long fic: Prelude To A Kiss (Lance/John Rzeznik) 2/6

[ghettogreta]

Prelude To A Kiss; part 2 of 6



John picks up girls after Adrienne walks out on him. He really kind of loves the single life a lot. When he was married, he cheated on Laurie, not because he didn't love her, but because he was so fucking lonely doing the rock star thing and she refused to give up her career to follow him around when they had no idea what was going to become of this pipe dream. And then when he hit it big, he had women throwing themselves at him and he was really just a fucking kid in a fucking candy store, how could he not sleep with some of them?

But then he came home and Laurie screamed at him. She bitched at him, telling him she stood by him when times were their roughest and he couldn't do her the decency of not cheating on her, he could have at least broken up with her before he fucked around on her. And John really did love her, and he fucking hated to see that look on her face, and he vowed right then that he would never, ever put that look on another woman's face.

So he never cheated on Adrienne. Not technically. Sure, when they weren't serious and exclusive, he went out with other woman. And that thing with Lance wasn't cheating exactly. John's not sure what it was, but it wasn't cheating, hell he didn't even kiss Lance. But John was faithful to her while they were together and now that they're not, he's having the time of his life.

He picks up a different girl every night he goes out. And hey, it's not like he's being a complete whore here, he's only going out once a week or so, but it's nice to know that he can still get women, they still want him and they don't see him as an aging rock star.

Then one night they're playing in Salt Lake City and John's just having a shitty night. Rob fucked up his hand and he missed the concert and John just felt fucking off without Rob to his left and of course it was fucking snowing. And not that really great fluffy snow that seems to fall perfectly from the sky in those amazing snowflakes that land on things and don't melt until you can actually see the shape, but that shitty snow that's really mixed with rain and is just heavy and fucking wet and way colder than the awesome snow. John thinks that the snow and Rob's hand is just a sign that he should write off the night and go to bed.

Instead, he ends up in the hotel bar. He's drinking faster than he should, but the bartender is a fan and he gave John the bottle on the house and John's working steadily through it, his back to the room, not meeting anyone's eyes in the mirror, knowing he's projecting the image of "don't even fucking come ask me for anything," and that's just the way he likes it.

It's early when the bar starts to close up, at least by Buffalo time. John's thinking he's in a time warp when the bartender calls last call, because it can't be four o'clock already, so he looks up and sees it's only midnight and what the fuck is that shit? John waits until everyone leaves and asks the bartender if he can take the bottle to his room and the bartender smiles at him says, "want some company?" and John doesn't think anything of it when he says, "sure."

The bartender - who's name is Landon, which John finds extremely funny but refuses to explain why - takes the bottle from John's hand as soon as they enter the room and swigs right from the neck. He sighs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, setting the bottle on the dresser and pressing John against the wall. John is drunk and he's slightly confused, but then Landon puts his hand down the front of John's pants, and this part John knows really well, so he says, "no fucking kissing and if you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you myself," and Landon says, "deal," and slides down John's body.

He's not as good as Lance, and John's beginning to wonder if anyone is. Since Lance sucked him off, he hasn't been able to find someone to measure up, not Adrienne, not the parade of women and not Landon on his knees in front of John now. Landon's not bad, he's a bit too eager and John thinks that Landon is a bit more star struck than he let on, but his mouth feels good and when John looks down, the top of Landon's head kind of resembles Lance's, so he threads his fingers through Landon's hair and lets him suck his dick.

John comes with Lance's face in his head and when Landon stands up and smiles at John, John says, "thanks, that was great," and Landon ducks his head and smiles in return, his hand moving to his own dick and John groans, because Lance understood that it wasn't going both ways without John having to actually say it, but Landon doesn't seem to be getting the point, so now John has to be an asshole and that ups the chances of Landon telling everyone that John Rzeznik likes to get his dick sucked by guys.

"So, uh…" Landon starts and John leans back against the wall, stumbling slightly. Landon reaches out, "Woah, hey, are you okay?" and John almost smiles because the kid took the bait, hook, line and sinker and all John has to do is pretend he can't hold a half a bottle of Jack in his system.

John slumps against the wall, his eyes half shut and he sort of slides down it and Landon's there, picking him off the floor and helping him to the bed. John falls onto the bed and Landon stands there awkwardly. John reaches for him - at least pretend he had planned on doing this, right? - but Landon shakes his head and smiles faintly, "no, man, you need to sleep."

"Mm, sorry," John mumbles and Landon shrugs, "no big deal. See ya around," he says and lets himself out.

John waits five minutes before getting up and turning on his shower. He takes a hot shower then turns the water cold at the end, drying off and grabbing the bottle of whiskey Landon left behind before falling back into bed, naked. His phone is on the nightstand next to the bed and he picks it up and dials it, holding it to his ear.

It rings four times and John hangs up. He redials and waits. It rings another four times and he repeats the process. This time, it only rings twice.

"What?" Lance's voice is tired, laced with sleep, heavy with a southern accent and John looks at the clock.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" John asks.

"Fuck," Lance says and John smiles, "who is this?"

"It's John."

"John who? And why are you calling me at one in the fucking morning?"

"John Rzeznik, you dick," John says to him. "Didn't you look at your display?"

"No, I didn't look at the fucking display," Lance tells him and his voice isn't as sleepy as before. Although, his accent is still pronounced, which John is finding to be really fucking hot. "I was asleep until you called me and woke me up!"

"It's early," John informs him. "Why aren't you out partying? You're young, I know you like to party."

"Because it's a fucking Monday night!" Lance practically yells at him. "Some of us have to work in the morning, John. And why the fuck are you calling me? You haven't called me in… ever!"

"Some guy just sucked my dick," he tells Lance. Lance is very oddly quiet. John thinks that maybe he shouldn't have told Lance this, but he did and now it's out there and now John has to fix it, so he says, "He wasn't as good as you, though," and Lance laughs, and it sounds really fucking bitter, then he says, "Goodbye, John," and hangs up the phone.

*****

John tours for what seems like the rest of his life, but is really only a few months. He sleeps with a few more women, but no one holds his interest, and by the end of the tour, he's happy just going back to his room, smoking some cigarettes, maybe doing a line of coke and going to sleep. He picked up one more guy somewhere in the middle of the country, and pulled the same stunt he did with Landon, except this time, he didn't call Lance when he was alone.

John thinks about calling Lance, then wonders what he would even say if he did. John can't figure out what's going on in his head half the time, and he can't figure it out any of the time when it comes to Lance. He likes the kid, he knows that, the kid has a good fucking mouth, but it's not like he wants to date him. Hell, John doesn't even want to kiss him.

But he kind of wants to jerk him off. He wants to see what Lance looks like naked, and he wants to see how those eyes get when he's turned on. John wants Lance to look at him through half-lidded eyes, wants to see Lance smile at him when John makes him come. He wants to know if Lance's voice gets even lower when he's turned on, what kind of sounds this kid with the incredible mouth makes. He even kind of wants to suck Lance's dick. He's curious now, he wants to know what it tastes like, why Lance likes doing it so much.

So it's a challenge, John thinks to himself. It's a challenge, not to conquer Lance, not to make Lance want him, but it's a challenge to himself. To prove that he can do anything, he can be good at sex with women, and you know what, he can be good at sex with men. It's about proving something to himself, his manhood is at stake. Or something like that, John really has no fucking idea what's going on in his head.

*****

John's in LA for a while before he has to head to Vegas for New Years Eve. He's bored one night, tired of wrapping presents and putting them in boxes to mail to people, so he decides to call Lance.

"So is this going to be a once every six months thing?" Lance says in lieu of hello.

"Why don't you come over?" John asks him.

"What?"

"Come over. I'm bored."

"So you want me to suck your dick?" Lance says. "Also, I don't know where you live, and another thing, you don't even know if I'm in LA."

"No," John tells him, "I don't want you to suck my dick."

"You don't," Lance says flatly.

"No. I mean, if you wanted to, you are more than welcome to, but that's not why I was calling. Like I said, I was bored." He looks at the pile of presents he just wrapped. "Do you know how to wrap presents?"

"Um, yeah," Lance says, and he kind of sounds like this conversation is going in too many random directions for him.

"Then come over and help me," John says, tells Lance his address and doesn't wait for a goodbye before hanging up the phone.

The thing about what John just did, though, is that he didn't wait to see if Lance was going to come over. For all John knows, Lance is at home, back with his family to celebrate the holidays. It's a week before Christmas, it's not outside the realm of possibility that Lance would be in Mississippi. So now John has to wait. It's only three in the afternoon, John has all fucking day to wait and see if Lance is going to show up. He has way too much time to think about what it means if he does, what John wants it to mean.

John doesn't want it to mean anything. He likes Lance, he really does. Beyond the whole being amazing at getting John off part, John thinks the kid is smart. He thinks he's funny, and he loves arguing with him, he misses the verbal spatting. Funny how that annoyed him with Adrienne, but with Lance, John likes it. Lance keeps John on his toes, he never knows what Lance is going to say or do, and John likes that. So he doesn't want this to mean anything beyond them hanging out. And Lance possibly wrapping his Christmas presents for him.

John paces a lot. He remembers he didn't get anything out for dinner, so he goes into the kitchen and makes sure he has stuff for pasta. He drinks a beer. Then has another. And he looks at the clock so often, he's afraid it's broken when it doesn't move at all, then he realizes he just looked at it a minute ago.

At a little after six, the doorbell rings and John trips over himself to go answer it. He's embarrassed to feel a fluttering in his stomach, the same thing that used to happen to him when it was new and fun and exciting with Adrienne.

Lance is standing on his porch with his hands in his pockets and John opens the door and grins and Lance smiles at him, says, "I didn't bring wine, was I supposed to bring wine?" and John laughs, shaking his head and stepping back to allow Lance to enter the house.

Lance looks around, not obviously, but not subtly, either and John leads him through the house, gives him the two minute tour and they end up in the kitchen, where the water for the pasta has started to boil. John attends to the food and Lance doesn't even offer to help, which would normally piss John off, but then he remembers the contents of Lance's fridge and is glad Lance didn't offer. Lance leans against the edge of the countertop and watches John, his arms loosely crossed over his chest.

They don't really talk about anything important, mostly mindless talk about the food and what kind of wine they should have with dinner, "beer," says Lance, and okay, if John was gay, he might have fallen a bit in love with Lance for that, and then they transition to tour and Lance being on a break and John remembers something he saw on the news.

"Hey, you were going to space," he says.

Lance shrugs, and says, "yeah, but the funding fell through," and John can tell he doesn't really want to talk about it, so he nods, says something generic about it and changes the subject. He sees Lance's shoulders slump in relief and John smiles, because for once he wasn't an asshole when it came to Lance. Maybe he can read Lance better than he thought.

John sets the pasta on the table, gets them a couple beers and Lance sits across from him. John twirls his pasta against a spoon and is pleased to see Lance doesn't cut his pasta. There's a long silence as they start eating and when John feels like it's turning uncomfortable, he says, "So, hey, I rented Pretty Woman."

Lance looks up in surprise. "You did? Why?"

John grins, "If I was going to be insulted, I wanted to know the meaning behind it."

Lance turns a nice shade of red and mumbles, "It wasn't an insult, it's just… weird." He looks back down at his plate, "So is that why?"

John knows what Lance is talking about, but he doesn't want to answer, he doesn't want to have to lie to Lance, when Lance has done nothing to deserve it. Maybe he is an asshole after all. Big fucking deal, he didn't make Lance talk about space, he's going to sit here and he's going to lie to his face, and that's a lot worse.

But he can't tell Lance the reasons. He can't tell Lance that he doesn't want to be gay and kissing Lance would mean he's gay. That sounds stupid even in John's head, he knows how it'll sound if he says it out loud. And he'd be insulting Lance. Lance, who is clearly okay with being gay. Of course he would be insulted if John basically told him that he doesn't want to be gay. Lance would think John meant there's something wrong with it, which isn't what John means at all. It's just… not for him.

"Yeah," John finally says. "Sort of."

Lance tilts his head, "Sort of?"

John nods, not looking at Lance. "Kissing is intimate. I mean, I guess that sounds fucking stupid, since I'm not a hooker, it's not different for me like it was for her, but yeah, it's intimate."

"So me sucking your dick, that's not intimate?"

John looks up and sees the smile on Lance's face and says, "Yeah, for you. Not for me. I mean, if I sucked your dick," Lance turns a nice shade of red at that comment and John files that in his mind for later, "that would be intimate, too, but kissing is different. It's sharing breath, it's…" John trails off, trying to find words, he needs the perfect words to make this lie believable. "I only kiss if I'm in love." Woah. What? Where did that come from? Jesus.

Lance raises his eyebrows, "What?"

"I mean," John says, pushing back his plate, "I obviously have kissed women I haven't been in love with, but… and come on, you know how it is… being on the road, I've been with a lot of women, and I don't kiss them all. Kissing is special to me now. I don't kiss anyone anymore unless I'm in love."

"Oh," Lance says, sitting back in his chair. John watches him, tries to read the look on Lance's face, but can't. He has no idea what Lance is thinking. Lance looks at him, "But you do other things? Besides kissing?"

John laughs, "Of course. Hey, I need to get laid sometime!"

Lance grins and picks up his beer, finishing it. "Yeah, I guess you do." He stand up, "Come on, I saw a pile of presents in your living room that were horribly wrapped."

John leaves the dishes on the table and follows Lance into his living room. Lance tells him to grab a few more beers, so he does, setting them on the coffee table that he was using as his workspace. Lance raises his eyebrows at the presents, says, "Wow, how about we just open them all and start again?" and rips the paper off one present, which now John sees didn't even cover the whole box.

John sits back and drinks his beer, and let's Lance do his work.

*****

That's the first time John hangs out with Lance and nothing happens between them. It's weird for John, he spends the whole night trying to read Lance, trying to figure out if Lance is throwing him subtle signals or not. In the end, John decides that if Lance wanted something, Lance would just take it.

Lance doesn't throw himself at John, but he does wrap all John's presents, so all John has to do the next day is put them in a few boxes and ship them East. He's not able to drive this year, he's flying so he can spend more time with his family before he has to head to Vegas for New Years Eve, so he can't take the gifts with him. He carefully labels all the boxes with Fran's address and runs to the post office before heading to Rob's house to pretend to do some work.

He leaves for Buffalo a couple days later and doesn't talk to Lance at all. He tries not to think of Lance, but he can't get him out of his head. He's a great guy, John realizes. And even though they only hung out once, Lance acts completely normal around him. John sometimes hates having famous friends because if they're not quite as famous as John, they tend to latch onto him and hope he'll get them somewhere, and if they're more famous than John, they tend to look down at him for not living the lifestyle they're used to.

But Lance isn't like that. Lance is about a billion times more famous than John will ever be - than John would ever want to be, even - but Lance doesn't talk to John like John's beneath him. When John says he hates eating out because he can make the same thing at home cheaper, Lance doesn't look at him like he has a third head for not wanting to spend his money, he just laughs and says, "I have no choice, since if I had to live on what I could make, I'd be eating burnt microwave popcorn every night." He likes that Lance liked his pasta, that Lance made fun of him for how he wrapped his presents, that Lance finished wrapping them and still hung around afterwards, drinking John's beer with his feet in John's lap.

Huh. Now that John thinks about it, that could have been a subtle signal.

He really, really likes Lance. He could end up being a good friend, John thinks. They come from two completely different worlds, and even though Lance respects that John doesn't want to spend his money on frivolous things, he can't fathom why John wouldn't spend it on things like tee shirts that aren't Hanes. John can't explain to Lance that it's how he was brought up, because Lance doesn't get it, the last part of his life, the most formative years, Lance has spent having lots and lots of money. But it's okay that they disagree on it. Because John doesn't hesitate to call Lance on his shit, and Lance has proven time and again that he won't hesitate to call John on his shit, and really, when everything boils down, that's what's important to John.

*****

John gets to Buffalo and after three days is cursing the fact that he didn't drive. He wishes he had an excuse to leave, to get away from these crazy bitches and get on the open road and drive away. He loves his sisters, but they drive him fucking insane, and the holidays are worse, because they're all talking over each other and they're all shouting and he want to just scream at them all to please, just shut the fuck up, so he heads outside of Gladys's house and lights a cigarette.

He can still hear them, even with the door shut behind him and he shakes his head a little, laughing. Crazy, every single one of them.

John takes a drag of his cigarette and pulls out his phone, dialing Lance's number. He realizes that he always calls Lance, Lance never has picked up the phone to call John, and that kind of pisses him off a little bit. Why the fuck is he making all the effort here?

When Lance answers his phone, his accent more pronounced after being home for a few days, John doesn't even say hello, he says, "Why the fuck don't you ever call me?"

Lance pauses, then laughs softly, then says, "Merry Christmas to you, too, John."

"Yeah, yeah, merry Christmas," John says and inhales again. "So? Why don't you call me?"

"I just don't," Lance tells him. "You don't want me calling, it's better this way."

John wrinkles his forehead and exhales the smoke from his lungs. "Why? What the fuck does that mean?"

Lance sighs and says, "Forget it, John. Hey, how's the family? Did they ask you if you took gift wrapping classes this year?"

John laughs and leans against the porch railing. "Hey, fuck off." He smiles when Lance laughs again and he kicks at some snow on the porch. "Actually, they're convinced I got it done at the mall."

"Good," Lance says. "You shouldn't take any credit for it." John's about to reply when Lance keeps talking, so John shuts his mouth, because he's really enjoying Lance's accent, and how his speech has gotten just a little bit slower, the drawl a little bit longer. "So hey, is there snow there?"

"Yep," John says, his eyes on the backyard. "We got dumped on last night and it's actually starting to snow now."

"Oh man," Lance says, his voice wistful. "I wish I were there."

John nods, "Yeah, I wish you were, too," and Lance says, "what?" very, very softly and John winces and closes his eyes, because that did not need to come out of his mouth. "I mean…" John hedges, "because it's nice and really fucking cold and it's not Christmas when there's not even a chance that you'd get snow."

"Right," Lance says softly, "of course." He tells John to hang on, and John can hear someone yelling to Lance, and then Lance's voice is curling around his ears again, "hey, I gotta go."

"Oh, yeah, of course," John says. "I just wanted to say hey and merry Christmas." He hesitates and he can hear Lance's breathing, and he says, "You want to come to Vegas on New Years? I'm doing a show."

"Yeah?" Lance asks and his voice is slightly hopeful. "You sure?"

John nods, "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll be getting in that morning, and I have a ton of stuff to do, but I'll put your name on the list and we'll hang out after the show."

"That be great," Lance says, and if John closes his eyes, he can see Lance's smile. John is sure to keep his eyes open.

"Okay, well, I'll see you then."

"Yeah, totally," Lance says. "Thanks. Bye, baby."

Lance hangs up the phone before John can reply, and John's left standing in the cold, Lance's endearment ringing in his ears. Slowly, he smiles.

*****

New Years comes and John's drunk. He wasn't planning on getting drunk since he's probably going to see Lance later, and from past experience, he knows he shouldn't be too drunk around Lance, since things tend to happen, but whatever, it's New Years. If he can't get drunk on New Years Eve, when can he?

So John is drunk and he has to a do a show, but he's pretty good at doing shows while not totally sober, so he goes out there and gives it his all, and the crowd fucking loves him. He kicks ass on that stage and the crowd is totally into it and he thinks that maybe they're all drunk, too, which is fucking excellent, because everyone should be drunk. He counts down to midnight and since he's blissfully single, he has to kiss Rob at midnight, which wouldn't be the first time he had to kiss Rob at midnight, and it probably won't be the last, although, John does wish his first kiss of the new year wasn't Rob. Although, at least it wasn't on the lips and with tongue, so John figures that his first real kiss can come later.

But not later that night, nope, not at all. Because he's not kissing Lance, no way, no how. He's thinking of touching Lance, he thinks that maybe he's drunk enough to give Lance a hand job, that he can do. But he's not going to kiss Lance, because he's totally not gay.

He doesn't have to think about any of that now, though. He can wonder what Lance's dick looks like later, he can wonder what it'll feel like, maybe what it'll taste like after the show. He can wonder if Lance will maybe call him baby again when he comes, because that might be fucking hot, but he can wonder all that shit later, right now he has to finish this fucking show.

They finish the show and it's so kickass, even John's happy with the performance. Rob already has an open bottle of whiskey in his hand and he gives it to John as John passes him. John takes a long swallow and hands it back to Rob. He has places to be, he can't be worried about drinking more. John grabs a towel and wipes off his face, wishing he could shower at the venue before heading back to his room, but that's not possible, so he wipes his face and arms and under his arms and hopes he doesn't stink too much because he'll be seeing Lance, and now John's kind of horny and he definitely wants Lance touching him.

The rep from the venue sticks her head in the dressing room, tells them that there are people waiting to see them, all of them were on the list, is it okay if they come in? John tosses the towel to the side and runs his fingers through his hair as Rob tells her to let them in. He picks up a bottle of water and takes a long drink, watching the people come into the room, waiting to see if Lance is one of them.

Of fucking course, Lance is the last one in and John practically has an anxiety attack wondering where the fuck he is. But then he's coming into the room and grinning at John and John can't help but grin back at this fucking kid who is slowly turning him into someone else.

Lance smiles at Rob and Mike, says hi to them as he heads to where John's standing and John feels Rob's eyes on him, so he makes a point of not looking at Rob or watching Lance as he crosses the room. He takes another drink of his water and lowers it just as Lance is standing in front of him.

"Hey," Lance says. "Great show." He tilts his head. "Just how drunk are you?"

John scowls at him and Lance laughs. "Drunk enough," John tells him. "You should be drunk."

Lance shrugs, "I got in late, I didn't want to drink and miss the show."

John nods towards the door. "I'm done here, you wanna get out of here?"

Lance slowly smiles, "Yeah, I'd like that." He waits for John to get his shit together and follows John out of the room.

John leads him outside where there's a car waiting for him. The driver opens the door and Lance smoothly gets in, sliding against the far door, and John follows. John's backpack and the bag Lance was carrying are between them, but John's acutely aware of Lance next to him. Lance smells really good.

They don't talk much on the way to the hotel, John asks about Lance's flight, Lance says it was good, mentions the hotel he's staying at, John says, "You can stay with me tonight," and both he and Lance are surprised that he mentioned that, but Lance recovers first and instead of making a big deal out of what John just said, he says, "We'll see, thanks," and John's amazed again at what a nice guy Lance is.

John's room is nothing special, it's just a room, but at least this time it's not a suite that he has to share with Rob and Mike. It has everything John needs, a bed, a bathroom, a TV and a mini-bar, so John doesn't complain that it's not a huge suite. John tosses his backpack on the floor and tells Lance to sit down, he's just going to shower, and Lance looks up at him, says, "Can I come, too?" and John is drunker than he thought, because he says, "Yeah, sure."

Lance follows him to the bathroom and John leans over to turn on the water, and when he turns back around, Lance is watching him. "What?" John asks.

"You sure about this?" Lance asks him. "I was… I was mostly just kidding."

John shrugs, reaches for the hem of his shirt, "No, it's cool. Could be fun. Just no-"

"Kissing," Lance interrupts. He sighs, "yeah, I know."

"Okay," John says and starts to pull his shirt over his head. He gets it tangled in his arms above his head when he feels Lance's lips on his torso. He stills for a second, arms over his head, breath held as Lance's tongue slides along his lowest rib. John snaps out of it long enough to throw his shirt on the floor and his hands come down, one in Lance's hair, the other resting on Lance's shoulder.

Lance's hands are gripping John's hips, holding him in place, and his mouth slides along John's side and up to his nipple, his tongue coming out and swirling around the bud before his teeth capture it and tug gently. John moans softy, his eyes falling shut. Lance's teeth let go and his mouth covers John's nipple and he sucks gently. John's fingers tighten in Lance's hair and he gasps as Lance's hand skates along his stomach and just below the waistband of his jeans.

Lance is a fucking master, John's decided. John doesn't even feel Lance opening his jeans, he just feels Lance sliding them down his hips and over his legs. Lance's mouth doesn't move from John's skin, his tongue is licking and tasting every inch of exposed skin, and all John can do is stand there and take it.

The steam from the shower is filling the room when Lance stands up, sliding his hands along John's naked thighs, cupping his dick briefly, tugging it slightly, before moving up his body to cup John's face. John looks down at Lance, sees Lance's eyes are dark, his lips are parted, his breath shallow. John licks his lips, groans softly, because he really doesn't want to kiss this fucking kid, but yeah, when Lance is looking at him like that, when he can see in Lance's eyes that the kid really does care about him, he almost wants to move his head forward and press his lips to Lance's. Lance smiles faintly, as if he can read John's mind and leans forward, his hands tilting John's face up, his tongue coming out to lick the underside of John's jaw, back to his ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth.

"Get in the shower, baby," Lance says and John moans.

"You're not undressed," John tells him and Lance pulls back to look at him.

"You really want me to be?" Lance asks him seriously.

John hesitates only briefly before reaching out and touching Lance's jaw. His hand slides down Lance's neck and over his shoulder, trailing down Lance's arm and hand, landing on his waist. John nods, tugging on the hem of Lance's shirt and pulling it up and over Lance's head.

John is pretty sure that Lance knows he's never done anything like this before, but John feels the need to tell Lance anyway, like he wants to disclaim that if he sucks, it's because its his first time.

Lance puts his hand over John's lips, "I know," he says, smiling crookedly. "It's okay, just… do whatever you want."

John purses his lips and kisses Lance's fingertips. He nods and leans forward, pressing his mouth against Lance's shoulder, right at the point where his shoulder meets his neck. Lance sighs softly and tilts his head to the side. John takes his cue and runs his mouth up the side of Lance's neck, his tongue coming out briefly behind Lance's ear.

Lance moans softly and John moves his hands from Lance's hips up his sides. He doesn't really know what he's doing, but he knows what he likes, and he figures that except for the parts, it can't be so different than being with a girl. He knows that he can be rougher, but he knows that his nipples are sensitive, too, so he brushes his thumbs over Lance's nipples as he bites down on the lobe of Lance's ear.

"John," Lance breathes so softly, John doesn't know if he actually said it or if John was just hearing things. Lance's hands are on John's back, his fingertips trailing over skin. John kisses over to Lance's other nipple, copying Lance's motions, taking Lance's nipple between his teeth and tugging on it.

Lance tastes salty, John thinks. His skin has a sheen of sweat on it, and John thinks that it should be sort of gross, but it's not, it's sexy. It's sexy the way Lance catches his breath when John does something he likes. He likes how responsive Lance is to his touches, Lance is moaning or sighing, or his hands are tightening on John's skin every time John does something new.

John stands up and smiles at Lance, who's now looking at him through heavy lidded eyes. "Please, John," Lance whispers. "I want you to touch me."

John's heart skips a beat and he feels like there's something right under the surface of what Lance is saying, he feels like there's something he's missing, but this isn't the time to be thinking of that, John decides. Right now is the time to open Lance's pants and take him in his hand.

John's nervous. He wishes he drank more earlier, because this is all unchartered territory for him and so many things could go wrong right now. He knows that much, anyway. He knows that Lance is looking at him with something in his eyes that John can't read, and he knows that he can walk away now, but if he does, he'll never see Lance again, not even just to talk to him, and he can't let that happen. He knows that this is crossing a line, it's not kissing, but dammit, it's close and John thought he was trying to prove something to himself, but now that it's actually happening, this is going way beyond proving something to himself.

Lance sees his hesitation and he nods slightly, forces a smile and takes a step back from John. "It's cool. You shower, I'll wait in the other room."

"No," John says, pulling Lance back to him by the waist of his pants. "No, I don't want you to." He presses his lips to the hollow of Lance's throat, he can feel Lance's heartbeat under his lips. "I just have to go slow," John says.

Lance sighs, "Okay. Just not too slow, okay? You're killing me here."

John laughs softly against Lance's throat and steps back, dropping his eyes to Lance's waist and opening his jeans. He takes a deep breath, pushes away his thoughts and then slides Lance's pants over his hips.

Lance is hard. God, Lance is hard and his dick pops out of his pants as John pushes them to the floor, and John can't help but stare at it. He would never call it beautiful, because let's face it, he thinks, cocks are just not beautiful, there's nothing beautiful about it. But it is impressive, John thinks. Lance is big. John almost wants to touch it because he doesn't believe that Lance could have hidden this in a pair of jeans. And John knows that he's exaggerating all this in his head, he's sure Lance isn't that big, but damn, he's bigger than John, and John never felt that he was inadequate.

John reaches down, slowly touching Lance, dragging his fingers slowly along Lance's length. Lance hisses and John looks up at his face to see Lance watching him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. John looks back down and wraps his fingers around Lance, feels him in his hand, feels his heat for a minute before starting to move his wrist.

Lance groans, says something that almost sounds like, "finally," and leans against the sink. John still can't look away from Lance's dick. He's fascinated by it, the way it twitches when he moves his thumb over the head, the way it almost feels like it's getting harder with every stroke.

John suddenly has the urge to taste it. He wants Lance's dick in his mouth, he wants to run his tongue down Lance's cock and under his balls, he wants to give Lance what Lance gave him. He wants to show Lance that he can do this, that Lance can count on him to not just want Lance for a blow job, that he can give it to Lance, too, he's not a selfish asshole like Lance thinks he is.

"Come on," John says, "let's get in the shower."

Lance blinks slowly and looks at John with wide eyes. He nods, standing up and following John to the shower. The water is hot, steam is still rising from it, and John adjusts the water as he stands under it. He can feel Lance behind him and he closes his eyes when Lance's arms wrap around his waist and he presses a kiss to the center of John's back. John can feel his lips moving against his skin, he says, "What did you say?" and he can feel Lance shake his head and say, "nothing."

Lance picks up the soap and washes John. John stands there under the spray and lets Lance do whatever he wants. Lance runs his soapy hands over John's skin, rubbing tired muscles, relaxing him at the same time he cleans him. He saves John's dick for last and John leans against the wall of the tub and reaches for the showerhead to hang onto while Lance jerks him off. The soap makes Lance's hand slick and John's close to coming after two minutes, and he knows that he won't last that long. He moans Lance's name and Lance is suddenly pressed against him, his thighs nudging John's legs apart, and John opens them, yes, Lance can have anything he wants right now, as long as he keeps doing that corkscrew thing with his hand. Lance's slick fingers are moving under him and John moans, knowing what Lance is going to do, actually wanting it, and when Lance slips his finger inside John, John presses down against it involuntarily.

Lance is still jerking him off, his arm moving faster, his wrist twisting with every thrust and John vaguely wonders how Lance's arm isn't tired and ready to fall off, but then Lance adds a second finger and John's not thinking anymore. He's boneless, focused on standing and not falling and Lance scissors his fingers, slides his thumb across the head of John's dick, then squeezes his fingers tighter as he moves his hand down John's dick and John cries out, coming suddenly. Lance doesn't stop moving his hand as he drops to his knees and fits his mouth over the top of John's dick, sucking on it gently. John's hips are jerking, he's way too sensitive for this right now, but he can't seem to find the words for Lance to stop, he's not sure he wants him to stop.

Finally, Lance pulls back, slips his fingers out of John's ass and pushes his hips against the wall. Lance sucks on the bone of John's hip and John whimpers. His fingers slide into Lance's hair, holding his head as Lance laps at John's stomach, cleaning him up, even though they're in the shower and that's what the water is for.

John looks down at Lance, says, "Jesus Christ, you're good at that," and Lance grins. He stands up, giving John a moment to relax, and tilts his face to the water. He opens his mouth, letting water run into it and he runs his hands over his face. John watches him openly. He wonders what this kid sees in him. But then Lance turns his head to him and grins again, and John figures it's best not to question it.

John reaches out and trails one finger down the center of Lance's chest and down his dick. Lance closes his eyes and shudders and John says, "I don't know what to do."

Lance opens his eyes and smiles faintly. "Just do what you like. It's not like anything could be bad, you know?" John laughs, cause yeah, he does know. Sometimes it's better than others, but it's never really bad.

John nods and pushes Lance against the wall. "If I suck, I'm sorry." He kisses Lance's chest and slides his mouth lower, dipping his tongue into Lance's bellybutton.

Lance's breath hitches, "I'm sure you'll be fine. Just. No teeth," he tells him and John nods, because even he knew that much.

John takes Lance in his hand again and since his palm is on Lance's stomach, he can feel Lance's muscles contract in anticipation. Lance drops his hand onto John's head and John feels Lance's fingers tangle in his hair. John hopes Lance doesn't push him or make him go too fast, John's a rookie here, he hopes Lance remembers that.

John takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, moving his mouth towards Lance's dick. He tentatively sticks out his tongue, lapping at the tip of Lance's cock. Lance whimpers softly, so John thinks that he's doing something good, so he does it again, his tongue tasting the head of Lance's dick like it's an ice cream cone. John likes the sounds Lance is making, and he does it again, hoping to get those same sounds from Lance again. But he doesn't. The sounds he gets the third time is a low moan, almost a growl, and that's even better than before, John thinks, he likes the desperate sounds.

Lance tugs gently on his hair, says, "Jesus fucking Christ, you're such a tease," and John realizes that wow, he's been doing this for a couple minutes, and if he were Lance, he'd be ready to kill the person teasing him like this, so he opens his mouth and let's Lance's dick slide between his lips.

John's not sure how he feels about this. He knows that he likes the sounds Lance is making, and he knows he likes the way Lance's fingers tightened in his hair, and he knows he likes how Lance is saying his name, but he's not sure he's sold on the feeling of a dick in his mouth. It's not something that he'd ever thought he'd do, and he doesn't know if it's just his mind resisting it or if he just doesn't like it. But he closes his mouth and sucks gently as he slides his head back, and he experimentally runs his tongue along the underside of Lance's dick, and is pleased when Lance's knees give out slightly and he has to grip John's shoulder for support and stability.

John closes his eyes and doesn't think about what he's doing. It's almost like instinct now, he thinks. He knows what he likes in a blowjob, so he just does those things to Lance. He uses his tongue, he uses his hand, he makes sure his fingers are tight around Lance's dick. His mouth moves up as his hand moves down, two different directions in a move that he knows always fucks with his mind in the best way possible.

Lance is keening above him. John's surprised to hear the sounds Lance is making, for some reason, he pictured this kid to be quiet, but Lance isn't like that at all. He's vocal, he lets John know exactly what he likes and when John hears Lance gasp and feels Lance's fingers tighten in his hair, he knows that he's doing something right and that Lance isn't far from coming. That makes John panic slightly, because what is he supposed to do then? Everyone he's ever been with has swallowed, but John doesn't know if he can do that, hell, he has no idea what that shit'll taste like and it would be really rude to swallow and then to gag or something.

But Lance makes the decision for him. He tugs on his hair, says, "up, move, get up," and John does, but keeps his hand on Lance. Not five seconds after John moved his mouth from Lance's dick, Lance's hips jerk and he's coming, and John's once again fascinated by it. He strokes Lance, jerks him off and watches the come shoot from Lance's cock and hit his stomach, the floor of the tub and John's hand. He looks up at Lance, who has his head tilted back against the wall of the tub. His chest is heaving and he seems to be having trouble catching his breath, and John knows exactly how that feels. He looks down at his hand and takes it from Lance's dick, slowly bringing his fingers to his lips. His tongue snakes out and tastes Lance's come and John can't say that he loves it, but it's not bad at all, and maybe next time - if there is a next time - John can attempt to swallow.

Lance sighs and John looks back up at him and Lance smiles. "You sure that was your first time?" he asks, his voice still somewhat shaky.

John nods and stands up, "yeah. Positive."

Lance laughs softly, "Jesus, John, you're a natural."

John blushes faintly and smiles. He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. "I guess."

Lance smiles in return and pushes himself off the wall. He presses his lips to John's cheek, says, "God, I want to kiss you so fucking bad," and doesn't wait for a reply as he steps around John and out of the tub.

John hears Lance moving around the bathroom and he quickly finishes his shower, washing his hair and turning off the water before pushing back the curtain. Lance is sitting on the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist and he tosses another towel to John. John catches it, says, "thanks," and dries himself off before stepping out of the tub.

Lance jumps off the sink and goes into the other room. "Hey, you have something I could put on?" he calls to John, and John goes into the bedroom and motions to his suitcase.

"Help yourself," John tells him.

Lance holds up a package of unopened underwear and grins. "Can't just do laundry?"

John rolls his eyes, "Christmas present."

Lance nods, "uh huh, sure," and opens the package, taking out a pair of boxers and slipping them on. John takes out a pair and watches Lance root through his clothes.

"Um, it's all tee shirts," he says, "I mean, if you're looking for something preppy you're not going to find it."

Lance looks up at him, "You calling me preppy?"

John grins, "Well, if the button down shirt fits…"

Lance laughs and shakes his head. He picks out John's favorite blue tee shirt and slips it over his head. John really hopes Lance gives it back before he leaves. Lance lies back on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. "Hey, I got you something."

"Yeah?" John says, towel drying his hair. "For what?"

"Christmas," Lance tells him. "Duh."

"What is it?" John asks.

Lance sits up, "get me that bag," he tells John, and John picks up the bag that Lance was carrying and tosses it on the bed. Lance opens it and pulls out a box.

He hands it to John and John grins as he takes it. "Look how nice you wrapped it."

"Yeah, yeah," Lance says. "Fuck you," he says, but he's grinning, so John sits down on the bed.

"You didn't have to do this," John tells him, "I didn't get you anything."

"I didn't think you would," Lance says, and the way he says it is just matter of fact, and somehow he doesn't make John feel like an asshole for not thinking of him.

John looks down at the box and wonders what the hell Lance could have gotten him. It's not like they know each other that well, if John had to buy something for Lance, he wouldn't even know where to start.

He opens the paper and throws it on the floor. He glances up at Lance, who's smiling slightly and watching him. He takes the top off the box and looks inside. He reaches in and pulls out a few things wrapped in tissue paper.

"Making me work here?" John asks him, and Lance blushes slightly. John unwraps the first item and he raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. Lance, this is… where did you get this?" John's holding a post card that is clearly old, the edges are slightly worn and there's a faint yellow tint to them. On the front of the card is one of the streets in Buffalo, John recognizes it even without the caption underneath it. But it's not modern, it's a photo of when there were still cable cars running in the city.

"I was out with my mom, and I found this stuff," Lance says, and John picks up the next thing. Lance says, "It just make me think of you."

John opens the next present and unfolds a map of the city that's probably as old as the postcard. He carefully spreads it on the bed and glances at it. "This is my street," he says to Lance, "where I grew up." He looks up at Lance, and he's genuinely touched. "This is really great, Lance," he looks back down at the map, his eyes searching for familiar streets. "Really great," he says again.

"Well, like I said," Lance says, "they just made me think of you."

John's eyes are on the map, but he's not really looking at it. His mind is reeling. No one had ever gotten him something like this before. Usually when people buy him presents, they get him shit for his guitar or songwriting stuff, or clothes, they never seem to get him something that takes any bit of effort. Lance managed to do just that and he barely knows John at all.

John looks up at him, catches Lance staring. Lance holds his gaze, though, he doesn't look away. John reaches out and touches Lance's knee. "This is just. Lance, I don't know what to say."

"You like it?" Lance asks. "I mean, I know it's not something you can use, but I know that when I was on the road, I'd sometimes miss home, and I used to hang a picture of home on my bunk ceiling. It's not the same thing, but…" Lance's voice trails off and John can't even find words for what he's feeling.

"No, it's great," John says again. "No one's ever gotten me anything like this before. It's always frivolous shit."

"Yeah, well, maybe no one loves you like I do," Lance says and his eyes immediately get wide and his face gets red and John's so fucking grateful for those reactions, because he's not really sure he heard Lance right, but after that, he kind of is, and now that's just great, what's he supposed to say to that?

"Lance," John starts, but Lance waves his hand and gets off the bed.

"No, John, forget it," Lance says, going into the bathroom. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" He pulls on his jeans and curses when he drops a sock. John watches him, and for the first time since he's met Lance, Lance seems flustered and John's not really sure what he should do right now, if Lance wants him to say something - but what would he even say? - or if Lance wants him to just let it go, so John thinks that he should just let it go, because Lance is putting on his shoes, and that means Lance is leaving, so there's not much that he can say.

"Where are you going?" John asks him.

Lance stops and looks at him, then laughs somewhat bitterly. "I'm going. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he takes a deep breath and puts on his shoes. He runs his hands through his hair, putting his tee shirt and dirty boxers in the bag that had contained John's present. He looks at John, almost helplessly, says, "I'm sorry. Call me, if you want," then leans down, brushes his lips over John's so briefly John doesn't have time to react, and then Lance is gone.

part three