Favs/Lovett: “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.
38.“Maybe we should take a break,” Jon says, and Lovett grumbles. Normally he lives for those words when they come out of Jon’s mouth. So rare, so few and far between. But he just hit his stride and he thinks he’s got at least another paragraph in him before he has to look away from his screen. He waves at Jon without looking at him. “You go, I’ll be here.” “Lovett, come on.” “Some of us have work to do,” Lovett says, and he smirks when he hears Jon fighting back a laugh. “You can go… go fuck around or whatever, I’ll be here when you get back.” “I’m not going to fuck…” Jon mumbles to himself, and Lovett sees him shake his head out of the corner of his eye before Jon pushes away from his desk and stands up. Or, well. He sort of does. For a second at least. “Jon,” he says, and he sounds a little panicked.
Lovett tears his eyes away from his draft. “What’s up?” “I can’t…” Jon says, staring into the middle distance, his hands white-knuckled on the edge of his desk. He makes a desperate grab behind him, like he’s trying to get to the desk chair he just scooted back too far. “Favs,” Lovett says, soft, like he’s trying not to spook a horse. He sets down the laptop out of harm’s way on his chair and crosses around the desk, his hands out soothingly. “Are you alright?” “Yeah,” Jon says, but it sounds weak. He doesn’t look alright, all the color drained from his face and his hands shaking. “I just need to–” He takes a step back from his desk and his knees buckle, Lovett actually sees them give out. Lovett doesn’t think about it, doesn’t hesitate, just rushes over to him and barely catches him before he hits the ground. Lovett’s not that adept at catching things, so they both more or less end up on the floor, but at least Jon didn’t bang his head against anything, cushioned as he is by Lovett’s somewhat bony body. “Jon?” he asks, staring down at his slack face. He doesn’t have any time to panic, not really, before Jon’s blinking up at him, looking confused. “Jon?” “I’m okay,” Jon says, but he doesn’t move, staring up at Lovett and then looking away, around the office, like he’s trying to figure out how he got here. Or got down here, more accurately. He’s not making any move to stand up, or to get away from Lovett, though. If anything, he settles in a little, his shoulders comfortably settled kind of sideways across Lovett’s lap, head pillowed by Lovett’s stomach. Most of him, all his miles of skinny legs, is on the floor, but Lovett managed to hold onto the vital parts of him, to save his upper body and his organs, his head and his brain and his stupidly handsome face. “You caught me,” Jon says, and his words come out a little slow. Fuck, they’re not quite out of the woods yet. “When’s the last time you ate?” Lovett cranes to reach behind himself, trying not to jostle Jon too much. He knows he has something in his bag, or he’s pretty sure he does. “You caught me,” Jon repeats, and that’s it, Lovett’s officially worried about brain damage, even though Jon didn’t hit his head. Was he out long enough to kill some of his brain cells anyway? “I did,” Lovett says, and when he risks a glance at Jon’s face, he’s treated to a full attack of Jon’s dumb, gap-toothed, incredibly pleased grin. He’s smiling so hard his eyes are almost closed. It’s stupid and unattractive, and definitely not the kind of thing that makes Lovett smile back, helpless. “Here,” Lovett says, pressing a little condiment tub of peanut butter he’d squirreled away the last time he’d gotten an apple in the mess. Jon squints at it as he peels back the plastic wrap. “Did I pay for this?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Jon rolls his eyes. “Spoon?” “Huh?” “You know, it’s a utensil. Fork, knife? Anything?” “Uh,” Lovett says, because normally he has apple slices to eat his peanut butter with, but he’s fresh out. He’s also not above getting the last little bits out with his fingers, sue him. “Fine.” Jon shrugs, which Lovett acutely feels, thanks to Jon’s shoulders still being in his lap, and leverages himself up enough so the back of his head is pressing into Lovett’s chest, and Lovett has to rearrange so he can lean against the desk while Jon leans against him. Probably they could have moved to the couch. Probably Lovett should have moved Jon to the couch. He doesn’t have much experience with swooning maidens, he’s a little out of his depth. Jon brings the shallow cup up to his mouth and licks at it, like he’s curious, and Lovett absolutely needs to look away, just like he has the last two times he’s seen some asshole pass Jon Favreau a jello shot at a party. He needs to look away and not see the way Jon actually goes for it, using his apparently strong tongue to scoop some of the peanut butter out and into his mouth, making a small, contented sound at the taste. Nope. Nope, nope, nope, Lovett thinks, wildly, reaching for his own chair, which is thankfully in reach, wheeling it over so he can get to his laptop. He re-reads over what he has so far, making small, useless edits, his laptop awkwardly on the floor, pointedly not watching Jon eat. It’s worse, when he risks a look down, when he thinks the peanut butter is gone, because Jon’s using his long fingers to get the rest of it out, sucking on them after, his tongue curling around his knuckles like he’s chasing the taste and fuck but Lovett needs to get his boss off his lap now. “You good?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the draft. “Yeah, I think so,” Jon says, tossing the cup toward the trash. He huffs when it bounces off the rim and onto the floor, and Lovett can’t help but smile. “Come on, let’s go get real food before you fucking faint on me again,” Lovett says, urging Jon up by his shoulders.“I didn’t–” “You absolutely did. Literally on me. And yes, before you ask, yes, I’m telling everyone. Do you think Tommy’ll think it’s funny? Or do you think he’ll get all Papa Bear on me?” Jon mouths Papa Bear with a horrified look on his face, but Lovett soldiers on. “You know, somehow decide it’s my fault you didn’t eat all day.” “You fed me just now,” Jon says, shrugging, picking up the tub and actually getting it in the trash this time. “To be fair.” Lovett ruthlessly pushes down at how the acknowledgement makes him feel warm all over. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, we can do this over pizza instead.” “We got pizza yesterday,” Jon whines, slipping on his coat. “What kind of red-blooded American are you?” Lovett asks, aghast. “Some kind of, of representative of the leader of the free world you are, disparaging one of our greatest institutions.” “Pizza is not a–” “Slander!” Lovett cries, his voice echoing in the quiet hall as Jon locks his office, doubled over and laughing at Lovett’s outburst. “Fine, we can get fucking pizza,” Jon says. “But we’re finishing the draft tonight.” “Sadist,” Lovett says. “Walk ahead of me so I’ll have some warning if you pass out again.” Jon looks over his shoulder. “So you can catch me again?” “You know,” Lovett says, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” He can just see the tips of Jon’s ears and the back of his neck flushing red as Jon hurriedly turns back around, and he counts it as a win.
