The orchard seems quiet at first. Jon is used to the rush of traffic, the commotion of pedestrians: city noises. This is the country, or at least it seems like it to him. He's always been a city boy at heart. Here, though, he hears birds and insects and the wind. Stephen joins in on the country noise, humming something Jon doesn't recognize. It fits though, like the orchard has just been waiting for Stephen's voice.
Jon mentally kicks himself. They've been together for a month now and sometimes Jon just gets sappy, not that he'd admit to it. Thankfully, he can generally keep the sap to his internal monologue.
Jon is used to Stephen in the city. Stephen in suits, running around the studio and making things happen; Stephen being the center of attention. Stephen is still Jon's center of attention, but out here no one else is watching Stephen. No one's watching Jon watch Stephen, either.
Which is a good thing, because before Jon can stop him, Stephen is in one of the trees, grabbing for a piece of fruit.
"Catch," Stephen says, and tosses the peach in Jon's direction. He's got good enough eye-hand coordination, barely, to make the catch.
"Stop staring at it. It's food!" Stephen calls as he searches for another perfect peach, so Jon takes a bite. The peach is perfect. It's so ripe that juice leaks down his chin and he has to wipe it away with the back of his hand.
"You're right, this is amazing," Jon says.
"Told you so," Stephen says, around a mouth full of fruit.
Jon laughs, head thrown back.
Stephen jumps out of the tree and lands on his feet, then settles down in the grass, back against thee trunk.
Jon joins him. It's not a bad place to sit. The sun is warm on his skin, the grass it soft, and the sweet smell of ripe peaches wafts down to surround them. "Where'd you learn to pick the perfect peach?" he asks.
"Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers?" Stephen says like it's a question.
Jon laughs. "No, seriously."
"Sally sells seashells by the seashore?" Stephen's grin is in full force.
Jon just give him a look. They've known each other long enough that Jon knows that Stephen will understand exactly what he's not saying.
"Amy," Stephen admits.
"Amy? Wait, of course Amy." Jon sometimes wonders where Amy picked up all the odd little skills she passed on to Stephen, but he's never gotten up the guts to ask. Knowing Amy, she was mentored by a rogue elephant seal or a depressed circus clown or secret agent/astronaut/horticulturalist. It's always safer to guess the absurd with Amy.
"Yeah, you never want to go produce shopping with her," Stephen says. "She communes with the fruit. Like, on a spiritual level. We once got kicked out a of a grocery store because she was singing to a watermelon."
"I..." Jon starts. "Nope, I can't even say I'm surprised."
"It wasn't so bad, but then we got kicked out of the other grocery store near the apartment because she and Paul decided to race shopping carts, and then we had to drive out to the suburbs to get food," Stephen explains between bites of peach.
"Oh, I'm sure you were totally innocent." Jon grins.
"Well, I may have been in Paul's shopping cart. Amy said it was the easiest way to level the playing field."
"That's more like Amy," Jon replies.
Stephen nods. "Want another?" Stephen asks, motioning with the remains of his peach.
"No, I'm good. This was a great idea though," Jon says.
"I thought so," Stephen says.
Jon slugs him on the shoulder. "Ass."
"You know it," Stephen says with a smirk. "And anyway, I thought it might be nice to spend the day without wondering if we were being caught on someone's iPhone."
"True," Jon says, and leans back so his shoulder is touching Stephen's. "You ever wish you'd picked a career where you were a little less famous?"
Stephen considers this for a moment. "Sometimes. I considered dropping out of college and going to culinary school after a rough semester."
Jon looks at Stephen, trying to see it. "Nope, can't imagine you in one of those chef hats. You'd manage to set it on fire."
"Jon," Stephen says with his face contorted into his best expression of fake outrage, "I never set things on fire unless I mean for them to be on fire."
"I think your new prop lady would disagree with that sentiment. Remember the microwave?" Jon asks.
"That was faulty manufacturing. Also, how was I supposed to know that there a spoon in the container?"
"Well, if you'd stop stealing people's lunches and putting them in the on-stage microwave, which, by the way, is sort of a weird thing to have on set, even for you, then you wouldn't get in so much trouble."
Stephen laughs. "Trouble? I'm getting into fun, Jon. You know, we should..."
Jon interrupts him with a kiss before Stephen can get whatever wacky scheme he's cooked up out of his mouth. It's not that Jon minds Stephen's wild ideas and crazy pranks, it's just if he doesn't distract him now, they'll spend the rest of the day flying out to California while Stephen draws up blueprints. Which reminds Jon that he still needs to glare menacingly at Aasif for introducing Stephen to the Mythbusters. Jon just knows that Stephen is going to get them to build him a robot or blow something up and Jon is going to be left cleaning up after them. At least, after he stops laughing.
Jon trusts that anything Stephen does will be funny. He also trusts that if he distracts Stephen now, he'll get laid when they go back to the hotel, and while Jon likes explosions as much as any man, Stephen in bed is better.
Stephen tastes like peaches, sweet and tangy, and Jon could kiss him forever.
"Hotel?" Stephen asks eventually.
"Hotel," Jon agrees.