Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1016579.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Rock_Music_RPF, Bon_Jovi
  Relationship:
      Jon_Bon_Jovi/Richie_Sambora
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-24 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 39818
****** All about loving you ******
by horseheadnebula
Summary
     Jon. Richie. Pain. Fame. It's during The Tour From Hell and the boys
     have trouble coming to terms with their feelings. Among other shit.
     Those of you who are regulars of the Jovi Boards probably know it.
     I'm just putting all my old stuff up here so I won't loose it. ; )
***** Chapter 1 *****
All about lovin' you
Setting: The tour from hell, USA
Characters: Do I have to say ? ;)
Rating: R to be on the save side, for strong language,mentioning of drug abuse
and innuendo. Might become NC-17 later
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the persons portrayed in
this story (though I sure wish I'd do), there's no money made from this and no
harm whatsoever is intended. No rumors should be started because of this
fiction.;)
 
It was in Phoenix, well into the 6th leg of the “Tour from hell“.
Jon had been quite frail for some time, due to repeat infections of his throat
and the stress of being on the road for almost a year now. The very moment he
stepped off stage that night he fell to his knees.
Not caring who saw or what people would think, Richie had gathered him in his
arms, brushed off any other attempt to help with a snarled: ”Will you fuckin'
leave him alone for once!” and carried the barely conscious singer to their
dressing room.
Despite being deeply worried about Jon's condition he felt a great tenderness,
a warmth that made him complete somehow. Jon's head on his shoulder, the sweat-
soaked hair that tickled his neck, the way Jon held onto him, fingers clenched
tightly around a bunch of Richie's t-shirt - that was all it took.
Inside the dressing room he managed to lock the door, then carefully laid Jon
down on the sofa. He covered him with a blanket and brushed the long hair back
from his face. Richie noticed how clammy Jon's skin felt and that his breathing
got heavier.
The guitarist quickly fetched a bottle of water and sat down beside his friend.
He pulled him up a little, so Jon's head rested against his chest. Holding the
younger man up with one arm, Richie put the bottle to his parched lips and
urged him to drink.
Jon just let his head drop back and refused to oblige, weakly mumbling
something about being tired. That's it, Richie thought, I'm getting you to a
hospital, management and press may be damned.
He just started to get up when Jon reacted and closed his lips around the
spout. Richie let out a sigh and helped him to drain the bottle. Then he
settled them back against the cushions, arms wrapped around the shivering frame
of his friend. He planted a kiss on the top of Jon's head and rubbed his upper
arms gently to warm him a little.
“ Jonny”, he said quietly “ Jonny, what did you take?”
Jon tried to answer but his voice failed him. He shook his head and took one of
Richie's hands in both of his. Snuggling it to his chest he laid back deeper
into Richie's embrace.
The guitarist knew what he tried to do and shook his own head firmly.
“Oh, no, love. Don't try to distract me. I've seen it before and I'm telling
you, I'm not gonna watch you fuckin' kill yourself!”
He untangled himself from Jon's grip and moved them around, so that Jon was
propped up against the cushions again. Richie knelt down in front of him. He
took Jon's hands and looked straight into the strangely dull blue eyes.
“Jon,” he said matter-of-factly, “if you don't tell me, I'm gonna tell Paul
you're really sick and he'll get you on an ambulance before you can say coke.”
“No!” Jon tried to yell, but only managed a croak. “I don't do that shit.” he
whispered,” You know I don't.” And a lone tear rolled down his cheek.
Richie's heart ached at that, but he couldn't let it go now. There was too much
at stake.
“Then tell me, Jonny. Tell me, so we can find out what you need.” he prompted.
God, this was so hard. He wanted nothing more than curl up and cry himself to
sleep. He wanted to cradle Jon in his arms and never let him go. Not this, not
to face the nightmare their dream had become.
The singer lowered his head, eyes closed. Another tear escaped from the long
lashes. He whispered:”I was so fucking tired all the time. No one should know.
They don't come to see me sleepwalk through the show.” He swallowed heavily and
continued. “I thought it's just like lot's of coffee.”
Richie closed his eyes briefly and thanked God for small favors.
“So you took caffeine? That it, Jon?” he asked urgently. Jon nodded once, his
shoulders started to shake as he cried silently. Richie was by his side in a
blink, sat down and pulled the desperate man on his lap.
Holding him close he rocked him gently, telling him that everything would be
alright. He felt Jon's pain and despair like his own and he hated how helpless
he was. Tears of hurt and frustration ran slowly down his face as he continued
to let his friend know that he wasn't alone in this.
After a short while Jon calmed down, he was too exhausted for anything to last
long these days. The guitarist grabbed a towel from the sofa's back and gently
wiped Jon's face.
“Alright,” he said,”Now let's get you back together again. Has this been the
first time?” Another nod from Jon. “Good. It's not really addictive anyway, but
it can wreak havoc on your body.”
Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and someone barked:” Open that
damned door, Richard, or I'll have it busted!”
Rolling his eyes, Richie laid Jon, who mouthed “Paul” with an expression so
shocked it was almost comical, back down and hissed to him:”You're asleep!”
He straightened himself, wiped the wet towel over his face, hoping to smear his
make- up enough to hide the tear tracks and opened the door.
The tour manager, Paul Korzilius, was fuming. “What the hell do you think
you're doing?” he shouted. “Where's...” he was stopped by the hand Richie held
up, right in front of his nose.
“Keep it down, will ya? He just fell asleep.” he said in a low, level voice and
stepped outside, almost closing the door behind him.
“He alright?” Paul asked, natural kindness overcoming the anger at the
independent actions of the guitarist.
Richie pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, man, he'll be
alright if he just gets some rest. He didn't get much sleep lately and tonight
he forgot to drink enough. He did now and tomorrow he'll be a lot better.”
The half-lie was readily bought by the older man. They arranged for the two
musicians to be picked up by a driver some thirty minutes later and both of
them were mercifully excused from the after show party that night.
Paul reminded Richie that the plane would be leaving at 10:30 the next morning
and Richie got inspired.
Why, he asked Paul, couldn't he and Jon stay for another day at their hotel and
take a line flight to Tulsa the day after?
That way Jon could sleep as long as he needed and maybe relax a bit, away from
everyday business. Paul didn't like the idea too much. They argued for a while
and finally the tour manager relented.
Richie went back into the dressing room where he found Jon much as he left him
but with a worried look on his pale face.
“How'd it go?” he asked tentatively.
“Oh, great!” Richie smiled, eyes sparkling again.
“I'll tell you in a minute. But first you have to...” his voice trailed off as
he retrieved his bag from under the vanity and rummaged through it's contents.
He found what he was looking for and went over to a small fridge where he took
out two cans of Pepsi. He returned to Jon's side and handed him three white
platelets.
“What's that?” Jon inquired, looking like he already knew but hoped to be
wrong.
“Glucose. Eat it, you're still sweating.” was the curt answer.
“No way! It's like sugary sawdust!” the singer exclaimed, hoarse voice almost
whiny.
Richie shot him what he hoped was a stern look.
“Jonny, you look like shit. You've probably not eaten all fucking day. You
almost fainted on me not fifteen minutes ago. Eat the fucking glucose!”
The genuine concern in his voice got to Jon and he did what he was told. He
even refrained from grimacing. Richie handed him an open Pepsi which he took
gratefully and drank down in a few gulps.
Leaning back he smiled a little lopsided and asked his friend:”You gonna tell
me what has you smiling like the cat that got the canary?”, because that's what
Richie had been doing while gathering the things he needed to shower and
change.
“Yes, I will.” he said, sitting down on the armrest opposite from Jon, who
raised a questioning eyebrow at him when he proceeded to empty his soda like
nothing else mattered.
Richie decided to spill. “You an' me, my brother, are having a day off.”
“But we're going to Tulsa in the morning. How...Why...?” Jon wanted to know. He
seemed more then a little confused and Richie thought how young and lovely that
made him look.
“I convinced Paul of the fact that a singer who arrives in time for soundcheck
is better then a singer who doesn't arrive at all, 'cause he's laying in a
hospital bed. And that he needs a babysitter, of course. That would be me. So,
we're going to stay here 'till the day after tomorrow, then get on an AA-flight
to Tulsa and join the fun. Sound good?”
“Yeah, but..”
“No 'but'! I've got it all planned, Paul's okay with it, the rest will survive
for 36 hours without you watching over everything and then some and you,”
Richie pointed at Jon and dropped his shampoo in the process, causing him to
stop his lecture and pick it up.
“You ,” he finished after that ”will just let me take care of you for a while.”
He watched Jon blush slightly, a peculiar expression flitting over his
features. Richie couldn't really name it, something between amusement, joy and
well, something else.
“Alright.” Jon said,”You're in charge. Gimme your orders, sir!”
Richie snorted at the mock salute Jon gave and asked:”You feeling better?”
“Actually, I do. Still a bit dizzy, but better.” It seamed to surprise him.
“Then you stay where you are and I go for a quick wash. I'll leave the door
open, if anythings wrong, just shout.”
“What about me? I'm all hot and sweaty, too.” Jon said with what couldn't
seriously be a leer. Richie made a funny face at him, saying:”We'll see to that
when you can stand on your own feet, baby.” and walked into the bathroom.
He looked back over his shoulder, just in time to see Jon close his eyes and
lay back, drained and exhausted. Richie had suspected as much, that little
banter had been Jon putting on a brave fa~ade. If only he'd recognize that he
didn't have to do that for him.
A wave of sadness flooded his soul but he fought it with all he had. Not
tonight. There had been too many dark nights and gray days in which he felt
this sadness, this sense of not belonging. He'd made up his mind about the
whole issue. He was going to make it through this tour, stay as sober as
possible, remember that there had been a time when the music was all that
mattered- the music and Jon. He would be and do whatever Jon needed.
And right now, he scolded himself, he needs someone who takes him to bed and
puts some healthy food into his mouth, so get on with it. Richie stripped
quickly and stepped into the shower. As soon as the hot water hit the tense
muscles in his back he didn't think much anymore. It was pure bliss.
He forced himself to keep it short, washed his hair and got out reluctantly.
After drying off and putting on some faded jeans and an “Edwina”t-shirt he went
back into the room. Jon watched with red-rimmed eyes as Richie came over to
him, toweling his hair. “I hoped you'd take a nap.” he said.
“Nah, it's weird.'m fucking tired, but not sleepy at all.”
“Don't worry, it'll pass. Now, watch a miracle happen. I'm gonna pack your
things.” Richie said and set to work.
“Mhh, I could get used to that!”
“No, you can't! The trip's worn off, stop the delusion.”
They grinned at each other and Richie thought, maybe this is where I belong
after all.
He proceeded to pack, with Jon giving directions to where he threw his stuff in
the hurry before the show. A knock on the door disturbed them.
“What now!?” Richie growled and went to get it. A familiar blond head popped
in. “Hey guys! Just wanted to see how ya doing.”
“Davy, hey man, come on in!” The guitarist opened the door wide and David
stepped in, looking slightly worried.
“Hi Davy, didn't mean to scare you there.” Jon greeted him, feeling the need to
apologize.
“It's okay. Don't mind me, what about you?”
“Ah, feeling a bit shitty here, but it's gonna be alright.” Jon said, shrugging
it off. He winced as his shoulders complained with a stabbing pain.
“What the hell did I do out there?” he asked. David was gobsmacked.
“You don't know?”
“Just bits an' pieces. I think, I ran a lot?”
“Ye-es. And jumped, kicked, threw punches- you reminded me of a squirrel on
speed.”
Jon paled even more and Richie hastened to say:” It looked damned good. People
loved it.”
“Yeah, it was a great performance.” David added. “Don't worry about that.”
He hit himself on the forehead. “Stupid me! I almost forgot the message Paul
gave me. He says, he can leave just one security- guy with you, he'll be your
driver as well. And to take care and not get into trouble and...”
“Stop! I'm getting the picture!” Jon laughed.
The others laughed with him, relieved to see his mood brighten.
Richie had a reply for Paul. “Tell the master of disaster that we'll take his
advice for what it is and , please, remind him to have the tickets delivered to
our room. Don't forget that!”
David smiled impishly. “Will do. But me smells a story behind that request...?”
“Alright! Last time he booked me on a flight, he didn't tell me what name he
put on the ticket. So, there I was at the airport, already late, and had to
play 'three guesses' with the ground staff. And no, it wasn't that funny!”
The last part to Jon, who wasn't roaring like David, but giggling like a
hysteric schoolgirl. The giggles turned into a hiccup and it was Richie's turn
to laugh at his friend. Another knock on the door interrupted the fun.
Richie just shouted:” It's open!” and the newcomer walked in.
“Hullo sirs. Are you ready to go?” he greeted them.
“Hallo Hank! You're staying with us? That's cool, man!” Richie answered
delighted.
Hank was the kindest of all the security staff. Always helpful, never bossy the
way some of them tended to be when a “star” wanted to go where they weren't
supposed to let him. On top of that he was a big fan of Jon.
The singer greeted him adequately. “Good to see you, Hank. I hoped it'd be
you.” “Thank you, Jon.” the tall man replied. He spotted Davy behind Richie's
broad shoulders. “Oh, David, there you are. They're waiting for you.”
“Well, I'll better be on my merry way, then.” David turned to Jon, took his
outstretched hand and leaned down to hug him.
“Take care, man. We can't do without your pretty face.”
“I will, Davy. Tell everyone I'll be okay. They must call me if anything comes
up. And Obie needs to check that amp again. And...” David clamped his free hand
firmly over his frontman's mouth. “Geez, Jonny! You're worse than Paul! Just
relax, we're all big boys.”
They parted, laughing along with the two other man and Richie escorted David
out. As soon as they were outside the keyboardist took the guitarist by the
shoulder and looked at him with compassion in his gray-blue eyes. “He will be
okay, right?” “Yes.” Richie said simply. “ I'll make sure of that.” “But don't
forget about yourself. I don't know where you're taking that strength from,
man, I can hardly take care of myself these days.”
Richie thought about that, weighed the truth against avoiding it and came up
with:
”Love makes me that strong.”
David seemed not surprised, more like he expected something like that. “Good
for you.” he said , smiling softly. “But take care anyway.” And he hugged
Richie tightly. The older man let out a breath he hadn't realized holding.
“Thanks Davy. Just...thanks.”
They let go and David made his way to the waiting car. Richie watched him walk
down the corridor thinking: wow, I said it and the sky didn't fall down on me.
He got back to Jon and Hank, who were having an argument about how Jon was
supposed to get to the car.
“I'll walk.” Jon said heatedly.”Just watch!” and he got up in one swift motion.
“There!” he snapped triumphantly “See?”
That was the moment the blood, that rushed from his head to his feet, reached
its destination. He put a hand over his face as the world started to spin and
he swayed like a tree in a storm.
Hank caught him under the arms and helped him sit down again. Richie, who
hadn't been close enough to interfere, saw fresh tears welling up in his
friends eyes. The bodyguard hadn't said a word, but the new betrayal of his
body was a humiliating experience to Jon. “Hank,” Richie said calmly “please,
take our gear to the car.” Hank nodded his consent and grabbed the bags and the
guitar case Richie had put beside them.
The guitarist looked down on his friend, who was staring at his feet with an
expression that had become very familiar over the last months. Stubbornness
mixed with desperation and self disgust.
“What did you expect? You've been getting up too quickly, that's all.” Richie
felt sympathy for Jon, no doubt about that, but he was tired, too, and a
headache was starting to form in the back of his neck. He sat down once again
and put an arm around Jon's shoulders.
“Come on, we try it again, but real slow this time.” Richie let his arm slide
down to Jon's slim waist and held him firmly to his side, then carefully stood
them up. It went well, and as Hank returned Jon had put on a jacket and the two
men were ready to leave. The bodyguard asked if he could help in any way, which
made Jon blush.
“No, it's okay, but...I...uh.. Look, I'm sorry I barked at you.” he said
sheepishly.
“Please, Jon, don't apologize! You're under a lot of stress, it's totally
understandable.” Now it was Hank's turn to look embarrassed.
That's one of the reasons why they love him, Richie thought, if he steps out of
line he admits it- well, after the temper dies down. Aloud he said:” Let's go,
people. I'm hungry.”
“Tell me something new.” Jon muttered, earning a punch in the ribs from Rich
and a chuckle from Hank.
They walked to the emergency exit in the back of the building and on to the
waiting limo. Jon didn't have any difficulty walking after the first hesitant
steps, Richie could feel it in the way he held himself upright and leaned just
a little weight on him. But he didn't let go, even when they got to the car,
where Richie helped him climb in. After Jon sat down, Richie tried to give him
more space by moving to the opposite bench, but he was stopped by Jon's hand on
his wrist. “Please.” Nothing more, it was enough anyway.
The tall dark man turned and took a seat next to the lithe blond one, whose
head came to rest on his shoulder again. He embraced him almost automatically.
They rode in silence until they reached their hotel.
The car came to a halt in front of the brightly lit entrance. Jon stirred,
yawned and stretched like a big cat. That pulled Richie out of his doze and he
did likewise.
The passenger door was opened by Hank and they climbed out. He and Richie
exchanged a short glance that was caught by Jon, who answered the unspoken
question. “I'll manage.”
He pushed back his still damp hair, stretched to his full height and walked
through the big sliding doors that opened for him. The two other men took their
places a half-step behind him, close enough to catch him as soon as he
stumbled. It proofed not to be necessary, they retrieved their keys and
continued to the elevators.
Right, those.
Richie cursed under his breath, hoping against hope that Jon was too tired to
care. No such luck, he had already changed his direction. Richie managed to
intercept him, without being too obvious to the few late guests coming and
going in the lobby.
“Listen, Jonny. It's just us, no big crowd, no stops, it's gonna be really
quick.” he said softly.
“I'm taking the stairs.” Jon's stance was tense, his jaw set, hands tightly
fisted.
“We're on the damned 22nd floor! You might have done well so far, but stairs
are a different thing all together. And I'm too fucking done in myself to climb
them with you!” He fought to keep his voice down and barely made it.
Jon looked straight into his friends fiery brown eyes and whatever he saw there
made him think.
“But.. you know..” he jerked his head towards the elevators and his crystal
blue eyes were pleading now. Finally Richie understood, as if reading Jon's
mind.
It was one thing to fall off stage, that had happened to others before and was
almost considered normal these days. It was a totally different story to be
claustrophobic in front of a stranger, to sweat and wriggle or, god forbid,
outright panic. And Hank, for all his kindness and understanding, was not part
of the inner circle and therefore a stranger. Richie got that.
“We'll go alone then. Just the two of us and I'll distract you, I promise.” The
warm smile that accompanied the vow wasn't lost on Jon. “Okay.” he said, still
holding his friends gaze. He didn't smile back but there was a spark in his
eyes that hadn't been there for some time.
They went back to the elevators where Hank waited patiently for them. Richie
told him that they would go up alone and met no resistance. Jon's problem was
well known among the security staff, even though he liked to think something
else.
When he and Richie stepped into the elevator, Jon hesitated and was gently
pushed forward by Richie's hand in the small of his back. The doors closed and
Jon took a deep breath. Before he could do anything else, Richie was standing
right behind him, encircling him in his strong arms.
“Close your eyes, Jonny.” he said in a very deep voice into he smaller man's
ear. “Now breathe, baby. In and out, that's it. I want you to just breathe and
feel.”
In the mirror on the back wall he could see that Jon obliged. His face still
looked tense, so Richie put his left hand on Jon's stomach, fingers splayed
out, applying a little pressure with his palm. His right moved in slow circles
over Jon's lower abdomen, feeling the taut muscles there ripple in reaction to
his caress. The tension melted away and Richie, who closed his eyes as well
'cause he suddenly thought it was kind of a transgression to see Jon this
vulnerable, felt him relax into his embrace.
“That's it, baby. As easy as this, you're fine, I got you, an' I won't let go.”
The guitarist kept up the flow of endearment, his velvety voice a caress in
itself, while he moved his right hand over Jon's torso, from narrow hips to
wide shoulders and back down again. He never touched the singers nipples
deliberately, but his palm or arm would brush them now and again, causing Jon
to make an interesting sound in the back of his throat. Richie could have sworn
he was trying to purr.
He felt pretty good himself, it wasn't so much touching Jon, but the trust
being shown by the younger man that did it for Richie. Of course he felt the
heat building in his groin, he wasn't dead, but this wasn't about sex. It went
a lot deeper.
As much as he wanted to stay like this, Richie knew they would reach their
floor before long and should be prepared to meet other people.
Glancing up at the reflection of the display he saw he was right, they were
already on the 20th floor.
“Alright baby, we're almost there.” he told Jon in his normal voice. The
singer's eyes opened slowly, as if waking from a pleasant dream, and he looked
at himself in the mirror, Richie's arms still around him.
“Now, that's an image to dream on.” he murmured, turned in the embrace and
reached up to pull his friends head down. Leaning his forehead against Richie's
he whispered:” Thank you. That was very.....nice.” and then Richie felt Jon's
lips brush over his in a chaste kiss. His heart swelled at that and he had to
swallow heavily before he could whisper back:”Anytime.”
They exited the elevator and went down the empty hallway to their room. Just as
they reached it, Hank caught up with them.
Richie unlocked the door and switched on the light. Jon walked straight to his
bed and dropped on it with the expression of a man who'd just climbed Mount
Everest. Richie understood him only too well.
The bodyguard put their baggage down and asked if they needed him anymore. The
guitarist negated, thanked him and told him that they wouldn't need him until
the late afternoon the next day. Hank gave him his room number, in case
anything came up, and left.
“Alone at last!” Richie sighed, kicked off his shoes and fell down on his own
bed. Both men lay in silence for a few minutes and Richie was really tempted to
let sleep claim him.
He looked over to Jon and saw him staring up at the ceiling, looking lost and
forlorn again. “Hey, cowboy. A penny for 'em?” he asked softly. “Nah, they're
not worth that much.” The self-depreciation in his voice was almost palpable
and Richie decided that sleep would just have to wait longer.
“Only you would know. C'mon, get rid of those sodden rags you're in. I'll order
our dinner.”
He reached over and picked up the phone from the side-table. When the
receptionist answered he apologized for the late request and ordered chicken
soup, sandwiches, fruit salad, orange juice and herbal tea.
After he put down the receiver, he found Jon staring at him, baby blues wide
and disbelieving.
“You feeling well, Sambora?” he inquired.
“Ya, sure.” Richie answered slightly puzzled.
“Then why did you order lunch for a dieting model? I want a burger- or pasta!”
Richie went over to him and started to ease the sneakers from his friends feet.
Shaking his head he explained: ”The pasta in this place is crap, as you found
out yesterday. Remember, the dinner you didn't eat? And a burger? Well, I sure
don't like to sleep in a room that's smelling of your puke.”
Jon shot up at that, unlaced shoes flying every which way.
“You asshole! I've never...” He stopped as he took in the expression on
Richie's face. Raised eyebrow, puckered lips, amusement written all over it. He
said just one word.
“Moscow.”
Jon groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Let's just not go there, 'kay?
How was I supposed to know that homemade vodka and greasy food don't mix?”
The guitarist took pity on him and just ruffled his hair. “ C'mon, try it this
way. There's a decent Italian restaurant in this town where we can have dinner
tomorrow night. Believe me, it's worth waiting for.”
“How'd you know that?” Jon was skeptical.
“I visited Cher here, on her last tour, when we were kinda in the neighborhood?
Ring any bells?” was the slightly annoyed answer. Inwardly he groaned. Why did
Jon always have to get to the bottom of things?
This subject was another sore spot between them, one he'd rather not discuss
now, so he added quickly:” Her sound tech is kin to the restaurants chef and
took us there one night. It's absolutely great.”
Jon's eyes lit up at that, if there was one thing he couldn't resist it was
good Italian food. Placated, he straightened his back, lowered his hands and
was hit by a strong whiff of sweaty socks.
“Phew! Shower- Now!” he exclaimed and got up.
“Need any help?” Now it was Richie who threw his friend a suggestive look.
The answering grin was pure Jon. Suddenly blazing blue eyes, lower lip caught
between the teeth- an incarnated promise if he'd ever seen one. Then those
perfectly curved lips opened and the tip of the moist, pink tongue sneaked out,
wetting the upper lip.
Richie's breath caught, he couldn't help it. As used as he was to Jon's
flirting, once it was directed at him, he was lost.
He felt himself smile in return as his mind came up with pictures of a lightly
tanned, suds covered back, but before he could act on the notion, Jon said:
” Nah, I'm alright. And besides, someone should be able to answer the door when
your supple order arrives.”
With that he turned and walked towards the bathroom.
The pillow, that hit him in the back of the neck, wiped the now slightly evil
grin right from his face. He tried to keep his dignity by showing no reaction
at all.
“You're a fucking tease, Kidd!” Richie shouted, but there was laughter in his
voice. He hadn't been that serious, they were both too done in to start
anything. And if they'd do anyway- well, let's just say Jon had been there,
done that and Richie bore the emotional scars to proof it. Captain Kidd didn't
deal well with personal failure, least of all his own.
Richie sat down on the bed again and tried to figure out how to help his friend
cope with all this.
His thoughts traveled back to the early days of this tour. They'd been so in
sync, so perfect together, all of them. Sure, Jon's vocal problems had started
to show again, but it hadn't affected him in such a general way as now.
The prospect of five more months like this sent a chill down Richie's spine.
And to think of Jon leaving for his wife and home afterwards made his stomach
twist into a tight knot.
This is so fucked up, he thought, I just gotta stop thinking about it. Just go
with what each day demands and play it by ear. I can do that.
His musings were interrupted by the room service in the shape of a tall young
waiter who was also blond and remarkably handsome.
Richie watched him closely as he put everything on the table, asked very
politely if there was anything else he could do for the guest, collected his
tip and left.
All the time the guitarist had tried to see if he could be attracted to him, if
he could think of another man as a potential lover, like he'd done with so many
woman.
He couldn't. He wasn't gay. He was in love with a person who happened to be
male. He was in love with Jon.
Who was married now. That was something he still couldn't get through his head,
even after four months. Sure, he and Jon had fought a lot before that.
Tico had hit the bottle hard and Richie tended to stand up or cover for him,
whatever necessary. That didn't sit well with Jon, who had been suffering from
hay fever at the time which made him even more irritable then usual.
That Dot had been there didn't make things any easier. She had taken up a lot
of Jon's time and they had to get separate rooms. For the first time in years
there was no one to share random thoughts with after the show, to joke around
or unwind in comfortable silence. Not to mention no one to hold him when he was
sick or laugh with him when he was happy.
So some- thing had to fill that empty place and it was either girls or the
bottle. He cringed inwardly at that thought. When had he become so careless
with fellow human beings? But it was true, they meant nothing more to him then
a momentary distraction, a way to get his rocks off. More to feel bad about.
Even more though as he remembered the looks Jon had thrown him when he went to
his room with yet another groupie on his arm. Looks that were full of
disapproval, jealousy and sometimes outright hurt.
Richie had done his best to ignore them then, what did the little asshole think
he was doing anyway? He could have a steady girlfriend and Richie wasn't even
allowed get laid? Yeah, right man, when hell freezes over!
Who would've thought that a drunk and totally high on adrenaline Jon would go
and convince Dot to get married in Vegas? Richie had always reckoned her to be
smarter then that. On the other hand, maybe she was smarter then him.
He knew damned well that there was no future to what they had. It wasn't like
they could've 'come out' even if they made up their mind about their
relationship. With homophobia on an all time high, due to the fear of AIDS,
that would've been the end of their career.
Elton and some others might get away with it but they were well established,
not an All-American- Boy band with only six years under their belt. Was it
really that short? Right now it felt like a hundred years, all of them on the
road.
Thinking of a long time, what is Jon doing in that shower?
Richie went to check. He knocked civilly on the bathroom door and stepped in
when he got no answer.
Jon stood in front of the mirror, clad in one of the hotel's fluffy bathrobes,
and scrutinized his face closely. “You're right. I do look like shit.” he
stated calmly as if Richie had been right there with him for a while.
The guitarist laid a gentle hand on his friends shoulder and turned him around.
He took it all in: the first almost, but not quite, invisible lines on the
forehead and around the mouth; the red rimmed, slightly bloodshot eyes that
looked so wary now; the dark rings under them, enhanced by the remains of the
eyeliner he'd used; how thin, almost haggard that face had become. And still-
“No, love. All this” he put a hand on Jon's temple and caressed the high
cheekbone with his thumb, “will be gone after a good nights sleep or two. What
I meant was your physical condition back then. Nothing more.”
He saw that Jon didn't quite believe him, his frown stayed firmly in place.
Since this seemed to be a night for the truth he threw all caution overboard
and said:” You are beautiful. All of you, inside and out. You might get bruised
or tainted but you'll always be beautiful. Never believe anything else.”
As Jon kissed him, there was nothing remotely chaste about it. His lips met
Richie's with a force that threatened to leave bruises and his tongue didn't
ask for entrance but demanded it.
Richie granted it willingly and returned the attack with equal fervor.
His hands got tangled in Jon's wet tresses as the younger man's fingers held on
to his shoulders for dear life. They explored each other's mouths thoroughly,
tasting, licking and sucking until they simply had to breathe.
When Richie lowered his mouth to Jon's again it was more gentle but with the
same burning passion. His tongue traced the other's lips, relearning every
fold, slowly parting them to suddenly push in. Jon moaned at the penetration,
eagerly sucking the strong muscle deeper.
The feeling was incredible and Richie savored the moist heat. H slowly fucked
Jon's mouth with his tongue, enjoying the whimpers he drew from his lover. God,
how he wanted him!
He'd never known a love like this before. Overwhelming lust and heartbreaking
tenderness, brotherly feelings and raging desire, it was all right here in his
arms.
And in an instant he knew that he wouldn't let him go without a fight, all odds
be damned.
His hands left Jon's head to pull him flush against his body. Finalizing the
kiss with one last lick over the younger man's swollen lips, Richie rested his
cheek against his and tried to calm down. He would not give into Jon's- who are
you kidding here, Sambora?- well, and his own desire.
Far too often had any attempt at rest or a serious conversation given way to
mindless fucking which left both of them strangely unsatisfied. There would be
none of that now.
It wasn't easy 'cause Jon was breathing hard into his ear and his hands were
doing wonderful things to his back. Richie thought of an ice cold shower and
said regretfully:” I'd very much like to take this further, but there's some
food calling your name.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
Jon wrangled out of the embrace and sidestepped Richie to get to the main room.
He looked back wantonly at a dumbstruck guitarist.
“What? You don't want any?”
Richie just shook his head for what felt like the umpteenth time that night and
followed him. Damned if he'd ever be able to figure this one out!
***** Chapter 2 *****
The singer was already seated at the table and downed a large glass of orange
juice. Richie joined him and helped himself to some soup and a plate nearly
overflowing with sandwiches.
He dug in like he'd been starving for days and urged Jon, who, despite his
earlier words, was just fiddling with his knife, to at least eat some soup. He
did, managing half a sandwich and some fruit as well.
Richie let it rest at that, lately Jon's stomach was upset more often then not.
If from the booze he needed to come down after the show or the steroids he
needed to be able to sing was hard to tell.
After they finished their meal Jon blow-dried his hair and changed into his
favorite sweatpants and an old long-sleeved shirt. Richie got ready for bed,
too and then poured a cup of tea for Jon.
“I'm still kinda wired. Just one beer, Rich, please?”
The puppy dog eyes that went with the request were irresistible and the
guitarist smirked at his friend before admitting defeat.
“Alright, alright! Maybe it'll help you sleep.” He went to the mini fridge and
got two Coronas, opened them and handed one to Jon, who took it with a soft:
”Thanks.”
“How come you know about all this shit anyway ? What it does and how to deal
with it? And don't tell me from your psychology classes.”
Richie smiled at that.
“Nah, certainly not. Seasoned session musician here, remember? You think the
Crüe was bad when you first met them? Man, you shoulda seen the L.A. Scene back
then. That's where they learned it. There was no substance known to men that
those guys wouldn't do. Once you have to deal with one or the other from your
gig collapse or get sick from it, you learn fast.” He took a sip of his beer
and frowned as the memories appeared in his minds eye.
“Oh. That why you came back?”
“Part of it. Wasn't my style.” he shrugged.”Guys writing some kick-ass music
they can't remember the next day or lyrics that make sense only to people as
strung-out as they are- that's going nowhere real fast.”
They had both moved to Richie's bed while they talked and were now sitting on
it Indian-style, facing each other.
Jon was picking at the label of his bottle and said thoughtfully: “Yeah, I can
see that. Well, their loss, my gain.” His smile was full of affection ,yet a
tiny bit cautious, as if he wasn't sure he should be happy that his friends
plans didn't work out.
Richie answered to that smile more then to the words.
“It was a long time ago and I got more then I ever dreamed possible, Jonny. I
think this is where I'm supposed to be.”
And deep down that was the truth. Screw all doubts, everything had led to this.
There was that look in Jon's eyes again, the one he couldn't name, and suddenly
there was a change in the atmosphere, an intimacy that allowed Richie to ask
the question that had been nagging in his head all night.
“ There's something I need to know. The intro to Sin. Why'd you change it
tonight?”
Jon looked away, out into the dark night. His gaze followed the lights of a
distant airplane. He pressed his lips tightly together and the moves of his
hands on the bottle he held became erratic. Richie wished he hadn't asked and
yet he had to know.
“I had to. I felt it. I had to... it's not...” he was visibly upset now and his
voice broke.
Richie caught himself before he could reach out to touch him reassuringly. This
was something he had to do on his own.
Squaring his shoulders Jon swallowed hard, put his beer on the floor and said:
“When you and Dave went out to get your pick of the bunch Stetsons yesterday, I
watched TV. There was a guy on the news who went on about how homosexuals
undermine the society. God, you shoulda heard him. It could've been Goebbels
ripping into the Jews. That wasn't too bad though,
I could see he was just another zealot, but later I tried on those new pants I
got, the ones with the crazy pattern. Well, I had them on and nothing else and
Alec came in. He looked at me and said: 'Uh, Jonny! Trying to attract a male
audience, are ya?' I just lost it. I threw him out, still don't know what he
wanted.”
The words had tumbled out and he hugged himself tightly. Richie fought the urge
to go and drag Alec out of the arms of tonight's slut and kick his sorry ass
into next week.
Jon must've seen the blind fury in his expression 'cause he reached over and
touched his friends tense thigh.
“Leave it, Rich. It's not worth it.” Instead of calming him, that statement
only fueled the guitarists anger. “It's not worth it? You saying YOU'RE not
worth it?” He didn't raise his voice but it was thick with contempt.
Jon flinched, though he knew it wasn't really directed at him. Richie tried to
reign himself in , swearing softly. “You're worth everything. You're a good
man, an outstanding artist, head of a multi-million dollar organization. You
shouldn't let get to you what that shithead says. He was probably coked out of
what little brains he got.”
But he could see that it was too late. Jon had gone back to that dark place
inside himself. His strong fingers dug deep into his biceps, head hung low,
blond mane obscuring his face. He was trembling now, his voice barely above a
whisper as he spoke again.”I'm so cold, Richie. I'm so fuckin' cold.”
He lifted his head and the hurt in his eyes cut right through Richie's heart
and soul. He started to untangle his long legs as Jon begged: “ Hold me. God,
Richie, please hold me.”
Richie moved down the bed and pulled him into his arms. Jon slumped into them
and buried his face in his friends chest. Somehow he got his legs under him and
now he lay between Richie's thighs, curled into a tight ball, still trembling
violently.
The brunette wrapped his large frame around him and held him as hard as he
dared. Jon wasn't crying which made this much more serious. Richie knew how to
deal with Jon's tears, there had been enough of them over the years, but this
was scaring him.
As he held Jon in his arms and felt the tremors subside, he searched his mind
frantically for the right thing to do or say. When the answer appeared he first
didn't want to accept it.
No, he thought, God, no. Please, don't make me do this. I can't...I don't want
to. But this was about Jon and about loving him and how could he deny him
anything he needed?
Just an hour ago he had sworn to himself that he would fight for their love,
that he wouldn't give up what they had, not for any woman, the press or the
public.
This was different. This was bigger then his own wishes. He tried to brace
himself for the pain that he knew would be coming far too soon.I can do this.
For him.
Richie pressed his face deeper into those soft curls and inhaled the scent that
was so familiar, so completely Jon. He tried to memorize it by naming each
ingredient. Cinnamon, Clover, a hint of musk, lemon from his shampoo and that
indescribable something that made it him.
Enough. Just get it over with. He loosened his grip just a little and let his
hands roam over coiled muscles and soft skin.
“Jon. Jon!” he said firmly. The singer stirred almost imperceptibly but Richie
knew he was listening. He'd always known.
“I have no idea how to tell you this, love, I...you know I'd do anything for
you, right? But if this is what being... together with me does to you...Jon, I
think we should...” he was stumbling over the words and a small part of him saw
the irony in that. He could write great lyrics in a blink but couldn't get one
simple sentence straight.
He swallowed to get the lump out of his throat and tried again. “Jon, if you
can't do this anymore, I'll understand. You want this- us- to be over, that's
what it'll be.” He'd only been able to whisper the last words. They stung his
throat like the first shot of tequila and his eyes burned with unshed tears.
The rest of him felt strangely numb, so he didn't notice right away that Jon
tried to disengage himself from his hold. “Rich! Richie, lemme up!” he
demanded.
The guitarist let him go,slightly taken aback and Jon sat up slowly. His
expression was serious and very tired.
Richie couldn't bear to look into those revealing eyes for fear of what he
might see in them. He just sat there, staring down on his hands resting in his
lap, waiting for the ax to fall.
After what felt like hours he saw a shorter hand cover his own, felt a hesitant
caress on his long fingers and heard Jon's low, hoarse voice. “I don't want
that, Mookie. I wanna be with you. That's all I know. I can't promise you a
thing except that I'll keep trying to do what's right. For everyone. Sometimes
I mess it up big time, but you know all about that, right?”
Richie could hardly believe what he heard. He'd been so sure. So goddamned sure
-and wrong. He'd been wrong...
It was a good thing that he was already sitting 'cause otherwise he would've
toppled over from relieve.
He looked up and Jon inhaled sharply as he took in the teary eyes and the weary
look of him. “Jesus, Richie. What did I do to you?”
“It's not your fault. I wanted to do what's best for you. It,” he let out a
shaky laugh”it was a little harder then expected, I guess.”
“ No kidding.” Jon mumbled. He took Richie's hand, raised it to his lips and
kissed the palm tenderly. “ I'm so sorry. All I can say is I'm yours. If you
want a basket case like me.”
Richie had to smile at that. “Yeah. Yeah, I want you. In any state, shape or
form.” His smile widened. “Hey, I'm a nut, right? We're a match made in
heaven!”
He just couldn't stop himself. It was either being silly or breaking down from
the sudden lack of adrenaline that seemed to leave his system in a rush now.
When Jon smiled crookedly, Richie leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.
Jon opened up to him and they shared a very gentle kiss, caressing each others
faces and trying to say with their touches what they couldn't put into words.
After the kiss they just stayed in a close embrace, 'till Jon broke into a loud
yawn. He was thoroughly embarrassed and started to apologize. Richie
interrupted him, laughing softly. “It's alright, baby. I was almost dozing off
myself. Let's put it to bed, it's been one hell of a day.”
He got up and closed the curtains while Jon went to the bathroom again. When he
came back Richie was already under the covers and had switched the light to the
bedside lamp.
He watched Jon approach the bed, the soft light illuminating his lean body,
adding depth to his chiseled features, making them look almost angelic. You're
my angel and my demon, Richie thought,and maybe I'm damned 'cause of my love
for you, but I don't care as long as we're together.
He lifted the blankets invitingly and Jon slipped in. He turned to his side and
Richie spooned him, loving to give a feeling of safety to him. “Good night,
love. Sleep tight.” he said quietly. “Mh, you too.” was the sleepy reply.
By the time Richie had switched out the light, Jon was sound asleep. The
guitarist tried to think about the next day and how he would show him exactly
how much he wanted him, but his exhaustion got the better of him and within
minutes he slept, too.
 
Richie woke only once, in the small hours of the morning, to follow the call of
nature. He carefully untangled himself from Jon, who slept peacefully in his
arms, and went to the bathroom.
When he returned his eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he saw that Jon had
curled up in the warm spot Richie had left.Oh baby, you really are some
heatseeker. he thought amused.
He was so glad that Jon was finally able to get the rest his body and soul
needed so badly, he didn't even mind that he would have to sleep on the edge of
the bed now.
He got back in and resumed his earlier position behind Jon. Just as he put his
arm over the other's chest, Jon turned towards him , snuggled close, so that
his head rested under Richie's arm, and laid his own arm over Richie's waist.
With a content sigh he drifted back into a deeper stage of sleep.
He'd never done anything like that before, usually it was Richie who held him
and Jon often turned away during the night. His subconscious need to stay close
to his lover moved Richie deeply. Maybe he would finally be able to let go when
he was awake, too.
There is a light in the dark.
With this happy thought he fell asleep again.
The next time Richie woke, daylight passed through the heavy curtains and a
quick look at the alarm-clock showed him that it was almost 1 pm.
He'd slept dreamless and felt rested like he hadn't been in weeks.
He also felt horny, which could be due to the hand that lay on his hip, very
close to his morning erection.
The owner of said hand was still asleep but Richie sure knew how to wake him
up.
There was a short inner debate being held about whether it was fair to rouse
Jon or not, but the side that voted that almost twelve hours of undisturbed
sleep were enough won easily.
He let his hand travel down till it met a hardness that matched his own.
Someone was definitely up for a little action. Carefully he removed any layers
of fabric that separated him from his goal and sat up between the younger man's
legs.
Jon seemed to be dreaming, his eyes moved under the delicate lids but he
remained unaware of the fact that he was bared to his lover's view. Richie
looked his fill, he hadn't been exaggerating last night, Jon truly was
beautiful.
Richie let his gaze wander up the well muscled legs, to the narrow hips and the
flat plane of his stomach. Finally it came to rest on the well shaped cock and
heavy sac.
If anyone had told him a few years ago that there would come a time when he'd
marvel at another man's body, he'd have had the person admitted. Now he
couldn't imagine being oblivious to it's beauty ever again.
He caressed his lover's inner thighs, stroking them lightly, and moved further
up until his fingers touched the base of that proud erection. Closing them
around it, he leaned in and took the whole length into his mouth.
This was another thing he never thought possible, that he'd enjoy doing this,
but he did. There was nothing gross or degrading about it. He loved having it
done for him, there was no reason why he shouldn't like to return the favor.
Suddenly Jon's hips jerked up and a moan escaped him as Richie increased his
ministrations, licking and sucking up and down the hard shaft, fondling his
balls and teasing his puckered hole with a calloused fingertip.
He smiled when he heard Jon's drowsy voice.
“Ahhhh! What... Richie?”
The brunette didn't stop to answer, just reached up blindly and laced his
fingers with Jon's, who had reached down in the same moment. His other hand
found Richie's head, his fingers played with soft dark strands and the
guitarist could feel how much effort he put in to not just fist that hair and
push the head down as he took him deeper, sucked harder, got lost in the taste
and his own craving.
“Yes, god...yes! Oh, fuck! Richie!!!”
It had been only a couple of minutes and Jon was coming apart already, another
novelty, for he had never been very vocal during sex, nor could he be called
easy in any way.
Richie registered that in his lust hazed mind and he reveled in the knowledge
that he was able to do this to him. He glanced up and was met with a sight
worth to behold.
Jon's head flung back, exposing the column of his neck, his back arched with
every heaving breath, strong muscles worked under silken skin. He was close to
his release, Richie could feel it in the way he gripped his hand harder and
harder.
He sped up his movements a little more, paused and took him as deep as possible
once again. When he hummed and swallowed, Jon was thrown over the edge and came
with a low cry that went straight to Richie's groin.
He stayed with Jon through the aftershocks and only let him slip from his mouth
when he slowly stroked his hair, saying huskily: “Come here, you.”
Richie could actually hear him grinning, scooted up the bed into Jon's embrace
and grinned broadly himself.
“Good mornin', Jonny.”
“That it is. And a good mornin' to you, Babe.”
They shared a passionate kiss, caressing every inch of skin they could reach.
Jon pushed Richie's boxers off, wrapped his hand around his achingly hard cock
and licked and nibbled his way down his chest.
He was stopped by Richie's voice.
“No, Baby. Just your hand, I'm so” he inhaled sharply as Jon did something very
talented with his thumb,”so close. An' I wanna kiss you.” he rasped.
The younger man moved back up and smiled willfully.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
Jon captured his lips again in a fierce kiss, nothing gentle, teeth and tongue,
greedily claiming his lover's mouth, making him gasp and respond similarly.
After only a few strokes of that strong hand Richie felt the warmth in his
belly turn into a ball of white hot fire.
He came hard, his guttural moans were swallowed by Jon, who pumped him some
more, prolonging his climax until Richie tore his mouth away from him, panting.
“God, Jonny,stop! You... You're killing me here!”
Jon smiled again, smug bastard, and whispered:
“Payback's a bitch, huh?”
He lifted his hand, that was covered in Richie's juices, and brought it to his
lips.
Locking his stormy blue gaze with the other man's topaz one, he licked his
fingers clean.
Every. Single. One.
Richie was mesmerized by the erotic display in front of him.Fuckin' hell,
Jonny! Where'd this come from? Oh,shit, that's hot.
He felt his body respond and struggled to suppress the growing arousal. The day
hadn't really started yet, and he had different plans then wearing both of them
out in the very first hour.
When Jon was done, looking like he wanted to say ' Well, what ya gonna do
now?', the brunette claimed his lover's lips in another breathtaking kiss.
He tasted himself on that luscious mouth, the ghost of Jon's essence still
lingering in his. You, me, us. This is us. And he only broke the kiss when the
need to breathe became overwhelming.
 
“I take it, you're feeling better today?” the guitarist smiled.
“Ya. Right as rain.”
“Great! How you feel 'bout some coffee?”
Instead of answering, Jon rolled over and grabbed the phone from the side
table.
Obviously he wasn't going to take any chances with his diet today.
Richie just flopped onto his back and basked in the satisfaction he felt,
listening halfheartedly to Jon placing his order for a lot of coffee, pancakes
and eggs.
After he finished his call, the singer put on his sweats and went to the
bathroom.
Richie sat up against the headboard and lit a cigarette. When Jon came back,
carrying a partially wet towel, Richie was smoking lazily.
He was stunned when Jon wordlessly started to clean the drying come from his
stomach.
“You... d..don't have to...” he stuttered.
“I know. I want to.”
Jon continued his task with sure and gentle motions, making Richie feel
cherished and somehow awkward all in one. When he had finished, he threw the
towel to the floor and sat down beside his lover, leaning his head on the older
man's shoulder.
“Thank you, baby.” Richie said softly.
“You're very welcome.”
Jon motioned to the cigarette. “Gimme one?”
“I don't think so.”
“Richie, please?”
“No!”
“Rich, come on !”
“Last night you could hardly speak an' now you wanna smoke? Ain't gonna happen,
babe!”
Jon was obviously fighting his temper as he ran a hand through his hair and
turned a little to look at Richie.
“That's not up to you, I guess. See, I ran out, so I'm asking you to give me
one. Please.”
Wow, polite Jonny. That's a rare one. Richie could remember him being like this
at the very beginning of their- whatever it was, during the Slippery tour. He'd
been sick a lot, his mood constantly changing between bitchy and bossy, but
with Richie he'd always been modest, almost gentle.
And he's even right. I'm not his mother, for fuck's sake!
Richie held the cigarette so that Jon could reach it. “Here, love. Sorry, I
sometimes...”
“S'okay. Nice to know someone cares.”
He took the cig and drew on it, then handed it back while exhaling through his
nose.
“Thanks, man. There'd be something missing otherwise.”
The guitarist chuckled at that. “You got a point there.”
They passed the smoke back and forth between them till it had burnt down to the
filter, just sitting in companionable silence.
Richie stubbed it out in the ashtray on the side table and got up reluctantly.
“Better get dressed before someone gets an eyeful.”
“As if you'd mind!” Jon commented dryly.
“I do, actually. Just as much as you.” He hadn't meant it to come out that
harshly, but Jon didn't seem offended.
“Oh, yeah, Mr how-many-chicks-can-I-get-to-drop-their-pants-with-one-smile? You
seriously want me to believe that?” He laughed, but there was an edge to his
voice that spoke of jealousy and hurt.
Richie sighed, took his jeans from the chair he'd laid them on the previous
night and put them on, not bothering with underwear. He walked over to Jon's
unused bed and messed it up a bit.
This is so not true, he thought,one minute every thing's perfect and the next
he's ready to kick my ass.
He contemplated to just leave it at that, but he knew it would only fester and
then explode right in his face when he least expected it.
Sighing again, he went back to his own bed where Jon still sat, knees drawn up,
arms resting on them.
He intently looked down on his hands and he didn't look up as Richie knelt on
the bed right in front of him and tilted his head up with a crooked finger.
“You know me better then that, Jonny. Hell, you're the only one who can see
right through all this crap.” He spoke seriously but when he saw that he didn't
get through to the younger man, his speech became vehement.
“You gotta understand that it's a mask, just like yours. That we need it,
'cause this fuckin' machine would eat us alive if we'd let anybody see who were
really are.” The guitarist raked his fingers through his hair.
“Do I feel like some cheap piece of ass sometimes? You bet! There's nothing I
wouldn't do if I could just stay like this forever, if I could have something
pure and simple like this and nothing else.”
“This is not pure.”
“Yes, yes it is. There are no lies between us, no pretense.”
“I lied to you. I didn't tell you I was getting married.”
“Yeah, right. And I'm not saying it didn't hurt like Hell. But you apologized
and I dig why you did it.” Seeing the skeptical expression on Jon's face he
added, “I'm looking at you and I see how they're pushing you - bigger, better,
more - God, Jon! Who wouldn't want to have something normal, a place to come
home to?”
“You don't.” It was a quiet statement.
“Not right now, no. Right now I'm with you and that's more then enough.”
Believe me for once. Just believe me.
Richie's hopes were shattered when Jon replied coldly,
“Yeah. N’ with her.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake, Jon! Stop, it, will ya? I'm not 'with her'! ” he yelled,
finally at his rope's end.
“I'm here, I sleep with you, I worry about you, I lo -” He abruptly snapped his
mouth shut and regained his composure with great effort. Reason, you gotta make
him see reason. He's perfectly emotional enough for both of you.
“Look” he sighed, “why don't we make our peace with the situation? We have
obligations to fulfill and an image to maintain. Things are just the way they
are.” His expression softened considerably. “As long as we're honest with each
other, we can still make this work.”
Jon looked dubious but seemed willing to believe him after all.
“You think so?” he asked.
“I know so.” Richie said with all the conviction he could muster.
The singer cocked his head in that way that made him so damned adorable and
said, voice barely audible, ”Good. 'Cause I couldn't live without
your...touch.”
Richie drew in a deep breath and looked straight into his lover's azure eyes.
He'd noticed the small pause before the last word, but he didn't dare to think
about it now.
“You'll never have to. I'll be here as long as you want me to.”
“That a promise?”
“Yeah.”
Richie closed the small space between them and sealed those words with his
lips.
He didn't know why he hadn't said it, why he talked about being honest and
still held back. Jon had as much as told him that he couldn't live without him,
so why didn't he dare say those three words?
Because you lied to me. Because if I tell you and you do it again, it'll hurt
so much…and there'll be nothing left of me.
However there was no hesitation in his kiss, only tenderness and reassurance.
Leaning back he stroked the hair out of Jon's eyes and was graced with a
dazzling smile.
“So, what are your plans for today?” the blond wanted to know.
“Let's see. Breakfast, a nice long bath, just hang out some and then go out for
dinner.”
“There's an awful lot of food in that plan of yours. It's a classic Sambora
plan!”the singer grinned widely.
“Do ya mind?”
“Nah, not at all. I'm starving.” There was a twinkle in his eyes that was
impossible to miss.
Richie grinned back. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”
Jon blushed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. He surely knew what that
expression did for him, no one could be that innocent.
Or wait, maybe he could. My lover, the walking paradox.
The singer had seen -and done- most of the things adults do with each other,
and still there was something inside of him that seemed to be untouched by it
all.
Richie momentarily pondered exactly how that was possible and made a mental
note to ask him a few things about his past sometime. Sometime soon.
***** Chapter 3 *****
The arrival of their breakfast silenced conversation and put an end to musings.
Jon jumped the coffeepot immediately, poured himself a cup, raised the scalding
liquid to his lips and proceeded to burn his tongue.
Cursing and spitting, he reached for a glass of water Richie had just filled
for himself to sooth the minor ache.
Richie laughed so hard he doubled over in his chair, tears streaming down his
face. Wiping them off, he choked out: “Ad-addictions are r-really bad for your
health.”
Jon scowled, but soon enough joined in laughing, too.
 
After an otherwise uneventful meal the two of them took care of some necessary
things.
Richie called the restaurant to make a reservation for the night. He was
pleased to hear the deep, friendly voice of the chef answering. Introducing
himself as an acquaintance of Frank, Cher's sound tech who'd been by a few
months ago, he listened for a moment and smiled as the voice on the other line
apparently recognized who was calling.
“Si, Riccardo….No, I still don't speak any Italian”… “Yea and I know it's such
a shame… Do I still have a chance to get a table tonight?” he paused for a few
seconds before answering again, “No, just for two - Yes, great! Looking forward
to it, thanks a lot. Bye!”
Jon, who had been listening to Richie’s side of the conversation, raised an
eyebrow and asked in a terrible accent, “Riccardo, eh?”
“Christ, Jon! Don't do that tonight or he'll probably be more disappointed in
you then he is in me… 'cause I can at least fake the accent.”
“Hey,” the singer exclaimed in mock hurt, “I’m not that bad!”
He pouted, and then saw Richie chuckling and dropped the act.
“How'd ya get that name anyway?”
“Well, it's a really small place and when were there it was like with family,
so everyone got introduced n’ it turned out there were two Richie’s; me and the
lights chief. Enrico – that's the Chef – looked at me and said I could be from
Naples for all he knew; so he'd just call me Riccardo! He's fun, you'll like
him.”
“I see. So, we're settled for tonight?”
“Yeah, he'll have a table and a special menu ready at eight. That all right
with you?”
“He's doing something just for us? Wow, that's nice! I love it!”
Jon was beaming; he genuinely liked it when people did something for him
without caring about who he was. His mood brightened further when Richie sat
down on the sofa, lit up again and held the pack out to his lover. Nodding his
thanks, Jon took one out, sat down beside Richie and accepted the light the
older man offered. He cupped his hand around Richie's to hold it steady while
he lit his cigarette.
The small gesture sent a warm feeling through Richie and when Jon let his thumb
run over his knuckles, he smiled a very fond and faraway smile.
Once that would've been enough to drive me up the walls all night… never
knowing whether it was what I hoped it to be or not. Aw, and the things I
imagined...
He came back to the present when Jon called his name.
“Richie?! Hey, Sambora! Anyone home?” The singer leaned over and touched the
guitarist's knee lightly to get his attention.
“I'm right here, Jonny, no need to shout,” He said softly, “I’m just
thinking...”
“Must've been something good.” Jon remarked.
“It sure was.”
Richie lifted the hand off his leg and intertwined his fingers with Jon's.
“When you put your hand over mine, it reminded me of the time we started out,
how a touch like that would've kept me wondering if it meant something; n' how
I used to think about it ‘till I felt I'd go nuts because of it.”
“Just nuts? Damn thing like that had me going out of my fuckin' mind for hours.
And then you started to do it all the time…accidentally…on purpose… just to
annoy the shit outta me...”
“Nah, never to annoy you. To see how you reacted, yes. I needed clarity, even
if it would've been a slap in the face.”
Jon flinched at the thought.
“I'd never hit you!” He thought that over and added with a mischievous smile
“Though I'm sorely tempted sometimes.” He said, recalling their endless
arguments over song details.
“Oh, are you now?” Richie's voice had dropped a full octave; he purposely
misunderstood Jon, unable to resist the opening that allowed him to turn the
conversation in a sensuous direction.
The singer blinked in surprise, but for once hadn’t missed the innuendo. He
instead played along. After taking a long drag he placed his cigarette in the
ashtray and shifted a little closer.
“Mmm yea, sometimes I think you really need to be taught some...lessons.” He
spoke very low and huskily himself and moved even closer to his lover and
commanded, “Put that down!” pointing at the cigarette.
When Richie obliged, too stunned to protest, Jon took both his wrists in a firm
grip, careful not to bruise but strong enough to make it difficult to get out.
He rose onto his knees and was slightly towering over his lover. It felt
strange somehow.
Richie hadn't really thought this through, he wasn't sure if he'd like to have
Jon push him around in this field too, even though the idea of himself at the
other man's mercy sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.
Luckily for him, Jon had come to a similar conclusion. He didn't need to take
any more control, especially not where he longed to give it up completely.
He raised the captured hands and regarded them closely.
“What am I gonna do with you, huh? Or rather, what would you do to have these
back?” he pondered.
“What, you're looking for a ransom? Where are we, in Sherwood fuckin' Forest?”
Jon made a sound like a game show buzzer and playfully bit Richie's index
finger.
“Ouch! Watch the goods, will ya?! These fingers make you a lot of money.” The
singer cocked his head and smirked, lowered his head and kissed the spot his
teeth had barely touched.
“Does for you too, ya sissy, so you’d better come up with something worthy.”
Well...how about I run you a hot bath, take care of you real good and give you
a massage afterwards?” the guitarist offered, smiling coyly at his lover.
Jon was instantly distracted by that suggestion and Richie made use of the
moment to twist his arms inwards, breaking the grip on them and grab Jon by the
waist, rolling with a move that sent them tumbling to the floor in a tangle of
limbs, curses and laughter.
Pinning the younger man under him, Richie seized the opportunity to kiss him
thoroughly, leaving him panting with need. He got up quickly, retrieved one of
the cigarettes and walked off to the bathroom.
Jon sat on the floor with a ‘what the fuck happened here?’ expression stuck on
his face. The guitarist turned around and grinned widely at the picture of Jon
baffled and with badly tousled hair. “I'll do your bath anyway, but just for
the record: I'm no sissy, pretty boy!”
 
Richie stood by the tub, with his back to the door, and tried to choose one of
the complimentary bath essences the hotel provided. Typical, either you don't
get any or so many it's hard to choose. Mm this sounds good....
He jumped a little when two hands were placed gently on his shoulderblades and
slightly rough lips kissed a spot between them that obviously had longed to be
kissed forever, 'cause it felt so good, he closed his eyes and sighed.
Jon smiled against the soft skin and rested his cheek against his lovers back,
arms coming down to encircle the trim waist.
“Have I ever told ya that I love the way your skin feels under my lips? And
under my hands? How much I love to know that beneath all that softness and
sweet taste lie powerful muscles, strong enough to hold me through everything,
good or bad?”
He paused and after a moment added :” And that deep down there's a soul to
match that.”
He spoke quietly, but despite the thundering sound from the water that cascaded
into the tub, Richie heard him well, understood the apology that really wasn't
necessary and had to blink once or twice. He put the small bottles he held down
on the rim, turned in his lover's arms and kissed him gently on the forehead.
“You've never told me in so many pretty words, but I figured it out
alright.”His long fingers smoothed Jon's tussled mane and he smiled tenderly as
the younger man closed his eyes in contentment. So beautiful, my darling. So
fuckin' beautiful.
“You know, what with all the kisses and touches...always thought you enjoyed
doing that quite a lot.”
“I do.” Jon breathed and proved it right there and then.
He started by mouthing a collarbone, moved on to the hollow of Richie's throat,
then to the other collarbone, all the while caressing the tender flesh with
closed lips and occasional flicks of the tip of his tongue.
Richie let his head drop back and inhaled sharply, his one hand held onto his
lover's head while the other caressed his shoulder. Only Jon could make him
feel like this, like every touch was invented for him and for him alone, like
he'd spent hours to think of the best way to please him.
He inhaled sharply as Jon moved up his neck, tracing the jugular with his
tongue. When he licked across Richie's Adam's apple, the guitarist let out a
throaty moan. He pushed both hands into his lover's hair, pulled his head up
and kissed him on those teasing lips, thrust his own tongue deep into the hot
mouth and got lost in the unique taste once again.
They parted after long minutes.
“God, Jonny! Whatcha doing to me?”
“Nothin' you're not doing right back, babe.” the younger man said huskily, took
one of Richie's hands and gently kissed the palm. He let his tongue run over
the inside of the middle finger and when he reached the tip he took it into his
mouth, licking and sucking on it like it was his favorite Popsicle. A streak of
electricity raced from the digit to Richie's groin and his cock twitched with
the force of it.
He looked down on Jon's bowed head, imagining it bobbing up and down on
something else and groaned. “Babe, you keep that up an' we'll never get into
that bath.”
Jon raised his head, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
“But it tastes sooo good.” he pouted. “Would feel great, too, ya know, all nice
an' wet...”
That look, blue eyes peaking out from underneath dirty blond strands, combined
with the suggestive words, was Richie's undoing.
“Fuck getting clean!” he growled.
“Gonna get you all sweaty first!”
He pulled Jon in for a heated kiss and used his free hand to turn off the
water, then threw the mock protesting singer over his shoulder in a fireman's
carry and marched off to the bed.
 
Having dumped Jon rather unceremoniously in the middle of the bed, Richie got
rid of his jeans quickly and crawled up to his lover, who regarded him with
badly hidden anticipation.
He tried to even out his breathing and keep a nonchalant expression but the
dilated pupils and the way his hand reached unconsciously for the tall brunette
told the real story.
Richie suddenly needed to touch him and pulled him in his arms, needed to feel
his every move, every breath he took. He tugged impatiently at the hem of Jon's
tee and scolded playfully: “Too many clothes, love.”
“So, strip me.” was the laconic reply. Not believing for a second that he was
really this indifferent, Richie grinned evilly.
“You're wish is my command!”
And I'll have you writhing on this bed, begging for me, before you're even
naked. He promised him silently, knowing for sure that if he'd say it aloud Jon
would do his worst to maintain the calm facade he tried to put up now.
Richie straddled Jon's muscular thighs and leaned forward, his erection
pressing into the singers groin. Slowly he pushed the shirt up, kissing every
inch of skin he exposed. When he reached the navel he swirled his tongue around
it and felt Jon's hands on his head, carefully, but definitely pushing down.
Ah, getting impatient already, are we?
He drew back a bit and looked down at his lover's slightly flushed face.
“Raise your hands over your head and keep 'em there.” he ordered curtly, but
his own hands that guided Jon's arms up, were as gentle as ever.
He returned to his task and worked his way up the lean torso, enjoying the way
Jon's breathing accelerated when he licked along the ridges of his ribs.
Skilled fingers caressed quivering flanks, always on the verge of tickling but
only exciting the younger man more.
By the time a pair of already erect and reddened nipples was exposed to
Richie's view, Jon was positively panting and the first drops of sweat formed
along his hairline. Before he moved on , Richie ground his pelvis firmly
against the tent in Jon's sweats, feeling a hardness that matched his own.
“You alright, Jonny?” he asked sweetly when a low moan escaped the singer.
Hooded eyes tried to focus on him as Jon obviously had to struggle to find his
voice. He was a study in passion with those midnight-colored eyes, the rouge
brushed cheeks and slightly opened lips.
Never had he looked more lovely to Richie and for a moment the guitarist lost
his plot, overwhelmed with awe that this beautiful creature was in his bed, in
his arms. Richie wasn't aware that what he did had affected him the same, so he
was surprised when Jon said:
” I'm ...fine. God, Richie, just look at you! You're fuckin'...gorgeous.” He
pronounced each word carefully so it wouldn't come out as a gasp. He still
wasn't ready to give it up, to admit how strong his need was to voice his
desire, to thrash around and scream beneath his lover. Too bad Richie's
determination to get him to that point was even stronger and the tight control
he sensed in Jon helped him to get back into his game.
“Good!” he whispered, “Then you won't have a problem with this.” And he lowered
his head and closed his teeth not too gently on the first stiffened peak. Jon
hissed loudly and arched off the bed as the delicious pain rushed through him.
Richie immediately soothed the bite, licking it softly while rolling the other
nipple between calloused fingertips. After a few moments he switched sides and
repeated the sweet torture.
This time he was rewarded with a shouted: “Fuck!” as Jon grabbed his head with
both hands and pressed it hard against his chest. You want rough, babe? Rough
it's gonna be!
Now was not the time for slow and teasing, Richie realized, now all the pent up
tension and suppressed desire needed to come out and it was something he
needed, too.
He pulled back forcefully and made short work of Jon's shirt, ripping it while
pushing it over the singer's head. Jon complied and wriggled to indicate he
wanted to get rid of the pants, too, a request Richie gladly and quickly
fulfilled. Once Jon was as naked as Richie himself, the guitarist covered his
body again, feeling him everywhere at once and yet it wasn't enough.
“Want you, Jonny!” he panted, “Need you now!”
Something snapped inside the singer at those words, he thrust up and flipped
them over in a strong and fluid motion, gripping Richie's upper arms as he
growled:” You have me, baby. Gonna fuck you so hard, gonna be all you can think
of, all you'll ever need.”
If Richie thought his lover was a sight to behold before, he was now awestruck
by the passionate young lion hovering above him, the impossibly hard cock that
rubbed against his with every heaving breath Jon took. This was what he'd aimed
for, no holds barred, just pure and unadulterated emotion.
“Show me, darlin'! Take me!” he groaned and if it was more of a command than a
plea Jon didn't mind.
He kissed Richie again and started a rocking motion as his lips left a fiery
trail on his lover's throat . It was Richie's turn to cry out when Jon payed
him back for his earlier actions and bit one of his dark nipples, then keeping
it between his teeth as his tongue teased it till Richie thought that he might
come any second now.
Jon seemed to sense that, knowing him like he did, and he backed off, kissed
his way down the now sweat-glistening chest and stomach, avoiding the straining
erection that begged to be attended to and leaned back. He touched the back of
Richie's drawn up thighs and pushed them up, exposing his lover's hole.
Strong hands skimmed over the inside of Richie's thighs, over his hips and down
again and when they grazed his scrotum he was the one who surrendered.
“Fuck, Jonny.....touch me...please!”
It was a drawn out moan and Jon didn't waste any more time with teasing.
He spread Richie's legs even wider and stroked his heavy cock with one hand
while the other caressed his perineum, massaging it ,then worked its way down
to the dark rose.
When his fingers stopped, Richie immediately knew why and panted: “Side
table,drawer.”
Jon dove across the bed, pulled the lube out and was back before Richie had a
chance to really miss him. The singer almost ripped the cap off and squirted a
generous amount of the clear jelly into his palm.
Richie was shivering with anticipation when he finally felt a slippery digit
enter his tight opening. He pushed down on the finger, needing more and getting
it. Jon added a second finger, then a third, working them in and out slowly,
preparing his lover for his cock.
He squeezed the base of Richie's cock tightly to prevent him from coming from
the intense stimulation, bent over it to take it into his hot mouth, licked up
and down the thick vein on the underside and let it slip out again.
Their eyes met and, holding the gaze, Jon placed himself at Richie's stretched
rose and entered him in one strong thrust. Richie sighed at the sudden feeling
of being filled completely but it turned into a moan when Jon started to pump
his hips like a ram, perfectly angled to brush his prostrate on every stroke.
One of his hands stroked his lover's cock again, perfectly timed with his
thrusts.
Low moans turned into a litany of endearments and curses as incredible pleasure
coursed through Richie's body. Neither man closed his eyes, both needed to use
all senses to take in their lover's reaction, heightening their excitement even
more.
Jon felt his orgasm approach first but he fought it. “Tell me, Richie.” he
groaned.”Tell me I'm ...the only one, there's no one ...no one...else who makes
you feel like this.” He couldn't stop if his life depended on it but he slowed
down a bit, making Richie whimper in frustration 'cause he'd been so close, so
fucking close.
“Just... you, Jonny, only and always you.” Richie whispered and meant it. This
went beyond sex, beyond everything he'd ever experienced, even it it looked
like a fast fuck. He reached up and pulled his lover down for a passionate
kiss. Just before their lips met he whispered: “ Come with me, baby.”
Jon picked up his pace again and hooked Richie's legs over his arms, laying
down on his chest, being as close as two people could get. Richie's hands
stroked Jon's hair, his face and when he felt the hot wave rise from his lower
back he breathed: “Now, baby, let go.”
Jon had felt it somehow, his own release impending, he deepened his strokes and
within seconds both men moaned the other's name as they rode the height of
their fulfillment together.
They stayed together for a long time afterwards, their breathing slowly calming
down, caressing each other with hands that remembered how to be gentle again
and in those moments there was nobody in the world but them.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Finally even Jon's lithe frame proved to be of considerable weight and Richie
nudged him carefully in the ribs to bring him out of his doze. “Hey babe, would
ya mind...” he asked softly. Jon came to in a heartbeat and let himself slip
down to lie in Richie's arm, leaving their legs still tangled. “Sorry man,
didn't mean to fall asleep on you,” he said just as softly, “ 'Twas just so
comfy.”
Richie smiled at that, so very content himself, reluctant to move even the
tiniest bit.
“S'okay, love, you worked hard for it.” he replied, earning a shy smile from
his lover.
“You wanted something different, right? An' I...” Jon was interrupted by
Richie's finger on his lips. “Shhh, it was great. Do ya have any idea how sexy
you are when you're all impatient and demanding?”
“Nah, I don't.” he answered so low, Richie felt it more than he heard it.
Why are you like this? What makes you so damned insecure, when you should know
I'm okay with whatever you wanna try, as long as it's with you.
But he couldn't tell him, again his own insecurities got in the way and he
could only think of one thing to do; he'd just show Jon what he couldn't convey
with words.
Delicately brushing back the damp hair from his lover's face he asked quietly:”
Do ya wanna rest for a while? Maybe get some more sleep?” Jon shook his head
'no' and tried to separate his legs from Richie's. “I haven't slept that much
in months. All I need right now's something to drink. You want some, too?”
“Yeah, if ya getting up anyway... juice would be great, thanks.”
Jon got up and, as soon as he was standing, sat down again quickly, laughing
lightly.
Richie almost jumped out of bed when Jon dropped down, but stopped at his
laughter, a little confused now.
He reached for Jon's shoulders to steady him.
“Are ya alright? Jonny?”
The singer put his own hand reassuringly on top of Richie's.
“I'm fine, really, this is... oh man,” he couldn't stop chuckling and shook his
head slightly. “It's just... my fuckin' knees are kinda weak!”
Richie joined him in his amusement.
“That bad, huh?” he giggled.
“Nah, that good!”
Richie embraced Jon from behind and tenderly kissed his neck.
“Told ya you worked hard. But the result was absolutely worth it.”he whispered
into his ear. Moving back he spoke up.
“Know what, you lay back down for a bit an' I'll get us the drinks an' a
smoke.”
He looked down at himself. “And maybe clean me up a bit. You keep getting me
all sticky.”
Jon laid back on the bed and lazily scratched his chest.
“Oh, that was me? Could've sworn that's yours.”
“It's mine alright, but 'twas you who caused it.” Richie tried hard to contain
his grin.
“Well, I just won't do it again, then, will I?” the younger man said with a
completely straight face.
What? Wait! You little....I'll show ya!
Keeping his expression as solemn as he could, Richie replied: “ Jon, ya know I
really like ya, right?”
“Ya.” was the slightly puzzled response.
“And ya know that I really hate it when something bad happens to ya?”
“Ya-ha.” Suspicious now, brows drawing together; trying to figure out where
this was leading to.
Richie knew he needed to wrap this up fast, Jon was anything but stupid, just a
little slow on the uptake sometimes. He had so much to think of lately, it was
as if his mind was constantly occupied and there was just no more room for
unimportant things like banter. But right now he seemed to be relaxed enough to
get it. Shit.
“So, “ Richie said, inching closer, “I'm terribly sorry, but a threat like that
needs immediate punishment.”
With that he threw himself onto his lover and tickled him mercilessly.
Jon, finding escape wasn't an option anymore, tried to fight him off with all
that he had. Adrenaline helped him along where the remains of his exertion
where hindering him, but it was a losing battle anyway. Richie had the element
of surprise on his side, combined with his weight and size there was nothing
Jon could overcome easily on his best of days.
Right now, all he could do after a minute of nimble fingers moving at lightning
speed over his sides, ghosting over his sensitive skin with just the right
amount of pressure to torture him the most, was squeal and shriek helplessly.
“NO! Fuck, no!! Rich...RichIE! Stop! Stop! No, no more...Ahhh!”
It was hilarious and innocently erotic at the same time, both of them being
naked and not caring in the least, so familiar with each other, so confident in
the other's presence for once. I could watch you like this forever, carefree
and laughing, not thinking, just being.
Jon was just a wriggling, shaking mess, tears of laughter running down his
cheeks and the ability to form coherent words left him quickly. Richie, seeing
him gasping for breath, slowed down a little and asked, laughing and breathing
hard himself: “Tell me you didn't mean it? You WILL do it again?”
“Any...thing! I'll...oh please, stop! Was just...ha, just kiddin'!” Jon
wheezed, while finally managing to grab his lover's hands and restrain him from
his wicked actions.
Richie grinned down on him. “Okay, baby. That's all I wanted to hear. Now,
lemme go, I think you need that drink more then before.”
Jon let him go and, while Richie got up and did what he'd said earlier, he
tried to get his breathing under control again. When he was certain that he
could speak through a whole sentence he said: “Hey King, you're swinging back
on your word now ?”
Richie just came back to him with a glass of orange juice in each hand and a
pack of cigarettes between his teeth, so he couldn't answer immediately. He
didn't have a clear idea what Jon was on about anyway, so he spat the pack onto
the bed and inquired:” Whatcha talking about, Jonny?” while handing him a glass
and sitting down beside him.
“I'm talking about,” Jon replied coolly, then taking a long swallow of his
drink, “you having promised to 'take good care' of me. Right now I'm sticky,
sweaty and thirsty, not to mention the fact that I'm exhausted, and not in a
good way.”
“Cut it out, Jonny. You know damned well that you asked for it.” Richie
replied, smiling cordially. The warning in his voice would've gone unnoticed by
most, but Jon understood it only too well, laid back and smoked quietly for a
while.
Richie regarded him intently. This was the man he loved, who he'd adored from
the minute he first laid eyes on him, but every now and again he pushed him to
his limits. Why do you have to be such a... brat sometimes? Why.... his train
of thought took a different direction as the word he'd used brought back the
memories of another life, the voice of his father clear and angry in his mind.
Will ya stop acting like some stupid brat, Richard? Ya got nothin' to proof
here, ya always gonna be our son, no matter how much shit ya pulling, ya hear
me?
He couldn't even recall the source of the argument, maybe something about
independence and the need to stand up to a thing that was too big for him yet,
it didn't matter anyway. What mattered was the feeling connected with the
memory, the reassurance that he could be as obnoxious as he wanted, he'd always
be loved.
Richie sat completely still, smoking automatically, his mind conjuring up
pictures from a more recent past. Jon and him, talking over a glass of
expensive whiskey; Now, my people always expected me to put in some effort. If
I wanted to be a singer, I'd better be the best. Another occasion, the lot of
them exchanging school stories; I never had time to spare for learning. There
was my brothers and stuff and all I could make space for was the music. And I
needed that, so I made a choice.
He looked closer still and saw the tiny changes that gave his lover's state of
mind away; the almost imperceptible shaking of his fingers holding the
cigarette, the tightened shoulders and he blinked more often then normal.
Realization hit him full force. You have to be a brat. You have to keep asking
me to love you, no matter what, cause no one ever did that before. And since
you can't say it, you have to act like the spoiled primadonna you never were.
God, Jonny....
Jon almost choked on his smoke as Richie embraced him tightly, without any
notice. “Let's stop this shit, alright?” he said in a rough voice, pretty sure
Jon would understand him without knowing exactly what was going on. It seemed
like he did, he returned the gesture, pressed a soft kiss to Richie's shoulder
and murmured against it: “Yeah, you're right. Shouldn't waste our precious time
together fighting. 'Twas stupid.”
Richie held him close for a moment, then he withdrew himself and looked into
those impossibly blue eyes. One could get lost in them, he knew it, for he'd
taken that path into the unknown two years ago and would continue on it to the
very end.
“I keep my promises, baby.” he said very quietly, trying to put all his
feelings into that look. Jon returned the gaze, unsure, searching, lips pressed
together tightly, till he apparently found what confirmation he needed. The
concentrated mien dissolved and suddenly his face was luminous with joy.
“And I'll keep mine.” he answered,” With you, I can.”
Richie kissed him quickly, not wanting to let his hopes grow too high with an
admission like that, but definitely happy with it.
“'Kay babe, do you need to go in there or can I finish preparing your treat?”
he wanted to know, jerking his head in the direction of the en-suite.
“Go ahead, can't wait to get in the water, it's been so long!” Jon emphasized
his words with a gentle shove.
Richie got up and put out his smoke. He went to his suitcase and pulled out a
rather large brown paper bag, which he took with him into the bathroom. Jon
hadn't noticed, he'd laid back again and closed his eyes.
After a while the guitarist returned to his lover's side and softly called his
name. Jon responded immediately with a dreamy smile and reached for him. “Hey
there. Help me up?” Richie gripped his hand and pulled, but once he was
standing, the singer took hold of his arm, looking for support.
“Legs are still weak? C'mon love, I'll carry you, but don't get used to it.”
the brunette grinned. He tried not to worry about it and told himself that it
was most likely that Jon was just taking advantage of him. He didn't mind, it
was so rare that Jon allowed himself that much assistance. Lifting him up into
his arms, Richie kissed his forehead and found his suspicions confirmed when
Jon showed that satisfied little smile of his.
 
Chapter 14
“I really like this, you know. Makes me feel...I dunno, special.” he admitted.
Oh, then you'll absolutely love this. Richie thought smugly but passed on any
comment, for they'd reached the door to the bathroom. He pushed it open and
stopped for effect. The room was lit by a dozen candles, creating a golden glow
that was heightened by the steam wafting off the tub and the air was heavy with
the scent of sandalwood and spices.
Jon just looked, didn't say a word, was for once completely and utterly
speechless. Richie craned his neck and tried to see his eyes, but couldn't make
them out under the long bangs. Nevertheless he felt the sharp intake of breath
of his lover's and stepped into the bathroom, slowly letting him down in front
of the tub.
The singer didn't turn fully to face him, he spoke to the wall, very softly and
hesitantly.
“Thank you...thank you so much. This is...I don't deserve you..”
He lowered his head and whispered:” I'm such a fuckin' bastard.”
“No Jonny, you're not! Look at me!” When Jon refused to comply, turning further
away, Richie wouldn't have it “Fuckin' look at me, Jon!” he hissed, forcing the
younger man's head up and around with a firm grip on his chin. Jon didn't fight
him and Richie pulled his lover into his arms again. “I can't stand to hear you
lower yourself like that. You didn't know what I was up to, there's nothing to
feel bad about.” he said insistently.
When Jon didn't react, just rested his forehead on Richie's shoulder, the
guitarist swallowed heavily. “Let me show you. Let me love you like you deserve
it. Please, baby, gotta make you feel it.” he whispered, while his hands
caressed Jon's back. I love you, I love you so fuckin' much. Got to let you
know somehow, without losing myself in you.
Something felt wrong about that. He always went with his feelings, it got him
into trouble more often then not, but he wouldn't have it any other way. For
anything worth having, one must pay the price...He couldn't remember how the
quote went on, but there was a lot of truth to it. Holding back just wasn't
him. Stop thinking. DO!
“C'mon love, get in or it'll get cold.” he said kindly, pushed both hands in
Jon's hair and raised his head that way. There was weariness in those beautiful
azure eyes, but once they bore into his, they came alive again. “ Yeah,” their
owner said quietly “ I'll do.”
To Richie it was clear that he didn't mean the bath at all.
He stayed quiet, there wasn't anything to say really, so he just brushed his
lips over Jon's briefly and offered him a hand as he stepped into the tub.
“Jesus, this feels nice!” Jon sighed and closed his eyes as the hot, fragrant
water engulfed him fully.
Richie remained outside and asked softly: “Would you like some privacy? Be
alone for a while?”, knowing well that this was one of the most precious things
he could offer on tour. The singer opened his eyes to look at him, a little bit
irritated.
He extended his hand invitingly and said huskily:” I'd very much like to be
private with you, baby.”
Richie took his hand and pressed a quick kiss on the back of it before he got
in behind Jon, who hurried to make room for him.
As soon as the guitarist had stretched his long legs out on either side of
Jon's, he pulled the singer back against his chest.
“Now relax, love. And if you doze off, it's okay. I'll hold you.” he murmured,
reclining until his own head rested on the tub's rim and Jon's lay comfortably
on his shoulder.
They stayed like that for a while, one of Richie's arms wrapped around Jon's
midriff, his fingers playing idly over the skin, drawing little patterns on it.
Jon let his hands rest on his lover's thighs, motionless at first, but slowly
answering him with tiny moves of his own.
“Rich?” he asked quietly.
“Mh?”
“This really is the best idea you had in years. Why'd we never do this before?”
“Geez, I don't know. Maybe 'cause we hardly had the time? Never were alone for
long, always had to fear someone would burst in. Or maybe 'cause you weren't
too keen on that much intimacy for a while?” Richie bit his tongue after the
sentence was out. It was the truth, but was Jon willing to accept it?
“Yeah, you're right. One of my bigger mistakes.” he answered surprisingly
airily.
Richie smiled, relieved. He couldn't resist the wet, freckled skin on Jon's
shoulder right in front of him and kissed sweat and water off it. At Jon's
delighted sigh he whispered: ”I love your freckles. They remind me of our days
at the beach. And you taste like sunshine.”
“How does sunshine taste?” was the curious reply. Richie could hear him
smiling.
“Like you.”
“Ha, ha! Very elaborate,Rich.” Jon teased.
“Can't expect pearls of wisdom when I'm holding you like this, now, can ya?”
Richie grinned. Serious again, he said: ”You remind me of a summer day. Heat,
passion; burning like the sun; exhausting sometimes, which makes the moments in
the shadows that much more special. And even there, you still taste like
sunshine.”
His other arm crossed Jon's chest, he caressed the tender skin on the juncture
between shoulder and neck. The younger man rubbed his cheek on the back of
Richie's hand and kissed it affectionately.
“That's funny.” he said in between kisses, “When I think about you like that, I
see midnight. Velvet an' silk under a canopy of stars. And the moonlight
illuminates a side of you that's for my eyes only.”
His tongue found the underside of Richie's wrist and licked it teasingly.
“Yeah.” Richie breathed as a wave of arousal swept through his veins. “Only for
you.”
He tenderly kissed Jon's temple and thought about his words.
“We complete each other.” he asserted after a moment. It was a bit stating the
obvious, of course, but neither of them had ever openly admitted to it before.
Jon nodded, his hair tickling Richie's chin.
“That we do. It's amazing that we see the things all the others don't.”
Do you see all of them? Do you know how I feel about you? You might see the
darkness in me- like I see the light in you- but do you know it was you who put
it there, however unintentionally? The guitarist couldn't help having these
thoughts, but fought them down once more and remembered that he wanted to let
his actions speak for themselves.
Richie reached for the shower gel and a washcloth and worked up a lather. He
gently washed his lover, starting with his chest. Richie took his time, using
wide circular motions. They communicated solely by touch, Jon reacted to the
slightest contact Richie made to stretch out an arm or raise a leg. They had
cleaned each other before, in the shower, and it was always nice, either
foreplay or gentle come down after sex, but what Richie did was in a league of
it's own.
His moves were reverently and considerate, he didn't miss a single millimeter
of skin. When he came to the most intimate body parts of his lover, he dropped
the cloth and used his bare hands, not to arouse but to caress him. His
ministrations had Jon in kind of a trance, he moved with him where needed, but
didn't try to intensify the actions of his partner or do anything on his own.
For once he was just savoring the sensations he experienced.
It would have been so easy to turn this into a heated encounter like the one
they'd shared a couple hours ago. Neither seemed to be interested; Jon was
completely relaxed and while Richie enjoyed what he did tremendously, he felt
far more tenderness then desire. When he was done, and conveyed the fact by
letting his hands rest on his lover's hips and dropping a kiss on his ear, Jon
needed a moment to come out of his dreamy state and sit up.
“Mh, why'd ya stop?”
“ Any cleaner and you'd be aseptic.” Richie quipped. “Besides, the water's
getting cold.”
“Don''t wanna get out. S'nice; an' it ain't cold as long as I'm in your arms.”
Jon managed to put a pout in his voice that would've done any schoolgirl proud.
Richie, once more torn between laughing and kissing him, opted for the latter.
Jon had already turned as much as he could in the narrow tub and looked
positively kissable. His hair was still a mess, dripping wet up to his ears;
his face was slightly flushed from the heat and his eyes sparkled with joy. He
reached out to cup Richie's cheek with his left and smiled as he leaned into
the touch.
“ You're a wonderful man, Richie. I think I don't tell you as often as I
should.”
“You show me.” Richie answered simply. “And you're pretty wonderful yourself.”
Their lips met in a loving kiss, unhurried and sensitively. When they parted,
Richie drew Jon close and burrowed his face in the crook of his neck for a
moment, before he pushed him back gently, reached around him and pulled the
plug.
“Whoah! That's cheating!”
“Nope. It's called an adequate measure.” Richie laughed and started to quickly
wash himself. Jon had to laugh, too, and gave him some space. When Richie was
done and reached for the hand shower, Jon beat him to it.
“Let me.” he said. Richie nodded and let him rinse the remaining suds from his
body.
The mischievous glint in those sky blue eyes should have warned him, but he was
too distracted by the pleasurable situation to pay them any heed. So it was no
small shock when the prickling spray hit the head of his manhood with full
force. “Shit!” he yelped, hands rushing down to cover himself. “What the
fuck!?”
Jon almost choked on his laughter, but hastened to turn down the water and
tried to apologize through the giggles that he couldn't stop from escaping.
“Sorry, man! I...didn't mean...so strong...” he gasped.
“Come again? Slowly?” Richie grinned. It hadn't hurt, it just surprised him and
he had an idea about what Jon tried to do. It was a very nice idea...something
he'd like to take him up on.
“I..uhm...it feels... good- when it's not... set so high...” He was blushing
heavily, obviously embarrassed by having let this information about how he
liked to pleasure himself slip.
This is just too cute for words! Richie was very careful not to let his
thoughts become visible in his expression, let alone say them. Jon would have
his balls for dinner if he'd ever as much as suspected that his wingman put
'cute' and him in the same sentence.
“I think I can imagine. Try again?” with that Richie spread his legs as wide as
possible to grant his lover better access to his goal.
Jon had gotten over his embarrassment and his wanton smile was back. He lifted
the hand shower again, but instead of directing the spray at Richie's crotch,
he aimed it higher.
It felt really good, Richie decided, as the hot water caressed first his left,
then his right quickly pebbling nipple. Moving the spray lower, Jon let it
circle around his lover's navel, which elicited a sound between a growl and a
giggle from him. The water cascaded over prominent hipbones, down the 'v' of
his thighs, along the inside of each one, before it finally touched his semi-
erect cock. The sensation of a hundred tiny tongues licking over it, massaging
his balls and returning to his length had him sighing with pleasure, still it
wasn't enough to fully arouse him, which he didn't mind a bit. Coming twice
since getting up a couple hours ago was plenty enough.
After a few minutes he sat up and, seeing the goosebumps on Jon's skin, took
the hand shower from him.
“Your turn.”
He swiftly rinsed the singers body, lingering just briefly on his more
sensitive spots, and stood up, reaching out to pull Jon with him.
When they both were standing outside, Richie wrapped Jon in a big towel and
dried him off, managing to get dry himself in between.
“I believe I owe you a massage as well.” he said as he finished his job with a
quite futile attempt to dry his lover's hair.
“You owe me nothing. But I'd like that. A lot.”
“Go ahead, make yourself comfortable. I'll just have to find the oil.” Richie
pecked him on the lips and went to search the chaos that was his luggage.
***** Chapter 5 *****
When Richie had pulled on his sweatpants and a t-shirt and finally found the
massage oil where he least supposed it to be, right in a side pocket of his
toiletry kit, he turned towards the bed where Jon lay on his stomach, arms
stretched out above his head, cheek nestled into a pillow. He had drawn the
thin sheet up to his shoulders and the sleek fabric outlined his form in a
decidedly immodest manner. Must've been cold...but hell, that's some erotic
picture! It's true; nothing like a covered up treasure to get the imagination
going.
Now that he thought about it, Richie noticed that the climate in the room was
suitable for him, but not necessarily for his warmth -craving lover. He quickly
turned down the A/C and returned to the bed at last. Running his free hand over
Jon's satin covered legs and firm butt he said admiringly:” Mh, may I unwrap
you, beautiful?”
“Yea, I think I can allow that, gorgeous.” Jon grinned, without even trying to
look at him through the hair hanging in his face. Richie slowly pulled down the
sheet until Jon's backside was bared from his neck to just above his tush.
Gonna save the best for last. The guitarist straddled his lovers thighs, coated
his hands with the aromatic oil and carefully put the bottle down on the floor.
He rubbed his palms together to get them as warm as possible, then placed his
slender hands over Jon's shoulders without touching them. They hovered maybe
half an inch over the skin and he just kept them there, letting his heat
transfer slowly.
” So warm...that's awesome, Rich!”
“Feels good? It'll get better, baby. Just tell me how you like it.”
“Whatever you do is fine with me.”
“'K.” Richie breathed, and let his hands sink down onto the freckled skin. He
started by rolling it between his thumbs and fingers, then used the heels of
his hands to move the muscles as well. When he reached the sharp edges of his
lover's shoulderblades his touches eased, growing stronger again when he moved
his hands down the long muscles along his spine.
Jon gave a mewing sound; not a lion anymore, just a content kitten; a sound
that made Richie smile and kiss each protruding vertebra.
“ A lip massage? You invent the nicest things, Mookie.” Jon murmured dreamily.
“ Anything you like, baby, anything at all.” Richie whispered, and kissed all
the way up to the back of Jon's neck, where he nibbled along the hairline until
he came to the perfect shell of his ear. Without thinking he licked along the
ridges, kissed the tender skin behind it and said very low and emotional:”
Thank you,Jonny. Thank you for being here with me. This means the world to
me.”.
Jon pushed himself up a bit,turned under Richie, shook his unruly mane out of
his face, and regarded his lover fondly.
“It's me who needs to give thanks, Richie. You're the one who's putting up with
all my bullshit. You're the one who's always there for me, don't ever think I
don't see that! Please, never thank me for what little I can give you- I- I'd
love to give you more, but I can't...I don't have...” he broke off, eyes
colored a luminescent blue, tears gathering in them.
And once more Richie could read in those eyes what Jon couldn't put into words.
That he didn't have the strength to love him openly; couldn't build his whole
life on the madness of their business; still needed him desperately. And under
all those things was something more, something that made Richie reach out and
caress Jon's face with all the tenderness he felt.
“I love you, Jonny. Whatever you can give me, I'll gladly take. Even the
bullshit.”
Jon sat up as straight as he could, with Richie now perched on his upper legs.
His eyes became even huger, if that was possible, and brighter, too. If Richie
had had second thoughts about what he just said, they vanished at that look.
“Richie...” Jon breathed, “Richie...” He threw his arms around Richie's neck
and kissed him deeply, overwhelmed by his emotions. Richie kissed him back,
lost himself in the sweetness of it for a while, though he felt his own tears
rising. When the kiss ended, he pulled Jon's head to his chest and held him
close, so he wouldn't see his eyes. Someday you'll say it back. Someday... I'll
wait, baby. I'll wait all my life.
“ Want me to finish?” Richie asked after a moment, when he felt he could
control his voice again. Jon nodded and laid back down on his front. It was
obvious that he couldn't speak and Richie bent down to kiss his cheek. “It's
okay, babe. I know.” he simply said.
The singer looked up over his shoulder and whispered: “ Yes, you do.”, before
he buried his face in the pillow again.
Richie worked intently and gently on his lover's newly tensed body, and felt
him slowly relax again when he'd reached his lower back. Jon had sighed or
loudly expelled his breath every now and again, but otherwise he'd given no
response at all. Uncovering him completely, Richie moved over his buttocks,
down his legs, paid some attention to his feet by massaging the arches with his
thumbs and then moved up again with long strokes of his palms.
“Jonny? Still with me?” he asked softly as he covered Jon with the sheet and
the comforter. “'M tired, Babe. S'nice, warm and...” a yawn interrupted
whatever Jon wanted to say, and Richie smiled about his sleepy lover. Nice to
know there's some things I do right. “Then sleep, Angel.” he whispered, pulling
the blankets higher over his shoulders, “Sleep and get some rest.” He laid down
beside him and stroked his hair lightly, again and again, until he heard his
breath become slower and deeper.
When he was certain that Jon was asleep, Richie got up and went over to the
minibar. He tried not to do it, but the need for just a little bit of liquid
comfort was just too strong. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch and
lighted a cigarette, taking both with him to the window, which he opened, and
then he sat on the sill.
Jonny. Good that he gives in to what he needs for a change. And I've told him
and he didn't rip my head off. In fact, he seemed to be kinda thrilled...
The guitarist contemplated the days events some more, smoking and sipping his
drink, letting his own tension getting washed away by the stimulants. Having
finished both, he got up, closed the window and got his walkman to listen to
some music. He stretched out on the couch and forgot everything as he lost
himself in the maze of Joe Satriani's playing.
 
After the tape had ended, Richie had dozed off, too, just as drained physically
and emotionally as Jon. They might pretend that they owned the world and
anything in it, that they rocked this high, but it was actually rocking them,
and deep down they knew it. Torn between common sense and the voices of people
who had a lot to gain and even more to lose, depending on the decisions the
band made, the voices tended to drown out common sense more and more. They were
walking a thin line and would be lucky if they made it through unharmed.
But right now life was good for Jon and Richie, who woke up to the sound of the
phone ringing. He heard Jon curse and then his voice, still hoarse from sleep,
answering the call. Richie sat up and looked over the back of the couch. Jon
was sitting in the middle of the bed, surrounded by a deep sea of blankets,
hair an incredible mess, scowling as he listened to whatever the person on the
other end of the line said.
“ Yeah.- I'm fine.- No!- Leave me the fuck alone with that shit!- I told...-
NO! This is final!- Listen ,don't call me again unless you got something
serious to discuss, understood?!- Good!”
The receiver was slammed down so hard that Richie, who'd gotten up and walked
over to Jon as soon as he started to shout, flinched and mentally added a
broken phone to their bill. The singer's hands were shaking with fury, he let
them run through his hair and mumbled curses under his breath.
“Hey, Jonny.” Richie said cautiously, crawling up to him. “ Don't pull 'em
out.”
Jon looked at him as if he saw him for the first time. “That might be just the
thing. Maybe then this shit would stop.” he growled.
“What shit?”
“Doc... he had another of these stupid photo shots set up. Can you believe it?”
He got up, found his pants on the floor, pulled them on roughly and started to
pace the room.
“I'm sick of it! All of it! I don't wanna do anymore of it, an' he fuckin'
knows it!” he shouted, while Richie stood up again and tried to think of
something to calm his irate lover. Fuck you, McGee! Thanks for upsetting him
again! How am I s'posed to appease him, when I whole- heartedly agree with him?
So the response he gave was kind of lame, and he was to pay dearly for it.
“Look, Jonny, it's just how it is. You're the face...” he didn't get any
further. Jon spun around and invaded his personal space in a heartbeat,
standing toe to toe.
“The face?” he hissed. “I'm THE FACE? You're fucking me 'cause I'm just a
pretty FACE?”
His beautiful eyes had narrowed to slits, icy blue glittering through them; the
balled fists said clearly that while he might have no desire to hurt Richie, he
wanted to hit something, and he was just close enough to become a casualty.
Richie stared at him and understood that this was deeper and older than the
actual cause, and he swallowed his pride, his own hurt and anger at Jon's
accusation, and took him in his arms. The younger man stiffened at first and
for a second Richie thought he was going to fight him. But then he drew a shaky
breath and leaned his forehead against Richie's.
“I did it again.” he whispered. “I'm sorry, Mookie, I'm just so angry...”
“I know you didn't mean it. But it hurts, Jonny, it hurts nonetheless.” The
guitarist saw no reason to lie about his feelings, there was no other way for
Jon to learn to respect them. He watched as the anger deflated and was replaced
by sorrow. Jon swallowed hard and turned away.
“Let's sit down for this.” he said while walking over to the couch. Richie
followed him, bewildered but willing to see what was on his friends mind. “You
want something to drink?” he asked, feeling that they might need it.
“Yeah, grab me a beer, please.”
Richie fulfilled the request, bringing another beer for himself, and settled
down beside Jon, who took his beer and downed half of it.
“When I fell asleep, I was extremely happy. What you said...what you did- that
was the best.” the singer said slowly and the loving look that accompanied the
words made Richie forget all of his anger. Before he could reply, the hard
expression from earlier was back
“And then I woke up to this shithead reminding me that I'm...I'm just...” Jon
broke off and started to shred the label on his bottle.
“Jonny, stop that.” Richie lit a cigarette and passed it to him, lighting one
for himself afterwards.
“Ah, thanks. I really need it. How do you always know?”
Richie smiled, made a small gesture with his hands and shrugged as if to say
'What can I do?', which made Jon smile in return. He took a long drag on the
cigarette and found the resolve to continue.
“Just a pretty face. A cheap piece of ass, like you said.” Richie wanted to say
something, but thought better of it. Let it get out. Maybe it'll help.
“I'm a fuckin' songwriter! I think of myself as a musician; I know I'm not in
your league as a guitar player, but I can hold my own. That's what I want to be
acknowledged for, not my face or ass!” Jon blurted out, frustration evident in
his voice, and now Richie had to speak.
“And you are! You think we got to No 1 just by your looks? It's the music,
Jonny, and the way you make the songs come alive. I thought you knew that.”
He saw Jon struggle to believe him, his emotions easily readable to him, and he
decided to push it a little further.
“Why does this get to you so much? I know it annoys me sometimes, but I look at
it as kinda the price of fame. Why can't you do that, baby?” he asked
insistently. Their eyes met, and the sudden emptiness in Jon's scared the
guitarist. Shit, what did I dig up here? He was about to tell Jon to leave it
when the younger man spoke.
“I'm not sure, Rich. It makes me feel...dirty; like a thing. I hate that
feeling. I hate it.” The last sentence was a whisper. Richie closed the space
between them and put an arm around his lover's shoulders, pulling him close.
“Baby...Jonny..” he was at a loss for words. Anger he knew, frustration he
could handle, but this was a side of his friend he had never seen. Jon's hand
came up, caressed Richie's face with heartbreaking tenderness.
“You always see the real me, baby. I know that. I see it in your eyes when we
make love. It's there when we're on stage. Always.” Richie's heart soared at
that. Make love. Make love. He repeated to himself, but was brought down
quickly by Jon's next words.
“Then there's Dot. She's different, too. Oh, she wants me, but she'll never
throw herself at me. There's always a conquest, a challenge. It does a lot for
my ego that I can charm one as independent as her.” He noticed the sadness on
his friends face and his own smile was sad, too.
“Rich, I'm just as straight as you are, remember? What we have...that's so
special, there's no words or category for it. But what I have with her...it
grounds me. Makes me believe I do have a choice.”
“A choice?” Richie felt a leaden weight settle in his stomach. “When did you
ever not have a choice?” he croaked as a vivid image invaded his mind. God, no,
Jonny! This can't be! Tell me this didn't happen to you! He knew what he needed
to do, so he took Jon's hand in his and whispered: “Tell me, Jonny. I'm not
sure I wanna know, but tell me if you want.” Jon squeezed his hand tightly,
reading his friends suspicions quite clearly.
“It's not as bad as what you probably fear. I haven't thought about it for
ages, but now that I do, I'd like to tell you.” Richie just nodded, feeling a
bit sick, and Jon took a deep breath.
“ I was twelve years old when it started. A friend of my mom's had been sick
and her husband was out of town on business, so I was sent over to mow the lawn
and do- other stuff. At first I was curious, like any other boy would've been,
but that was all I was. She let me look, and touch and she... touched me. That
was weird, but alright. Then she wanted more. Yeah, I know. Sounds like a
teenage dream come true.” he commented on his lover's raised brows.
“Only if the specific teenager dreams of it.” Richie said dryly, more at ease
now that his worst assumption hadn't been confirmed. “Did he?”
“Not so much. He was... well developed, but had just recently started to look
at females as something of- interest. She took what she wanted and it confused
me no end.”
“You didn't like it?”
“Nah, not at all. I mean, yeah, the release was good, but I wasn't...ready, if
you know what I say. It was just bodily; and she was married. I'd done
something incredibly wrong.”
“God, Jonny! It wasn't you fault. That was a grown woman, she should ha' known
better. She's the only one to blame.”
“That's what you say. She said it was me. That I seduced her, that I was bad.
But when I told her I wouldn't come over anymore, she blackmailed me, said
she'd tell my mom. I knew I'd be dead meat if she did, so it continued.”
“How long, Jonny?” Richie pressed out through his clenched teeth.
“Not that long. Hubby returned after three weeks and I thought, that was it. I
was really young.” Dread returned with a vengeance at the bitter expression on
Jon's face. Oh, god, did he find out? Were you beaten- or worse...?
“What?” The guitarist managed to ask, taking the younger man's hand in both of
his and holding on to it.
“She told her friends. Before I knew it, I was the boy toy of the
neighborhood.”
 
Ch.16
 
“Say what? You saying that bitch not only took advantage of you, a kid, but
shared you with her bored, morbid friends?”
Richie was furious, though it wasn't what he'd feared, Jon hadn't been raped-
or had he? Wasn't this worse, in a way? If he'd been physically forced, he'd
always have the solace of knowing that there wasn't a damned thing he could've
done. Like this, all he had was a world of 'what if'. It might not have injured
his body, but his soul was a different matter.
Jon misinterpreted his lover's incredulous tone completely.
“That too much for the King of Swing? Too obscene, even for you? Think I asked
for it?” he snapped, pulled his hand from Richie's grip and jumped up. The
brunette grabbed his wrist lightly but Jon turned his back on him anyway.
“Jon, don't! Yeah, I feel... disgust. And I could hit something or rather
someone. But it's not about you! How can you even think that?” He let go of
Jon's arm and the younger man took his head in his hands, sighing.
“I don't know, Rich. God, where'd that come from?” All fight had left him in
that one outburst. He turned around again, totally confused. “I really never
thought about it. Why now? And why does it hurt so fuckin' much?” It was
impossible for him to stay still any longer, he began to pace the small strip
of floor between the couch and the table. Richie watched him silently, thinking
about all he'd heard.
“Maybe it was about time to let it out. And I think you were always hurting
from it, somehow.” he finally said. So many things fell into place now. Jon's
often callous manner with girls; his need for control; his strangely bipolar
reactions regarding his looks. And-
“You did think about it. Remember that girl in Osaka?” Jon stopped and rolled
his eyes.
“Which one?”
“The one Alec had. The one you told him to leave alone.”
“I was stinkin' drunk in Osaka, that's about all I remember.” Now Richie looked
slightly unnerved.
“Yeah, an' I was high as a kite; but I never forgot what you said. And neither
have you. When Alec told you that she'd said 'yes', what didya say?”
Jon's eyes were shooting daggers, but he answered nonetheless, grinding the
words out. “Her eyes say 'NO'.”
“Exactly. Tell me you didn't think about it then. Tell me that wasn't you in
her place.” Richie could see the emotions run rampant in his lover, and for a
moment he feared he'd pushed him too far. To his surprise Jon closed his eyes
and seemed to think this over.
“Yeah.” He admitted quietly, “I knew how she felt. What it's like when no one
hears you.”
“But you told them, right? “
“Yes, I did. Over and over again.” It was just a breath, and then, finally, the
tears came. Not many, not a flood born from desperation and exhaustion, like
the night before, just a few for the innocent boy he'd been, and maybe a few
for the man who'd have to live with this for the rest of his life.
Richie wanted to hold him through it, like he always did, but Jon freed himself
from the embrace after only a minute and looked straight into the other man's
compassionate brown eyes, his own dark and timid.
“I got used to it, Rich.” he said with great difficulty. ”You deserve to know
that I got to a point where... no blackmail was necessary anymore. I was a
slut.” A dozen possible replies ran through Richie's head; placations,
endearments, denial. Jon held his gaze without blinking, as if he was afraid to
miss the response to his statement. When the guitarist felt him tremble under
his hands, he knew that Jon was terrified of his reaction, but his believes had
not allowed him to keep this to himself.
“How long have you carried this, Jonny? Fifteen years?” Richie asked softly.
The singer was puzzled and it took him a second to answer.
“ Yeah, give or take. Why?” Richie framed the beautiful face in front of him
with both hands, returned the deep look that hadn't wavered, and declared very
certainly:
“Because I don't give a flying fuck about who you were made to believe you are
back then. Because I'm telling you now that I admire you for your strength,
that made you walk away from that shit. Because I can't even begin to
understand what it took for a child to live under that kind of pressure, and
that's what you were, a child that had to find a way to deal with it.” He
gently placed a kiss on trembling lips. “Jonny, I've known you for six years
now, and not once have I seen a slut. All I see is the man I love. And he's a
good man.” The guitarist felt his friends knees buckle and sat down with him.
Holding him as close as he could without hurting him, he rocked him slightly
“Shh, baby. It's alright.- It's alright, it's over. You're not alone anymore,
I'm here, Jonny.- I'm here.” he whispered.
“It's just...just...I'm so- relieved!” Jon sounded amazed with that. “ I was so
afraid... what you'd say...what you'd think..”
“ She really doesn't know?” Richie asked softly.
“Dot? Nah. It stopped around the time we got together, so there was no need.”
“When you got...Five fuckin' years?”
“Yeah.. but it wasn't that bad anymore. The... dynamics had changed a bit, an'
I was too old for most of them anyway. Not that easy to handle anymore, I
guess.” The grin he showed was wolfish, to use a friendly term, and Richie
hoped that those tarts had seen it only once. But that was highly unlikely.
Now he knew how Jon had stayed sane and so strangely innocent through all off
it. He must have learned to detach a part of himself from the situation.
Sadness filled Richie as he thought about what else had been taken from his
friend: all the excitement of a first love; the slow discovery of his own
sexuality and that of the female sex. There'd been no news for him, he'd seen
it all before his voice broke.
Jon noticed his sorrow and stroked his cheek gently.
“I made you sad, baby. I'm sorry.” Richie covered his hand with his own.
“Don't be! I'm glad you told me...so glad you trust me so much. I was just sad
for you, cause you never had a real 'first time', don't have those memories.”
he said, taking Jon's hand and kissed the palm before holding it tight once
again. Somehow he needed to keep contact, to keep Jon here.
The singer's smile was sweet and tender. “Aw, Richie. Only you would think of
that. But I got – memories, you call 'em. The first time I was with a girl my
age, because I wanted to. First time with Dot, the first I had deeper feelings
for.” His smile grew and the light in his eyes was back completely.
“But my real first time was with you, don't you know that, love?”
Richie's face showed his astonishment. “Really? That's how you think of it?”
“Yea, sure. If the 'first time' is characterized by wanting nothing more than
finally be one; knee-trembling anticipation; fear of hurting the other while
having the desire to make it good for him; and having a gazillion butterflies
in your belly- then I say my first time was most definitely with you.” His
smile receded a bit, became more intimate.
“And my other first time...as I gave myself to you, like you had to me; as I
became yours completely...there's still no words for it.”
Richie captured his lips in a passion fueled kiss, devoured his mouth like the
love inside of him devoured his soul. He'd known that their first times meant a
lot to Jon, he'd seen and felt it, but to hear him say it was just awesome. The
embrace brought back some normality and helped both of them to find their inner
balance again. Or maybe get a little more crazy.
When they came up for air, Jon laughed breathlessly. “Shouldn't we get a move
on? I dimly recall something about dinner at eight...” Richie looked at the
clock, 6:30? and cursed.
“Damned, you're right! Didn't think we slept that long. C'mon babe, go and try
to tame that hair, an' I call Hank and let him know when, where and so on.”
“Did ya look in a mirror lately, Rich?” Jon laughed. “You should fix your own
mess.” It was true, all the caresses and getting wet, then dry again had caused
Richie's hair to stick out in all directions, too. He didn't bother to check
and went to pick up the phone. “I will. Now lemme call Hank, he'll probably
think we left without him.”
Jon was still laughing lightly as he collected some clothes from his suitcase
and sauntered off to the bathroom. His whole air had changed, as if a weight
had been taken from him. And it has. This ain't the magic cure that makes it
all good, but it sure helped him some. Now, let's get this night going.
Richie made the call, gave Hank the necessary instructions and went to select
his outfit for the evening. Just as he had finished, Jon came back.
“Holy shit!” The guitarist couldn't stop the exclamation, but wanted to bite
his tongue off afterwards. Hadn't Jon made it quite clear that he didn't want
that kind of attention?
But there he was, looking all kinds of gorgeous. He'd dressed casually, in
skintight blue jeans, a black sleeveless t- shirt and a flowing shirt with a
batik print of dark and light blue. His hair had been washed and brushed out,
so that it framed his face in soft waves. At the moment the startling blue eyes
looked concerned.
“What is it, Richie?”
Ah, to hell with it! “ It's just... after what you told me... Is it okay to
compliment you?”
“Fuck, yeah! I told ya, I know you don't mean it like that; and I wanna keep on
telling you how handsome you are, so I'd like to hear it in return. I'm a vain
bastard.” Jon grinned and shrugged.
“And I always thought your parents were married.” Richie mumbled, grinning
broadly himself and dodging the slap that came his way, before he went to make
himself presentable.
About twenty minutes later Jon was lounging on the couch, flipping through the
latest issue of 'Rolling Stone', which he tossed aside when his lover enter his
field of vision.
“Holy shit to you, too!” he said, only half mocking. “You sure clean up
nicely.” Richie had chosen black jeans and a simple white shirt, nothing fancy
at all, but it perfectly set apart his tanned skin and ebony hair. Like Jon
he'd shaved and his jewelery was limited to the cross ring and the slippery
pendent he always wore. Jon touched his own pendent lightly, a soft smile
playing on his lips.
“Looks almost like we're lovers or something.”he joked, but his eyes were
tender.
“Looks like it.” Richie replied softly. They shared a smile, then went looking
for their shoes and jackets.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Hank had enjoyed his unexpected day off; he told them on the way to the
restaurant that he hadn't been able to sleep a whole night through since the
tour began. There'd always been something going on; and the two musicians said
as one:” Tell me!”, then burst into laughter.
The only thing that had dampened the bodyguards good time had been a call from
Mike Francis, who had been indignant to learn that his charge had dared to stay
behind without consulting him. Him being in NY to recruit staff for the
overseas legs didn't stop him from being head of security and calling the shots
on everything concerning Jon's safety, he'd said. This brought a snort from
Jon, saying last time he checked, he still was a free man; and made Richie
think that some people were maybe thinking a little too much of their position.
He didn't say anything though, Jon liked the guy and Richie himself got along
well with him. It was just...one of these little things.
They found the restaurant in time and were greeted at the door by a brunette,
as tall as Richie, with surprisingly blue eyes. He appeared to be in his
thirties and spoke with a distinctive north-Italian accent. Richie introduced
him to Jon and Hank as Enrico, chef and Patrone of Da Enrico.
He seemed to be familiar with celebrity; when he showed them to their table and
Hank made to stand at the entrance he said: “No, no, no! You can watch over
your clients from the family table in the back and enjoy your dinner.” The look
he threw Jon dared the singer to object, but he just smiled and nodded.
Normally he'd have Hank eat at his own table, but this was a date after all.
The place was small, as Richie had said, with only ten tables, but tastefully
decorated in the style of a Tuscan trattoria. White stucco walls combined with
earth colors and pine wood furniture provided a warm and friendly atmosphere,
the light was indirect and candles stood on every table. It was romantic and
homely. Since it was a weeknight, only half of the tables were occupied; some
guests threw curious glances at the startling couple, but no one bothered them.
Jon and Richie took their seats opposite each other at a table in a niche
provided by a wooden screen, that could be overlooked directly only from the
kitchen door and the family table Enrico had mentioned. A very old man was
sitting at it, nodding friendly when Hank sat down across the corner from him,
so he could watch the entire restaurant and Jon's table. Enrico fetched their
aperitifs and excused himself to the kitchen, leaving them in the care of a
young waiter who bore a striking resemblance to his employer and introduced
himself as Matteo.
Jon sipped his dry Marsala, obviously enjoying it, and looked around
observantly. When his glance fell on Richie's questioning expression, the
singer nodded.
“You were right. He's a nice fellow. And if the food meets what the ambiance
promises...” he raised his brows suggestively.
“It will. And I bet he's got some wine to go with it that'll blow your mind.”
Richie smiled.
“The only thing I want to blow my mind tonight doesn't come in bottles.” Jon
said very low and Richie felt a jean-clad shank rub against his own. He managed
to stay calm and finished his drink as if nothing happened, inwardly grinning
about Jon's disappointed face. Oh babe, if you only knew how close I am to
feigning a headache and dragging you back to the hotel! We sure wouldn't make
it to the bed... He cleared his throat and replied evenly: “Aw, don't say that
just yet. You might be surprised by what the evening brings. Wait and see.”
They looked up as Matteo returned, carrying a bottle of wine. He explained the
origin of the wine to them and Jon whistled quietly as he heard it was a
Brunello di Monticello, a rare red from Italy. Richie let him taste it,
claiming he wouldn't know a good wine from a bad one anyway. Jon tasted,
paused, tasted again.
“This is...excellent.” he finally said, clearly in awe, “It's just great.”
“Thank you, sir.” the waiter smiled, filled their glasses and left to get the
Antipasti.
Richie sipped from his wine and found it as good as Jon had said. He leaned
over the table and asked softly:”So, you sure about the mind-blowing?”
The singer smiled at him and took another sip. “Wavering.” he said “But it
might add up nicely.”
“What's up with that anyway? Not complaining at all, but you've quite an-
appetite today.”
“Dunno. Rested, I guess. Got some catching up to do. And I'm...nah, this is
silly.”he broke off and Richie frowned, not getting what he was on about. “What
is? You wanting me?”
“No! This feeling. Like...I dunno, like there's only so much...and I want
to...before..”he looked at Richie, at a loss for words, pleading him to
understand, and Richie did.
“Before time's running out? Live every moment to the max, like it's our last?”
There it was again, that familiar feeling of sadness and desperation, that made
this love so addictive and bittersweet.
“You feel it, too.” Jon whispered, fingers clenching around the stem of his
glass so hard, Richie feared it might break, so he reached for Jon's fingers to
loosen his grip.
Slowly, but deliberately the hand was withdrawn, accompanied by the look that
said: We're in public!
Richie nodded once and let his own hand drop to the table, screaming inside.
Yes! I love you and I want the world to know! I'm in love with Jon Bon fuckin'
Jovi!
He sought Jon's gaze, his eyes sad and loving as he looked into the frightened
blues.
“Please Jonny, let's enjoy tonight. We will talk about this; but right now
every things fine, we're together an' I wanna regale you tonight. Please, for
me?” Knowing how little his lover ever asked of him, Jon gathered his willpower
and fought the dark thoughts into the deepest recesses of his mind.
“You're right. Tonight is about us. Thank you, for this invitation and your
patience.” His smile was genuine, and Richie relaxed again. “It's alright,
man.” he replied softly.
Matteo came back with a plate laden with Bruschette in different varieties, cut
smaller than normally, and they started on them immediately. It tasted even
better then Richie remembered. When he tried one with Olive paté, he just had
to offer it to Jon.
“Mh, try this! It's unbelievable!” The singer leaned over and took a bite,
closing his eyes as he let the oil soaked bread melt in his mouth. He just
nodded his agreement and chose a piece with grilled peppers. As the sweetness
exploded on his tongue he sighed and held it out to Richie, who bit off and
sighed, too.
“Sweet Jesus! This, I could get used to.”
“Yeah, catering an' the stuff on the planes will taste even worse from now on.”
Jon bemoaned. They finished the Antipasti off in no time, thinking that nothing
could compare to the wonderful spicy tastes.
They were proven wrong when the pasta arrived. It looked like a simple affair,
just your average noodles with sauce bolognese, but they soon found out that it
was much better than that. It was so good in fact that Jon beckoned Matteo
over.
“What on earth is this? This is the best Pasta I've ever had!”
“I'll let Enrico know.” the waiter smiled. “It's Pici- that's fresh, handmade
pasta- and ragú- that's the sauce-, made from the finest veal.”
“That explains some.” Jon smiled back, thanked him and got back to his meal.
He certainly ate a lot for his means. Richie watched him, how he enjoyed
eating; how he savored the wine instead of downing it to ease the pain, the
thoughts or the nervous energy caused by the meds he took. If only he knew of a
way to always make life like this for him. But the guitarist was fighting his
own demons; he knew that the next time they partied he would stop caring after
the third shot; that he'd come backstage, all exhausted, and there'd be a line
lying in front of him and he'd snort it up without thinking about how much it
appalled Jon, just craving the kick.
As much as he wished, hoped and prayed that it was different, he knew that this
was only a reprieve, a short break from reality, a gift that needed to be
cherished because it would be gone come morning. Enough of that. We're here
now, together. Mind your own words, Sambora!
 
Chapter 18
“So, Jonny. Have ya decided whatcha wanna do on our long break?” he asked
lightly. They had almost five weeks between the end of the American leg and the
beginning of the one in Australia. “Maybe we could go to Italy for a few days,
hunt down this wine?” Jon fidgeted with his fork, before he reluctantly raised
his eyes. The guitarist knew immediately that whatever he'd planned, it didn't
involve him.
“Uh, yeah, see...Dot wants to go to Greece for a couple weeks. And my parents
ain't seen much of me this year, so...” he broke off, seeing the disappointment
Richie couldn't hide. “I'm sorry, man.” he added very quietly.
“Ah, well, that's alright. We can always do that when we're in Europe anyway.
And my folks will be glad to have me around, too.” I'm such a good liar. Do I
get a reward for being able to lie so well? Is lying a good thing, if you do it
to make it easier for the one you love?
Jon had put down his cutlery, and the fingers of his right hand twitched as if
he wanted to reach out to his lover. There was so much despair in his
expression that Richie simply had to convince him. Putting his own feelings
aside, he felt them recede for real.
“It's okay, really, Jonny. We're always together; it's no big deal. I mean,
yeah, I'll miss you, but it's okay. And when you're back, it'll be so good..”
“Richie, stop. I get it.” Jon said softly. He perked up a little, as something
came to his mind that he hadn't told anyone yet.
“Ya know we have a little space in Australia, just over a week. Well, we ain't
gonna play extra shows then, and we're not gonna do interviews an' shit.”
“But?” Richie asked curiously.
The singer smiled impishly, and Richie found himself absolutely distracted.
“I always wanted to do something big, something really rock'n roll, right? Now,
I talked to Mike about it, and he knows this guy, and well...we're going to a
beach resort in Australia, just us guys, lots of drinks an' stuff, and some
pretty girls. Whaddya say?”
Richie first reaction was: Yay, party! His second thought was a little bit more
deliberate.
“Sounds like fun, Jon. But are you sure that's what you wanna do? What with
Dorothea and all...” he asked carefully. The singers expression changed
momentarily from excitement to abashment, but he quickly recovered.
“She knew what my life's like. And she'll never know about it, so there's no
point in worrying. So, you like? Just imagine; Hot sun, even hotter babes,
party all day and night...” his voice had adopted a suggestive quality that
bedazzled the guitarist, so he didn't think about what he wouldn't have during
that week.
“Yeah, that'll be -nice.” And if that's how you want to play it, I'll just have
to go with it, right?
He looked at the approaching waiter and his eyes grew wide.
“Looks like here comes the real thing.” he said.
“The real...oh, meat.” Jon grinned. “You're an animal.”
“Grr!” Richie answered and snapped his teeth in the air, causing Jon to laugh
out loud.
When Matteo, who could hardly contain his grin, despite his good schooling, had
left again, Richie whispered:
“Have to keep up with you, don't I?”
“You're doing alright, I'd say.” Jon said with a wink.
The fragrances from their plates lured them back to the task at hand. They
didn't talk during this course, just ate the costolette di maiale con salvia
with relish and indulgence.
Richie leaned back after polishing his plate and closed his eyes.
“Don't tell me you're full. I thought I'd never see the day...” came his
lover's mocking voice. He had eaten only half of his portion.
“Shut up, Jonny.” He replied without opening his eyes. “I'm savoring the
moment.”
It didn't last long, though, for Matteo brought dessert; a slice of crostata di
fichi topped with a dollop of mascarpone. Along with it came two glasses of Vin
Santo. Jon's eyes almost crossed at the sight, which made Richie chuckle.
“Aw, are we a lil' greedy today?”
“You gotta talk, man! It ain't me who tried to scrape the glaze from the
china.”
“Hey! I just don't like seeing good food going to waste, nothing wrong with
that.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Jon attacked the cake and Richie followed suit, both men
closed their eyes as they tasted the sweet-sour fruits, the rich flavors of
almonds and vanilla laced with notes of orange and lemon. This was pretty much
the best food they ever tasted.
The restaurant had emptied by now, the last costumers cleared out and Enrico
came to them, carrying two bowls with what looked like ice-cream. Matteo
followed him with a tray laden with glasses, small cups and a bottle of Grappa.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal. Mind if I join you?” the chef said. The former
wasn't a question really, he'd seen the empty plates come back- at least half
of them had been empty.
“You're welcome.” Jon replied, gesturing to the empty chairs.”It was fabulous!
I'm gonna dream of this whenever we're faced with junkfood. And the wine- you
must tell me where I can get it, it's outta this world!” to which Richie just
nodded enthusiastically. He knew that Enrico knew what he thought of his
cooking.
“Not that far away.” Enrico laughed. “I'll give you an address. I'm glad you
liked it. Now, here's some Sorbetto di pere, just a little fruit and some of
this.” he gestured to the Grappa Matteo had placed on the table, along with the
espressi.
Jon's face showed comical desperation.
“ That sounds great, but I don't think I can squeeze it in.” he said. Enrico
laughed lightly.
“I'm not gonna force you; but a healthy young man like you...”
“Not so healthy.” the singer said, his expression turned serious and his tone
was suddenly cheerless. Richie, who'd been joking with Matteo, looked at him
and automatically reached for his hand. Jon allowed him a brief contact before
he drew it back, reluctantly, but still very decided. In that moment he felt
another hand on his shoulder. It was the old man from the family table, who
happened to be Enrico's grandfather, just coming back from the restroom in time
to witness that scene.
“Non c'è abbastanza amore nell mondo. Per questo non possiamo permetterci di
rifiutarne neanche una parte.” he said with a surprisingly full and deep voice.
Everyone looked at him with some kind of bafflement, but Enrico frowned.
“Nonno, what the hell are you doing?” he asked in Italian, as Jon asked:
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. He's just...”
“Please, tell me!” Enrico sighed and answered hesitantly.
“There isn't so much love in the world that we can afford to reject any of it.”
Blue eyes widened as the singers cheeks colored slightly. Richie was a little
shocked himself, but very curious of his lover's reaction. The old man said
something in rapid Italian, which caused Enrico to answer in kind, made Matteo
chime in and resulted in Enrico throwing his hands up in surrender.
“He says he'd like to tell you a story, all of us in fact, but you need to hear
it. Feel free to say no; I'm only translating because, you know, you gotta
respect your seniors.” The chef was clearly embarrassed “I'm apologizing for
the inconvenience.”
Richie watched the old man with a feeling of anticipation.
“I'd like to hear it.” he said calmly. Jon, who had remained completely silent
so far, nodded.
“Yeah, me too. We're kinda storytellers ourselves and always like to hear
something new. Coming from someone with your experience in life, it oughta be
good.” He seamed to have decided to appear unperturbed so far, and just as
curious as Richie about where this was going.
Enrico agreed to translate and Richie invited Matteo, who he had learned was
Enrico's nephew, to sit, after clearing this with a look between Jon and the
patrone.
Spotting Hank sitting now all alone at the other table, Jon called him over and
asked him to join them.
When everyone had a glass of Grappa in front of him, introductions were made
once again and the old man smiled when he heard Jon's name, cause he himself
was named Giovanni. He started to speak, with Enrico and Matteo taking turns in
translating.
 
Chapter 19
“I was 16 years old by fall of 1916, the second year of the first war. We
didn't feel much of it, in the small town where I lived. Go to school, play
ball, go fishing-or ice-skating in the winter- that was how we boys spent our
days. Then a new boy came into our class, his name was Francesco, and he came
from Rome. His mother needed the country air, while his father stayed in the
city. You know these kind of arrangements. He was the youngest of three, a
latecomer, his brothers had moved out years ago, so he had all of his mother's
attention. She took him to concerts, art exhibitions, the like.
My class tried to give him a hard time, cause he was different, and I admit, I
was one of the worst. But he was a good sport, and one day, when we had played
a stupid prank on our principle, he saved all our asses. We became friends
then. He showed me a whole new world. Just like me, he loved to read, and we
spent days discussing books, dreaming about the time we would go and see the
places we read about.”
Giovanni paused and took a sip of his Grappa, then said something that made
Matteo laugh out loud, while Enrico looked like he wanted to strangle someone.
The three guests exchanged a look and it was Hank who asked: “Care to share?”
“Ah, he just said that he finally got to taste the good stuff, and that Enrico
will find himself on the same position in Nonno's last will that Nonno seams to
be in on Enrico's list of people who get the top-shelf booze.”
“Ouch!” Richie grinned.” That's harsh.”
“But understandable, given the taste of this.” Jon stated, raising his glass
towards the old man who returned the gesture.
“So we became really close,” he continued.” and by the end of that year we were
inseparable. We could finish each other's sentences, laughed about the same
things and spent every free minute together.” Jon and Richie exchanged a
knowing look.
“That year, the Spanish flu came over Italy like a curse. We were unfazed at
first, we were young and healthy, it didn't concern us, we thought. Even when
Francesco got sick, I wasn't too worried, all that bothered me was that I
wasn't allowed to see him.
Only when the youngest brother of a friend died, I got scared. The possibility
of never seeing Franco again, to never hear his voice telling me a dream...” he
broke off, shaking his head lightly.
“I realized that I felt more than friendship for him. How much more I couldn't
decipher, but I went to his house twice a day to ask how he was. I've never
felt such relieve as the day the maid told me to just go up and see for myself.
I stormed upstairs to his room and there he was, pale and thinner then I
remembered, but alive and smiling. Before I could think or stop myself, I was
kneeling on the bed and holding him in my arms, whispering his name over and
over again. And without hesitation he returned the embrace, not surprised, not
shocked. All he said was Yes, Gianni, yes.”
Jon watched the old man closely, fascinated by the emotions playing on the
heavily lined face and his deep expressive voice; though it was Enrico
narrating the story, it was that voice that clearly had him in thrall. Richie
could only see his lover's profile; the blank look on his face that might fool
anyone who didn't know him that well, but told Richie that his whole attention
was fixed on the story and that he tried to keep his own emotions in check.
Giovanni continued, and so did his grandson.
“I never told him how afraid I'd been of losing him, and he never told me that
he'd feared to die. We knew. We held each other for a long time. When we
parted, our eyes met and we- kissed for the first time.” Enrico spoke that
sentence very slowly, like he had problems understanding what he'd said.
Richie sucked in his breath and waited for Jon's temper to flare. He'd never
been confronted with the issue by an outsider; even the band knew no facts,
just that there was something going on between the two of them. He himself
didn't mind, rules were meant for breaking anyway.
But nothing came. Jon was just as fascinated as before.
Enrico talked to his granddad in a stunned manner and Giovanni's replies were
calm and friendly. Matteo gave them the gist of it in a hushed voice.
“My uncle asked him how he could've been married for 40 years and if it had all
been a farce. Nonno said no, he met his wife later and loved her very much.”
Giovanni started to talk again and Matteo took over, giving Enrico time to
collect himself and have a drink.
“Everything changed from that day on. Life was better, somehow. I wasn't alone
anymore, I'd found my other half. Sure, there was confusion and doubts, and
let's not forget what the church had taught us about it, but we worked through
that.
It's true, you know, love conquers all. Never forget that. If you dare to love,
and act on it, then every thing's possible.”
The old man looked intently at Jon, who blushed once more. Then his dark gaze
shifted to Richie. The guitarist felt as if he'd spoken directly to him, as if
he could read all his fears and reservations. Fuck, we even wrote a song about
it! I know it's true, why did I forget about it? He almost missed that Giovanni
and Enrico spoke again.
“That spring and summer were the best time of my life. I was in love and so was
he. Some things were easier back then; it wasn't uncommon for boys or men to
show affection to each other, walk arm in arm or exchange kisses on the cheek.”
He smiled at a memory.”Sometimes, when we met in the morning, we made a game
out of turning our heads when no one was watching, trying to place a kiss on
the mouth.” Richie grinned widely and Hank concealed his snort as a coughing
fit, which made Jon roll his eyes, but he couldn't hide the knowing smile that
played on his lips.
“Still we knew that we had to keep our love a secret; only my oldest friend
knew. He was a real friend, he accepted it as part of us, as natural.
The days flew by, filled with school and dreams and laughter, and we thought it
would always be like this. But then Franco's father ordered him to spend a few
weeks of the holidays in Rome. He didn't want to go, but he had to, of course.
We promised each other to write every other day, and so it happened. I missed
him terribly, but his vibrant and colorful letters in which he told me about
everything he saw made it bearable.”
Giovanni paused and took a deep breath. The younger men around him got the
impression that he braced himself for something, his look was one of finality
and fear.
It was Jon who voiced that impression.
“You don't have to do this. If it's... if you'd rather not tell the end -cause
the end is coming, right? -we understand.” he said cautiously. Giovanni gave
him a small smile as Matteo had translated the singer's words.
“Thank you, my boy. Don't ever let life take your kindness from you. But I've
started this, and I need to tell it just once.” the old man answered. He
finished his Grappa, chased it with a sip of the fresh espresso Matteo had
fetched at some point, and proceeded.
“ I had a summer job at the grocery store. One morning I was cleaning the
windows when I suddenly heard Franco's voice. I turned around and there he was!
Two weeks early; but I didn't think about it then, all I felt was incredible
happiness. It vanished the second I saw his expression. He looked like he
hadn't slept for days, like a ghost of himself. We embraced shortly and I asked
him what happened. He just said that he needed to talk to his mother and try to
sleep for a few hours, that he'd meet me after vespers at our place by the
river. My face must have shown my confusion, cause when he embraced me to say
goodbye, he whispered that he loved me.”
Giovanni closed his eyes and sighed. Everyone at the table could see that this
was taking a lot out of him. Matteo, who was sitting next to him, put an arm
around his shoulders and said something to him, very low. His answer was a firm
shake of the white head. Jon's nerves finally showed as he looked at his
thumbs, where tiny beads of blood welled from the tears he'd made in his nail
beds. He wiped them as inconspicuously as possible on his jeans, but he
couldn't hide the slight trembling of his voice.
“Rich, I need a smoke.” Remembering where he was, he looked around. “D'ya
mind?” he asked no one in particular. Everyone negated, and Richie passed him
the whole pack across the table. He'd caught a glimpse of Jon's hands and
wanted to see if he was right, if Jon had really managed to scrape the skin raw
without him noticing. When he took out a cigarette and lit it, Richie saw the
torn cuticles. Oh shit! I thought he stopped that. Maybe this wasn't such a
great idea.
He took a cigarette for himself and offered Enrico one, who accepted
gratefully. Giovanni had taken the opportunity to remove a small cigar from his
shirt pocket and relaxed visibly after a long draft.
“Somehow the hours went by and the bells tolled for vespers. I ran down to the
river, knowing that he would be there already. He was, and there we embraced
properly. He was trembling and clung to me like I was his lifeline. Before I
could ask what happened, he started to tell me. I still hear his desperate
words. His father had opened one of my letters. A letter in which I told Franco
in detail how much I missed him. The bastard called Francesco every cuss word
imaginable and gave him a 'choice'. He could join the army immediately and
become 'a real man', or his so called father would disinherit him and take the
house and everything from his mother. As a respectable lawyer, he could do that
easily. Franco didn't give a shit about money, but he never would've risked his
mother's welfare. So his decision was made. He'd leave in the morning.”
There was an audible intake of breath from Jon and Matteo, while a quiet “No!”
escaped Richie's lips. He despised war with a passion and couldn't believe the
cruelty of this young man's 'choice'. Giovanni looked at him and nodded
solemnly.
“ Yes, son, that's what I thought. No, I said. No, please don't go. Don't leave
me, don't do this. But he explained to me how his father would destroy his
family, his mother, if he refused to obey. I couldn't argue with that. Even if
we'd run away, she would suffer for it. I can't tell you how I felt that night.
It was early August and still very warm. We looked for solace in normality,
went for a swim in the river, even fooled around a bit, after all we hadn't
seen each other for 2 weeks. When the stars came out, we lay in the grass and
looked up into the sky. Francesco said that we would look at the same stars, no
matter where we were, and that way, we'd always be together. I cried at that
and he comforted me, though he was scared of what his future would bring. We
kissed and caressed each other, tried to memorize everything, and then he asked
me to make love to him.”
Again he stopped, overwhelmed with the memories, and smoked in silence for a
moment before he found the strength to go on.
“ I turned him down. To this day, I don't know why. Was it fear of the unknown?
Of perdition? Of losing myself, making it harder to let him go?” he raked a
wiry hand through his hair and sighed.
“He was great about it, didn't try to pressure me or sweet talk me into it,
though I could see how much it would have meant to him. We spent the whole
night together, there by the river, under the shooting stars. In the morning we
went to our respective homes; I couldn't watch him leave on the train. We wrote
each other while he was in basic military training, he took it hard, as I had
feared. He wasn't meant for that. Then he was transferred to an artillery unit
in the north. We managed to keep contact, but it got harder when he was
stationed at the Isonzo river, on the Austrian border. He wrote about how cold
the nights got, how bad the supply was and how the soldiers feared another
battle, for there'd been eleven of them already. Then there was nothing for a
couple weeks. One night I woke because I heard Francesco call me. Loud and
clear, like he stood under my window. I jumped out of bed to look, but there
was nobody there. Somehow I knew that something had happened to him. A week
later, his mother came and told me that he'd died that night.”
***** Chapter 7 *****
Silence descended over the table, as thick and oppressing as a shroud. Somehow
they were all there in that small living room in Italy, reliving the shock of
those horrendous news. Giovanni's hazel eyes were clouded with tears, Richie
noticed, but it was Jon whose looks alarmed him. The singer's face was as white
as the linen tablecloth, his eyes huge and too bright.
Suddenly Richie didn't care about what the others would think or know anymore;
about the abuse Jon would probably hurl at him later, he had to touch him. He
reached for Jon's hand, held it in a tight grip, careful not to touch the sore
skin and almost tearing up himself when he felt his lover holding on to him.
Their eyes met and now Richie knew what the expression was that he'd not been
able to name. It was love. Pure and primal love, a love so deep it was scary
somehow and could not be spoken of lightly.
The lump in his throat threatened to choke him, he reached for his glass and,
without breaking their gaze, emptied it.
Matteo had put his arm around his great- grandfather's shoulders, but the old
man patted his hand in a way that indicated that he was alright. It was Enrico
who, after taking a long sip from his Grappa, asked carefully: “How? I
mean...did you ever get to know...” Giovanni nodded and answered quietly.
“After the war ended, a comrade of Franco's came to me. He'd been wounded
himself and taken prisoner shortly after...Franco had given him the last letter
he wrote and asked him to bring it to me if he could. And to tell me...It was
shrapnels. He...it took some time. His last words were my name and..that he
loved me.” He lit another cigar and reclined in his chair with an air of
exhaustion and relief.
“I'm sorry for your loss.” Everyone started at the sound of Jon's soft, hoarse
voice. He'd let go of Richie's hand and was lighting up himself; his compassion
was deep and sincere.
“But how did you survive? I think I'd die if...”
“Grazie.” Giovanni looked straight at him, as if he'd expected that question.
“Yes, that's what I thought at first. That's what I wanted; to follow him, to
have this pain end. But the guilt was almost worse. I had told him that I loved
him, but I had refused to proof it. Now I would never get a chance to do that.
And then I realized that hell is here- it's what we make of life, on this
earth. My purgatory would be to live the life we dreamt about, but to do it
alone. So I did, till I met my future wife, who convinced me that I'd paid
enough. Still I regret what I didn't do that night.”
Richie cleared his throat and said quietly:” I think he knew how much you love
him. You were so young; it's understandable that you were afraid.” His thoughts
wandered back to his own past, to the night he'd asked Jon to go all the way.
Granted, we were kids no more, but it was a huge step. What would I've thought
if he'd refused?
“Love is a terrible thing.” Jon stated out of the blue. Everybody stared at
him, wondering what made him say that. Richie closed his mouth with an effort;
he had no idea where Jon was coming from. Didn't he listen at all? Can't he see
that it's people who's terrible, not love?
Nevertheless the younger men at the table nodded to themselves, but Giovanni
cocked his head and asked quietly:
“ Perché?” That word Jon understood, and maybe it was the alcohol or just the
emotional turmoil of the day, he couldn't keep up his shields anymore.
“Because it just tears you apart sometimes. Because it's so strong, it fills
you completely and makes you forget all reason and obligations. You just love.
And if you try to hold it in, 'cause the price would be too damn high if you
acted on it, you're miserable, and the person you're in love with is miserable.
And if you do act on it, people get hurt left and right. Those you lie to, and
those you tell the truth, and it's so...so..” he drew a strangled breath and
looked around, realizing what he'd said. Richie saw him trying to gather
strength, to regain his composure, and he saw him succeed.
“I'm sorry. Life's been rough lately, and I haven't been well. I enjoyed
tonight, I really did, but I'm beat and would like to go.” And BAM!, shields
firmly back in place! The guitarist had to admire his lover's ability to bounce
back from almost everything, even if he feared at what cost that recovery came.
They're strangers. It's pretty normal that he don't wanna spill his guts to
them. But in his heart he knew that Jon might very well clam up on him, too.
Everyone got up; Hank went to get the car, while Matteo started to clear the
table. The others moved to the entrance in an a little awkward silence. When
they reached the door, Giovanni turned to Jon and said something very urgently,
emphasizing the words with fluid gestures, and Enrico had to hurry to
translate.
“I'm sorry if I upset you. But to see...It's there, right there, and you can
have it if you only trust your heart. I know it's difficult, with our
upbringing and ancestry and all, but don't reject the best thing in your life!”
Jon took the fluttering hands of the old man in his own, very careful, and
looked straight into the eyes that saw so much.
“There's no need to be sorry. And I'm not upset. I know you're right, but...”
he swallowed hard and continued very low.
“I'm married.”
Giovanni's expression changed from man- on- a- mission to understanding and
commiseration the second Enrico had spoken the words.
“I see. I never thought that it could be just as bad to have than to lose. May
god give you strength, son. I'll pray that he shows you the right way. No
matter what the priests say, he's all about love.”
“I wish I could believe that.” Jon answered quietly. “But I thank you and will
not forget what you told me.” He slowly released the other's hands and smiled
sadly.
Richie had watched the exchange with bated breath; his thoughts a jumble,
shocked that Jon bared so much of himself. He almost missed that the old man
had turned to face him, and that he and Enrico addressed him now.
“Don't give up. It's worth it. He's worth it. My prayers are with you.” Richie
hadn't known how much he'd been in need of such a reassurance until he heard
it. There was no one he could talk to about this at all; his friends were too
far gone in their own desperate attempt at dealing with what life threw at
them, and the rest... better not go there.
Before he could utter a single word, Enrico spoke again.
“Look, I don't really get what this is all about, but I assure you that not a
word of it will leave this room.” Jon's smile turned into one of genuine
gratitude. Just then the limo pulled up and they said their goodbyes, somewhat
quickly, but feeling that whatever happened there that night was over now.
 
Chapter 21
Of course it wasn't. Jon was unusually quiet as Hank drove them back to their
hotel on the other side of the city. He just stared out of the window; the one
time Richie had said his name in a questioning tone-of-voice, wanting to know
if he was alright, he'd just shaken his head in rejection. The guitarist tried
to be reasonable about it, to give him the space and time he seemed to need,
but he felt himself becoming more nervous by the second. His own mind was still
reeling from what he'd heard tonight, both the deadly reality of homophobia and
Jon's violent reaction to it.
When they were about four blocks away from the hotel, the singer snapped out of
his funk. He lowered the privacy screen Hank had raised to restore some
semblance of professional distance between them, and demanded:
“Stop! I gotta get out.”
“Jon...that's not a good idea. You're not supposed...”
“I'm supposed to be your boss, and I think it's a fuckin' great idea, so stop
the fuckin' car!”
Jon didn't even raise his voice, and as rough and damaged as it was, it
shouldn't be able to hold such command, such power, but it did.
The bodyguard hit the breaks and pulled over immediately. Before he could get
out, Jon had exited the car on his own and leaned back in.
“Walk with me?” he asked in a completely different tone, hesitant and pleading.
Richie just nodded and followed him. The streets were almost deserted, only a
few cars passing by, and it was still pleasantly warm. They walked for a few
minutes in silence, each in a world of his own, with the big car crawling along
the curb behind them. This is surreal. This whole night...what can I do? What
can I say?
Just then Jon stretched out his arm and reached for Richie's hand. The
guitarist needed a moment to realize what his lover offered, so Jon prompted:
“Please. Let's pretend we're free. Just..”
He trailed off as Richie took his hand and laced his fingers with Jon's.
“Tonight we are, Jonny, tonight we are.” he whispered.
They walked slowly, clasped hands swinging between them, and it felt good, no,
better than good- it feels right.
He glanced at Jon, at his stark profile in the yellowish streetlight that made
the dark blond hair shine like a halo, and he laughed at himself for being so
utterly sappy.
“We're so damn lucky.” Jon said softly.
“Imagine being under age and at a parent's mercy...” he shuddered, and Richie
let go of his hand and put his arm around him. The singer leaned into him, his
own arm came around Richie's waist, slim fingers wriggled into his back pocket-
Surreal does not even begin to describe it- and Richie tried to do the same,
but, damn, those jeans were painted on, so he settled for hooking a thumb into
the belt loop on the far side of Jon's narrow hips.
They were walking like a real couple now, and it was perfection in itself. It
didn't matter that it was only a dream; only the aftermath of the days
confessions, of remembered and anticipated pain. It was here and now, and as
they passed a porch that jutted out real far from the building, Richie nudged
his lover inside and they kissed like there was no tomorrow, - and maybe there
wasn't, but they had tonight.
When the need for the physical contact they had suppressed all evening had been
sated for the moment, they resumed their walk 'till they reached their
destination. Jon wanted to wait for Hank who had to park the car, 'cause he had
a few things to set straight. As soon as the bodyguard met them in the lobby,
Jon addressed him.
“First, I need to apologize, again. And then...” he was unsure how to proceed;
and after a look around the empty lobby, noticing they were hidden from the
concierge's view by some large plants, he simply put his arm around Richie and
asked with some defiance:
“So, any questions?”
“Nah.” Hank replied. “My kid brother's been living with his boyfriend for three
years now. I'm cool with that. I just keep doing my job.” He smiled openly and
tipped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial way.
Jon's eyes went wide, and Richie connected some dots in his brain and came up
with a pretty clear picture.
“You were behind all those last minute saves? The accidentally misplaced keys;
the delayed limos; the convenient phone calls for people who were about to bust
us?”
“Well, yeah, some of it. It's my job to keep you safe, in every aspect.” He
appeared to be a bit embarrassed to be caught, but that was nothing compared
with the embarrassment Jon felt. His face was the color of a ripe tomato.
“And all I ever do is give you hell for- oh god!” He dragged his hands through
his hair, totally upset with himself.
“No Jon, it's okay. I've known you for a couple years now, and I know you're
not really like this. And I understand. So calm down and enjoy the rest of your
break, alright?”
If it was his words or Richie's hand on his forearm that made him do it, Jon
took the advice and thanked him again. They went to the desk and received their
keys and the tickets that had finally arrived. Now that Hank knew about them,
there was no need to take different elevators. They were empty anyway at this
time of the night, so they stepped into the first one that opened.
Jon went straight into Richie's arms, hid his face in the crook of his lover's
neck, and like the day before, Richie breathed for the both of them. He held
the younger man tight and stroked his back gently. When the guitarist looked
over to his bodyguard, he saw that the tall man regarded them with an
affectionate expression. It felt great to know that for once he didn't have to
guard his actions and words, and he smiled back gratefully.
 
They'd said goodnight to Hank and walked slowly to their room, arms still
wrapped around each other, bodies touching from where Jon's head leaned on his
lover's shoulder all the way down to their knees.
A door opened and a waiter emerged. Richie tensed, waited for Jon to jerk away
from him and was almost shocked when it didn't happen. He answered the polite
“Good evening, gentlemen.” from the man with a short nod, unable to speak, more
convinced than ever that this was some sort of a dream.
Jon only leaned closer into him and his fingers on Richie's hip tightened. The
guitarist knew that he'd never forget this short walk.
How can so little mean so much? It's these moments that count...Forever
consists of nows...
Inside their room he carefully untangled himself from his lover and turned to
look into a serene, open face.
“Jon?” he asked tentatively, “Jonny?”
The younger man reached out and touched his cheek, stroked two fingers down a
strong jaw in a featherlight caress.
“It's a gift; this. I see that now. To feel like this. To know you care so
much. I, I won't make no promises, but I wanna give you- all that I am.” His
eyes were wide and vulnerable, and the bravery in this took Richie's breath
away. He leaned forward until all he could see was the brightest blue, blurring
from the closeness and the moisture in his own eyes. They kissed, slow and
gentle, just standing there, holding on to each other with tender lips and
steady hands.
When they let go it was slow, very sure now, unhurried. Jon moved away to take
off his boots and stopped when he spotted the guitar case lying on the fluffy
carpet.
“You didn't play all day. Would ya...?”
“Yea, sure. Any special requests?”
“Nah, just do what you feel like.”
That, Richie could do. He took the acoustic out and sat down on his bed, while
Jon proceeded to change into his sweats and laid down on his own. Richie played
what came to his mind, Spanish masters mixed with themes from the classics and
pieces of his own creations. Somewhere along the way Jon got up and fetched a
bottle of water for them both, still so strangely relaxed and at ease. His
contentment rubbed off on Richie, who smiled while he played and hummed along
with the music.
He watched Jon from heavy- lidded eyes, how he was stretched out on the bed
again, looking like this was where he belonged. A melody rose in his memory and
as he played the first chords, Jon said quietly:
“Sing for me?”
Richie nodded, hoping he'd remember the words.
“If not for you,
Babe, I couldn't find the door,
Couldn't even see the floor,
I'd be sad and blue,
If not for you.”
Jon had sat up and listened with his whole body, attention focused on Richie's
voice and hands equally. The guitarist concentrated on the song, but he was
thrilled that he could please Jon like this.
“If not for you,
Babe, I'd lay awake all night,
Wait for the mornin' light
To shine in through...”
And that was it. Aw, fuckin' great! Now what? Richie repeated the notes and
still drew a blank, but Jon knew the lyrics by heart and sang softly:
“But it would not be new,
If not for you.”
Richie nodded to indicate that he remembered now, and Jon was content to listen
again.
“If not for you
My sky would fall,
Rain would gather too.
Without your love I'd be nowhere at all,
I'd be lost if not for you,
And you know it's true.
If not for you
My sky would fall,
Rain would gather too.
Without your love I'd be nowhere at all,
Oh! What would I do
If not for you.
If not for you,
Winter would have no spring,
Couldn't hear the robin sing,
I just wouldn't have a clue,
Anyway it wouldn't ring true,
If not for you.”
Jon had sung this one for Richie, years ago, in the middle of the night on a
deserted beach. It had been their make-or break time, there'd been heartache
and insecurity and there'd been those new feelings for each other. And on that
night Jon had found the courage to take this old Dylan song and give it to his
friend to explain what he didn't have words of his own for. Everything was so
easy back then, or so it seemed now. No overblown popularity, no fear of gossip
rags and certainly no wife.
It was the right kind of memory for this, a reminder of better days. And how
fitting that it didn't say the words 'I love you', but made the meaning so very
clear.
Let's pretend we're free...yes, love. Pretense is all we've got left. But I
promised you tonight and you'll have it.
***** Chapter 8 *****
on got up and took the guitar from his lover's hands, smiling his crooked half-
smile down on him. The guitarist read seduction and a promise in it and when
Jon turned and bent to put the instrument back in it's case, he stood and
pressed up against the invitingly presented butt, his hands on too skinny hips.
The younger man righted himself and leaned against the warm chest at his back.
He rested his head on Richie's shoulder and exposed his neck to him. Unable to
resist the invitation, Richie kissed the tender skin, nosing away the
obstructing hair. His hands slipped under Jon's tee, caressing the firm
stomach, playing with the soft fur there. The singer made little sounds of need
and approval, squirming when his lover exchanged tender kisses for short nips
and lazy strokes of his hot tongue. Richie got hard in two seconds flat, the
friction Jon's undulating moves created on his dick was delicious and torturing
all the same.
And still, arousal was rivaled by something more pure, more essential. One of
Richie's hands stroked up until it came to rest over his lover's quickly
beating heart. He let his tongue trace the shell of an ear before he voiced his
feelings.
“Feel me. Feel yourself. This is life, Jonny. This is us.” he whispered
urgently.
“Yes Richie, us! You and me, forever.”
“Jonny...don't. Just...don't.” He didn't want to hear this, didn't want to hope
for more than he could have. It would hurt too much. Reality had finally caught
up with him; it didn't make him love less or wish less, but he wouldn't have
Jon take a vow he couldn't keep. His beloved was a man of honor, if nothing
else, and it would destroy him if he was forced to break it. But as always, Jon
surprised him. Where Richie's confidence failed, his jumped in.
“Yes! One way or another, we'll have that. I just know!”
And for a brief moment, the fraction of a second, Richie could see it, could
believe in it. Then it was gone and Jon turned around and kissed him hard. He
tasted of fear, love and lust, mingled in an intoxicating potion, making Richie
forget about the future and the past. Here, now! Want you, love you, need you,
Jon...
“Jonny!” he moaned into the hot mouth, against rapidly swelling lips.
“I'm here.”
It was the last word either of them spoke for a long time. Even though the
need, the longing was almost tangible between them, they kept the pace slow,
taking their time undressing each other, gently, reverently.
When they were naked they stood motionless, drinking in the sight of their
lover's beauty. Richie felt his love and desire expand 'till he thought he
would burst from the sheer force of it.
Jon's eyes had darkened once more, the almost fully blown pupils were
surrounded by a ring of sparkling cobalt, wavy hair creating a stark contrast
to the masculine beauty of his face. His cheeks were slightly flushed and his
nipples and cock were erect and darkened with blood. He looked like sex and sin
and everything worth dying for in this world.
Richie extended a slightly trembling hand, palm up. Jon laid his own hand in it
and as a couple in an ancient dance they turned towards the bed. The guitarist
caught a glimpse of his image in the mirror and almost didn't recognize it. He
saw a tall, muscular man, a proud erection pointing up from between long legs.
Swollen red lips provided a striking contrast to eyes of the darkest midnight,
long dark chestnut hair flowed over wide shoulders in a warriors mane.
Night and day, earth and sky were coming together in the way they were meant
to. He shivered a little at that image and Jon raised his brows in question.
Richie just shook his head once and drew him into his arms, pressing a quick
reassuring kiss on his forehead. They lay down together and Richie rolled onto
his side, supported by an elbow. He took his time to map out his lover's body,
like he never saw him like this before.
Starting from the hairline he caressed and kissed every square inch of the
beloved face. The elfish brows; the delicate lids with the long lashes that
fluttered closed as his lips touched them; the strong, a tiny bit upturned nose
that he loved to kiss 'cause it made Jon smile. Sure enough, even when its
owner's blood was ablaze with passion, the corners of that sensitive mouth
turned upwards. That meant they needed to be kissed and licked immediately;
which they were, of course.
Jon moaned softly into the kiss but remained passive, so Richie continued with
nibbling along his jawline and the cleaved chin; changed to lazy sweeps while
moving down the neck. Jon's hands came up now, he let them wander over Richie's
arms, causing goosebumps in their wake, further up until he could grip the
strong shoulders. He held him with almost bruising strength.
“More Richie! I need more!” he pleaded.
Richie knew what he wanted and was close to giving in to the urgent demand. His
teeth were already closing on the tender skin between collarbone and shoulder
when he remembered that they were in the States and a surprise visit from the
loving wife was a distinct possibility. And she knew that Jon never allowed any
of his floozies to do this to him.
“Can't mark you, baby.” he answered, drawing back.
“Please Richie! She'll think I cheated, yeah, but please!”
“I'll find a better place, promise. Just a little longer.” Richie reassured
him, and suddenly he knew how to make this night special, to make a memory they
could hold on to when times got tough.
He kissed his lover again, caught his lower lip between his teeth and licked
the captured, oversensitive flesh. Simultaneously his deft fingers had found a
hard nipple and massaged it gently. He knew that Jon expected a rougher
treatment, up to now Richie had always complied when the younger man had voiced
his need for pleasure that bordered on pain. Not tonight. Tonight you'll bear
to be loved.
So it continued. Jon was strangely pliant beneath his lover's hands, he moaned
and sighed, reacted to each caress with reckless abandon, eyes closed, lips
parted. Richie got high on that, on the other's responses, on the taste of his
skin. He reveled in the trust Jon put into him and knew that he would go to
both their limits tonight.
Soft touches to the inside of tense thighs made Jon open them wide, exposing
his leaking cock, his taut balls. Richie avoided them completely, which earned
him a disappointed growl.
“Patience, baby.” he whispered, his breath ghosting over soft skin dusted with
copper hair. He reached for a pillow, urged Jon to raise his hips and pushed it
beneath them. When he kissed up the muscular thighs, they started to quiver.
Richie kissed the crease where thigh meets groin and bit down with enough force
for the bite to sting, eliciting a breathless cry from his lover. It wasn't a
word, just a helpless, desperate sound that made him hurry in his attempts. He
mouthed down, down, till he'd reached the darker puckered skin around the
entrance to Jon's body. There he pressed tender kisses, hearing the man beneath
him panting,he started to use a little tongue.
"Oh! Oh god, Richie! Don't...don't!" Richie stopped and asked innocently:
"Don't what? Don't do this?" Accentuated by a swipe over his rose, which made
him gasp.
"Yes! No! More!" Richie looked up to see his lover flushed,his expression a
mixture of extreme arousal and embarrassment.
"You don't like it? Shall I stop?" He noticed that Jon was unable to come to a
decision and said gentler: "It's okay, baby. Let me do this. Don't think. Just
enjoy."
The younger man looked at him with absolute trust that made Richie feel very
humbled. He smiled reassuringly and went back to his task. Richie licked in
concentric circles around Jon's core which made his motion frantic. Hands
grabbed hold on the sheets, went back to his lover's head, tried to grip his
own erection. That, Richie would not permit.
He directed the straying hand to his own head, where it promptly tangled in his
dark tresses and took the purple cock into his deft fingers. His lips continued
the tantalizing caresses on the other's tender flesh, while he worked the
straining cock slowly. Jon moaned, his head thrashing from side to side as
Richie's tongue dipped into his opening, tasting his musk.
He went a little crazy on his lover then; over the fact that he allowed him to
do this, that he trusted him to see him like this, open and lost in his
pleasure. The second he thrust inside the tight orifice, Jon went rigid and
cried Richie's name. Only the guitarist's fingers clamping down on the base of
his cock prevented his ejaculation. He protested loudly.
"Richie, please! Please let me come! So good, so much...need you... need..." He
broke off on a choked sound when Richie continued,switching between tongue
fucking him and sucking on the sensitive rim. Jon's legs were opened so wide
that Richie fleetingly thought that his hips had to hurt, but he was far too
gone himself to do anything about it. His own erection throbbed in time with
his heartbeat, his senses were filled with the sight and smell of his lover. I
want you. God Jon, I want you like I've never wanted anyone in my life. He said
it loud, to hell with the consequences, he needed to say it.
"I want to be inside you, Jonny. I want to fill you- love you..." He whispered
urgently.
"Yes. I want you to. Now Richie...now!"
Richie obliged by rising to his knees and pulling Jon's hips onto them. He
retrieved the lube from where he'd stashed it under the pillow that afternoon
and coated the fingers of one hand generously. The other caressed Jon
constantly, never losing contact with his skin, while he slowly worked the
first finger in. Jon's pelvis jerked upwards as Richie crooked the deeply
embedded digit and stroked over his prostrate. He was beyond words now, only a
keening sound escaped him and he reached for Richie's hand, held it tight, so
tight that Richie could swear that their fingers merged. He was filled with
lust and love, his body quivered with anticipation and he heard himself murmur
soft words of encouragement and desire as he added another finger, and then one
more.
"That's it baby, you doin' great. Love you Jonny, want you so much, wanna make
you feel so good, wanna pleasure you. So tight my love, so hot. Can't wait to
be in you, to be one."
"Then don't wait." Jon ground out.
"I won't."
Richie scissored his fingers once more and felt no resistance, so he withdrew
them carefully and covered his straining cock with lube, hissing when the
sensation produced a string of precome. Jon looked at him wide eyed, raw desire
visible in his gaze. Richie leveled his cock to Jon's rose and pressed the head
against the loosened muscle. When the singer pushed up to meet it, wrapping
strong legs around his hips, he proceeded, breaching him slowly, holding his
breath as tight heat enveloped him.
He was only buried halfway when Jon cried out again, tensing and writhing as he
climaxed and his seed shot out in huge bursts. All Richie could do not to
follow him was take himself in a vice grip and think of icewater. It worked and
after a few seconds the torturous contractions lessened and he could relax
again. Jon breathed heavily, shuddering with the aftershocks, which sent a
myriad of sensations through Richie via his steadily deeper moving cock. When
he was buried to the balls, he looked at his lover's face.
"You okay there, babe?"
"'M fine. It's incredible...so full."
His feature's showed absolute bliss, but it wasn't enough for Richie. He'd give
him more tonight, so much more than mere satisfaction.
"Move with me, Jonny." he instructed, pulling the younger up by the waist and
reclining, somehow managing to get his own legs straight so that Jon sat
astride him, but before his back hit the sheets he straightened it again. Jon's
arms wrapped around Richie's neck on instinct and when the guitarist folded his
long legs in the lotus position, Jon's wrapped around the small of his back
again.
This was the 'sacred position' the minstrels of old Europe had told about, and
Richie understood now how it got that name. They could look each other straight
in the eye, he was buried almost impossibly deep inside his lover's body and
while he couldn't get much leverage to move, it was so close he could feel each
breath Jon took, every tiny movement.
"Wow, this is...intense."The singer whispered. His eyes glowed in the dim
light, a vivid blue, like flames dancing over coal embers. Richie could feel
his renewed arousal rising against their bellies, slick with his fluids and
their mixed sweat. His own cock grew impossibly harder, lengthening inside it's
tight, hot sheath. Despite his increasing erection, Jon seemed calmer now, all
impatience gone. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, scenting
Richie.
"Mmh, heady." He stated, smiling a little wickedly. He leaned in to kiss
Richie's throat while slowly undulating his lower body, sending shock waves of
intense pleasure through his lover. Richie answered by flexing his thigh
muscles, pressing even deeper into the beloved body. They found a rhythm soon,
the minute moves building friction nonetheless, and the closeness allowed them
to touch and kiss, caress and whisper sweet nothings into ears and skin.
It felt like they were truly one after a while, breathing in unison, neither
knowing where one ended and the other began. They were together, and Richie
took Jon's face between both hands and looked deeply into his longing eyes.
“My love. There's no one like you, you're my everything-” his voice was low,
vibrating with emotion, and Jon's answering voice sounded alike.
“You're the same to me. The only one who knows me; who I'd die for...Richie..my
love...”
The kiss he bestowed upon Richie's lips said that and so much more, made them
both tremble with the enormity of that confession.
Moves that had been gentle and measured became faster, determined; want, take,
have and one! screamed in Richie's mind.
Hands, lips, every body part imaginable yearning, straining towards completion.
One of Richie's hand encircled Jon's burning hot cock and was covered by the
singer's own hand. Together they stroked the pulsing organ while their other
hands helped to support their momentum.
Fluttering words mingled with harsh, panting breaths; senseless, yet revealing
everything. The world had ceased to exist, only they remained; Jon and Richie,
together, and still so utterly separated.
Too much! Too much!
The wave rose, searing heat, white fire, consuming, cleaning away all thought
except the one.
Jon! Jonny!
And then it was upon him, shaking him, rocking his body and soul with a truly
earth shattering force. He clung to his lover, who was trembling as badly as he
did, slender muscles convulsing in his embrace, unable to contain this immense
pleasure.
“Richie! Oh, god..oh please! God, yes! It don't stop...Richie!”
“Yes Jonny! YES!”
Their screams intertwined in the last seconds, they didn't know what they
affirmed, it didn't matter. Distantly, Richie noticed that Jon was sobbing, he
felt the cool tears on his heated shoulder. Still shivering and twitching in
the aftershocks, he guided them both down somehow, cradled his lover's head on
his chest and felt a profound loss when his cock slipped from Jon's equally
discomposed body.
They curled up together and managed to get under the covers somehow, not
wasting a single thought on getting clean. In some way they were still
connected, not really inside themselves, and it was only when Jon's fingers
caressed his cheek that Richie noticed that it was wet with tears, too. Not a
word was spoken as they slowly descended from the heights of their experience,
and within minutes they slipped into a deep slumber.
 
 
23
Richie dreamt.
In his dream Jon was crying, helplessly, desperately wailing, which was strange
'cause they'd been so happy today. The crying changed, turned into sounds a man
might make if he's trying to stifle screams of agony, biting on his fist to
keep the whimpers inside.
Richie moved through the pitch black landscape of his nightmare, tried to reach
Jon, to help him, but he couldn't get to him; couldn't get through the darkness
that surrounded him like a fog, oppressing, choking, constricting his limbs.
Just as he was about to panic he woke up, dazed from the sudden change of
consciousness. It took him a moment to assure himself that he was definitely
awake, because the whimpers were still present. Once he got that they were real
he stretched to switch on the lamp, then turned to Jon and wrapped him in his
arms.
“Jonny? Jonny, what's wrong?” The slim body was trembling, and not in a good
way. Jon's skin was sweaty and cold, he'd coiled himself up, facing away from
Richie. The older man tried again.
“Jonny, talk to me!”
No answer, just that heartbreaking whimper. Richie held him closer and stroked
his hair , over and over again. Oh shit, what now? How can I help you when I
don't know what's wrong? I'm no clairvoyant; I'm not the answer to
everything...
“Baby, please tell me. You're scaring me.”
That seemed to get through to Jon; he took some deep breaths, tried to calm
down and whispered:
“Mookie, you gotta promise me something.” Don't make me, don't make
me...please...
“Anything, Jonny. You know that.”
“No matter what happens, never forget these days, never.”
He had expected a lot, but not this. As if I could...
“I couldn't, even if I tried. Why would I do that?” His bafflement showed in
his widening eyes, but Jon was still not looking at him, even though his body
had relaxed marginally.
He drew another shuddering breath and spoke very clearly, as if reciting
something.
“I saw you walking away. You...I called for you, but you were..gone. It felt
like ...like dying. There was a hole where my heart used to be, and I..god,
Richie, it hurt!”
Richie pulled him around at that, held him so hard, he half feared to bruise
him, but couldn't care.
“Oh baby, it was a dream. Just a dream.”
“Then I saw you lying on the ground. You didn't move and there was so much
blood...so much..”
He trailed off, clearly totally lost in the memory. Richie took the younger
man's head in both hands, his long fingers framing the beautiful face that was
now contorted in fear.
“It. Was. A. Dream. You've got a lot to deal with and it's absolutely normal
that you get scared, considering that we're about to return to the madness
that's our daily bread. And on top of that, the story from last night...”
“Can't we just stay here?”
The voice was strange, childlike and frightened, not Jon's at all. Richie had
never heard him like this, not even when he'd been so sick that he was nearly
delusional, or so stressed that the slightest misunderstanding had caused him
to tear up. It hurt and frightened him beyond believe.
“I've got you, Jonny. Tonight you're safe. And tomorrow...We've always made it
through the tomorrows, didn't we? It'll be fine.”
Jon nodded against Richie's chest, then lifted his head a little and pressed a
gentle, almost shy kiss to his throat. His lips never left the soft skin as he
whispered:
“Love me, Richie. Make love to me.”
“I do. I will.” Richie's voice broke on the last word. He raised Jon's chin
with careful fingers and kissed him with infinite gentleness, only deepening
the kiss when his lover responded.
There was desperation in the way Jon clung to Richie, the way his hands held
him, the way his lips moved against Richie's, feverishly, searching. Gone was
all confidence, the easy going of the evening. Only a kind of urgent anxiety
remained, the need to belong, to be assured that he wasn't alone. Richie did
his best to show him; he kissed and caressed him, tried to calm him with
touches and words.
“It's alright love, I'm here.” he whispered, “Not going anywhere. Never leave
you, my heart, my soul. Never.” He breathed them into Jon's mouth, tattooed
them into his skin, willed him to believe and have faith once more.
But Jon seemed to follow his own agenda, squirming in his lover's grip, egging
him on with sounds that were deliciously wanton, incredibly erotic, yet spoke
of a need that knew no bounds. Richie's heart ached, even in the middle of the
profound arousal he felt, and there was just one thing to do.
"Tell me what you need, darlin'. Show me!" He prompted.
"You. In me. Now!" It were gasps against the skin of his chest, where Jon was
biting his way from nipple to nipple, causing pain and pleasure equally. A part
of him wanted nothing more than that, just to get lost in his lover's body, but
unfortunately his brain was still functioning.
"You'll be sore, baby. We can't..."
"I want to! Feel it, remember it! I need you!"
Something in his voice made resistance futile. Richie didn't want to hear him
beg, as he knew he would if he didn't comply. So he turned his lover over on
his front, directed his caresses lower, found Jon still loose and slick from
their earlier encounter and entered him without further ado. Jon cried out in
pain and relieve, pushing back on the intrusion in the same instance the muscle
tightened to expel Richie's cock. It was fast and intense, Jon panting, begging
for harder, more, faster still, and Richie finding himself unable to withstand
the onslaught of sensations. He pounded into the willing body beneath him,
panting and moaning himself, almost insensate from the pleasure, friction
mounting until it was simply too much. His orgasm tore through Richie like a
hurricane, left him breathless and barely conscious.
His release had triggered Jon's, who actually screamed as he came, hoarse and
feral. Richie heard him through the white noise in his brain, felt him go rigid
and start to shiver under him. Moving seemed like a really bad idea right now,
but he had to see if anything was wrong with Jon, and to stop crushing him, so
he rolled off of him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Jonny? You okay? Did I...did I hurt you?”
There was only ragged breathing for a while. Just as Richie started to worry as
much as his sleepy and blissed out brains would allow, Jon responded. He rolled
onto his side and stroked his lover's chest with trembling fingers.
“'M fine. Hurt good...relax, 'm jus' kiddin'.”
Richie let out the breath he'd held and took Jon's hand.
“I love you. Always.”
He didn't know why he felt the need to repeat that again and again; maybe he
hoped that Jon, who'd somehow managed to get once again exactly what he wanted,
finally understood that this was more than sex and business. That he would
stick by him, no matter what, as long as he didn't betray him, betray them.
That this could be reality, not just some dreamt up refuge. Deep in his heart
he knew that he was fighting a lost cause. The best he could do was hold on to
the last day and night in his memory, draw strength from it and pray that he
would find it in him to continue to be there for his best friend.
Jon had curled into Richie's chest and, God, they were a mess, sticky and
sweaty, spunk smeared everywhere; and there was a hint of iron in the air that
Richie deliberately didn't think about. Couldn't allow himself to think about,
cause you can't think about having fucked your lover raw because he wanted it,
needed it, and stay sane. Richie at least couldn't. So he settled for the next
best thing, doing what he always did, fuzzing over minor details.
“Babe? Clean up?” he asked softly.
“Nah, sleep...” was the muffled reply; and he didn't object, couldn't, really,
as exhaustion settled in and the sudden deep,regular breathing of the man
beside him lulled him into sleep once more.
 
Richie woke again to the terribly familiar sound of somebody puking their guts
out. He rolled out of bed on instinct, grabbed his sweats on the way to the
bathroom and had them on as he opened the door. Somewhere in the back of his
mind a quiet voice remarked that it just wasn't locked because Jon didn't have
the time, which meant that he was in pretty bad shape.
Richie's eyes confirmed that theory a second later. The singer was crouched
over the bowl, one hand trying to hold back his sweaty, tangled hair, the other
clamped on the brim in a white knuckled grip. Another cramp seized his body
just as Richie reached him and then he was dry retching, coughing violently.
Richie knelt down by his side, a long fingered hand holding Jon's forehead,
holding back the hair, his still sleep heavy voice murmuring encouragements.
"Shh, it'll be over soon, calm down, love, easy now, I've got you." After what
felt like hours Jon took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed into Richie's
arms. The guitarist eased the younger man into a sitting position, pulled him
into a tight embrace and asked:
"How come, love? What happened?" he had a pretty good idea, but maybe, just
maybe, Jon had another reason for puking his guts out than his nerves packing
up on him. The singer fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, hiding under his
hair.
"Jonny? Tell me?"
"Woke up early and my throat felt kinda funny. I got scared; my voice and
all...so I took some pills. Had some juice after...was alright for half an hour
or so, but then..."He gestured to the toilet and fell silent, radiating guilt
and defeat.
This was worse than nerves. As much as Richie had hoped that Jon would somehow
stop taking steroids, this wasn't how it should be. Nothing else could reduce
the inflammation in his throat anymore, once it got past a certain point. He'd
have to get shots again, and he hated needles with a passion. Richie couldn't
blame him for that. He had expected real life to start again sometime today,
but not with quite such a bang.
Can't do anything by half, huh, baby?
He noticed that he had stroked Jon's head all the time, now he cradled his face
in his hands.
"Oh, Jonny, it'll be alright. Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe you need to
change the brand. "
"Yeah, and maybe we'll have snow in Australia. I've had it with that shit!"
"You need it. As much as I hate that you do, I see that you can't go without
for long, so just deal, okay." Richie snapped, angered by Jon's attitude and
cranky about his abrupt awakening.
It wasn't supposed to come out like that; he understood how Jon felt, but it
was enough. For both of them. Jon's face, already pale, turned a ghostly shade
of white. He wrangled out of Richie's hold and stood slowly.
"I'm alright." He said when the guitarist moved to assist him. "I'd like to
take a shower now."
Alone wasn't said, but clearly understood by Richie. He left the room without a
backwards glance.
One step forwards, two steps back...hot and cold..I can't take anymore, I don't
know what to do! That wasn't an act last night; I know what I felt and heard.
Richie dropped heavily onto the couch and put his face in his hands. He sat
motionless for long minutes, the sound of running water a suitable background
noise for his tumbling thoughts.
The shrill ringing of the phone startled him, he answered it with a gruff
'yeah'. Paul was on the other end of the line, inquiring about Jon's health and
if they'd gotten their tickets. Richie was contemplating telling him
everything; how exhausted they were, how sick Jon really was, how he himself
was so dangerously close to a breakdown. It was a temptation like none he'd
known before.
But as he opened his mouth, he only confirmed their arrival time and that Jon
was better indeed. Pride and that idiotic sense of privacy Jon thrived on made
him keep his thoughts to himself.
He ended the call when he heard the shower stop and ordered breakfast. It
arrived in time with Jon's return from his morning ablutions, and he visibly
perked at the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Since he hadn't had any clean
clothes with him, he was dressed in the hotel's bathrobe again.
Richie was angry with him and with himself as well, disappointed and hurt, but
involuntarily aroused, too. He had a feeling he would always be when it came to
naked or scantly clad Jon. The sun raises in the east, ice is cold and Richie
Sambora's got the hots for his front man. As simple as that. Somehow, there was
comfort in that thought. Maybe that was all there ever was, and he was a
sentimental, romantic fool for making this epic love story out of something as
simple as lust.
Yeah, go on, lie to yourself. Belittle what you have and did, add insult to
injury. You don't even need him for that anymore, you're doing a great job all
by yourself.
Jon attacked the coffee and proceeded with just sitting back, eyes closed,
cradling the cup to his chest and inhaling the strong aroma.
"You sure you should drink that? I ordered some tea and toast for you..."
"I want coffee!" Jon said with a sharp hiss. "Stop treating me like I'm so
fuckin' fragile!"
"Fine! Have it your way, you stubborn ass! Don't come running to me when you're
sick again!"
"I won't!"
The last was swallowed by the sound of the door slamming shut behind Richie.
He'd had to get away; he didn't trust himself around Jon right then. Plus, he
was really mad. Really, really mad, the kind of mad that comes from hurting,
from seeing the writing on the wall and finally starting to believe that it's
not a mirage.
What he wouldn't give to have something to beat up right now! He wasn't the
violent kind, but sometimes it was good to blow off some steam that way.
When he got into an thankfully otherwise empty elevator, the elderly gentleman
exiting it gave him a disapproving once over. He looked in the mirror, the same
one he'd watched his lover in just a day ago. The clothes he'd thrown on were
clean, but his hair was full of rat's nests and he simply looked like he just
got out of bed.
Great! But than again, rockstar's prerogative. He didn't have it in him to care
anymore.
The bar was closed this early in the day, so he went to the restaurant to get
at least some coffee. Hank sat in a quiet corner and gave a friendly wave on
spotting him. His first impulse was to wave back and then take a table by
himself, but that would've been such a Jon thing to do... Instead he walked
over.
"Good morning! You fell outta bed?" The bodyguard teased good naturedly.
Against his will, a smile escaped Richie's lips.
"Somethin' like that." He grumbled, making a gesture towards the empty chairs.
"May I?"
"Sure."
Moments later Richie had a cup of coffee in his hands and was smoking a
cigarette he'd charmed out of the waitress. The world started to look bearable
again.
"You guys alright?" Hank asked casually, looking out of the window, giving the
guitarist a chance to wave it off with an 'all's good' if he wanted to. He
found he didn't. He needed to voice his concerns, just once, and Hank was privy
to their situation, yet not too close. Jon would be livid if he knew, but he
didn't need to, right?
"We're not. Jon got sick from his meds, and then we started to fight...I'm
trying and trying, but it's always coming back to this...And this fuckin'
secrecy!" He shook his head, not knowing how to explain
It was so complex; like a tangle of contradicting emotions. Love and loyalty,
fear and exhaustion, wrapped in a sense of belonging.
"Before my brother met his man, he was madly in love with this guy." Hank
volunteered. "He labeled himself as bi, but all his gay encounters were just
that; trysts in the dark, no strings attached. It was slowly killing my bro,
man, 'cause, you know, what they wanted from life just didn't match."
He looked up, compassion and understanding in his gaze.
"Sometimes, it ain't gonna work out, no matter how hard we try." It was just
what Richie didn't want to hear, but somehow it was better than a merciful lie.
"I don't get it. He was never...simple, or easy, but now...I don't know what he
wants anymore. All I know is that I love him."
"You know what they say about the ones you love, right?" Hank asked.
"Yeah. You gotta let them go." Richie answered really low. The thought alone
made him nauseous. "And the scary thing is, I think I'm ready to do that." Once
the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back, though he knew
they were true.
"Have you ever needed someone so bad that it tore your whole world apart? That
you'd gladly give up everything, if you could just be with that person for one
more day?”
"No, I haven't. I'm glad my woman from college is still keeping me."
Richie smiled thinly. He knew that Hank had been a promising linebacker in
college and that an injury had destroyed all dreams of a career in the NFL.
It was consoling to hear that there were people who don't let each other down.
Still it smacked of betrayal to talk about this with somebody else. It had
never been his way to go behind someone's back and he felt strongly that no
matter how hard it was gonna be, he'd have to talk this over with Jon, like
right now.
“Look,” he sighed, “I don't mean to be rude, but I need to go up again. Try to
talk to him.” Richie finished his coffee and stubbed out his smoke in the
ashtray while standing up. Hank just nodded, his eyes quiet and compassionate
as he wished softly:
“Good luck.”
 
The door to their room was unlocked, which was a good sign. Richie entered
carefully and spotted Jon,dressed in jeans and a baggy sweater, his usual
traveling outfit. His feet were still bare, pulled up on the couch he was
sitting on. “There you are.” he said casually, as if they hadn't parted in
anger. Richie retrieved cigarettes and lighter, threw them on the table, took a
seat opposite Jon, trying not to dwell on how they'd sat on that couch only
yesterday, hand in hand. and closed his eyes.
“Jon...I...I can't...” he began, unsure, quietly. How do you tell the person
you love more than life itself that he's hurting you more than you can bear,
that the best night you had so far broke you more efficiently than a whole
month of bitchy arguments ever could? Because that's what had happened; seeing
Jon like he was before, seeing once more the beauty this could be and yet
knowing that it would never be again.
“It's like I imagine having a fatal disease. You know you're dying, but every
good day gives you a sliver of hope. And every setback crushes you more, until
your soul dies before your body. I don't want to live without my soul, Jonny.”
he finished.
“That's what you called me last night. Your soul...all pretty lies?” Jon's
voice was small, shy, like when he spoke to a stranger. How had they come to
this? Why had one incident, such a minor one at that, destroyed all confidence
he had had in their love?
“Richie?” That tentative voice pulled him out of his musings, and he realized
that Jon waited for his answer. He had started to pull and scratch at his
cuticles again, eyes fixed on them like they were the most important thing in
the world. “No lie, darling. I never lied to you last night. I meant it all.
Just like I hope you meant what you said. No!” he continued when Jon drew
breath to speak, “Let me get this out. I might not have the guts to do it
later.” When Jon nodded, avoiding his gaze and reaching for a cigarette, he
went on.
“You are so deep in me, I'm not sure if I can go on without you. But I'm sure
that I'll have to ..., that I'll lose you for good if we go on like this. ” The
wrinkles on Jon's forehead said that he didn't understand at all. How could he,
really, when Richie didn't understand himself? When all he knew was the pain in
his chest and the urge to throw himself at his lover's feet, begging him to
stay with him, only him, for the rest of their lives? He'd have to do better.
“I don't doubt that you want me, love me, I just think that it's not enough.”
The singer bristled at that, blue eyes flashing silver.
“You,” he ground through teeth clenched as tightly as the fist that wasn't
holding the cigarette, “how can you even think that?”
He was obviously more angered than hurt and that was a good thing, because hurt
Jon? Not easy to walk away from. But Jon with a hissy fit, that Richie could
do. He was used to it, and maybe that was what he needed right now.
Confrontation, lay it all out on the table, just this once. “You know, I
actually haven't dared enough.” he said, watching Jon smoke angrily, with fast,
clipped moves, blowing smoke out of his nostrils.
He continued: “This, I should have done this a long time ago. But it's been so
hard, between the booze and the exhaustion and, yeah, the drugs. I admit it,
not as if you don't know, but...Well, it was good when it happened, when you
let me love you, and last night...Jesus, Jonny! It was like the tide, you know,
like a force of nature, I don't know, like everything came to a head, and,” he
sighed,
“and I let myself dream. But that's what I am, right? Just a fuckin' dreamer,
just a small town boy with big ideas. So, this wake up call this morning...it
doesn't work that way, Jonny. The dream won't hold up to reality.”
“So I don't fit into your pretty picture and you throw me out, yeah? And here I
was thinkin' you're different! Shoulda' known better, what with your track
record. Shit, Sambora, way to make a guy feel special.” With that, Jon turned
in his seat, radiating disgust and disappointment in waves. There was something
fake about it though, something that made Richie reconsider his actions.
It would have been so easy to leave it at that, to be insulted and show it, to
end this with a big fight. It wasn't only fear for what would become of the
band if he did; Richie was past those worries. It was the knowledge that Jon
deserved better, that he couldn't let him think that he'd been betrayed once
more by someone who should have protected him, loved him. His cunning plan to
make them part in anger rather than heartache had failed miserably.
“No, Jonny. Nothing like that. Don't throw me in with all those jerks, don't do
that to yourself. I'm not one of them, it was – is- always and only about you.
But...I wish I had the strength to make this work, but I don't. Seeing you
sitting there in that bath, all miserable and hurting... I can even bear that,
'cause, you know..., but after, when you pushed me away, again, when you could
do that after all we shared last night- something broke inside of me.
Something, I don't have the strength to build up again. I love you, I always
will, but I can't be with you anymore. Not like this.”
He had to look down because he felt his eyes brim over and he didn't want to
cry in front of Jon, he'd held it together so, so long. But the tears came
anyway, ran down his cheeks, got caught up in his hair, and Jon still said
nothing. All of the sudden, Richie felt lost, so utterly alone that he wanted
to wail with it, to do anything to stop the pain. He covered his face with his
hands, then he heard the soft, hoarse voice that would always be his salvation.
“I'm... sorry.” Jon tried haltingly, unsure of his words, “and I know sorry
don't even begin to cut it. If...if I can go on, it'll be because of last
night, I want you to know that. Cause you showed me what can be. I'm not sure
how long it'll hold and God, you know I'm the most selfish prick in the world,
but I can't help it right now. Like you said, the booze and the drugs, even
though they're different for us. You and me- there's not much left of me
Richie, and what's left is not enough. You deserve more, you deserve someone
who's whole. I'll never forget all this.” he gestured vaguely about the room,
and Richie knew what he was saying.
The last day and night, just the two of them. Yeah, if it could be always just
the two of us, then it could've worked. Richie looked up at him, at those blue,
blue eyes that were red-rimmed, but dry. For once Jon wasn't crying, he seamed
to be very sure and very composed. Richie was grateful for that. The singer
needed his shell, his mask of being boss, needed it like he'd never needed it
before.
Richie longed to hold his lover this one last time, because he feared, knew,
that they would never be to each other what they'd been the last days.
Jon had rolled himself up on the couch, knees pulled to his chin, fingers
gripping the frayed hems of his jeans. He looked like the kid Richie had met
six years ago, overwhelmed and trying to hide it. And just as lovable. Damn
you, Jonny. And damn me for loving you.
Richie had held back his hurt and need so many times, he didn't have it in him
anymore. He got up and stood in front of the singer, took his hands and pulled
him to his feet before he could even think of resistance. The guitarist's heart
broke anew at the faint shimmer of hope that crossed Jon's face, he embraced
him and kissed his temple, whispering:
“I'm so sorry, baby. I wish I could do this, but please, please
understand...Please, Jonny...”
How he would miss the feeling of the younger man melting into his arms, the
instinctive way he nuzzled Richie's neck and dug strong fingers into the small
of his back. How can I hold you and yet miss you already? How will I live when
you're gone? All he knew was that there would have to be lots of booze in his
future to numb that pain. It didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
The dream was over, and life would never be the same again.
But he'd be alright as long as they could be friends. That was what he had to
believe in.
“I still feel you.” Jon said softly against Richie's skin. “Noone has ever
touched me like this, and noone else ever will. And I treasure that, but it
scares me, too. I can't be like I was with you these last days and survive. I
didn't mean to mislead you, I just didn't think. I hope you'll forgive me one
day; if I'll forgive myself...I don't know.” Richie held him closer as he felt
the singer draw a deep breath, then some strength returned to Jon. Tension
firmed his muscles, he freed himself from his lover's -no, not that, not
anymore- hold and stood tall.
“Now, let's pack our shit and, you know, pretend, okay? That's all we ever did,
right? That's what we're very good at.” he said.
Profound sadness surrounded Jon, but his eyes held the determination Richie
loved and feared equally. Compared with Jon in this mood, a mule was quite
flexible. Maybe that would help him cope. For himself, Richie had no idea. His
other breakups had been clean cuts, he did not have to see his former lovers if
he didn't want to. Jon, he would continue to live with , to work with. Oh, yes,
definitely lots of booze.
They did like Jon had said, packed their stuff and called Hank, got to the
airport in time, tried to look like two buddies who'd had too much to drink the
night before and maybe too much sex, too. Sunglasses and basecaps helped with
that.
If the look Hank threw him was sympathetic, the guitarist chose to ignore that.
And if Jon made a small, aborted gesture when they got in the car, as if he
wanted to take Richie's hand, it was ignored, too. The same when Richie made to
tighten Jon's scarf against a sudden, cold gust and pulled his hand back mid-
air. Pretense. They would get used to it.
On the plane, Richie ordered “JD, straight.”, and after observing the petite
brunette flight attendant with the large violet eyes closely, he turned his
charm up.
“Make that a double, honey. Gotta live while we're still young, right.” His
smile was blinding, but his eyes stayed cool, distanced. Jon, who was slouching
in the window seat, grumbled “The same for me.” without even looking at her.
When the drinks arrived and Richie made serious attempts to arrange a date for
the night, Jon turned towards the window and stared out into the stark
sunlight.
Richie wondered if his friend really believed that he moved on that easily, if
he hurt him on purpose, even. He aborted his flirt, not without leaving an
option, though, and picked up his glass.
“To what do we drink?” he asked. The younger man turned back to him and took
off his shades. His eyes were still red, and there were sharp lines around his
mouth.
“To lovers and sinners.” he said softly, taking his own glass, “and to anyone
who can tell one from the other.”
“Lovers and sinners.” Richie echoed, because it was a good toast, a fitting
one. “And to love. Maybe someday it'll be enough.” For a moment it looked like
Jon wanted to give a sharp reply to that, but in the end he just nodded and
swallowed his drink with the air of a man accepting poison. Richie followed
suit, tasting not well aged whiskey, but the bitterness of despair on his
tongue. Another thing to get used to, he thought.
 
Epilogue
They made it through the rest of the tour. They made it through what would
later be dubbed as The Lost Week.
Jon withdrew into himself more and more, watching rather than participating in
the antics of his band and entourage. He drank frightening amounts of alcohol
to numb the various pains haunting him and only seemed to live in the two hours
he spent on stage.
Richie partied like there was no tomorrow, and maybe to him there wasn't. He
played with a definite intensity and closed his feelings in when he was
offstage. His occasional encounters with Cher were a welcome solace, a port in
his stormy life, but even that never became more than an affair to him. He was
dead tired and it started to show.
He and Jon slept together on rare opportunities. He refused to call it 'fuck',
because sometimes, for fleeting seconds, there was a look in Jon's eyes that
told Richie that he still remembered. Those where the moments he lived for.
They became less, though, and it all ended with another fight and a cold
parting. Whatever. Maybe Richie would get his life together again, maybe not.
He didn't care. The only one he still cared for didn't return his feelings
anymore. That was all he knew. That was all there was.
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