something in his hand. It was in a beige paper cupcake holder, light brown top flowing in a nice proportion over the top and deep blue dots littering its surface. At first, Jon wasn’t really keen on the idea of believing that what he saw in Spencer’s hands was really what it was, taking glances between the object and the man himself, searching for any kind of explanation. But Spencer wasn’t paying attention to him, more busy with peeling off that paper cup and avoiding letting too many crumbs fall to the floor.

Spencer was giving him a new blueberry muffin.

“You…” was all he could really say, wishing that the brunet would look at him and explain how he conjured this pastry out of nowhere. But he didn’t, seeming more intent on busying himself with a wrapper that was already practically off. Ten seconds passed before Spencer said anything, Jon counted.

“I ask Eric to make sure that there are some under the table—y’know, out of Brendon and Ryan’s sight,” he slowly explained, finally raising his head to give Jon a crooked smile and raise that breakfast item in his face. “I just like the ones that have been sitting out more. I guess I like them dry or something like that—I prefer them more than those that have been sitting fresh in the box.”

And Jon could only gape at him, mouth parted and hanging just the slightest as he stared at Spencer past that muffin in his face. He had…he had had more the whole time? Why hadn’t he told him something like that? Suddenly he was washed with a feeling of guilt, auburn eyes shifting down to glance at that pastry that they had battled over, squished mercilessly into the floor with thin lines of a shoe imprint. It had to have been sitting out on the table for a while and that was how Spencer liked his muffins, but now it was gone and Jon was suddenly saddened by this predicament.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally managed to ask. Spencer’s smile just grew.

“I wanted you to tell Zack you were a pretty princess.”

“Oh you are just the worst.”

The younger man then laughed, a sound that seemed quite nice when it hit Jon’s ears (and wasn’t making fun of him). It made him feel happier, and that tiny smile that had been on his lips just earlier was suddenly growing back. Soon they were just grinning at each other, silly smiles that beamed at all this ridiculous nonsense that had just occurred between them. And that was when Jon realized that he really did like Spencer’s smile. It was soft and warm and something that Jon had never contemplated being quite a wonderful feature on another man. It wasn’t all that awkward though, because Spencer was one of his best friends, and he was damn well allowed to tell himself the things that he liked about the younger man, like his smile and his laugh and how blue his eyes were and how cute that little stubble on his chin made him look and how that hoodie he was wearing pressed against him in all the right ways. Yeah, he was allowed to do that; nothing wrong with it.

“I’m sorry you spilled your coffee. Here…” And suddenly Spencer wasn’t looking at him, attention focused back on that muffin in his hand as he peeled off a chunk with his fingers. Jon watched as the drummer made sure that it didn’t crumble in his grip before raising his hand up, holding this separated piece up to Jon’s lips. When Jon furrowed his eyebrows in the dash of perplexity that came with this gesture, Spencer opened his mouth just the slightest bit, a signal that told Jon to do the same. It was a little silly, a little juvenile, but Jon didn’t mind at all and a smile still pulled strong at his lips as he opened it to allow the younger man to pop the muffin piece in his mouth. It was tasty and delicious and wonderful just like he had imagined the other muffin would be like. Except maybe it was better, because Spencer was kneeling in front of him and smiling in that way that Jon liked again.

“Taste good?” he heard him ask. Jon nodded, closing his eyes in the momentary bliss that came with having such a wonderful tasting thing in his mouth. But in that instant that his eyes had shut, something was pushed into his hand, hasty and hurried like this was the only chance that just needed to be taken. His reaction was to open his eyes and look down at his palm, finding that the blueberry muffin with the small chunk ripped off was now sitting in his hand, dusting his fingers with crumbs. And something was really close in front of him, someone was really close in front of him, leaning on their hands in front of his crossed legs and brown hair tickling the side of his face. He could do nothing to stop a pair of lips from planting themselves on his cheek, too frozen in shock to do any shoving or disgusted yells or freaking out. And even if he wasn’t in shock of what was going on…

He really didn’t think that he would want to do any of those things anyway…

As soon as it was there it was gone, those lips quickly pulling back from Jon’s cheek and leaving a warm spot on his flesh as their mark. He was blushing just a bit; the bassist could feel the heat crawling up his neck as he watched Spencer sit back on his heels with a look of indifference at what he had just done. He was just smiling, always smiling. It was quiet for a long time before Spencer just pursed his lips, shrugging his shoulders with a sudden shy look, like he had just realized that he had kissed Jon’s cheek.

“Muffin kiss,” he then murmured quietly.

And Jon felt his heart skip two beats.

There was nothing he could really say back to that, closely resembling a fish as his mouth opened and closed in this attempt to find words. Anything, something, he had to speak. But there was so much to question. What had compelled Spencer to kiss his cheek? How had he known about Jon’s hometown memory? Why did Spencer kiss his cheek? How come he looked so calm when he had just done something like that to another man? Why the hell did Spencer kiss his cheek?

And why was he okay with that?

How come he felt so warm and nice all the sudden? He was a dude and Spencer was a dude—cheek kisses were not allowed between men by his standards. Well, not really. There were many times when Brendon would waltz off stage and give Jon a big smack of lips on his face, and Jon would just laugh and ruffle his hair and sometimes throw in that he was a queer. There had been times when Ryan and him had been exchanging song ideas and the younger boy would be completely befuddled with how he wanted the lyrics to go. When Jon would put in his two cents, and when those ideas would be just the things Ryan was looking for, the boy would grab his face between bony fingers, pressing thin lips on them and telling Jon he was a genius before scribbling down notes in a tattered book. So why was he thinking so much about this? What was the difference between a muffin kiss from Spencer and a backstage kiss from Brendon or a revelation kiss from Ryan?

It was because he was feeling nice and warm all the sudden.

That was the difference.

So he really didn’t put any restraint on himself as he ripped off a corner of that muffin opposite of the tear that Spencer had made. The brunet was watching him, he could feel it, and it only made the mischievous little smirk that he was biting back harder to suppress. With muffin portion wedged between his fingers, he raised his hand, putting it up to the younger man’s lips just like the boy had done to him. And just like the befuddled look that had crossed Jon’s demeanor before, one now spread itself across Spencer’s face, the bassist unable to hold back that grin as he opened his mouth in the same gesture that Spencer had given him earlier. There was doubt and there was confusion, but the drummer’s lips eventually parted, letting Jon slip that piece of pastry between his teeth with no words exchanged. And as soon as the food was in Spencer’s mouth, the older man leaned himself forward as quick as he could, a hand finding its way onto the other boy’s knee so he could pull himself close enough.

He then pressed his lips onto Spencer’s.

It was a small peck, a mom-like kiss, but it was a kiss all the same.

By the time he pulled away Spencer was already flushed a light red color, Jon’s smile triumphant and broad as he found that the younger man was now the one gaping at him like a fish. The older man hadn’t really come to terms with why he had done it either, but realized that thinking about things too much was just silly and prevented things from getting done. Plus, the kiss had made him feel just plain great, and he was perfectly okay with this as well. So as he sat there with the other boy, Jon grinning and Spencer stuck in a silly-looking bewilderment, there was really only one thing that needed to be said:

“That…is a muffin kiss.”

And slowly, Spencer joined him in a smile, shock replaced by a much lighter feeling as the younger boy shook his head with cheeks that were still tinted just the slightest shade of pink. But this was okay too, because Jon thought that it was quite adorable to say the least. Suddenly his hand was minus a muffin, Jon hardly able to catch Spencer snatching it out of his unsuspecting fingers. However, he did look fast enough to watch the younger man tear off another piece of the top, still smiling that special smile as he held it up between them.

“I feel completely ashamed—can I try again?”

And Jon grinned and nodded, opening his mouth and waiting for that piece to be placed in his mouth, finding himself more excited for the even sweeter thing that would come after.

Jon’s day continued to be fantastic once again, whether or not Zack thought he was a pretty princess.

Because he was humming “Mr. Tambourine Man” low in his throat again as he and Spencer planned a mandatory trip to Starbucks and shared a very delicious blueberry muffin with each other.

Complete with muffin kisses and all…