Owen and Jonah - Cupcakes

[A/N: This takes place many, many years before Cupcakes. Around the mid-to-late nineties, I think.]

Matt was late again. Owen ordered another beer, trying to act like he didn't care. So what if it was Valentine's Day? Last he checked, he hadn't developed ovaries, so no big deal. Just Matt being Matt.

"Hey, Owen."

Owen swallowed the groan. He refused to look in the direction of the voice, taking a long drag of his beer instead.

"Matt's late again, huh?"

Owen slammed his bottle down on the table.

"What do you want?" he asked, looking up at the skinny blonde. A man could slice his lips trying to kiss that face. Jonah smiled at him. Owen tried not to notice how blue his eyes were. He failed. He always failed.

"Dance with me," Jonah said.



"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Owen asked before Jonah could walk away. "Why do you keep asking me to dance?"

"No, and because I want to dance with you." Jonah shrugged as though this were obvious.

"What about the guy you were with last week?"

"Just a friend."

"He was pretty fucking handsy for 'just a friend'."

"Were you jealous?"

"No," said Owen. He finished his beer, and began picking at the label, acutely aware of Jonah's continuing presence. "You're just not my type," he said finally.

"Your type being arrogant assholes who don't even have to decency to be on time."

Owen looked up sharply. Jonah was still smiling.

"Fuck off," said Owen.

"Okay," said Jonah.

"He's not an asshole."

Jonah half-turned, but didn't stop walking.

"He's making you sit alone on Valentine's Day," he said over his shoulder. "He's an asshole."

Owen scowled and went to order another beer. Four beers in, Matt showed up.

"I'm sorry," he said, sliding into the chair opposite Owen's. "I couldn't get away. Marcy was making a complete mess of the Mendelsohn contract. I don't know what they would do without me. Have you been here long?"

Owen gave a pointed glance at the empty bottles, which Matt completely missed, being more occupied with checking his beeper.

"God, I need a drink," said Matt. "Can you get me a rum and coke? Thanks, babe."

"Get it yourself," said Owen, standing up. "We're through."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, you fucking ass wipe."

Matt flushed.

"Yeah, well, like I care," he said. "I'm going to be a partner in the biggest law firm in the city before I'm thirty, while you're still going to wasting time at the fucking start-up trash heap. Like MP3's are ever going to replace CD's."

"You're an idiot," said Owen.

"And I've been fucking Tyler behind your back." Matt laughed, nasty and not entirely convincing. "He is a way better fuck."

"Nice. Real classy, Matt."

Shaking his head, Owen strolled across the club, stopping at the table populated with Jonah and his friends. Ignoring the glares, he looked at Jonah, who was still smiling. Owen was beginning to think he was on drugs.

"Hey, pointy," he said. "Want to dance?"

"Not really," said Jonah. "I'm a terrible dancer." He lit a cigarette, letting the smoke drift out of his mouth. Owen tried not to find that sexy.

He failed. He always failed.

Jonah's friends laughed, obviously enjoying Owen's humiliation. He ignored them.

"Why the fuck do you keep asking me then?" he asked. Jonah shrugged.

"I had to start a conversation somehow," he said.

"What's wrong with offering to buy me a drink?"

"I just graduated med school. I have student loans coming out my ass. I had to swipe this pack of cigarettes off an old lady on the bus."

Owen's not sure he's making that up.

"I'll buy you a drink then," he said.

"I don't drink," said Jonah.

"There is something seriously wrong with you."

"Aw, you sound just like my step-dad. Are you planning to whup my ass with a belt too?"

"It's looking pretty fucking tempting," said Owen. Jonah laughed. He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up, slinging his coat over one arm.

"You can buy me a milkshake," he said. "There's an ice cream place around the corner that's open until midnight."

"A milkshake? Have we suddenly been transported back to 1952?"

"I hope not. I wouldn't be able to do this if we were."

"Wha- mmphf!"

Jonah tasted like sugar and cigarettes. His tongue searched the corners of Owen's mouth, caressing his tongue, licking the roof, tracing his gums, before luring Owen's tongue into his own mouth and sucking. It was all Owen could do to remain upright. His hands gripped Jonah's hips, feeling the hard bones beneath his jeans.

"Goddamn," Owen said, once Jonah finally pulled away.

"So, milkshakes?"


"Focus, Owen."

"I mean, really, goddamn."

Jonah sighed.

"I hate to see what you're going to be like after we fuck," he said.

"We're going to fuck?" asked Owen.

"No, we're going to get milkshakes. Then, if you don't screw up too badly, we might fuck. Might."

"Okay," said Owen.

"Good." Jonah turned, then stopped. "What did you say to Matt? He looked really pissed."

"Forget about Matt. We're getting milkshakes."

"Excellent," said Jonah.

-The End-