long fic: Prelude To A Kiss (Lance/John Rzeznik) 5/6
Prelude to A Kiss; part 5 of 6
John keeps busy. He doesn't call Lance, he doesn't call Melina, he doesn't call anyone except Rob, and that's only when he has to. He does some shit for the Democratic convention, he tries to sit down and write songs, but they're all coming out bitter and angry, and he did that for Gutterflower, that shit's old, he needs new material, but with Lance out of his life and Melina barely in it at the moment, John's not feeling really fucking happy.
The band does a show at some state fair in California and John shows up drunk, but it's okay, because Rob's drunk, too, hell, over half the fans in the crowd are drunk and they have a fanfuckingtastic time, and John's half convinced he should do every single one of his shows drunk or high. Or possibly both.
He gets an invite to go to Vegas for some Rock Star Poker thing, and John doesn't know jack shit about poker, but Dave Navarro is going to be there, and John's a big fucking fan of his - and maybe Carmen will show up - so John immediately says yes and then decides he needs to learn how to play poker.
He remembers that Lance is a big card player, and he picks up his phone and actually dials Lance's number before he remembers that Lance basically told him to drop off the face of the Earth last time Lance saw him, so John hangs up. Instead, John gets in his car and drives to Borders and hopes there's a book called "Poker for Dummies," because that's exactly what he needs.
John figures he'll get to Vegas early and he'll hang out at a few tables, maybe play a couple games, get the feel of it before he has to make a complete ass of himself at a poker table with a bunch of rock stars and their fans looking on. He supposes that it's not really going to matter much, John's going to make an ass out of himself anyway, but hey, he'll be among friends. And everyone knows Dave Navarro is going to win, so why they're even bothering to show up is beyond John.
The game is on a Saturday, so John flies into Vegas on Wednesday. He spends all day Thursday and Friday in the casinos, wandering around playing slots. He tells himself that this is not what he should be doing, he should be in the rooms where the Texas Hold 'Em tables are set up, but slots are more fun. And also, you don't have to know anything to put a quarter in and pull a lever. John likes games like that.
He's up a couple hundred bucks on Friday night from slots before he ventures onto the floor and to where the tables are. He wanders around, watches a hot blonde chick with a nice rack throw the dice a few times at the Craps table. He waits for her tits to fall out of her low cut dress as she leans over the table, but they never do, and after the six or seventh time of her giggling and squealing, even John decides that a glimpse of tit is not worth that woman's annoying voice, so he moves on.
John turns his head and sees Lance out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns his head, Lance is nowhere to be seen. John closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly, because now he's seeing Lance in places Lance really is never going to be, and god, isn't he supposed to be moving on?
John sits down at a five dollar a hand table, he read in one of his books that the cheaper the buy in, the better the chances are of the players being beginners and the dealer helping them out along the way, and five bucks is way cheaper than John expected to find in Vegas, so this is a great place to start. In a shocking turn of events, John knows what he's doing, he managed to retain a lot of information from his stupid poker book and pretty soon John is wiping the table with the other players. They don't like that too much, and John sure doesn't need any more of their money, so he gets up, tips the dealer and heads back to his room.
He feels like he should go out and get drunk. Or maybe he should go out and get drunk and go to a strip club because that's what people do in Vegas, right? But John's not really into strip clubs, he went to one once in New Orleans and it was basically the most uncomfortable experience of his entire life. Maybe John's an idiot, but he was never sure where to put his hands, and so after ten minutes, he headed to the bar where he didn't have to worry about things being in his face that he wasn't allowed to touch. So he supposes a strip club in Vegas is out of the question, and he probably shouldn't drink since the card game is the next day.
So John orders room service and a pay per view movie and is in bed by midnight. He is officially the biggest loser in the city. But he wakes up the morning of the game feeling amazingly refreshed and wide awake, and it's been a long time since that's happened, so he supposes he'll just keep it to himself that he was in bed that early.
John wastes the morning doing absolutely nothing. He spends part of the afternoon at the bar, and he heads to the room for the poker game a few minutes early. He hangs out with Dave, loosens up a bit more by drinking and by the time the game starts, pretty much everyone is feeling good. No one is over the top drunk, so that's good, and the fans are really into everything, and that's even better and John's having a pretty good time, which surprises him.
He folds more than he plays, but when he plays, he bets too big and loses big, so he thinks that folding a few hands and playing it safe is probably a good idea. Then he looks up at someone in the audience who yells down something to Tommy Lee and he sees Lance.
This time John sees him. He's not a mirage or a trick of the lights or John seeing what he wants to. He fucking sees Lance. He sees him sitting behind and to the left of the guy talking to Tommy and he's just fucking sitting there looking at John and John can't look away.
Lance doesn't smile. He doesn't smile, he barely blinks, he doesn't even move. His stare is unnerving and John feels a tightening in his chest until he remembers to breathe. What the hell is Lance doing here? What are the chances that Lance is in Vegas the exact same time John is? Did Lance plan this? Why would he, if he did? Did he come here hoping to see John? Maybe what he said to John at his house was a lie; maybe Lance does want to see him again.
But wait. Hold up. This isn't what John wants. John breaks the stare with Lance and goes back to playing cards. His mind is still working overtime trying to figure this out, and he can feel Lance's eyes on him, he can feel the stare, and he loses the next three hands and has to go all in on the fourth just to try to get some chips back.
It's a futile attempt, though. John wins that hand, but loses the next one and the second time he goes all in, he can't get the card he needs for the flush and Dave Navarro kicks his ass with a full house. John shrugs and gets up from the table, he figures if he has to lose, it should be Dave getting him out, so it's all good by him. He crosses behind the table, waves to the crowd and heads out of the room.
John doesn't think about Lance. He heads right to the bar and orders a beer and prays to God that Lance doesn't come find him. Because John is just not drunk enough to deal with Lance right now, and how the hell is it that whenever Lance is willing and John should be thinking about things, he's fucking loaded and now that there's no chance in hell of John getting laid and he doesn't have to think, the alcohol John drank has no effect on him?
John drinks his beer and someone sits next to him at the bar. He doesn't have to look up to know it's Lance. "What do you want?" John asks him, not nicely. "You stalking me?"
Lance snorts, "You fucking wish," he says, and John can hear the slur in Lance's voice. He glances at Lance and now that he can see him up close, he can see that Lance is loaded. Well. This is a nice change of pace.
"Whatever, Lance," John says, "you ended it, how about you leave me alone?"
"I ended it?" Lance says, incredulous. "According to you, there was nothing to end!"
John turns to him, his eyes angry, "You're fucking right there was nothing! We were nothing. You are nothing." John closes his eyes, shakes his head and sighs. "No, I didn't mean that."
"What did you mean?" Lance asks, his voice even.
John chews his bottom lip and looks at Lance. "You're a great guy. You deserve better than me."
Lance's voice softens and John really wishes Lance weren't drunk, because he has a feeling Lance isn't exactly censored when he's drunk. "I wanted you," he says with feeling, and John closes his eyes.
"You shouldn't," John tells him.
"Don't you think I fucking know that?"
"Then do yourself a favor, go back to your room and forget about me," John says, turning back to the bar.
Lance stands next to John without saying anything for a long time. Finally, he pushes himself off the bar and turns to leave the casino and doesn't look back.
*****
John's phone is ringing. He can hear it even though he put a pillow over his head to block it out. And Jesus Christ, shouldn't it have gone to voicemail by now? It will not stop fucking ringing. John looks at the clock on the nightstand, and it's after four in the morning and his phone is still ringing. He squints into the darkness and tries to determine where he left his pants with the phone in the pocket. He slowly sits up, cursing himself for not turning it off, and blindly reaches on the floor, hoping he dropped his pants next to the bed.
He's half way out of the bed reaching when his fingers come in contact with the fabric of his pants. He pulls his pants closer and takes out his phone, silencing the ring and laying back on the bed, his arm over his eyes.
"Someone better be fucking dead," he says into the phone.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"It's Lance."
John sighs. Shit. What the hell does Lance want? John's mind flashes back to Lance drunk at the bar and he says, "What happened? Are you okay?" and he can hear the panic in his voice.
"I'm lonely," Lance says, and John groans. "Can I see you?"
"Lance…"
"No," Lance says. "Shut the fuck up," and John smiles. Lance is still drunk, John can hear it in his voice and he wonders if Lance has even gone to bed yet. "It was my decision to stop seeing you, so it's my decision if I want to see you again. And I decided I want to see you again. You're an asshole and you treat me like I'm some whore you can call whenever you want to get laid, but I don't even care about that right now, I just want to see you." He drops his voice, "I want you to fuck me, John."
John groans again and curses his dick for twitching in response to Lance's voice. This forgetting about Lance thing is really not going the way John planned at all. He thinks that maybe he should just move to Alaska and not have a phone or cable or the Internet or anything that links him to the outside world and maybe then Lance wouldn't be in his head. He has enough money, he could totally live on what he has made already.
"John," Lance moans and John blinks back to the phone call. "I'm touching myself," Lance tells him and John swallows thickly and closes his eyes, which doesn't help at all, since now he just has that image behind his lids. "I'm touching myself and thinking of you. Please, John?" Lance asks him, "Please let me see you."
John shakes his head and says, "Okay," and then curses, because that's not right at all, he was supposed to say no. He says, "Where are you? Because you're not going to drive."
"I'm at my house," Lance tells him and gives him an address.
"You have a house in Vegas?" John asks, surprised. Jesus, this kid has houses all over the fucking place.
"Not important," Lance says, "I'll be waiting," he tells John and hangs up the phone.
John's up and out of bed before he even realizes it. He's dressed and looking for his keys before it registers that this is not a good idea, this is not what John should be doing, this is the exact opposite of what John should be doing. But he does it anyway. He gets dressed and goes outside and finds a cab easily in the early morning hours, and he tells the driver Lance's address that he didn't even have to write down, because as soon as Lance said it, it was fused into John's brain, and he sits in the backseat of the cab, his leg bouncing up and down in anticipation.
Lance's house is dark except for a light in one of the upstairs rooms. John assumes it's the bedroom. He throws money at the driver without counting it and heads to Lance's front door. The door opens before he even knocks and Lance, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, pulls him inside, shutting the door and pressing John against it and pushing his shirt over his head. Lance's hands are moving on John's chest and when John reaches to steady himself against Lance's chest, his hands touch bare skin.
"God, it's about time," Lance murmurs and his mouth is on John's collarbone. "Wanted you so bad," he says, his tongue sliding along John's skin. John sighs softly and slides his hands to Lance's hips, curling his fingers around them. "Missed you," Lance says and moves his mouth lower, over John's breastbone.
"God, Lance," John breathes when Lance covers his nipple with his mouth. Lance takes the bud between his teeth and tugs on it lightly, licking it. Lance's fingers are working on the other nipple, hardening it between them. John feels Lance sigh against his skin and his hands move to fist in Lance's hair.
Lance stands up and sways slightly, but John's hand is still on Lance's hip and he steadies him. "Woah," John tells him, "easy."
Lance waves his hand, "'m fine," he says and his eyes are dark, his voice husky. "Come on, I want you right now." He turns and takes John's hand and John doesn't even have a chance to look around before Lance is pulling him upstairs and into his bedroom. The light is on, but it's dim, shadows cast on the walls. Lance turns and pulls John towards the bed, falling on it and pulling John on top of him.
John forces himself to not think about kissing Lance. He refuses to look at his mouth; he refuses to think about what it would feel like to have Lance's lips against his, his tongue in Lance's mouth. He doesn't think about what Lance would taste like, he knows he would taste like alcohol, but John doesn't think about what kind. He just doesn't think.
Instead, he presses his lips to the center of Lance's chest and Lance is lifting his hips already, wanting John, so John slides off Lance's boxers and takes Lance's cock in his hand. He strokes him firmly, letting Lance set the pace, because Lance is writhing on the bed, John's name falling from his lips over and over again, and his hips are jerking into John's closed fist, and this is the easiest hand job John has ever given him.
Lance is reaching for and putting lube in John's hand, and John leans forward and sucks on Lance's thigh as he opens the bottle. The lube warms as it touches John's fingers and Lance's legs are falling apart, so John just slides his finger inside Lance, and is rewarded with a moan and a plea for more.
It's not like John has another guy to compare Lance to, but John's pretty sure Lance is the most responsive guy in the world. Everything John does causes some kind of reaction, every single touch, kiss or motion makes Lance keen. John almost wants to spend time just experimenting, finding out what other noises can be drawn from Lance. But right now, Lance is practically thrashing on the bed, pushing his ass against John's fingers, begging him for more as he's begging him to not stop.
John removes his fingers and Lance moans, whimpers, says, "hurry, hurry," and John fumbles with the condom wrapper before finally opening it and kicking off his pants, putting the condom over his dick. Lance barely touched him and John's hard as a fucking rock because his dick knows what's coming, it knows how fucking tight and amazing Lance is.
John thinks that sex with drunk Lance is just a little bit better than sex with sober Lance, and that's shocking, because Lance was really fucking amazing when he was sober, John didn't think he could get better. And yet, somehow, he is. He's more vocal, more expressive and he was bending in ways that John thinks should really fucking hurt. Lance's legs are pressed to his chest, his feet on John's shoulders. He opens his legs farther for John, he wraps his ankles around John and begs him to go faster, harder. His eyes are tightly shut, and there's sweat on his brow, his fingernails bite into John's back with every thrust.
Lance wraps a hand around his dick and he jerks himself off and John watches him and wonders how the hell his arm isn't falling off from the continuous motion. Lance bites his lip, cries out and opens his eyes and looks right into John's eyes as he comes, and there's something about that gaze that sets John off and he's coming a moment later, groaning loudly and shallowly still thrusting into Lance.
Lance sighs softly and lowers his feet from John's shoulders, drops them on the bed and groans, "Christ."
John swallows a few times, tries to get saliva back in his mouth so it's not so damn dry and he looks down at Lance trying to catch his breath. John smiles softly, pulls out of Lance and lies mostly on top of him, propping his head on his hand and watching Lance. Lance's eyes are shut and his hands are on his chest, which is slowly settling back to a normal rhythm. John reaches out and touches Lance's forehead and Lance turns his head, opens his eyes and looks at John. John loses his breath for a few seconds as Lance meets his eyes, and when he gets it back, he pulls his hand back.
Lance catches John's hand before he can drop it on the bed and pulls it to his lips, sucking John's fingers into his mouth. John lets Lance do whatever he wants, sighing softly when Lance sucks on the inside of his wrist.
"Love you," Lance whispers against John's wrist.
John doesn't reply, just nods when Lance looks back at him. Lance sighs and drops John's hand, looking back up at the ceiling. "What do I have to do?" Lance asks.
"For what?" John asks him.
"To make you love me," Lance tells him, his eyes still on the ceiling, his voice soft. "All I want is for you to love me." He turns his head to John, his eyes sad. "What do I have to do? Tell me. I'll do it."
"Lance," John starts and then stops, because he has no idea how he can finish this sentence. "I… you can't. There's nothing you can do."
Lance nods, "Yeah," he says softly. He looks away from John again, turning on his side, his back to John. John sighs softly and runs his finger over Lance's spine, trying to offer at least a little bit of comfort. "What are you so afraid of?" Lance asks him.
"I'm not afraid," John tells him, even though he's not really one hundred percent sure of what Lance is talking about.
"You're afraid," Lance says.
"Of what?"
"Falling in love," Lance tells him, not moving, his back still to John. "Who hurt you so bad that you can't fall in love with me?" John doesn't answer Lance and Lance sighs again, his voice hurt. "I know I'm a guy and I know that's not what you're looking for, but…" Lance pauses and John almost thinks he hears a sob, but it's too soft, passes too quickly for that to be true. "I can tell you like me. I can tell in how you touch me. I've been patient, I told myself to let you figure things out on your own, but dammit, John, I can't do this anymore."
"I never asked you to," John points out. "I never promised you anything."
Lance nods, "I know. I just thought if I gave you enough time, you'd realize that I'm exactly what you want."
John sighs and pulls his hand away from Lance's spine so he can roll onto his back. He clasps his hands behind his head and says, "I'm sorry. I told you that you should give up on me, that I wasn't going to fall in love with you."
"I know," Lance whispers, and this time John is sure he hears tears. "I fucking know," Lance repeats and John thinks that he's talking to himself more than he's talking to John.
"I'm sorry," John tells him, and he really, really means it.
"I know," Lance says and sighs, reaching to turn off the light. He settles back down, moving his leg back to touch John's under the sheets. He's quiet for a long time, and John thinks he's falling asleep. Just when John is about to drift off to sleep himself, Lance speaks.
"You're afraid of love, John. I don't know why, but you are." John doesn't even bother to open his mouth to say anything, he knows Lance isn't finished. Lance's voice is quiet, slurring slightly from the alcohol. He's still facing away from John and John strains to hear him. "I don't know why you're pushing it away, and I guess I don't have the right to care, but I do. But if you're waiting for love to just knock you over one day, it doesn't happen that way. You have to fall in love, John, you have to be willing to let it happen, it won't just hit you over the head. You have to open the door and let it in, and I don't know why you won't, I don't know why you fucking refuse to do that, but you're really missing out on a lot. Because I could love you so much," Lance sighs; his voice is just so tired. "I wish I'd have that chance."
John waits for Lance to say more, not wanting to say anything to interrupt him. He says, "Lance, I'm…" he sighs, searching for his words, "I'm just. Sorry. I wish I could give you what you want, but I can't. But you're so fucking great and you deserve someone who will love you as much as you love them, and I wish that could be me, but it can't. It just… can't," John finishes lamely. He turns his head and looks at the back of Lance's head, waiting for a response. When he doesn't get one, he says, "Lance?"
He sighs when he realizes Lance has fallen asleep. John lies awake for a long time.
*****
John wakes up the next morning disoriented. He opens his eyes, thinks this isn't the hotel, then realizes he's naked. In a flash, the previous night enters his mind, and he thinks Lance, and rolls his head to look at him.
Except Lance isn't there. The bed next to him is empty. John sits up and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, sighing, tilting his head and listening for the sounds of the shower. Not hearing them, John gets up and heads to the bathroom. Finishing, he steps back in the bedroom and picks up his boxers, putting them on and leaving the room to find Lance.
The house is unusually quiet as John descends the stairs and he glances in the rooms, not finding Lance. Ending up in the kitchen, John sees a notebook lying open on the table and he crosses to it, glancing down.
John,
I had an early afternoon flight, and I didn't want to wake you up. Sorry about last night, I know it's not what you wanted, and if I wasn't drunk, I probably wouldn't have bothered you. I know you don't want this, so consider last night my goodbye. I won't be bothering you again, and I'll understand when you don't call me. Thanks for everything. Help yourself to a shower, there's towels in the closet and if you can find something, feel free to eat. Just lock up on the way out. Take care of yourself.
I love you,
Lance
John reads the note three times, like it's going to change after the second time. He carefully rips out the page, folding it and taking it back upstairs, slipping it into his jeans pocket. He finds a towel and turns on the shower. Hanging the towel over the shower rod to dry after he gets out, John wrinkles his nose at his dirty clothes and opens a few drawers. He steals one of Lance's shirts, thinking Lance will probably never even miss it.
Calling a cab, he goes back to the kitchen to find something to eat while he waits. He makes a couple pieces of toast and doesn't butter them before he eats them. He drinks orange juice from the carton and finishes it, figuring it'll go bad before Lance gets back. He locks up the house and sits on the front step to wait for his cab.
He does all this without thinking. He doesn't think about what it means that Lance basically left him a Dear John note on the kitchen table. He doesn't think about the fact that if Lance means what he wrote, then Lance is stronger than John ever was, and John isn't the one in love.
When the cab pulls up, John gives the address of the hotel, pays the guy to wait for him to run inside and get his shit, and takes the same cab to the airport. He suddenly just wants to be home.
He debates on calling Lance. He hates that Lance left without waking him up. Why would he do that? Lance should have woken John, should have at least said goodbye if they weren't going to see each other again. Why wouldn't he wake up John? If he cared like John like he claimed, then he should have said goodbye.
John thinks about Lance the whole flight home. He wonders if he should go to Lance's house, demand that Lance talk to him and tell him why he couldn't be bothered to say anything to him. He picks up his luggage and finds his car in the airport parking lot. He hesitates at the exit for Lance's house and then decides to drive past it, just heading home.
But when he gets home, he calls Lance. He doesn't care if Lance gets pissed off, because John's pissed off. He's pissed that Lance didn't have the common courtesy to either wait for John to get up, or if he was in such a damn hurry to get to the airport, just wake John up to tell him to have a safe flight home, or hell, to have a nice life.
Lance answers on the second ring and his voice is wary, as if he knows John's pissed off at him. John doesn't even say hello, he just says, "thanks so fucking much for waking me up."
Lance sighs. "John… I…"
"No," John interrupts. "Just shut up. I mean, you tell me I treat you like a whore, how do you think I felt? Jesus, why didn't you just leave money on the nightstand?"
John can practically see Lance rolling his eyes as he says, "you're really making a big deal out of nothing. I had a flight at twelve thirty, John. You were passed out."
"How the hell did you even get up for it? You were wasted."
"I'm used to getting up when I don't want to," Lance tells him. He sighs again, "Look, I'm sorry that I offended you or whatever, but I had to just get out of there. I know you want to sever ties, John, I'm not an idiot, okay? I don't hear from you and when I do, it's because you're looking to get laid. And hey, I'm all about getting laid, but… I can't do it anymore. And if you're not going to walk away for good, I am."
"You could have at least said goodbye," John tells him.
Lance is quiet for a long time. "Yeah. I could have. I'm sorry."
John feels the fight going out of him; he really does not want to fight with Lance. He doesn't want their last conversation to be a fight. He sighs and sinks into the chair in his living room. He stares at the stain on his rug from the wine. Lance almost got it out. John probably could have done more with it, but after Lance left, he didn't bother with the fiber cleaner.
"It's okay," John says. "I understand. I mean, I wish you would have, but it's cool."
"John," Lance says, then hesitates, "you have to know I wanted to. I watched you sleep for a few minutes, but it was just… it was easier this way. You know how I feel, and I didn't want to get into it with you and I didn't want to fight, and truthfully, it was just easier to walk away knowing you had no idea."
"Okay," John says, nodding. "Well…" his voice trails off, and he has no idea what to even say anymore. "I guess this is it, huh?"
"Yeah," Lance says softly. "I can't do this anymore, I just can't see you once in a while. Just when I'm getting over it, you show up again. I'm sorry."
John waves his hand, even though Lance can't see him. He says, "Forget it, you have nothing to apologize for."
"Okay," Lance says, his voice quiet. There's an awkward silence for a moment before Lance clears his throat. "So um, hey, I have to go. I'm exhausted."
"Oh, right, of course," John says, and he feels like his voice is nervous, which is just stupid, since there's nothing to be nervous about. "I guess…" he laughs nervously, "I guess I won't be talking to you."
John can hear the smile in Lance's voice, and yet, at the same time, Lance's voice is sad. "Yeah, I guess not. Take care of you, okay?"
"You, too," John tells him.
"Bye, John," Lance says.
"Bye, Lance," John says and waits for the soft click of Lance hanging up the phone before he does the same.
*****
Now that John doesn't have to worry about Lance, he throws himself into work. He writes songs, lots of songs. They all suck, but at least he's writing again. His songs are reminiscent of Gutterflower, they're all dark and have underlying tones of misery, and John doesn't think about what that means about his feelings for Lance. Out of the ten songs he writes, he only likes one of them, and it's sketchy at best, verses are unfinished and the chorus needs work, but John has a good feeling about it.
He calls Rob and asks him to come over, check it out, maybe talk about the bass line. They're not technically recording anything until after the new year, but there's nothing wrong with getting a jump on things. John buys a couple cases of beer, gets out a few steaks and waits for Rob.
Rob's late and John's not surprised. Rob's not really known for being on time, hell, neither is John for that matter, and John didn't really expect Rob until at least a half hour after he was expected.
John's outside on his deck flipping a few steaks when Rob decides to show up. He lets himself into John's house, helps himself to a beer and comes outside. "Hey man," Rob says, sitting on one of the chairs.
"Hey," John answers, picking up his beer and taking a swallow as he turns the heat down on the grill and closes the lid. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Rob says. "Smells good," John nods his thanks and leans against the deck railing. "Surprised to hear you've been writing," Rob says to him.
John laughs, "Not as surprised as I am, believe me." He shakes his head, "They all suck. Except this one song, which I want you to look at. I'm not used to writing so much all at once."
"What's up?" Rob asks him, and John kind of hates that Rob knows him so well. "Why are you writing?"
John shrugs, turns back to the grill, not looking at Rob. He turns the potatoes, makes sure the veggies aren't burning and says, "Nothing, really. Just clearing my head."
"Uh huh," Rob says, noncommittally. "Okay. So where's this song?"
John glances over his shoulder, "On the kitchen table. Grab the plates while you're in there."
Rob gets up and gets the plates, handing them to John before sitting back down. John doesn't talk much as he gets the food off the grill. One of the great things about being friends with Rob for so long is that they don't have to constantly be talking, they're comfortable sitting in silence. Rob's reading John's lyrics, and no matter how many times this happens, John always feels a little weird when someone else reads his work in front of him, and he likes that he doesn't have to keep up a steady stream of conversation with Rob, because he's sure it would all come out like nervous babble.
Rob sets the sheets down as John sets a plate in front of him. Rob picks up his beer, takes a drink, then stabs a piece of grilled zucchini with his fork. He looks up at John as he chews. "So that guy is history, then?"
John sits down, picks up his napkin and looks at Rob. "What?"
"You and that guy who wanted you are finished?" Rob asks, cutting his steak.
"Lance," John says absently.
Rob waves his fork, "Okay. Lance. You finally broke it off with him for good?"
"Why would you say that?"
Rob laughs, "This song has him all over it, John. Unless you and Melina are over before you really started. This is all… depressing or something. At least so far."
John reaches for the sheets, "It is not! It's just a song, Rob. It's not about Lance."
Rob gives him an 'oh really?' look and plucks the papers from John's fingers, scanning the words. "Okay, here. 'I'm not sure I believe anything I feel.'" He looks up at John. "You didn't think you were gay." Rob holds up his hand when John opens his mouth, "Okay, not gay, but whatever. You didn't think you were." He looks back down, reading. "'You're changing everything in me.'" He smirks at John. "This is so about Lance."
"Fuck you, Rob," John says, and his voice is harsh and he knows it, and he also knows that Rob knows when John gets like this, Rob's usually right.
"Oh, here's the biggest one," Rob says, "'the ones who love us are the ones who we deceive.'"
John shoves a piece of steak into his mouth and refuses to answer. He didn't write this song for Lance. And it's not depressing, not really. Okay, maybe it could be cheered up a little bit, but this is John, he doesn't write happy songs, he never has, and he really can't see himself starting. But he wouldn't say this song is depressing. Maybe a little bit sad, but not depressing.
And even if it was depressing - which it isn't - John's not depressed. The thing with Lance is over, that's what John wanted and now that John has it, he's happy. Thrilled, even. He's getting to the point where he doesn't think about Lance all the time, and that's exactly how John likes it.
"Look," John says, glaring at Rob, "it's not about Lance. I told you that I wanted to break off whatever it was we were doing, and I did. It's over, it's what I wanted, and I'm sure as hell not writing songs about him."
Rob nods and doesn't say anything. He chews a bite of his potato and takes a long drink from his beer. "Okay," he says, then casually asks, "so how's Melina, then?"
John narrows his eyes at Rob. He can tell Rob is thinking something, that he's up to something, he's fishing, but John can't figure out what Rob's fishing for. "I don't know," John says warily, "I haven't talked to her. She's coming out next month, we'll talk then."
"She know about Lance?"
"Kind of," John says and Rob raises his eyebrows in question. "She knows about him. She just thinks he's a girl." Rob chokes on his beer and coughs for a minute and John rolls his eyes. "Shut up, I couldn't tell her. I didn't want her thinking I was gay."
"Because you're not," Rob says, a hint of humor in his voice.
"Because I'm not," John agrees. "I'm straight. Lance was just…" John waves his hand, searching for the words, "good blow jobs. And a tight fuck." John almost winces at that, he hates that he's blowing off what Lance was to him. Lance wasn't just a fuck, and John knows it. Hell, Rob probably knows it, but Rob is too fucking nice to say anything. John feels like an asshole putting him into that category, but if that's what he has to do, that's what he has to do. It all just cements in John's mind the fact that Lance is better off without him.
"So Melina comes next month and you're going to hang out?" Rob asks and John nods. "She seems nice, I hope it works out."
"Me too," John tells him. He smiles, his eyes falling onto the sheet of paper with the lyrics scrawled on them. A picture of Lance flashes through John's mind as he scans the words. He shakes his head slightly, pushes the picture out of his head and changes the subject. He's done thinking about Lance.
*****
Melina comes to Los Angeles the first week in November. John figures they'll spend some time in LA before heading back East for Thanksgiving. Melina's family is in the city, so they'll spend the holiday with them, and then head to Buffalo the week after. The live CD and DVD drops at the end of the month, so even though Melina is in California, John's pretty busy finalizing extremely last minute details and doing some very minimal promo for it. He gets an advanced copy of it, and one day when Melina's out shopping, he puts it in and studies it.
He's not sure why he watches it, it's not like he's going to be doing the show again. Rob sometimes watches videos of their shows to hear how it was, if things should be changed for the next show, but that makes no sense with this show. John turns on the commentary and doesn't remember saying half the shit he did, all he remembers is that he and Rob showed up high and then someone brought beer.
He thinks back to Buffalo, the night of the show. He remembers Melina in the shower; how he thought of Lance. He wonders if he'll always think of Lance when he has sex in the shower, he thinks he probably will. He's finally at the point where he only thinks of Lance briefly when he's getting a blow job, and he rarely thinks about asking Melina to use her finger at all, so he figures he's making progress.
He does wonder about Lance once in a while. He hopes that Lance is doing okay. He's probably an egotistical asshole to think that Lance might not be, but John doesn't think Lance is really over him yet, he was in love with him for a while, after all. But he doesn't call Lance. He doesn't let himself even pick up his phone when he's thinking of Lance. He wants to respect Lance's wishes, he doesn't want to call Lance at all. This is what Lance wanted, and John's going to do that.
He almost called him one night when he was drunk, but he had enough wits about him to not actually dial the phone. He called Melina instead and she got a big laugh out of John being stupid on the phone. The next morning, it came back to him, and John deleted Lance's number from his phone, because he didn't want to take any chances.
Melina's been really great for John, too, he thinks. She only asked him once, "is it over with her?" and when he said yes, she just smiled sweetly and kissed him, not bringing it up again. She never asked him details or what happened or anything beyond that first question, and John's immensely grateful for that. He really didn't want to lie to her more than he had to.
Thanksgiving rolls around and he meets the family and it's horrible and good at the same time, but John just isn't really ready for this step. He's not in love with her, he's not at the meet the parents phase of the relationship. But Melina clearly is, and John's making a conscious effort to move on with his life and have this positive relationship with a girl who really cares for him, and it's such a nice change from what he had with Adrienne, and maybe it's not too early for him to meet her parents, maybe this is what people in normal relationships do, so John goes along with it and he meets her family and forces himself to only have two glasses of wine with dinner and it's not as bad as he expected.
It's not really great, either, though. Melina's father clearly doesn't approve, he thinks John is too old - which is ridiculous, John thinks, Melina's older than both Adrienne and Lance, that's a step in the right direction, although, he keeps that thought to himself - and her father doesn't really approve of the rock star lifestyle, another reason John has two glasses of wine and then water for the rest of the weekend. Melina's mother seems to really like him, and John's always related better to mothers than to fathers, and he's sure that has something to do with him being raised by four women, and it's times like this John's really fucking thankful for his sisters.
But he still can't wait to get out of there and back to Buffalo. Melina laughs at him when he practically runs out of her parents' house the afternoon they're leaving, but he doesn't even care. He steps out of the front door and feels like a huge weight has been lifted. Melina's excited about going to meet John's sisters and he feels like he should warn her, that they're tough bitches who don't put up with shit from anyone. Hell, none of the Rzezniks do, that's a product of their childhood, they had enough shit to deal with when they were kids, they're just not going to take it when they're adults. He thinks he should tell her that they'll probably be at least a little bit rude, but they don't really mean it, and they'll probably give her the third degree, and they do mean to do that. He tells her all this on the drive to Buffalo, and she asks him briefly about his mom and dad, but he doesn't want to answer, he doesn't want to tell her things beyond what she already knows from interviews. That's enough. That's more than enough for John.
John has a house in Buffalo, and they stay there. They meet John's family when Phyllis has a big dinner, and John thinks that's totally ridiculous, because everyone's going to be together again in a month for Christmas, and why have two big dinners, but hey, he's not the one cooking, he just has to show up and eat and John can definitely do that.
Melina fits in perfectly. John's almost impressed. He likes that he doesn't have to baby-sit her, he can leave her in the kitchen and go into the living room and just relax and not have to worry that she's cursing him to hell and back for leaving her alone with his sisters. He smiles at her over the dinner table and he's almost a little bit scared when she agrees to go shopping the next day with Kate, because shopping is a big deal and Kate has all the good dirt on John.
Well. Not all of it, John supposes as he picks up his beer and takes a long swallow of it. None of them know about Lance.
*****
Melina can't stay in Buffalo with John, she has to go back to the city and get some work done. John drives her to the airport and kisses her goodbye. She smiles up at him and she gets a look in her eye and John waits for her to say whatever it is she's going to say, but she doesn't say anything. She just kisses him again and gets on the plane, making him promise to call her.
John stops at the grocery store on the way back to his place. He's staying at least through Christmas, then he has to be back in California for New Years Eve. Beyond that, John has no idea what he's planning on doing. He knows he has a record to write and record and he's thinking that the 2005 release is looking hopelessly optimistic, so he figures it'll be ready in early 06 which seems like a lifetime away.
Time has never passed quickly for John, but the month of December seems to fly by. He spends time with his family, and now that he's older he appreciates that more and more. He settles in in Buffalo, he can feel his roots sinking into the earth and every day he looks at the calendar and hopes that time slows even more so he doesn't have to go back to Los Angeles where everyone is fake and nothing ever seems real.
But that doesn't happen. Christmas is upon him before he knows it, and he's heading to the airport to pick up Melina. He's at the baggage area, he hates airports, hates how he can't smoke inside them, and when Melina told him to not meet her at the gate, he jumped at the chance to stand outside as long as possible.
She comes down the stairs to the baggage claim and she grins when she sees him. John's excited to see her, but he feels like something's missing. He hasn't missed her as much as he hoped he was going to, he doesn't get that same rush of excitement to see her as he used to get when he saw Lance after a long period of time. He feels like he has to force a smile onto his face, which is just fucking ridiculous, because he really does like her a whole fucking lot, and he's really getting sick of thinking about Lance, setting the bar for how he feels at what he felt when Lance was around.
Melina jumps into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him thoroughly right in the middle of the baggage claim. John smiles against her mouth and kisses her back, because this he definitely missed. She pulls back briefly and grins, kissing him quickly again before setting her feet back on the ground.
"God, I've missed you," she says to him and he smiles at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I missed you, too," he says, and he really does mean it. He did miss her. Maybe not as much as she missed him, but that's okay, he reassures himself, women naturally get more attached and feel more in this stage. He'll be fine.
She links her arm though his and they get her luggage, and she doesn't shut up the whole time. But it's not annoying, not how it used to be with Adrienne. Melina has great stories about people at work, and John loves listening to her, she always tells the stories with such animation, mimicking the people she's talking about. John doesn't even think she knows she's doing it, and he finds it really fucking adorable.
They drive back to John's house and by the time they get there, John's really ready to get laid. He might not have missed her as much as he thinks he should, but now that she's here, he's realizing he missed her a hell of a lot more than he thought. She's grinning at him like she knows he wants to get in her pants and John's completely okay with that, because she's looking at him like she's going to devour him in the car if they don't go inside.
They leave her bags in the car, John tells her he'll come out later and get them, and she doesn't argue with him. He takes her hand and practically drags her to the house, and she pushes him inside and against the wall, kissing him before the door is even closed.
They make it to the bedroom, but barely. There's a trail of clothes leading through the house and they don't waste time with foreplay, they're on the bed and fucking, both of them short of breath from the intensity of their thrusts. They roll on the bed, first Melina on top, then John and she's so fucking hot under him, John groans and comes and she reaches her hand between them, touching herself and she comes a few seconds later, crying out his name.
They fall into an easy routine over the next couple of days. Melina's usually up before John, so she makes the coffee and finds something for breakfast, and by the time it's finished cooking, he's usually out of bed. They spend their days shopping or wrapping presents or just hanging out, watching television or sitting in front of the fire. There's snow on the ground and it's freezing cold, but she insists on going outside, and when John's nieces and nephews get out of school for the week of Christmas, they bundle all the kids up and take the sleds and go to the hill on the outskirts of the city. They build snowmen and have snowball fights and she convinces all the kids to gang up on him, so by the time they're ready to go home, John is pretty much freezing right down to the center of his bones, but Melina puts her mouth on his neck and tugs his earlobe between her teeth as she whispers exactly how she's going to get him warm again, and John breaks a few speed limit laws on the way back home.
John's pretty sure that Melina's fallen in love with him. No, she doesn't tell him, she doesn't say anything to him about it, but ever since Lance, he thinks he's gotten better at the signs. He looks up to find her watching him, and when he smiles and asks her what she's looking at, she gives him a coy smile and says, "nothing," way too innocently for it to be nothing. And a couple times, John's caught her watching him as he sleeps. He'll just be waking up, his eyes still partly shut and laden with sleep, and turn on his side and she'll be lying next to him, a small smile on her lips, her fingers running lightly up and down his chest, but when he opens his eyes all the way, she's never looking at him. Then there was the time they were in the kitchen and John was teaching her how to make lemon meringue pie and he was showing her how to beat the eggs just right when she bumped his arm and the beater hit the side of the bowl and got out of control, causing egg whites to fly up and out of the bowl into their hair and they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe, and she said, "god, I just…" and stopped and when he looked at her to finish, she said, "really am having a great time and like you a lot," and he knew that's not what she was planning on saying, but he let it go, because he just didn't want to deal with another person being in love with him when he wasn't in love with them.
Christmas rolls around and Melina wakes him up with a Christmas blowjob, and John decides that he's starting every Christmas from now on with a Christmas blowjob, because he thinks that'll make the day go a lot better. They exchange presents between them before going to John's sister's place. John gets Melina some clothes she was eyeing at Saks while they were in the city last time, a couple CDs she asked for, and a diamond heart pendant and matching bracelet. He wasn't really sure if he should get her the jewelry, he was afraid she would take it to mean more than it did, but then his sister Fran hit him on the side of the head and said, "For Christ's sake, Johnny, you're not asking her to marry you, stop being such a shit and get her jewelry," and when a Rzeznik woman talks, you listen, so he bought her jewelry.
John has no idea what Melina would even think to get him. He knows he's a horrible person to shop for, not only because he can buy whatever he wants, but because there's really nothing he does want. He's used to living cheap and he doesn't need expensive clothes, he hates wearing too much jewelry, so beyond earrings, that's out, too. He doesn't need a car or things for his house. His sisters stopped buying him things years ago, and only partly because he told them not to.
He opens the presents from Melina and finds lots of shit for his guitars. Strings and pics and there's a note in there about her buying him an amp, but she didn't know what kind he'd want. She gets him special songwriting paper and John doesn't have the heart to tell her he prefers those black and white composition books to write songs in because she looks so excited about the paper. She gets him a couple of shirts and John notices the label says things like Armani and Dolce and Gabbana and knows that they weren't cheap. He thinks that Melina spent a lot of money on him, and he hates that he thinks none of it was worth it.
But he smiles and pulls her close and tells her he loves the gifts, but there is no way she's buying him an amp after spending that much money on a couple of tee shirts. She laughs and kisses him and he closes his eyes and kisses her back and pretends that he's not thinking of a postcard and an old map.
*****
Christmas comes and goes and John's thinking about New Years and wondering if Melina is going to tag along to California. There's times when he wants her to go with him and then there's times when he hopes she doesn't. He can't make up his mind and the more she smiles at him and looks at him with love in her eyes, the decision gets harder and harder to come to.
He wishes he loved her; just like he wishes he could love Lance. The problem is he doesn't know why he can't love Melina. He knew why he couldn't fall in love with Lance, those reasons were clear. Lance wanted him to be gay, he wanted John to give up what he's known his entire life. John just can't - or couldn't - do that. Maybe that makes him scared, maybe that makes him a bad person, but he can't imagine not being with a woman again.
But with Melina, things are different. He wouldn't have to give anything up, he wouldn't have to change who he has been for the past thirty-nine years. This is what he's been looking for all his life, a woman to love him, to love him despite his flaws. And he can't love her back. And he has no idea why.
*****
Melina accepts his offer to go to California, and they fly out west a couple days before the show. New Years is on a Friday, and John spends the couple days before the show getting ready, rehearsals and sound checks and a couple nights of drinking.
The show goes well, and he takes Melina back to the room afterwards. They ring in the new year in bed and John barely thinks about Lance and how he rang in the previous year at all.
Melina rolls off him and props her head on his chest and smiles up at him. He looks down at her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He smiles, says, "what?" softly and he feels her shrug.
"You're just really fantastic," she says. She runs her fingertip over his chest and he feels her nail on his skin. He shivers slightly and pulls his eyes away from her finger to meet her eyes. She takes a deep breath, and as she exhales, she says, "I love you."
John closes his eyes, has a flashback to this same day last year, sees Lance's face as he tells John the same thing. He feels the same feeling in his gut; he feels the same kind of panic, of regret that he doesn't feel the same way. He hates himself a little bit, because what the hell is he doing? Why does he do this to people, get them to fall in love with him and then not be able to return the feelings?
"Melina…"
She puts her fingers to John's lips, shakes her head, "no, John, don't say anything." She smiles faintly, "If you can't say it back, don't say anything at all." She turns her head, rests her cheek against John's chest.
John frowns, looks down at her and kisses the top of her head. He tightens his arms around her and closes his eyes. She falls asleep and John lies awake for a while afterwards.
*****
Much to his chagrin, John'a awake on New Year's Day at one. He's not hung over and he's not the least bit tired, so he gets out of bed, pulls the covers back up over Melina and heads downstairs for a cup of coffee. He makes a pot of coffee and as it's brewing, one of the cats practically trips him when she circles his ankles, so he picks her up, petting her head and carrying her to the counter where his cell phone is sitting.
He dials his voice mail, resting the phone between his shoulder and his ear and holds the cat in one hand as he prepares his cup of coffee with the other. He has four new messages and he raises his mug to his lips as his sister's voice comes over the line and he grins. She's drunk.
Gladys talks too long and the voice mail cuts her off and he grins, expecting the next message to be from her, too. He deletes the message and waits to hear her again, and when he hears the voice that comes through his phone, he almost drops the cat.
Lance. It's Lance. Lance called him and he missed it. John's in shock, so he doesn't hear the beginning of Lance's message, so he interrupts it to replay it. He sits down at the table, putting the cat on the floor and ignoring his cup of coffee. He stares at the postcard on his fridge as he listens to Lance.
Lance is drunk. Lance is really, really drunk. John can hear the slurs in his voice, the way he can't really form some words, and John wonders who let Lance drink this much.
"John! Johnny! John, John, John! This is Lance. You remember me, right? Even though we haven't talked forever, you can't forget me, I'll bet. Even if you want to, you can't, right?" Lance pauses, "right? Yeah, right, you can't." John almost smiles. "I don't know why I'm calling, but guess what! I'm drunk! It's New Years and I'm drunk. I bet you're drunk, too, because you like to drink, you're always drunk when I see you, so I know you're drunk, even if you're doing a show, I know you're drunk." There's commotion in the background and John strains to hear. He hears someone ask Lance who he's talking to, and Lance says, "no one," and the voice says, "you're talking to John, aren't you? You're not supposed to call him, I thought you deleted his number," and Lance says - and his voice sounds proud, which makes John grin - "I memorized the number," and whoever Lance is talking to says, "give me the phone," and John hears Lance say, "John! Joey is making me give him the phone," and his voice drops to a whisper, "I'll call you later, okay?" and the line goes dead.
John doesn't delete the message. He listens to it a second time and saves it before moving on, his mind still on Lance's phone call. But then Lance's voice comes over the line again and John's breath catches.
"Hey, it's me again, I'm in the bathroom, Joey doesn't know that I was really coming in here to call you, he thinks I'm taking a piss, so I can't talk really long." There's a pause and then a sigh and Lance's voice gets quieter and John leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he listens. "I just… I don't know why I'm calling, I shouldn't have called, but I miss you, okay? I miss talking to you and I know this was my idea so I shouldn't miss you, but dammit, John, I do miss you. I miss touching you and I miss you fucking me and I miss your mouth on me, and god, have I told you how much I wish I could kiss you? I told you, right, I told you that, because you should know that. You don't have to call me back, it would be nice, but I understand, you don't have to, and it would probably be best if you didn't, but you can do whatever you want, okay? Okay." There's another pause and Lance says, "Okay, I gotta go. Happy New Years, John. I love you. Okay, bye," Lance says and hangs up.
John closes his eyes and replays the message, wishes he could just replay the end, wishes he could just hear the "I love you," over and over. After listening to the message a third and fourth time, he saves it.
The last message is a voice John doesn't recognize. But when the caller identifies himself, John slumps in his chair.
"Hey, John, this is Joey Fatone. We've met a couple times, and I wish I didn't have to do this, but I do. Look, I know Lance called you, but you need to not call him back. He's not getting over what you and he did, and I tried to tell him not to call you tonight, but he was fucking loaded and he doesn't listen to me. Anyway, don't call him. He loves you and I don't want to watch him go through that shit again."
Joey's voice is stern and John tries to figure out if Joey's really fucking pissed off at him or if he's just being a good friend. Joey hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, and that message John deletes. He closes his phone and closes his eyes, dropping his head onto the table. A fine mess he's gotten himself into, he thinks. Two people who are in love with him and he can't figure out what his problem is and just love one of them back.
He sighs, getting up and going outside. He stands on his front porch, watches a few cars drive by, and has to remind himself that it's fucking January. It's January and he's on his porch in a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. This is just so fucked up. His whole life has suddenly become this whole fucked up thing that he doesn't even recognize anymore, and he's at a loss on how to change it and make it right again.
He looks at the phone still in his hand and thinks about calling Lance. He thinks about what it would be like to tell Lance that he wants to see him again. He wonders if kissing Lance would help him or hurt him. Because maybe it would help, maybe if he just kissed Lance and got it over with, John would be able to say that it doesn't mean anything, he doesn't feel anything for Lance. Maybe that's the problem, it's just too unknown. And even as John's thinking off of this, he knows it makes no sense and he's just grasping at straws. He wonders if he should just admit that he has more feelings for Lance than he wants.
And what about Melina? She's an amazing woman who really loves him and it's not fair to her, because she doesn't know all the facts, she doesn't know John had that fling with Lance, and if she found out, would she still love him? Would she even want to be with John anymore? Although, by now, it's probably too late to tell her, John thinks. It's been months, he's had plenty of opportunity to tell her that it wasn't a woman he fucked around with, that it was a guy, and he hasn't taken any of those opportunities.
God, he really is an asshole.
John sighs and turns his back on the sunshine and goes back in his house. He really fucking hates this town. He thinks that his life was just fine until he moved here, and now he has boyband members in love with him and eighty-degree temperatures in January.
John makes a decision and calls the U-Hall rental place and gives his credit card number to hold a truck. He runs back upstairs and changes clothes, glancing at the bed to see Melina still asleep. He scribbles a note for her when he goes back downstairs, grabs his keys and heads outside in the sunshine.
It's time to make things right again.
part six
John keeps busy. He doesn't call Lance, he doesn't call Melina, he doesn't call anyone except Rob, and that's only when he has to. He does some shit for the Democratic convention, he tries to sit down and write songs, but they're all coming out bitter and angry, and he did that for Gutterflower, that shit's old, he needs new material, but with Lance out of his life and Melina barely in it at the moment, John's not feeling really fucking happy.
The band does a show at some state fair in California and John shows up drunk, but it's okay, because Rob's drunk, too, hell, over half the fans in the crowd are drunk and they have a fanfuckingtastic time, and John's half convinced he should do every single one of his shows drunk or high. Or possibly both.
He gets an invite to go to Vegas for some Rock Star Poker thing, and John doesn't know jack shit about poker, but Dave Navarro is going to be there, and John's a big fucking fan of his - and maybe Carmen will show up - so John immediately says yes and then decides he needs to learn how to play poker.
He remembers that Lance is a big card player, and he picks up his phone and actually dials Lance's number before he remembers that Lance basically told him to drop off the face of the Earth last time Lance saw him, so John hangs up. Instead, John gets in his car and drives to Borders and hopes there's a book called "Poker for Dummies," because that's exactly what he needs.
John figures he'll get to Vegas early and he'll hang out at a few tables, maybe play a couple games, get the feel of it before he has to make a complete ass of himself at a poker table with a bunch of rock stars and their fans looking on. He supposes that it's not really going to matter much, John's going to make an ass out of himself anyway, but hey, he'll be among friends. And everyone knows Dave Navarro is going to win, so why they're even bothering to show up is beyond John.
The game is on a Saturday, so John flies into Vegas on Wednesday. He spends all day Thursday and Friday in the casinos, wandering around playing slots. He tells himself that this is not what he should be doing, he should be in the rooms where the Texas Hold 'Em tables are set up, but slots are more fun. And also, you don't have to know anything to put a quarter in and pull a lever. John likes games like that.
He's up a couple hundred bucks on Friday night from slots before he ventures onto the floor and to where the tables are. He wanders around, watches a hot blonde chick with a nice rack throw the dice a few times at the Craps table. He waits for her tits to fall out of her low cut dress as she leans over the table, but they never do, and after the six or seventh time of her giggling and squealing, even John decides that a glimpse of tit is not worth that woman's annoying voice, so he moves on.
John turns his head and sees Lance out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns his head, Lance is nowhere to be seen. John closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly, because now he's seeing Lance in places Lance really is never going to be, and god, isn't he supposed to be moving on?
John sits down at a five dollar a hand table, he read in one of his books that the cheaper the buy in, the better the chances are of the players being beginners and the dealer helping them out along the way, and five bucks is way cheaper than John expected to find in Vegas, so this is a great place to start. In a shocking turn of events, John knows what he's doing, he managed to retain a lot of information from his stupid poker book and pretty soon John is wiping the table with the other players. They don't like that too much, and John sure doesn't need any more of their money, so he gets up, tips the dealer and heads back to his room.
He feels like he should go out and get drunk. Or maybe he should go out and get drunk and go to a strip club because that's what people do in Vegas, right? But John's not really into strip clubs, he went to one once in New Orleans and it was basically the most uncomfortable experience of his entire life. Maybe John's an idiot, but he was never sure where to put his hands, and so after ten minutes, he headed to the bar where he didn't have to worry about things being in his face that he wasn't allowed to touch. So he supposes a strip club in Vegas is out of the question, and he probably shouldn't drink since the card game is the next day.
So John orders room service and a pay per view movie and is in bed by midnight. He is officially the biggest loser in the city. But he wakes up the morning of the game feeling amazingly refreshed and wide awake, and it's been a long time since that's happened, so he supposes he'll just keep it to himself that he was in bed that early.
John wastes the morning doing absolutely nothing. He spends part of the afternoon at the bar, and he heads to the room for the poker game a few minutes early. He hangs out with Dave, loosens up a bit more by drinking and by the time the game starts, pretty much everyone is feeling good. No one is over the top drunk, so that's good, and the fans are really into everything, and that's even better and John's having a pretty good time, which surprises him.
He folds more than he plays, but when he plays, he bets too big and loses big, so he thinks that folding a few hands and playing it safe is probably a good idea. Then he looks up at someone in the audience who yells down something to Tommy Lee and he sees Lance.
This time John sees him. He's not a mirage or a trick of the lights or John seeing what he wants to. He fucking sees Lance. He sees him sitting behind and to the left of the guy talking to Tommy and he's just fucking sitting there looking at John and John can't look away.
Lance doesn't smile. He doesn't smile, he barely blinks, he doesn't even move. His stare is unnerving and John feels a tightening in his chest until he remembers to breathe. What the hell is Lance doing here? What are the chances that Lance is in Vegas the exact same time John is? Did Lance plan this? Why would he, if he did? Did he come here hoping to see John? Maybe what he said to John at his house was a lie; maybe Lance does want to see him again.
But wait. Hold up. This isn't what John wants. John breaks the stare with Lance and goes back to playing cards. His mind is still working overtime trying to figure this out, and he can feel Lance's eyes on him, he can feel the stare, and he loses the next three hands and has to go all in on the fourth just to try to get some chips back.
It's a futile attempt, though. John wins that hand, but loses the next one and the second time he goes all in, he can't get the card he needs for the flush and Dave Navarro kicks his ass with a full house. John shrugs and gets up from the table, he figures if he has to lose, it should be Dave getting him out, so it's all good by him. He crosses behind the table, waves to the crowd and heads out of the room.
John doesn't think about Lance. He heads right to the bar and orders a beer and prays to God that Lance doesn't come find him. Because John is just not drunk enough to deal with Lance right now, and how the hell is it that whenever Lance is willing and John should be thinking about things, he's fucking loaded and now that there's no chance in hell of John getting laid and he doesn't have to think, the alcohol John drank has no effect on him?
John drinks his beer and someone sits next to him at the bar. He doesn't have to look up to know it's Lance. "What do you want?" John asks him, not nicely. "You stalking me?"
Lance snorts, "You fucking wish," he says, and John can hear the slur in Lance's voice. He glances at Lance and now that he can see him up close, he can see that Lance is loaded. Well. This is a nice change of pace.
"Whatever, Lance," John says, "you ended it, how about you leave me alone?"
"I ended it?" Lance says, incredulous. "According to you, there was nothing to end!"
John turns to him, his eyes angry, "You're fucking right there was nothing! We were nothing. You are nothing." John closes his eyes, shakes his head and sighs. "No, I didn't mean that."
"What did you mean?" Lance asks, his voice even.
John chews his bottom lip and looks at Lance. "You're a great guy. You deserve better than me."
Lance's voice softens and John really wishes Lance weren't drunk, because he has a feeling Lance isn't exactly censored when he's drunk. "I wanted you," he says with feeling, and John closes his eyes.
"You shouldn't," John tells him.
"Don't you think I fucking know that?"
"Then do yourself a favor, go back to your room and forget about me," John says, turning back to the bar.
Lance stands next to John without saying anything for a long time. Finally, he pushes himself off the bar and turns to leave the casino and doesn't look back.
*****
John's phone is ringing. He can hear it even though he put a pillow over his head to block it out. And Jesus Christ, shouldn't it have gone to voicemail by now? It will not stop fucking ringing. John looks at the clock on the nightstand, and it's after four in the morning and his phone is still ringing. He squints into the darkness and tries to determine where he left his pants with the phone in the pocket. He slowly sits up, cursing himself for not turning it off, and blindly reaches on the floor, hoping he dropped his pants next to the bed.
He's half way out of the bed reaching when his fingers come in contact with the fabric of his pants. He pulls his pants closer and takes out his phone, silencing the ring and laying back on the bed, his arm over his eyes.
"Someone better be fucking dead," he says into the phone.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"It's Lance."
John sighs. Shit. What the hell does Lance want? John's mind flashes back to Lance drunk at the bar and he says, "What happened? Are you okay?" and he can hear the panic in his voice.
"I'm lonely," Lance says, and John groans. "Can I see you?"
"Lance…"
"No," Lance says. "Shut the fuck up," and John smiles. Lance is still drunk, John can hear it in his voice and he wonders if Lance has even gone to bed yet. "It was my decision to stop seeing you, so it's my decision if I want to see you again. And I decided I want to see you again. You're an asshole and you treat me like I'm some whore you can call whenever you want to get laid, but I don't even care about that right now, I just want to see you." He drops his voice, "I want you to fuck me, John."
John groans again and curses his dick for twitching in response to Lance's voice. This forgetting about Lance thing is really not going the way John planned at all. He thinks that maybe he should just move to Alaska and not have a phone or cable or the Internet or anything that links him to the outside world and maybe then Lance wouldn't be in his head. He has enough money, he could totally live on what he has made already.
"John," Lance moans and John blinks back to the phone call. "I'm touching myself," Lance tells him and John swallows thickly and closes his eyes, which doesn't help at all, since now he just has that image behind his lids. "I'm touching myself and thinking of you. Please, John?" Lance asks him, "Please let me see you."
John shakes his head and says, "Okay," and then curses, because that's not right at all, he was supposed to say no. He says, "Where are you? Because you're not going to drive."
"I'm at my house," Lance tells him and gives him an address.
"You have a house in Vegas?" John asks, surprised. Jesus, this kid has houses all over the fucking place.
"Not important," Lance says, "I'll be waiting," he tells John and hangs up the phone.
John's up and out of bed before he even realizes it. He's dressed and looking for his keys before it registers that this is not a good idea, this is not what John should be doing, this is the exact opposite of what John should be doing. But he does it anyway. He gets dressed and goes outside and finds a cab easily in the early morning hours, and he tells the driver Lance's address that he didn't even have to write down, because as soon as Lance said it, it was fused into John's brain, and he sits in the backseat of the cab, his leg bouncing up and down in anticipation.
Lance's house is dark except for a light in one of the upstairs rooms. John assumes it's the bedroom. He throws money at the driver without counting it and heads to Lance's front door. The door opens before he even knocks and Lance, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, pulls him inside, shutting the door and pressing John against it and pushing his shirt over his head. Lance's hands are moving on John's chest and when John reaches to steady himself against Lance's chest, his hands touch bare skin.
"God, it's about time," Lance murmurs and his mouth is on John's collarbone. "Wanted you so bad," he says, his tongue sliding along John's skin. John sighs softly and slides his hands to Lance's hips, curling his fingers around them. "Missed you," Lance says and moves his mouth lower, over John's breastbone.
"God, Lance," John breathes when Lance covers his nipple with his mouth. Lance takes the bud between his teeth and tugs on it lightly, licking it. Lance's fingers are working on the other nipple, hardening it between them. John feels Lance sigh against his skin and his hands move to fist in Lance's hair.
Lance stands up and sways slightly, but John's hand is still on Lance's hip and he steadies him. "Woah," John tells him, "easy."
Lance waves his hand, "'m fine," he says and his eyes are dark, his voice husky. "Come on, I want you right now." He turns and takes John's hand and John doesn't even have a chance to look around before Lance is pulling him upstairs and into his bedroom. The light is on, but it's dim, shadows cast on the walls. Lance turns and pulls John towards the bed, falling on it and pulling John on top of him.
John forces himself to not think about kissing Lance. He refuses to look at his mouth; he refuses to think about what it would feel like to have Lance's lips against his, his tongue in Lance's mouth. He doesn't think about what Lance would taste like, he knows he would taste like alcohol, but John doesn't think about what kind. He just doesn't think.
Instead, he presses his lips to the center of Lance's chest and Lance is lifting his hips already, wanting John, so John slides off Lance's boxers and takes Lance's cock in his hand. He strokes him firmly, letting Lance set the pace, because Lance is writhing on the bed, John's name falling from his lips over and over again, and his hips are jerking into John's closed fist, and this is the easiest hand job John has ever given him.
Lance is reaching for and putting lube in John's hand, and John leans forward and sucks on Lance's thigh as he opens the bottle. The lube warms as it touches John's fingers and Lance's legs are falling apart, so John just slides his finger inside Lance, and is rewarded with a moan and a plea for more.
It's not like John has another guy to compare Lance to, but John's pretty sure Lance is the most responsive guy in the world. Everything John does causes some kind of reaction, every single touch, kiss or motion makes Lance keen. John almost wants to spend time just experimenting, finding out what other noises can be drawn from Lance. But right now, Lance is practically thrashing on the bed, pushing his ass against John's fingers, begging him for more as he's begging him to not stop.
John removes his fingers and Lance moans, whimpers, says, "hurry, hurry," and John fumbles with the condom wrapper before finally opening it and kicking off his pants, putting the condom over his dick. Lance barely touched him and John's hard as a fucking rock because his dick knows what's coming, it knows how fucking tight and amazing Lance is.
John thinks that sex with drunk Lance is just a little bit better than sex with sober Lance, and that's shocking, because Lance was really fucking amazing when he was sober, John didn't think he could get better. And yet, somehow, he is. He's more vocal, more expressive and he was bending in ways that John thinks should really fucking hurt. Lance's legs are pressed to his chest, his feet on John's shoulders. He opens his legs farther for John, he wraps his ankles around John and begs him to go faster, harder. His eyes are tightly shut, and there's sweat on his brow, his fingernails bite into John's back with every thrust.
Lance wraps a hand around his dick and he jerks himself off and John watches him and wonders how the hell his arm isn't falling off from the continuous motion. Lance bites his lip, cries out and opens his eyes and looks right into John's eyes as he comes, and there's something about that gaze that sets John off and he's coming a moment later, groaning loudly and shallowly still thrusting into Lance.
Lance sighs softly and lowers his feet from John's shoulders, drops them on the bed and groans, "Christ."
John swallows a few times, tries to get saliva back in his mouth so it's not so damn dry and he looks down at Lance trying to catch his breath. John smiles softly, pulls out of Lance and lies mostly on top of him, propping his head on his hand and watching Lance. Lance's eyes are shut and his hands are on his chest, which is slowly settling back to a normal rhythm. John reaches out and touches Lance's forehead and Lance turns his head, opens his eyes and looks at John. John loses his breath for a few seconds as Lance meets his eyes, and when he gets it back, he pulls his hand back.
Lance catches John's hand before he can drop it on the bed and pulls it to his lips, sucking John's fingers into his mouth. John lets Lance do whatever he wants, sighing softly when Lance sucks on the inside of his wrist.
"Love you," Lance whispers against John's wrist.
John doesn't reply, just nods when Lance looks back at him. Lance sighs and drops John's hand, looking back up at the ceiling. "What do I have to do?" Lance asks.
"For what?" John asks him.
"To make you love me," Lance tells him, his eyes still on the ceiling, his voice soft. "All I want is for you to love me." He turns his head to John, his eyes sad. "What do I have to do? Tell me. I'll do it."
"Lance," John starts and then stops, because he has no idea how he can finish this sentence. "I… you can't. There's nothing you can do."
Lance nods, "Yeah," he says softly. He looks away from John again, turning on his side, his back to John. John sighs softly and runs his finger over Lance's spine, trying to offer at least a little bit of comfort. "What are you so afraid of?" Lance asks him.
"I'm not afraid," John tells him, even though he's not really one hundred percent sure of what Lance is talking about.
"You're afraid," Lance says.
"Of what?"
"Falling in love," Lance tells him, not moving, his back still to John. "Who hurt you so bad that you can't fall in love with me?" John doesn't answer Lance and Lance sighs again, his voice hurt. "I know I'm a guy and I know that's not what you're looking for, but…" Lance pauses and John almost thinks he hears a sob, but it's too soft, passes too quickly for that to be true. "I can tell you like me. I can tell in how you touch me. I've been patient, I told myself to let you figure things out on your own, but dammit, John, I can't do this anymore."
"I never asked you to," John points out. "I never promised you anything."
Lance nods, "I know. I just thought if I gave you enough time, you'd realize that I'm exactly what you want."
John sighs and pulls his hand away from Lance's spine so he can roll onto his back. He clasps his hands behind his head and says, "I'm sorry. I told you that you should give up on me, that I wasn't going to fall in love with you."
"I know," Lance whispers, and this time John is sure he hears tears. "I fucking know," Lance repeats and John thinks that he's talking to himself more than he's talking to John.
"I'm sorry," John tells him, and he really, really means it.
"I know," Lance says and sighs, reaching to turn off the light. He settles back down, moving his leg back to touch John's under the sheets. He's quiet for a long time, and John thinks he's falling asleep. Just when John is about to drift off to sleep himself, Lance speaks.
"You're afraid of love, John. I don't know why, but you are." John doesn't even bother to open his mouth to say anything, he knows Lance isn't finished. Lance's voice is quiet, slurring slightly from the alcohol. He's still facing away from John and John strains to hear him. "I don't know why you're pushing it away, and I guess I don't have the right to care, but I do. But if you're waiting for love to just knock you over one day, it doesn't happen that way. You have to fall in love, John, you have to be willing to let it happen, it won't just hit you over the head. You have to open the door and let it in, and I don't know why you won't, I don't know why you fucking refuse to do that, but you're really missing out on a lot. Because I could love you so much," Lance sighs; his voice is just so tired. "I wish I'd have that chance."
John waits for Lance to say more, not wanting to say anything to interrupt him. He says, "Lance, I'm…" he sighs, searching for his words, "I'm just. Sorry. I wish I could give you what you want, but I can't. But you're so fucking great and you deserve someone who will love you as much as you love them, and I wish that could be me, but it can't. It just… can't," John finishes lamely. He turns his head and looks at the back of Lance's head, waiting for a response. When he doesn't get one, he says, "Lance?"
He sighs when he realizes Lance has fallen asleep. John lies awake for a long time.
*****
John wakes up the next morning disoriented. He opens his eyes, thinks this isn't the hotel, then realizes he's naked. In a flash, the previous night enters his mind, and he thinks Lance, and rolls his head to look at him.
Except Lance isn't there. The bed next to him is empty. John sits up and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, sighing, tilting his head and listening for the sounds of the shower. Not hearing them, John gets up and heads to the bathroom. Finishing, he steps back in the bedroom and picks up his boxers, putting them on and leaving the room to find Lance.
The house is unusually quiet as John descends the stairs and he glances in the rooms, not finding Lance. Ending up in the kitchen, John sees a notebook lying open on the table and he crosses to it, glancing down.
John,
I had an early afternoon flight, and I didn't want to wake you up. Sorry about last night, I know it's not what you wanted, and if I wasn't drunk, I probably wouldn't have bothered you. I know you don't want this, so consider last night my goodbye. I won't be bothering you again, and I'll understand when you don't call me. Thanks for everything. Help yourself to a shower, there's towels in the closet and if you can find something, feel free to eat. Just lock up on the way out. Take care of yourself.
I love you,
Lance
John reads the note three times, like it's going to change after the second time. He carefully rips out the page, folding it and taking it back upstairs, slipping it into his jeans pocket. He finds a towel and turns on the shower. Hanging the towel over the shower rod to dry after he gets out, John wrinkles his nose at his dirty clothes and opens a few drawers. He steals one of Lance's shirts, thinking Lance will probably never even miss it.
Calling a cab, he goes back to the kitchen to find something to eat while he waits. He makes a couple pieces of toast and doesn't butter them before he eats them. He drinks orange juice from the carton and finishes it, figuring it'll go bad before Lance gets back. He locks up the house and sits on the front step to wait for his cab.
He does all this without thinking. He doesn't think about what it means that Lance basically left him a Dear John note on the kitchen table. He doesn't think about the fact that if Lance means what he wrote, then Lance is stronger than John ever was, and John isn't the one in love.
When the cab pulls up, John gives the address of the hotel, pays the guy to wait for him to run inside and get his shit, and takes the same cab to the airport. He suddenly just wants to be home.
He debates on calling Lance. He hates that Lance left without waking him up. Why would he do that? Lance should have woken John, should have at least said goodbye if they weren't going to see each other again. Why wouldn't he wake up John? If he cared like John like he claimed, then he should have said goodbye.
John thinks about Lance the whole flight home. He wonders if he should go to Lance's house, demand that Lance talk to him and tell him why he couldn't be bothered to say anything to him. He picks up his luggage and finds his car in the airport parking lot. He hesitates at the exit for Lance's house and then decides to drive past it, just heading home.
But when he gets home, he calls Lance. He doesn't care if Lance gets pissed off, because John's pissed off. He's pissed that Lance didn't have the common courtesy to either wait for John to get up, or if he was in such a damn hurry to get to the airport, just wake John up to tell him to have a safe flight home, or hell, to have a nice life.
Lance answers on the second ring and his voice is wary, as if he knows John's pissed off at him. John doesn't even say hello, he just says, "thanks so fucking much for waking me up."
Lance sighs. "John… I…"
"No," John interrupts. "Just shut up. I mean, you tell me I treat you like a whore, how do you think I felt? Jesus, why didn't you just leave money on the nightstand?"
John can practically see Lance rolling his eyes as he says, "you're really making a big deal out of nothing. I had a flight at twelve thirty, John. You were passed out."
"How the hell did you even get up for it? You were wasted."
"I'm used to getting up when I don't want to," Lance tells him. He sighs again, "Look, I'm sorry that I offended you or whatever, but I had to just get out of there. I know you want to sever ties, John, I'm not an idiot, okay? I don't hear from you and when I do, it's because you're looking to get laid. And hey, I'm all about getting laid, but… I can't do it anymore. And if you're not going to walk away for good, I am."
"You could have at least said goodbye," John tells him.
Lance is quiet for a long time. "Yeah. I could have. I'm sorry."
John feels the fight going out of him; he really does not want to fight with Lance. He doesn't want their last conversation to be a fight. He sighs and sinks into the chair in his living room. He stares at the stain on his rug from the wine. Lance almost got it out. John probably could have done more with it, but after Lance left, he didn't bother with the fiber cleaner.
"It's okay," John says. "I understand. I mean, I wish you would have, but it's cool."
"John," Lance says, then hesitates, "you have to know I wanted to. I watched you sleep for a few minutes, but it was just… it was easier this way. You know how I feel, and I didn't want to get into it with you and I didn't want to fight, and truthfully, it was just easier to walk away knowing you had no idea."
"Okay," John says, nodding. "Well…" his voice trails off, and he has no idea what to even say anymore. "I guess this is it, huh?"
"Yeah," Lance says softly. "I can't do this anymore, I just can't see you once in a while. Just when I'm getting over it, you show up again. I'm sorry."
John waves his hand, even though Lance can't see him. He says, "Forget it, you have nothing to apologize for."
"Okay," Lance says, his voice quiet. There's an awkward silence for a moment before Lance clears his throat. "So um, hey, I have to go. I'm exhausted."
"Oh, right, of course," John says, and he feels like his voice is nervous, which is just stupid, since there's nothing to be nervous about. "I guess…" he laughs nervously, "I guess I won't be talking to you."
John can hear the smile in Lance's voice, and yet, at the same time, Lance's voice is sad. "Yeah, I guess not. Take care of you, okay?"
"You, too," John tells him.
"Bye, John," Lance says.
"Bye, Lance," John says and waits for the soft click of Lance hanging up the phone before he does the same.
*****
Now that John doesn't have to worry about Lance, he throws himself into work. He writes songs, lots of songs. They all suck, but at least he's writing again. His songs are reminiscent of Gutterflower, they're all dark and have underlying tones of misery, and John doesn't think about what that means about his feelings for Lance. Out of the ten songs he writes, he only likes one of them, and it's sketchy at best, verses are unfinished and the chorus needs work, but John has a good feeling about it.
He calls Rob and asks him to come over, check it out, maybe talk about the bass line. They're not technically recording anything until after the new year, but there's nothing wrong with getting a jump on things. John buys a couple cases of beer, gets out a few steaks and waits for Rob.
Rob's late and John's not surprised. Rob's not really known for being on time, hell, neither is John for that matter, and John didn't really expect Rob until at least a half hour after he was expected.
John's outside on his deck flipping a few steaks when Rob decides to show up. He lets himself into John's house, helps himself to a beer and comes outside. "Hey man," Rob says, sitting on one of the chairs.
"Hey," John answers, picking up his beer and taking a swallow as he turns the heat down on the grill and closes the lid. "What's up?"
"Nothing," Rob says. "Smells good," John nods his thanks and leans against the deck railing. "Surprised to hear you've been writing," Rob says to him.
John laughs, "Not as surprised as I am, believe me." He shakes his head, "They all suck. Except this one song, which I want you to look at. I'm not used to writing so much all at once."
"What's up?" Rob asks him, and John kind of hates that Rob knows him so well. "Why are you writing?"
John shrugs, turns back to the grill, not looking at Rob. He turns the potatoes, makes sure the veggies aren't burning and says, "Nothing, really. Just clearing my head."
"Uh huh," Rob says, noncommittally. "Okay. So where's this song?"
John glances over his shoulder, "On the kitchen table. Grab the plates while you're in there."
Rob gets up and gets the plates, handing them to John before sitting back down. John doesn't talk much as he gets the food off the grill. One of the great things about being friends with Rob for so long is that they don't have to constantly be talking, they're comfortable sitting in silence. Rob's reading John's lyrics, and no matter how many times this happens, John always feels a little weird when someone else reads his work in front of him, and he likes that he doesn't have to keep up a steady stream of conversation with Rob, because he's sure it would all come out like nervous babble.
Rob sets the sheets down as John sets a plate in front of him. Rob picks up his beer, takes a drink, then stabs a piece of grilled zucchini with his fork. He looks up at John as he chews. "So that guy is history, then?"
John sits down, picks up his napkin and looks at Rob. "What?"
"You and that guy who wanted you are finished?" Rob asks, cutting his steak.
"Lance," John says absently.
Rob waves his fork, "Okay. Lance. You finally broke it off with him for good?"
"Why would you say that?"
Rob laughs, "This song has him all over it, John. Unless you and Melina are over before you really started. This is all… depressing or something. At least so far."
John reaches for the sheets, "It is not! It's just a song, Rob. It's not about Lance."
Rob gives him an 'oh really?' look and plucks the papers from John's fingers, scanning the words. "Okay, here. 'I'm not sure I believe anything I feel.'" He looks up at John. "You didn't think you were gay." Rob holds up his hand when John opens his mouth, "Okay, not gay, but whatever. You didn't think you were." He looks back down, reading. "'You're changing everything in me.'" He smirks at John. "This is so about Lance."
"Fuck you, Rob," John says, and his voice is harsh and he knows it, and he also knows that Rob knows when John gets like this, Rob's usually right.
"Oh, here's the biggest one," Rob says, "'the ones who love us are the ones who we deceive.'"
John shoves a piece of steak into his mouth and refuses to answer. He didn't write this song for Lance. And it's not depressing, not really. Okay, maybe it could be cheered up a little bit, but this is John, he doesn't write happy songs, he never has, and he really can't see himself starting. But he wouldn't say this song is depressing. Maybe a little bit sad, but not depressing.
And even if it was depressing - which it isn't - John's not depressed. The thing with Lance is over, that's what John wanted and now that John has it, he's happy. Thrilled, even. He's getting to the point where he doesn't think about Lance all the time, and that's exactly how John likes it.
"Look," John says, glaring at Rob, "it's not about Lance. I told you that I wanted to break off whatever it was we were doing, and I did. It's over, it's what I wanted, and I'm sure as hell not writing songs about him."
Rob nods and doesn't say anything. He chews a bite of his potato and takes a long drink from his beer. "Okay," he says, then casually asks, "so how's Melina, then?"
John narrows his eyes at Rob. He can tell Rob is thinking something, that he's up to something, he's fishing, but John can't figure out what Rob's fishing for. "I don't know," John says warily, "I haven't talked to her. She's coming out next month, we'll talk then."
"She know about Lance?"
"Kind of," John says and Rob raises his eyebrows in question. "She knows about him. She just thinks he's a girl." Rob chokes on his beer and coughs for a minute and John rolls his eyes. "Shut up, I couldn't tell her. I didn't want her thinking I was gay."
"Because you're not," Rob says, a hint of humor in his voice.
"Because I'm not," John agrees. "I'm straight. Lance was just…" John waves his hand, searching for the words, "good blow jobs. And a tight fuck." John almost winces at that, he hates that he's blowing off what Lance was to him. Lance wasn't just a fuck, and John knows it. Hell, Rob probably knows it, but Rob is too fucking nice to say anything. John feels like an asshole putting him into that category, but if that's what he has to do, that's what he has to do. It all just cements in John's mind the fact that Lance is better off without him.
"So Melina comes next month and you're going to hang out?" Rob asks and John nods. "She seems nice, I hope it works out."
"Me too," John tells him. He smiles, his eyes falling onto the sheet of paper with the lyrics scrawled on them. A picture of Lance flashes through John's mind as he scans the words. He shakes his head slightly, pushes the picture out of his head and changes the subject. He's done thinking about Lance.
*****
Melina comes to Los Angeles the first week in November. John figures they'll spend some time in LA before heading back East for Thanksgiving. Melina's family is in the city, so they'll spend the holiday with them, and then head to Buffalo the week after. The live CD and DVD drops at the end of the month, so even though Melina is in California, John's pretty busy finalizing extremely last minute details and doing some very minimal promo for it. He gets an advanced copy of it, and one day when Melina's out shopping, he puts it in and studies it.
He's not sure why he watches it, it's not like he's going to be doing the show again. Rob sometimes watches videos of their shows to hear how it was, if things should be changed for the next show, but that makes no sense with this show. John turns on the commentary and doesn't remember saying half the shit he did, all he remembers is that he and Rob showed up high and then someone brought beer.
He thinks back to Buffalo, the night of the show. He remembers Melina in the shower; how he thought of Lance. He wonders if he'll always think of Lance when he has sex in the shower, he thinks he probably will. He's finally at the point where he only thinks of Lance briefly when he's getting a blow job, and he rarely thinks about asking Melina to use her finger at all, so he figures he's making progress.
He does wonder about Lance once in a while. He hopes that Lance is doing okay. He's probably an egotistical asshole to think that Lance might not be, but John doesn't think Lance is really over him yet, he was in love with him for a while, after all. But he doesn't call Lance. He doesn't let himself even pick up his phone when he's thinking of Lance. He wants to respect Lance's wishes, he doesn't want to call Lance at all. This is what Lance wanted, and John's going to do that.
He almost called him one night when he was drunk, but he had enough wits about him to not actually dial the phone. He called Melina instead and she got a big laugh out of John being stupid on the phone. The next morning, it came back to him, and John deleted Lance's number from his phone, because he didn't want to take any chances.
Melina's been really great for John, too, he thinks. She only asked him once, "is it over with her?" and when he said yes, she just smiled sweetly and kissed him, not bringing it up again. She never asked him details or what happened or anything beyond that first question, and John's immensely grateful for that. He really didn't want to lie to her more than he had to.
Thanksgiving rolls around and he meets the family and it's horrible and good at the same time, but John just isn't really ready for this step. He's not in love with her, he's not at the meet the parents phase of the relationship. But Melina clearly is, and John's making a conscious effort to move on with his life and have this positive relationship with a girl who really cares for him, and it's such a nice change from what he had with Adrienne, and maybe it's not too early for him to meet her parents, maybe this is what people in normal relationships do, so John goes along with it and he meets her family and forces himself to only have two glasses of wine with dinner and it's not as bad as he expected.
It's not really great, either, though. Melina's father clearly doesn't approve, he thinks John is too old - which is ridiculous, John thinks, Melina's older than both Adrienne and Lance, that's a step in the right direction, although, he keeps that thought to himself - and her father doesn't really approve of the rock star lifestyle, another reason John has two glasses of wine and then water for the rest of the weekend. Melina's mother seems to really like him, and John's always related better to mothers than to fathers, and he's sure that has something to do with him being raised by four women, and it's times like this John's really fucking thankful for his sisters.
But he still can't wait to get out of there and back to Buffalo. Melina laughs at him when he practically runs out of her parents' house the afternoon they're leaving, but he doesn't even care. He steps out of the front door and feels like a huge weight has been lifted. Melina's excited about going to meet John's sisters and he feels like he should warn her, that they're tough bitches who don't put up with shit from anyone. Hell, none of the Rzezniks do, that's a product of their childhood, they had enough shit to deal with when they were kids, they're just not going to take it when they're adults. He thinks he should tell her that they'll probably be at least a little bit rude, but they don't really mean it, and they'll probably give her the third degree, and they do mean to do that. He tells her all this on the drive to Buffalo, and she asks him briefly about his mom and dad, but he doesn't want to answer, he doesn't want to tell her things beyond what she already knows from interviews. That's enough. That's more than enough for John.
John has a house in Buffalo, and they stay there. They meet John's family when Phyllis has a big dinner, and John thinks that's totally ridiculous, because everyone's going to be together again in a month for Christmas, and why have two big dinners, but hey, he's not the one cooking, he just has to show up and eat and John can definitely do that.
Melina fits in perfectly. John's almost impressed. He likes that he doesn't have to baby-sit her, he can leave her in the kitchen and go into the living room and just relax and not have to worry that she's cursing him to hell and back for leaving her alone with his sisters. He smiles at her over the dinner table and he's almost a little bit scared when she agrees to go shopping the next day with Kate, because shopping is a big deal and Kate has all the good dirt on John.
Well. Not all of it, John supposes as he picks up his beer and takes a long swallow of it. None of them know about Lance.
*****
Melina can't stay in Buffalo with John, she has to go back to the city and get some work done. John drives her to the airport and kisses her goodbye. She smiles up at him and she gets a look in her eye and John waits for her to say whatever it is she's going to say, but she doesn't say anything. She just kisses him again and gets on the plane, making him promise to call her.
John stops at the grocery store on the way back to his place. He's staying at least through Christmas, then he has to be back in California for New Years Eve. Beyond that, John has no idea what he's planning on doing. He knows he has a record to write and record and he's thinking that the 2005 release is looking hopelessly optimistic, so he figures it'll be ready in early 06 which seems like a lifetime away.
Time has never passed quickly for John, but the month of December seems to fly by. He spends time with his family, and now that he's older he appreciates that more and more. He settles in in Buffalo, he can feel his roots sinking into the earth and every day he looks at the calendar and hopes that time slows even more so he doesn't have to go back to Los Angeles where everyone is fake and nothing ever seems real.
But that doesn't happen. Christmas is upon him before he knows it, and he's heading to the airport to pick up Melina. He's at the baggage area, he hates airports, hates how he can't smoke inside them, and when Melina told him to not meet her at the gate, he jumped at the chance to stand outside as long as possible.
She comes down the stairs to the baggage claim and she grins when she sees him. John's excited to see her, but he feels like something's missing. He hasn't missed her as much as he hoped he was going to, he doesn't get that same rush of excitement to see her as he used to get when he saw Lance after a long period of time. He feels like he has to force a smile onto his face, which is just fucking ridiculous, because he really does like her a whole fucking lot, and he's really getting sick of thinking about Lance, setting the bar for how he feels at what he felt when Lance was around.
Melina jumps into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him thoroughly right in the middle of the baggage claim. John smiles against her mouth and kisses her back, because this he definitely missed. She pulls back briefly and grins, kissing him quickly again before setting her feet back on the ground.
"God, I've missed you," she says to him and he smiles at her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I missed you, too," he says, and he really does mean it. He did miss her. Maybe not as much as she missed him, but that's okay, he reassures himself, women naturally get more attached and feel more in this stage. He'll be fine.
She links her arm though his and they get her luggage, and she doesn't shut up the whole time. But it's not annoying, not how it used to be with Adrienne. Melina has great stories about people at work, and John loves listening to her, she always tells the stories with such animation, mimicking the people she's talking about. John doesn't even think she knows she's doing it, and he finds it really fucking adorable.
They drive back to John's house and by the time they get there, John's really ready to get laid. He might not have missed her as much as he thinks he should, but now that she's here, he's realizing he missed her a hell of a lot more than he thought. She's grinning at him like she knows he wants to get in her pants and John's completely okay with that, because she's looking at him like she's going to devour him in the car if they don't go inside.
They leave her bags in the car, John tells her he'll come out later and get them, and she doesn't argue with him. He takes her hand and practically drags her to the house, and she pushes him inside and against the wall, kissing him before the door is even closed.
They make it to the bedroom, but barely. There's a trail of clothes leading through the house and they don't waste time with foreplay, they're on the bed and fucking, both of them short of breath from the intensity of their thrusts. They roll on the bed, first Melina on top, then John and she's so fucking hot under him, John groans and comes and she reaches her hand between them, touching herself and she comes a few seconds later, crying out his name.
They fall into an easy routine over the next couple of days. Melina's usually up before John, so she makes the coffee and finds something for breakfast, and by the time it's finished cooking, he's usually out of bed. They spend their days shopping or wrapping presents or just hanging out, watching television or sitting in front of the fire. There's snow on the ground and it's freezing cold, but she insists on going outside, and when John's nieces and nephews get out of school for the week of Christmas, they bundle all the kids up and take the sleds and go to the hill on the outskirts of the city. They build snowmen and have snowball fights and she convinces all the kids to gang up on him, so by the time they're ready to go home, John is pretty much freezing right down to the center of his bones, but Melina puts her mouth on his neck and tugs his earlobe between her teeth as she whispers exactly how she's going to get him warm again, and John breaks a few speed limit laws on the way back home.
John's pretty sure that Melina's fallen in love with him. No, she doesn't tell him, she doesn't say anything to him about it, but ever since Lance, he thinks he's gotten better at the signs. He looks up to find her watching him, and when he smiles and asks her what she's looking at, she gives him a coy smile and says, "nothing," way too innocently for it to be nothing. And a couple times, John's caught her watching him as he sleeps. He'll just be waking up, his eyes still partly shut and laden with sleep, and turn on his side and she'll be lying next to him, a small smile on her lips, her fingers running lightly up and down his chest, but when he opens his eyes all the way, she's never looking at him. Then there was the time they were in the kitchen and John was teaching her how to make lemon meringue pie and he was showing her how to beat the eggs just right when she bumped his arm and the beater hit the side of the bowl and got out of control, causing egg whites to fly up and out of the bowl into their hair and they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe, and she said, "god, I just…" and stopped and when he looked at her to finish, she said, "really am having a great time and like you a lot," and he knew that's not what she was planning on saying, but he let it go, because he just didn't want to deal with another person being in love with him when he wasn't in love with them.
Christmas rolls around and Melina wakes him up with a Christmas blowjob, and John decides that he's starting every Christmas from now on with a Christmas blowjob, because he thinks that'll make the day go a lot better. They exchange presents between them before going to John's sister's place. John gets Melina some clothes she was eyeing at Saks while they were in the city last time, a couple CDs she asked for, and a diamond heart pendant and matching bracelet. He wasn't really sure if he should get her the jewelry, he was afraid she would take it to mean more than it did, but then his sister Fran hit him on the side of the head and said, "For Christ's sake, Johnny, you're not asking her to marry you, stop being such a shit and get her jewelry," and when a Rzeznik woman talks, you listen, so he bought her jewelry.
John has no idea what Melina would even think to get him. He knows he's a horrible person to shop for, not only because he can buy whatever he wants, but because there's really nothing he does want. He's used to living cheap and he doesn't need expensive clothes, he hates wearing too much jewelry, so beyond earrings, that's out, too. He doesn't need a car or things for his house. His sisters stopped buying him things years ago, and only partly because he told them not to.
He opens the presents from Melina and finds lots of shit for his guitars. Strings and pics and there's a note in there about her buying him an amp, but she didn't know what kind he'd want. She gets him special songwriting paper and John doesn't have the heart to tell her he prefers those black and white composition books to write songs in because she looks so excited about the paper. She gets him a couple of shirts and John notices the label says things like Armani and Dolce and Gabbana and knows that they weren't cheap. He thinks that Melina spent a lot of money on him, and he hates that he thinks none of it was worth it.
But he smiles and pulls her close and tells her he loves the gifts, but there is no way she's buying him an amp after spending that much money on a couple of tee shirts. She laughs and kisses him and he closes his eyes and kisses her back and pretends that he's not thinking of a postcard and an old map.
*****
Christmas comes and goes and John's thinking about New Years and wondering if Melina is going to tag along to California. There's times when he wants her to go with him and then there's times when he hopes she doesn't. He can't make up his mind and the more she smiles at him and looks at him with love in her eyes, the decision gets harder and harder to come to.
He wishes he loved her; just like he wishes he could love Lance. The problem is he doesn't know why he can't love Melina. He knew why he couldn't fall in love with Lance, those reasons were clear. Lance wanted him to be gay, he wanted John to give up what he's known his entire life. John just can't - or couldn't - do that. Maybe that makes him scared, maybe that makes him a bad person, but he can't imagine not being with a woman again.
But with Melina, things are different. He wouldn't have to give anything up, he wouldn't have to change who he has been for the past thirty-nine years. This is what he's been looking for all his life, a woman to love him, to love him despite his flaws. And he can't love her back. And he has no idea why.
*****
Melina accepts his offer to go to California, and they fly out west a couple days before the show. New Years is on a Friday, and John spends the couple days before the show getting ready, rehearsals and sound checks and a couple nights of drinking.
The show goes well, and he takes Melina back to the room afterwards. They ring in the new year in bed and John barely thinks about Lance and how he rang in the previous year at all.
Melina rolls off him and props her head on his chest and smiles up at him. He looks down at her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He smiles, says, "what?" softly and he feels her shrug.
"You're just really fantastic," she says. She runs her fingertip over his chest and he feels her nail on his skin. He shivers slightly and pulls his eyes away from her finger to meet her eyes. She takes a deep breath, and as she exhales, she says, "I love you."
John closes his eyes, has a flashback to this same day last year, sees Lance's face as he tells John the same thing. He feels the same feeling in his gut; he feels the same kind of panic, of regret that he doesn't feel the same way. He hates himself a little bit, because what the hell is he doing? Why does he do this to people, get them to fall in love with him and then not be able to return the feelings?
"Melina…"
She puts her fingers to John's lips, shakes her head, "no, John, don't say anything." She smiles faintly, "If you can't say it back, don't say anything at all." She turns her head, rests her cheek against John's chest.
John frowns, looks down at her and kisses the top of her head. He tightens his arms around her and closes his eyes. She falls asleep and John lies awake for a while afterwards.
*****
Much to his chagrin, John'a awake on New Year's Day at one. He's not hung over and he's not the least bit tired, so he gets out of bed, pulls the covers back up over Melina and heads downstairs for a cup of coffee. He makes a pot of coffee and as it's brewing, one of the cats practically trips him when she circles his ankles, so he picks her up, petting her head and carrying her to the counter where his cell phone is sitting.
He dials his voice mail, resting the phone between his shoulder and his ear and holds the cat in one hand as he prepares his cup of coffee with the other. He has four new messages and he raises his mug to his lips as his sister's voice comes over the line and he grins. She's drunk.
Gladys talks too long and the voice mail cuts her off and he grins, expecting the next message to be from her, too. He deletes the message and waits to hear her again, and when he hears the voice that comes through his phone, he almost drops the cat.
Lance. It's Lance. Lance called him and he missed it. John's in shock, so he doesn't hear the beginning of Lance's message, so he interrupts it to replay it. He sits down at the table, putting the cat on the floor and ignoring his cup of coffee. He stares at the postcard on his fridge as he listens to Lance.
Lance is drunk. Lance is really, really drunk. John can hear the slurs in his voice, the way he can't really form some words, and John wonders who let Lance drink this much.
"John! Johnny! John, John, John! This is Lance. You remember me, right? Even though we haven't talked forever, you can't forget me, I'll bet. Even if you want to, you can't, right?" Lance pauses, "right? Yeah, right, you can't." John almost smiles. "I don't know why I'm calling, but guess what! I'm drunk! It's New Years and I'm drunk. I bet you're drunk, too, because you like to drink, you're always drunk when I see you, so I know you're drunk, even if you're doing a show, I know you're drunk." There's commotion in the background and John strains to hear. He hears someone ask Lance who he's talking to, and Lance says, "no one," and the voice says, "you're talking to John, aren't you? You're not supposed to call him, I thought you deleted his number," and Lance says - and his voice sounds proud, which makes John grin - "I memorized the number," and whoever Lance is talking to says, "give me the phone," and John hears Lance say, "John! Joey is making me give him the phone," and his voice drops to a whisper, "I'll call you later, okay?" and the line goes dead.
John doesn't delete the message. He listens to it a second time and saves it before moving on, his mind still on Lance's phone call. But then Lance's voice comes over the line again and John's breath catches.
"Hey, it's me again, I'm in the bathroom, Joey doesn't know that I was really coming in here to call you, he thinks I'm taking a piss, so I can't talk really long." There's a pause and then a sigh and Lance's voice gets quieter and John leans forward, resting his arms on the table as he listens. "I just… I don't know why I'm calling, I shouldn't have called, but I miss you, okay? I miss talking to you and I know this was my idea so I shouldn't miss you, but dammit, John, I do miss you. I miss touching you and I miss you fucking me and I miss your mouth on me, and god, have I told you how much I wish I could kiss you? I told you, right, I told you that, because you should know that. You don't have to call me back, it would be nice, but I understand, you don't have to, and it would probably be best if you didn't, but you can do whatever you want, okay? Okay." There's another pause and Lance says, "Okay, I gotta go. Happy New Years, John. I love you. Okay, bye," Lance says and hangs up.
John closes his eyes and replays the message, wishes he could just replay the end, wishes he could just hear the "I love you," over and over. After listening to the message a third and fourth time, he saves it.
The last message is a voice John doesn't recognize. But when the caller identifies himself, John slumps in his chair.
"Hey, John, this is Joey Fatone. We've met a couple times, and I wish I didn't have to do this, but I do. Look, I know Lance called you, but you need to not call him back. He's not getting over what you and he did, and I tried to tell him not to call you tonight, but he was fucking loaded and he doesn't listen to me. Anyway, don't call him. He loves you and I don't want to watch him go through that shit again."
Joey's voice is stern and John tries to figure out if Joey's really fucking pissed off at him or if he's just being a good friend. Joey hangs up the phone without saying goodbye, and that message John deletes. He closes his phone and closes his eyes, dropping his head onto the table. A fine mess he's gotten himself into, he thinks. Two people who are in love with him and he can't figure out what his problem is and just love one of them back.
He sighs, getting up and going outside. He stands on his front porch, watches a few cars drive by, and has to remind himself that it's fucking January. It's January and he's on his porch in a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. This is just so fucked up. His whole life has suddenly become this whole fucked up thing that he doesn't even recognize anymore, and he's at a loss on how to change it and make it right again.
He looks at the phone still in his hand and thinks about calling Lance. He thinks about what it would be like to tell Lance that he wants to see him again. He wonders if kissing Lance would help him or hurt him. Because maybe it would help, maybe if he just kissed Lance and got it over with, John would be able to say that it doesn't mean anything, he doesn't feel anything for Lance. Maybe that's the problem, it's just too unknown. And even as John's thinking off of this, he knows it makes no sense and he's just grasping at straws. He wonders if he should just admit that he has more feelings for Lance than he wants.
And what about Melina? She's an amazing woman who really loves him and it's not fair to her, because she doesn't know all the facts, she doesn't know John had that fling with Lance, and if she found out, would she still love him? Would she even want to be with John anymore? Although, by now, it's probably too late to tell her, John thinks. It's been months, he's had plenty of opportunity to tell her that it wasn't a woman he fucked around with, that it was a guy, and he hasn't taken any of those opportunities.
God, he really is an asshole.
John sighs and turns his back on the sunshine and goes back in his house. He really fucking hates this town. He thinks that his life was just fine until he moved here, and now he has boyband members in love with him and eighty-degree temperatures in January.
John makes a decision and calls the U-Hall rental place and gives his credit card number to hold a truck. He runs back upstairs and changes clothes, glancing at the bed to see Melina still asleep. He scribbles a note for her when he goes back downstairs, grabs his keys and heads outside in the sunshine.
It's time to make things right again.
part six