long fic: Prelude To A Kiss (Lance/John Rzeznik) 1/6
Prelude To A Kiss; part 1 of 6
Wango Tango, 2000
"I really love your song. 'Iris.' It's really great, and it sounded great."
"It sounded like shit. Just like everything else today. All of it. Shit."
Pause. "Oh." Longer pause. "Okay then. I was just trying to be nice."
John looks up and squints into the sun to see the kid talking to him. He feels like he should know him, he is in one of the most popular groups in the country right now. Also? He thinks he briefly met them before the show. Although, he was drunk, that could have been the other group. Larry. No. Landon. John tilts his head; this kid could be a Landon, that's a boyband name. "Thanks," he says, hesitating, the end of the sentence hanging in the air.
"Lance," the kid supplies, and yes, Lance! That's it. The kid smiles and John thinks he's too earnest for this business, he's not nearly jaded and cynical enough.
"Yeah, well, thanks," John says again, but his tone is rude, he can hear it, but fuck it, he doesn't much care at this point.
Lance's forehead wrinkles slightly and he takes a step back, "I was just trying to be nice."
"You already said that," John points out.
"Oh." Lance shrugs a bit then and turns, "Right. Okay, then. Bye."
John looks up from his guitar case and then feels a pang of guilt, because the kid really just wanted to talk to him, and when did he get to be such an asshole that he can't talk to someone who's a fan? "Hey," he says and Lance turns around. "Sorry, we just…" John waves his hand, "had a bad show. They didn't want us out there."
Lance tilts his head, takes off his sunglasses and smiles brilliantly at John. John takes a slight step backwards, because damn, this kid has some weird eyes. "I wanted you out there," he says, and John hesitates, because Lance's voice is changed, it's different. It's not so earnest anymore, it's more… John blinks, and his eyes widen slightly. This kid wants him. He wants him! And what the fuck is that about?
John recovers, laughs softly, says, "You're about the only one," and Lance isn't looking away from him, which is making John pretty fucking uncomfortable, so he says, "I gotta go," when he really doesn't, but yeah, he really does, because Lance won't stop staring.
Lance nods, "Okay. Well." He steps forward and John steps back because Lance is coming towards him, his hand reaching for John, and John's petrified this kid is going to push him against the bus and kiss him, and then what the fuck will he do?
But Lance doesn't do any of that. He takes John's phone from his belt and opens it up, punching in a few numbers. Lance's phone rings and he hangs John's up. "There. Last called. That's my number." He smiles slowly, "I have yours now, too, but I'm going to wait for you to call me." He closes the phone, stepping closer and John's back is pressed against the bus, so he can't go anywhere, and now he can't look away from this kid's eyes, and yeah, they're still weird, but when John can see them up close, they're kind of a cool weird. He sees the corners of Lance's eyes crinkle up and he looks away to Lance's mouth, and sees a smile, sees Lance say, "Call me," then watches Lance back away from him, taking four steps backwards before smirking at John and putting on his sunglasses, turning and jogging to his own bus.
John wets his lips with his tongue, doesn't move as Lance boards his bus and the bus pulls away. He reaches for his phone, flipping it open. He scrolls through to his last called numbers and his finger hovers over the button to delete the number. He hesitates, looks back up at the bus turning out of the parking lot, then punches in "Lance" and hits save. Hey, you never know.
*****
John considers calling the kid, he takes out his phone on more than one occasion, but never goes through with it. He's never sure why; he's almost positive it's because he's not gay, and he's pretty sure that Lance is. And he certainly doesn't want to be gay, so calling the kid would be a waste of time for both of them, it would only end badly when John eventually tells him hey, thanks, but no thanks.
John has dreams. Dreams about weird green eyes and a deep voice that wakes him up in the morning. He has dreams about a boy with spiky blond hair and a pair of sunglasses that make him look sexy when really, he should look dorky. He wakes up hard, and as much as he tries to convince himself that it was Adrienne he was dreaming about, he knows differently when he jerks off and the flash of a smile he sees belongs to the kid with the weird eyes, and he comes harder than he ever has.
So maybe he isn't as straight as he thought. Maybe he should give this kid a call and see if he could get Lance to show him a thing or two, maybe he can act like he's done this before and at least get a free blowjob out of the deal. A blowjob's a blowjob, right? A mouth's a mouth, it doesn't matter who it belongs to.
And hell, John's not even sure that's what the kid meant when he said to call him. Maybe he wants to get to know John, maybe he wants to see how his mind works, why John's so fucked up that he can't write a happy song if a gun was pointed to his head. Maybe Lance wants to see if John can introduce him to Adrienne, because god, would the two of them be pretty together. Hell, maybe Lance just wants to see if John could score him some good pot, since John's pretty sure that even though Lance is a billion times more famous than he is, John still has the best connections when it comes to drugs.
So John doesn't call. He keeps Lance's number on his phone and when he gets a new phone, he carefully enters Lance's number again, not because he's going to call him, but because if Lance calls John, John wants to make sure he knows who's calling so he answers.
But John isn't going to call.
*****
Hard Rock Café, 2002
John's drunk. He's drunk and he's playing anyway, but he doesn't think anyone can tell. Because he's a professional, dammit, he can play while drunk, he can play while high, he can play while fucked up. But he's thinking that maybe he shouldn't play while drunk, because he feels jumpy. He feels like someone is staring at him, which no fucking shit, of course someone is staring at him. Hundreds of people are staring at him; it's a fucking concert.
But it feels different. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up, it's like someone is staring and not looking away. And that's just fucked up because there's two other guys in his band, and the fucking touring musicians, whoever the hell is staring at him needs to stop immediately because John's about two seconds away from fucking up the lyrics, and while it wouldn't be the first time he did that, he'd rather not do it now and let whoever it is staring at him think it's because of them.
He manages to get through the song and picks up his beer - not that he needs it - and takes a long swallow, finishing it. He gets a different guitar and strums it a few times, trying to be all suave and look through the hair over his face at the crowd, scanning the faces, trying to figure out who the fuck is staring.
He can't figure it out, so he says fuck it and starts to play the next song. The hair on his neck is still standing up, but he pushes the feeling out of his mind and just plays. He closes his eyes and sings and when he opens them, the lights are on the crowd and they're singing along with him and thank fucking god, because he looks at the bar and he sees Lance, and the words go right out of his head.
John hasn't seen him for a couple years, not beyond pictures anyway, because Lance is still really fucking famous and his picture is everywhere, but John's sure that it's Lance. Lance is on a barstool, one foot on the bottom rung and one on the floor. His elbows are on the bar, he's leaning back, his tee shirt pulled across his chest. There's a glass dangling from the fingers of one hand and Lance is watching John like he wants to fuck him. When John looks up and meets Lance's eyes, Lance starts to smile slowly, but John doesn't see the end result, because the lights are back on the band, and John's momentarily blinded from the sudden brightness, so he closes his eyes, listens to the crowd to find his place, and starts to sing again.
John's eyes keep moving back to the bar, but he can't see Lance again. He's wondering if he imagined it. Maybe John was just too drunk, maybe he's seeing things. He's seeing Lance in his dreams once in a while, why the fuck wouldn't he imagine him in an actual place? He pushes the feeling out of his head and motions for another beer and when his guitar tech brings him the bottle with the next guitar change, John chugs half of it before looking back at the crowd and grinning.
After the show, John runs backstage and grabs a towel, running it over his face and arms. He has another beer in his hand already and he vaguely thinks he should stop drinking, but then someone comes to the door and John looks up, and this is definitely not a mirage or a figment of his imagination, Lance is definitely standing there staring at him and the hair on the back of John's neck is standing up again, so maybe it was Lance that made John jumpy on stage.
Rob notices Lance then and grins at him. Rob remembers him from Wango Tango. Rob remembers everyone he meets, it's a weird thing that John's noticed about Rob through the years, but man, it really comes in handy when John runs into someone he knows he should know, but really has no fucking idea who it is. But now Rob's talking to Lance, and that's good, because then maybe John won't have to talk to Lance, and that would be perfect, because John has no idea what he would even say to him, because John thinks that "hey, how about getting out of my fucking dreams you asshole" isn't really polite and also not something that Lance can help.
John sees the photographer and knows that he's going to have to talk to Lance, because the venue wants pictures, they want to brag about the people who come here to play and about the random people who just happen to be in the crowd. But when John stands up and moves to where Lance is standing, Lance smiles at him, and John thinks that Lance didn't "just happen" to be anywhere. John thinks that Lance knows exactly where he is and why he's there.
Lance puts his arm around John's waist for the picture and John forces a smile and doesn't think about the way Lance's hand rests on his lower back. John's own arm is behind Lance, but not touching him, John's brain hasn't quite caught up to what's going on here right now and he doesn't want to touch Lance inappropriately. The flash goes off and John steps away from Lance like he's been burned. Lance doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he keeps on smiling, and that makes John scowl. Because if he didn't notice, fuck him, he should have, and if he did notice, he shouldn't be smiling about the fact that John doesn't want to be touched. Lance should be pissed off. He should be angry.
Rob spots someone else that he knows and wanders off. Mike is doing what Mike always does, and that's spend more time talking to the touring musicians than his own band mates, so now Lance is turning to him and oh shit, what the hell is John supposed to do now?
John turns away. He turns away and goes back to the couch and sits down, picking up his beer and ignoring Lance and his heavy gaze. John wants to be left alone, but maybe someone should have told Lance that, because Lance is standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest and looking down at John.
"You didn't call," Lance says, and John says, "nope," and takes another swallow of his beer. Lance is undeterred, though, John knows that look. Adrienne gives him that look a lot when he's supposed to be doing something like saying "I love you, too," and he doesn't. She just stands there and stares at him, her gaze unwavering until he either relents and says it back or gets up and leaves. Maybe John should hook Lance and Adrienne up, they seem to have a lot in common. "Why didn't you call?" Lance asks him and John's not paying attention, so he misses the question.
"Huh?" John asks.
"Why didn't you call?" Lance repeats.
John scowls, "You had my number, phones work both ways." He tilts his beer to his lips again, looking away from Lance.
"I told you I wasn't going to call," Lance tells him, sitting down on the couch. John looks over and Lance is staring at his fingers. John follows Lance's gaze and they're nice fingers, long, the nails aren't chewed down, and when Lance turns his hand over to rub his palm, John notices they don't have calluses like John's own fingers, which are chewed up from years of playing the guitar. Lance has nice hands.
"You have nice hands," John says and then blinks, because what? Lance looks up at him and he's starting to smile again, and John knows that smile, he recognizes that smile from Wango Tango next to the bus, and John has a feeling he's screwed a little bit, because he's drunk and he's thinking about Lance's hands, and he's just a little bit horny because he hasn't been laid in a couple weeks, and Lance has a really nice smile, and really nice hands, and really nice eyes, even if they are a little weird, and John is pretty sure that if Lance wanted to put those hands on him, John would let him.
"Thanks," Lance says softly, ducking his head and blushing. He's quiet for a minute, then says, "Hey, where are y'all staying?" and John shrugs, and calls to Rob and Rob yells a name of a hotel back and Lance nods. "That's a nice place," he says and looks up at John, "you have your own room?" and John shakes his head, because what does Lance think they are, successful enough for that?
"No, we have a suite," John says. "All three of us."
"Come back to my place," Lance tells him.
"All of us?" John asks stupidly.
He's rewarded with a deep laugh and John feels the rumble right into the center of his chest. "No," Lance says. "Just you."
John wrinkles his forehead and stares at this kid. And he tries to process everything that's going on in his brain, because he thinks Lance just subtly propositioned him and he really, really wishes he weren't drunk, because this is kind of an important decision he has to make here.
John says, "You have a house in Orlando?" He's not stalling, not really.
"Yeah," Lance nods. "I live here part time. LA, too."
John shrugs and doesn't really have anything to say to that, so he's quiet. He can still feel Lance staring and he really wishes Lance would knock it off, but he can't really tell him that. Or, he could, but John's making an effort not be rude here.
"You gonna come or not?" Lance asks, and John mind flashes to Lance's mouth on his cock, John coming like it was the last time he ever would. He closes his eyes and says, "no," but what really comes out of his mouth is "yes," and Lance grins like he's lighting the world with his smile and stands up, waiting for John.
John came to the venue right from the hotel in a van with Mike and Rob. Lance came to the venue from his house in his 4Runner and when he unlocks it and John gets in, for a second, John thinks that it's actually his car. Except Lance keeps his cleaner. A lot cleaner.
They don't talk on the ride to Lance's house, which is perfectly okay with John, because he's silently freaking out. This is big. This is huge. He might let another guy touch his dick, when the only guy who's ever touched his dick was John himself. John looks at Lance's hands on the steering wheel, he sees how his fingers wrap around the wheel and he closes his eyes, picturing them wrapped around his dick. Lance does have nice hands, John thinks it might feel good, Lance would know how to touch him, Lance was a guy, he knew that it didn't always have to be nice and gentle, that sometimes a guy likes a little bit of pressure, too. He's tried to get Adrienne to realize that, but every time he put his hand over hers on his dick, she'd either protest that she knew what she was doing or she'd stop altogether and let him do the work. And what the hell fun was him doing all the work when she was right there?
John wonders if Lance will suck his dick. He wonders if he could ask him to do that. Because John has been staring at Lance's mouth for a couple minutes now, and he thinks that he could be into that. Lance has a nice mouth. It forms words very nicely and when he smiles, he has a lot of teeth, which is a stupid thing to think, but John's in a stupid place right now, so it's okay. But Lance smiles with his whole mouth, not a tiny little fake smile, but an earnest, larger than life smile, and he's smiled like that for John once already tonight, and John kind of liked it, so if sucking John's dick will get Lance to smile like that again for him, well, who is John to deny that?
They're at Lance's house before John is really finished thinking and he has a few moments of blind panic as he gets out of the truck and follows Lance to the house. Because what the hell is he doing? This is so not how the night was supposed to go, and John is drunk and that's never a good thing for when he goes home with people, because he's fucked a lot of people and doesn't remember their names the next morning, and with the way Lance is looking at him, John has a feeling he'll remember Lance's name and that is just not good. Not good at all.
"Come on in," Lance says and pushes open the door to his house and Jesus Christ is Lance's house fucking huge. John steps into the foyer and looks down the hallway and he thinks that his entire house could fit into the living room of Lance's place. He stands in the entranceway awkwardly and shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. He really wishes he had a beer and then remembers that he's supposed to stop drinking tonight and bites the inside of his cheek to will the craving to go away.
Lance tosses his keys on the table and starts to walk though the house, not looking back, assuming John is going to follow. So John follows Lance, surreptitiously looking in the doorways of the rooms of Lance's house. Lance flicks on lights and they're standing in a kitchen and John practically has a hard on just from this room. He walks in and moves around the island to the stove and turns to Lance, "This is your fucking kitchen?" He looks at the empty pizza box on the counter and opens the fridge with is empty except for a couple six packs of beer and some condiments. "Do you even cook?"
Lance shakes his head, "No. Mostly take out." He smiles faintly and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at John. "You cook?" John nods and helps himself to a beer. "You can cook breakfast then," Lance says, and John really wishes he didn't just take a sip of beer, because now he's choking on it and wow, how suave is he? Lance just smiles and takes the bottle of out of John's hand, drinking from it and turning away. "Grab yourself another one, we'll sit in the living room."
John passes on the beer and just follows Lance through the house. Lance turns on a lamp and the room brightens somewhat, but not enough for John not to think of mood lighting. Lance is totally trying to seduce him. John looks at Lance who is now sprawled out on the couch. It's totally working.
John sits next to him, but with space between them and Lance smiles that half smile of his and doesn't say anything. He swallows more of the beer and then leans forward and puts the bottle on the coffee table in front of him. He reaches out and puts his hand on John's thigh and John looks down at Lance's hand and clasps his own hands together so he doesn't touch Lance.
"You should relax," Lance tells him, his voice an octave deeper and how exactly is John supposed to relax when Lance's porn voice is washing over him and Lance's hand is on his thigh? Lance moves closer and his voice is at John's ear, low and breathy and goddamn if it's not making John hard. "I don't bite," Lance says, and nips at John's earlobe, "much."
John really doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. Is he supposed to kiss Lance? Because he really doesn't want to. He's mostly okay with Lance touching his dick, and he's kind of okay with Lance sucking his dick, but he's really not okay with actually kissing Lance. And yeah, that makes him an asshole, he supposes, but whatever, he's been an asshole his whole life, why should this be any different? But he has to make this decision, because Lance's hand is moving over his shirt and across his chest and his mouth is moving from John's ear down his neck and now over his jaw, and in a few seconds, Lance's mouth is going to be right next to John's, and John has to figure out if he wants to kiss him or not.
Lance shifts and his hand slides up John's chest to his neck, gently turning John's face towards his. John shakes his head and puts his hand on Lance's forearm, squeezing it slightly. "No," he mumbles and immediately Lance stops. Because Lance is not an asshole and if John says no, Lance is going to comply.
Lance blinks owlishly. "No?" He starts to sit back, "okay."
John shakes his head, "No. It's… just no kissing."
Lance's forehead wrinkles and he tilts his head and says, "What are you like Pretty Woman or something?" and John doesn't really get that reference, it must be one of those gay movies that he hasn't seen, so he says, "what?" and Lance shakes his head and says, "Nevermind, fine, no kissing."
John's not sure if Lance is disappointed with that or not, he can't tell from the tone of Lance's voice, he's sure if he knew Lance longer than an hour, he would be able to figure it out, but the truth is, he doesn't know Lance that long, he talked to him for a grand total of about fifteen minutes before Lance invited him here and put his mouth on John's neck, so John decides that he doesn't care if Lance is upset about the no kissing thing, because Lance will still get him off and that's all that's important.
John doesn't really have to do much work. Lance straddles his legs and kisses along John's skin and John mostly just has to tilt his head back and close his eyes and feel. And Lance does feel pretty fucking good, and he knows Lance can tell that John's enjoying himself, because Lance is moving his hips on John's dick, and even through his jeans, John can feel the pressure and wants more of it.
Lance slides down his body and pushes John's shirt up, covering one of John's nipples with his mouth and John hisses. His hands are clenched in fists at his sides, he can feel the nails digging into his palms. Lance takes his time, licking and biting and sucking and kissing John's torso and John bites his lip to keep from begging Lance to just touch him now, please. Lance knows, though, because Lance opens John's jeans and deftly slides his hands inside and John moans when Lance's perfect fucking fingers curl around his dick.
John must have lost track of some time after Lance touched him, because suddenly his jeans are around his ankles and he can feel Lance's breath on his cock, and he opens his eyes and looks down and Lance looks up at him with those big fucking weird eyes and smirks before his tongue comes out of his mouth and laps at the tip of John's dick. John groans and his hand unclenches and moves to Lance's hair and Lance pauses to push his head into John's hand before taking John completely in his mouth.
John moans and drops his head back on the couch again. Lance uses his tongue like its sole purpose is just to suck dicks and John wonders if he can introduce Lance to Adrienne because Lance sure could teach her a few things about giving head. Lance finds the perfect balance between sucking and stroking and the perfect mix of pressure and release and his mouth is the perfect temperature for this and he uses the perfect amount of saliva and all this is just completely stupid shit, but goddamn it makes for one incredible blowjob.
John's hand in Lance's hair is holding on tight. He's forcing Lance to go faster, tugging on Lance's hair, up, down, up, down and Lance doesn't resist, he just lets John do whatever the fuck he wants to do. Lance keeps up, he opens his mouth and his throat and John shoves his dick in Lance's mouth as far as it can go and when he hits the back of Lance's throat, he comes unexpectedly, his body spasming, and Lance gags just a little bit and John realizes that he never let go of Lance's hair, and he somehow manages to get his fingers to comply with that and Lance pulls back slightly, his mouth still on John's cock and he swallows everything John shoots, and then takes a few minutes to lick John clean while all the while John can only moan and let his hips jerk at every touch of Lance's tongue.
Lance sits back on his heels and brings a hand to his lips to wipe the corner of his mouth and John looks at him through half-lidded eyes. The kid really is beautiful, John thinks, and has a really great fucking mouth. Lance is sort of smiling at him, and John realizes that Lance wants him to repay the favor, but hell no, John isn't going to do that, he wouldn't even know how to do that, and this is why he never called the kid, because now he has to tell him no.
Lance doesn't make him say it, though, Lance must be more intuitive than John is and he can see it in John's eyes. Lance's face falls slightly and he says, "I need a beer, you want?" and John just nods and watches Lance go to the kitchen, before pulling up his pants and closing them.
Lance comes back into the room and hands John a beer. Lance's bottle is already half empty and John wonders how Lance doesn't just want to go and brush his teeth after all that, but he doesn't ask. There's just some things you don't bring up. Lance sits back down next to John, and John looks over at him to see him looking down at his beer, and Lance isn't exactly pouting, but it's close, so John sighs softly, tells himself to be less of an asshole and moves just a bit closer to Lance, their arms and thighs pressed against each other.
Lance looks up at him and smiles faintly and John smiles back and says, "Thanks," and then laughs softly, says, "thanks," again, "that was seriously the best blowjob of my life," and Lance laughs and ducks his head, and even John has to admit that when this kid blushes, there ain't no one prettier.
Lance leans his head against John's shoulder and yawns. He mumbles something about going to bed, and he gets up, pulling John to his feet and dragging him to the bedroom. Lance undresses and John just stands there awkwardly until Lance says, "look, we're just going to sleep, okay?" and John nods and undresses, sliding into the sheets next to Lance.
Lance curls up next to him, his head on John's chest and he falls asleep immediately. John absently strokes Lance's hair with his fingers, and stares at the ceiling. This was just so wrong of him, this was a huge mistake and he's an asshole.
He falls asleep and wakes up in the morning before Lance does. Lance is lying on his stomach, his face turned towards John's. His back is perfect and John reaches out and runs his fingers over Lance's spine lightly before getting out of bed and getting dressed. He looks back at Lance still sleeping and goes downstairs.
Through the hallway and into the kitchen. He pauses briefly, remembers Lance's smile as he told him he could cook breakfast. This is his chance to redeem himself. He could cook breakfast for the kid and maybe walk out of here with his head held high.
John passes through the kitchen and lets himself out the front door.
*****
Super Bowl 2003 (Tampa Bay vs. Oakland)
John can't figure out why his band got chosen to play the Super Bowl weekend, but they did and here he is, tailgating in the fucking parking lot. He wanted to leave, he wanted to get the hell out of here and beat the traffic, but Rob had to go and be all… Robbish and make friends, so now he's drinking. And the game's starting in a half hour so he has to figure out if they're staying for that or leaving. He really, really hopes they leave, because on the best day he doesn't give a rats ass about football, and it's not like Buffalo is any fucking good that they ever had a shot at being in the Super Bowl, and that's the only team he'd bother watching.
But of fucking course Mike now wants to stay for the game, and two can't leave without the third, and Rob's on board because they get to watch it from a box suite where there's free food and alcohol so John can't do anything but follow them. He's already kind of drunk, so he figures he can manage to get all the way drunk on someone else's tab, and maybe the game won't be so bad after all.
The suite is way nicer than John expects and there's a bar in the back of it and it's stocked with top shelf alcohol, none of that Bankers Club shit in this suite. John feels like a fucking traitor ordering a vodka and cranberry juice and getting Absolut vodka instead of the shit that comes in a gallon jug and costs all of about eight bucks, but he orders it and drinks it and then tries something else, because vodka and cranberry juice is kind of a gay drink, John thinks, it's not something a real man would drink, not like Jack and Coke, or tequila with just about anything. So he orders a Jack and Coke and drinks it while standing at the bar, checking out the waitress that's just come into the room. He thinks she's pretty fucking hot, and he's wondering if they have a policy about not going home with customers.
He catches her eye and smiles at her in a manner which he really hopes isn't leering, but with all that he drank this afternoon, it could be leering, but she smiles back and comes towards him with her tray of pigs in a blanket and she might be swaying her hips a bit more than before just for John's benefit, but that might also be the effects of the alcohol in his brain.
He's smiling down at her, being cool and suave and pretty fucking debonair if he does say so himself, when the door opens and more people come in. John glances up, not out of curiosity, but more out of habit, wanting to know who's in the room, and he stops talking mid-sentence. He momentarily forgets the waitress is standing in front of him and when he remembers, she's already turning away to go make nice with someone else. Someone who's probably way more cool and suave and debonair than John would ever be.
John is trying to figure out how he can get Rob and Mike's attention and get them the hell out of there before Lance fucking Bass, who just walked in the door, sees them. John's motioning to Rob as subtly as he can, but Rob's not looking at him, Rob's grinning at Lance and the guy with Lance - who John really thinks he should know, too, but has no fucking clue - and John sees Lance notice Rob and narrow his eyes slightly before turning and looking around the room. Lance's eyes find him and John doesn't really think he can coolly turn back to the bar and pretend he didn't see Lance, and just once, just one fucking time, John wishes he would be fucking stone cold sober when he ran into Lance, because this really isn't fucking fair that he's always drunk and Lance always isn't.
Lance makes small talk with Rob for a few minutes before excusing himself and coming to the bar to stand next to John. John's not looking at him, he's leaning on the bar, having ordered another Jack and Coke. Lance smiles at the bartender, says, "Hey, I'll have a vodka and cranberry juice," and John snorts, because that seems about right.
Lance waits until he gets his drink and the bartender walks away before talking to John. He doesn't look at him, his fingers are on the stirrer in his glass and he's making a mini-whirlpool in the red liquid. John's eyes are on the liquid in the glass, hypnotized by the motion. Lance says to him, "You didn't call," and John nods, "nope," and Lance must get angry because he stops stirring and John can see his fingers tense on the straw.
"Why don't you ever call me?" Lance asks, his voice tight.
John rolls his eyes slightly, "Hey, you have my fucking phone number, if you want to talk to me so fucking bad, you call me."
Lance turns and John looks at him. Lance's weird eyes are flashing and it's kind of cool how they darken right in front of John's eyes. His voice is level, soft. "I told you at Wango Tango I wasn't going to call you."
"Oh, that's right," John says, as if he's just remembering, but there's sarcasm laced under his words. "Well, then, I guess I just didn't want to call." He shrugs, "again, you could have called me."
"And what would I have said, John?" Lance asks him. He reaches for his phone off of his belt and opens it up, mimicking talking on it. "Hey, John, it's Lance. Remember me? Yeah, the guy that was good enough to suck your fucking dick, but not good enough to stick around the next morning for?"
John hisses and reaches for Lance's wrist, pulling the phone away from his ear and says, "Shut the fuck up! You want everyone to hear you?"
Lance jerks his hand from John and narrows his eyes, "I don't give a shit who hears me, John!"
"Yeah, well, I fucking do, so shut the fuck up."
"No shit!" Lance says to him. "I had no idea you wouldn't want anyone to know! Wow, color me surprised. John Rzeznik, homophobic asshole." He snorts, shaking his head and turning. "Whatever. Point taken. Have a nice fucking life." Lance turns from him and goes back to his friend, talking to him for a minute before heading towards the door. Good fucking riddance, John thinks.
Rob glances over at him and raises his eyebrows. John shrugs, but Rob comes over to him anyway. "What the hell did you say to him?"
"Nothing," John says, "why?"
Rob shrugs, "I dunno. He was talking to you, came back over to Joey," Joey, John thinks, yes, "and then split."
John shrugs, "Whatever, dude, I just said hi."
Rob gives him a look like he doesn't believe a word John is saying and John stares him down until Rob looks away. "Okay, just making sure I didn't have to apologize for your behavior." John scowls at him and Rob laughs, "hey, game's about to start, you gonna sit and watch it?"
John shrugs, "Yeah, maybe. Let me get another drink."
"You do know they have waitresses, right?" Rob asks him and John automatically looks around for the girl he was talking to before.
"Whatever, maybe I'll go get some air," John says, "You can't smoke in here, can you?"
Rob shrugs, "I have no clue."
John shakes his head, "Nevermind. I'm going back to the bus, sleep off some of this."
"Okay. Catch ya later," Rob says and John downs his drink and heads out the door that Lance just left. John wishes he waited a few more minutes, because if he has to run into Lance, he's not going to be happy.
Homophobic asshole. Whatever. John is not a homophobic asshole. He's an asshole, he'll admit that any day of the week, but he's not homophobic. Hell, he let Lance suck his dick! If he was homophobic - which he certainly is not - he would have told Lance to go fuck off a long time ago, he wouldn't have gone to his house and slept in his bed.
He wouldn't have hesitated in the kitchen the next morning and considered cooking Lance breakfast for those five seconds. And he certainly wouldn't have gone home and showered and jerked off to the image of Lance's mouth around his cock. And he never would have taken out his phone and thought about calling Lance if he was a homophobic asshole. He would have deleted Lance's number and gone on with his life.
John reaches his bus and takes out his phone. He scrolls through to the "L's" and presses "send" when he gets to Lance's number. The phone rings four times before going to voice mail. John hangs up and dials again. And again, and again. He knows that Lance has his phone turned on, he knows Lance is the kind of guy who never turns his phone off, not even at night, so he knows that Lance is ignoring his call. But that's fine. John can keep dialing. Hell, he has the entire duration of the Super Bowl to dial Lance's number. Either Lance is going to have to answer his call or shut off his phone. It's Lance's choice.
Lance picks up after John's called eleven times. "What the fuck do you want? Leave a fucking message," Lance says.
"Hello," John says calmly, smirking a little.
"Fuck you," Lance says.
"That's nice. This is the reason I never called," John says.
"What do you want?" Lance asks him and his voice is tired.
"I'm not a homophobic asshole," John says. "That pissed me off."
"Fine," Lance tells him, "you're not, can I go now?"
"No," John says, and he really should say yes. Yes, Lance you can go, but he doesn't, he says, "No," then, "Where are you?"
"What?"
"Where are you?" John asks him. "Is that a hard question? How much vodka was in that drink?"
"Fuck you," Lance says again and John almost smiles. It's kind of hot when this kid curses in that southern accent of his.
"My bus is in the parking lot, you should come hang out."
There's a long pause. A really long pause. It stretches out and John wonders if he lost the connection, so he pulls the phone from his ear and looks at the screen. He still has five bars and the time is ticking on the connected call, so he puts the phone back to his ear and says, "Lance?"
"You want me to come to your bus," Lance says flatly. "What for?"
John shrugs and sits back, "I dunno. Just because I'm bored."
Lance laughs and it's bitter. "And you want me to suck your dick again?"
John considers lying to him and saying the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but he's really not in the mood to have to remember lies and convoluted stories, so instead he says, "Well, you were really fucking good at it," and Lance calls him an asshole again and hangs up on him.
John laughs and tosses his phone into his bunk. He peels off his shirt and leans into the bunk to find a clean one. He's feeling pretty good, it's funny how bickering with Lance put him in a good mood. He takes it as a good sign, since whenever he bickers with Adrienne, he just wants to shove her head through the wall. Of course, Lance called him an asshole and hung up on him, so he's pretty sure it wasn't as good for Lance as it was for him. Oh well, John thinks, that's not his problem, that's Lance's.
There's a knock on the door of the bus and John turns towards away from his bunk, a clean shirt in his hand and moves to the door. It opens before he takes two steps and Lance is coming onto the bus. John bites back a smile and says instead, "Hey, come on in."
"Fuck you," Lance says, "you invited me."
John raises his eyebrows, "nice language, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Lance shrugs, leans against the kitchen counter and appraises John. "Sure don't kiss you, do I?"
John almost laughs, but turns away so Lance doesn't see his smile. "No, you do not." John looks down at his shirt to figure out how it goes on, and suddenly, Lance is pressed up against his back, and woah, was this supposed to happen? Okay, yeah, it was, John thinks, why else would he ask Lance to come over? Of course, Lance did hang up on him and call him an asshole, so John's not really sure what Lance has planned, he could be reaching around him for the knife lying on the counter to stab him. John drops his shirt and pushes the knife back a bit and says, "Um."
Lance's voice is low, his mouth pressed in between John's shoulder blades. "Oh, come on, John, you want me to suck your dick."
"You think I'm an asshole," John points out and shivers slightly at Lance's breath on his skin.
"You are," Lance says. "But you have a nice dick, so I'll do you a favor and suck it."
John laughs and it kind of comes out like a groan, because this is not what he expected from Lance. He's not really sure what he expected, but he certainly did not expect Lance to curse this much, he didn't expect Lance to be so forward with what he wanted. He expected him to be quieter, shyer, more southern belle, which is really fucking stupid, because Lance sure as shit ain't a southern belle, but with those big eyes and that smile, he sure could be.
John turns and Lance and those eyes are staring up at him and John blinks and his breath catches in his throat. God. What the hell is going on with him? He must be drunker than he thought, because he almost closed his eyes and leaned forward to press his lips against Lance's. He shakes his head slightly and Lance smiles that half smile of his and whispers, "No kissing, right?" and John nods, "yeah, right," he says, "no kissing."
Lance shrugs and presses his lips to John's skin right under his jaw. John tilts his head back and leans his hands on the counter and Lance's hands are pressing into his sides, his palms flat on John's skin, and sliding up his stomach and to his chest. Lance's mouth is hot on his throat and John moans softly. Lance pulls back and John blinks and looks down at him. Lance steps back, pulling John with him and pushing him onto the couch.
John falls on the couch, half naked and sprawled. Lance kneels on the ground between his legs and reaches for John's waistband, flicking open the button of his jeans with his thumb and freeing John from his boxers. Lance leans down to slide his wet tongue along John's stomach and his fingers hook under the waist of John's pants, "off," murmurs Lance against his skin and John complies, lifting his hips for Lance.
John lets Lance do whatever he wants. John knows how this is going to go, Lance is going to tease him for a bit and then put his mouth over his cock and John's hips are going to rise off the couch and he's going to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out and his fingers will find their way into Lance's hair and Lance will give him the best blowjob of his life.
So John's relaxed. He's sighing softly as Lance's tongue flicks over the tip of his dick and he smiles to himself when his dick is fully in Lance's mouth, and it's just wet heat, hot and steaming and John wonders how long he can keep Lance around for the sole purpose of his mouth. He thinks probably not that long, since Lance kind of hates him.
Lance's hand wraps around John's cock and he slides it up and down, jerking John off in time with his mouth and his fingers are slick on John and John knows that you can't really just go out and find someone to practice this on, but somehow Lance must have, because goddamn is he good at this. Lance nudges John's legs, and John's legs open on their own, Lance's fingers digging into his thighs.
Lance moves his hand, slick with spit, over John's dick and under to cup his balls and his mouth follows and John groans, lifting his hips off the couch. Fuck, fuck, fuck, John thinks, and he thinks he's might be saying that out loud, but he's not sure, so he tries to figure out if he can hear his voice over the roaring in his head, but then Lance's hand is underneath him and his finger is slick with Lance's own spit and what the hell is he doing, this isn't part of the deal, Lance isn't supposed to slide his finger inside John's body, but that's exactly what Lance is doing and John tries to stop him, looks down and says, "hey, wait a min…" but then Lance bends his finger, crooks it at exactly the right angle and John sees stars behind his suddenly closed eyes and okay, Lance is allowed to do that.
Lance is moving faster, his lips are covering John's dick and his head is bobbing up and adown and Jesus Christ, this is fucking good, Lance's mouth and Lance's finger and just Lance. Lance puts his tongue flat against the underside of John's dick and slides his mouth slowly down from the tip to the base. John's head falls back on the top of the couch and he thinks that he can't take much more of this, because Lance's finger is pressing exactly where it's supposed to be pressing, and John's not sure why he's surprised, because Lance is a fucking god, and he knows shit like this. But then Lance's tongue is suddenly not on John's dick anymore, it's licking his balls and John groans, and then it's moving lower and oh my god, he's not going to do this, but he does, he slides his tongue inside John, right next to his finger and John thinks there is no way I'm kissing him now, and he comes hard, spasming against Lance's mouth, and he feels the wetness on his chest, because this time Lance's mouth isn't over him, it's under him and his tongue is in him and god, is John ever going to stop coming, because it doesn't feel like it at all.
Lance's hand is flat on John's stomach and when John stops quivering, Lance sits back and wipes his mouth and John's eyes open partway to look down at him and his eyes are drawn to Lance's mouth and as he watches, Lance licks his lips and sits up. John is still trying to catch his breath, so he doesn't move, so when Lance stands up John's eyes are directly level with Lance's waist and he can see Lance is hard, he can see the bulge beneath Lance's jeans. His mind is racing, he's trying to figure out if he could actually touch Lance's dick, he's never touched another guy's dick before, but maybe he should do this for Lance, since Lance just had his tongue in John's ass.
But he doesn't even get the option. Lance takes a step back, says, "see ya. I'm not going to tell you to call me, because I know you won't." He turns and heads out the door of the bus, and if John wasn't sitting on the couch completely naked and sticky, he would wonder if Lance was even there at all.
*****
John considers calling him this time. He really does. He even opens his phone and scrolls to Lance's number. He never follows through, though. He tells himself it's because Adrienne is right in the next room, or because Rob's going to be at his place in ten minutes to pick him up, or because hey, he's not gay, what the hell does he need Lance for anyway? but he never really convinces himself any of those things are true.
Except the gay thing.
So John doesn't call Lance. He doesn't call him and he doesn't think about him, ever. Except that he totally thinks about him all the time. And it's not so bad when he's eating breakfast or reading the paper, because hey, maybe Lance likes Cheerios or is reading the stock report just like John is. It's bad when he thinks about him during sex with Adrienne.
John used to think that he and Adrienne had a pretty good sex life. She was flexible, she's willing to do pretty much anything John wants to do, and once she even offered to let John tie her up. John really wanted to do that one, and possibly shove a gag in her mouth so she would just shut the fuck up for once, but he decided against it because he was pretty sure Adrienne would want to be untied at some point, and it would be really easy for John to leave her there for days and not miss her at all.
But then John met Lance. And suddenly, Adrienne didn't do anything right. She used too much spit during a blowjob, she didn't use enough. She sure as hell didn't use enough pressure during a hand job, John thought that before he met Lance, but now it was amplified, as if he was justified in his thinking. And she wanted to kiss him too often.
John had gone out and rented Pretty Woman after Lance made that reference the first time they hung out. John wanted to know what Lance was talking about, and even though the movie starred Julia Roberts and was totally not a movie that straight guys would ever like in a million years, he needed to know what the hell Lance meant by that comment.
And he wishes that were it. He wishes that he felt kissing was too intimate, that it was something reserved for people who meant something to each other, who were maybe in love. But John's an asshole and he just didn't want to kiss Lance because that would mean that he wasn't as straight as he claimed to be.
John tries to forget that Lance had his tongue in John's ass, and that right there proves that he's not exactly walking a straight line.
But he kisses Adrienne. And she wants to kiss him too much. God, she's always touching him, running her hand over his arm, turning his face towards hers for a good morning kiss or a goodbye kiss or a goodnight kiss. And she's constantly hugging him and kissing the side of his neck or his cheek. She doesn't just leave him alone when he's trying to do something like read the fucking paper, she always has to be touching him and kissing him and John wishes that he could just tell her, "Look, kissing is for people in love and I'm not really sure I'm in love, so how about you knock it off?" But he doesn't do that. He sighs, kisses her and goes on his way.
But the blowjob thing is something he can't really ignore anymore. Because he closes his eyes and he sees Lance while Adrienne is on her knees in front of him, and it's not like he's picturing Lance giving him head, it's that he's wishing Lance were, because he's so fucking good at it, and Adrienne is so fucking not.
And John kind of wants her to do that finger thing, too, but how the hell do you even bring something like that up?
But Adrienne's pretty open, John thinks. Adrienne wanted him to buy a fucking swing to hang from the bedroom ceiling, she'd probably understand that hey, guys have prostates, they like when they're stimulated and she's really way too fucking stupid to think that John let some pop star stick his finger - and tongue, god, his tongue - up his ass.
So the next time Adrienne comes over and wants to have sex, John pushes her head down and she goes willingly in front of him, her fingers deftly opening his jeans, her head already bobbing up and down on his cock.
John's decided the best approach is to start coaching her on the easy stuff first. And since he has no idea how to tell her to use less spit, so he fists his hands in her hair and goes for the pressure.
"Uhh, baby, yeah," John moans, his eyes shut. "Use your hand," Adrienne moves her fingers to grip him loosely, stroking him. "Harder, harder," John says, reaching down and closing his fingers around hers.
"You want to do this?" she says, sitting back on her heels.
John sighs and looks down at her, "Come on, Ade, just… it feels good. Harder, you won't break it."
She sort of rolls her eyes at him and goes back to what she was doing, her fingers tight around his cock, and yes, that's it, harder, harder, faster. John rests his head on the back of the couch and she mumbles around him, "you like that?" and he groans in response. She seems to like the noises she's getting from him, so she says, "What else, Johnny? Tell me what you want."
John's breath catches for a second because this is his chance. He didn't even have to ease her into it, she asked, it's really very easy for him to tell her now.
"Well," John says and she looks up at him, her hand still stroking his dick. "Mmm, yeah, baby, like that, hard." He pets her head and says, "Do me a favor," and she smiles and purrs, "anything," and he says, "I want your finger, stick your finger in me," and her eyes widen and she sits back, her hand not on his dick anymore and he knows that he ain't getting anything else the rest of the night.
"What?" she asks.
"Come on, Adrienne, it feels good," John tells her.
"How the fuck would you know?" she asks him. "We never did that, how would you know how it feels?"
John panics slightly, because she does have a point. He snorts, "It's common knowledge," he tells her. "Guys have a prostate, it's amazing when it's stimulated."
She wrinkles her nose and her forehead and looks at his naked body with distaste. John feels like he should cover up or something. Adrienne says, "did you shower?" and he wants to slap her.
"What? The fuck, Adrienne!" He shakes his head, "of course I fucking showered, I'm not a Neanderthal!"
"You shit out of your asshole, Johnny, I ain't sticking my finger up there!"
John wants to laugh. In fact, he does. He starts laughing in disbelief that this fucking girl would think of something like that, when in fact, really, she should think of something like that, but come the fuck on, Lance had his tongue there and that's way worse than a finger. So John goes for broke - since he's not getting any anyway - and says, "So I guess you tonguing me is out of the question?" and Adrienne looks horrified and gets up, picking up her coat and purse and leaving, telling John to "not fucking call me anymore, you sick bastard."
John wants to care, but can't. He just waits until he hears the door slam behind her, reaches down and jerks himself off, thinking of Lance the whole time.
part two
Wango Tango, 2000
"I really love your song. 'Iris.' It's really great, and it sounded great."
"It sounded like shit. Just like everything else today. All of it. Shit."
Pause. "Oh." Longer pause. "Okay then. I was just trying to be nice."
John looks up and squints into the sun to see the kid talking to him. He feels like he should know him, he is in one of the most popular groups in the country right now. Also? He thinks he briefly met them before the show. Although, he was drunk, that could have been the other group. Larry. No. Landon. John tilts his head; this kid could be a Landon, that's a boyband name. "Thanks," he says, hesitating, the end of the sentence hanging in the air.
"Lance," the kid supplies, and yes, Lance! That's it. The kid smiles and John thinks he's too earnest for this business, he's not nearly jaded and cynical enough.
"Yeah, well, thanks," John says again, but his tone is rude, he can hear it, but fuck it, he doesn't much care at this point.
Lance's forehead wrinkles slightly and he takes a step back, "I was just trying to be nice."
"You already said that," John points out.
"Oh." Lance shrugs a bit then and turns, "Right. Okay, then. Bye."
John looks up from his guitar case and then feels a pang of guilt, because the kid really just wanted to talk to him, and when did he get to be such an asshole that he can't talk to someone who's a fan? "Hey," he says and Lance turns around. "Sorry, we just…" John waves his hand, "had a bad show. They didn't want us out there."
Lance tilts his head, takes off his sunglasses and smiles brilliantly at John. John takes a slight step backwards, because damn, this kid has some weird eyes. "I wanted you out there," he says, and John hesitates, because Lance's voice is changed, it's different. It's not so earnest anymore, it's more… John blinks, and his eyes widen slightly. This kid wants him. He wants him! And what the fuck is that about?
John recovers, laughs softly, says, "You're about the only one," and Lance isn't looking away from him, which is making John pretty fucking uncomfortable, so he says, "I gotta go," when he really doesn't, but yeah, he really does, because Lance won't stop staring.
Lance nods, "Okay. Well." He steps forward and John steps back because Lance is coming towards him, his hand reaching for John, and John's petrified this kid is going to push him against the bus and kiss him, and then what the fuck will he do?
But Lance doesn't do any of that. He takes John's phone from his belt and opens it up, punching in a few numbers. Lance's phone rings and he hangs John's up. "There. Last called. That's my number." He smiles slowly, "I have yours now, too, but I'm going to wait for you to call me." He closes the phone, stepping closer and John's back is pressed against the bus, so he can't go anywhere, and now he can't look away from this kid's eyes, and yeah, they're still weird, but when John can see them up close, they're kind of a cool weird. He sees the corners of Lance's eyes crinkle up and he looks away to Lance's mouth, and sees a smile, sees Lance say, "Call me," then watches Lance back away from him, taking four steps backwards before smirking at John and putting on his sunglasses, turning and jogging to his own bus.
John wets his lips with his tongue, doesn't move as Lance boards his bus and the bus pulls away. He reaches for his phone, flipping it open. He scrolls through to his last called numbers and his finger hovers over the button to delete the number. He hesitates, looks back up at the bus turning out of the parking lot, then punches in "Lance" and hits save. Hey, you never know.
*****
John considers calling the kid, he takes out his phone on more than one occasion, but never goes through with it. He's never sure why; he's almost positive it's because he's not gay, and he's pretty sure that Lance is. And he certainly doesn't want to be gay, so calling the kid would be a waste of time for both of them, it would only end badly when John eventually tells him hey, thanks, but no thanks.
John has dreams. Dreams about weird green eyes and a deep voice that wakes him up in the morning. He has dreams about a boy with spiky blond hair and a pair of sunglasses that make him look sexy when really, he should look dorky. He wakes up hard, and as much as he tries to convince himself that it was Adrienne he was dreaming about, he knows differently when he jerks off and the flash of a smile he sees belongs to the kid with the weird eyes, and he comes harder than he ever has.
So maybe he isn't as straight as he thought. Maybe he should give this kid a call and see if he could get Lance to show him a thing or two, maybe he can act like he's done this before and at least get a free blowjob out of the deal. A blowjob's a blowjob, right? A mouth's a mouth, it doesn't matter who it belongs to.
And hell, John's not even sure that's what the kid meant when he said to call him. Maybe he wants to get to know John, maybe he wants to see how his mind works, why John's so fucked up that he can't write a happy song if a gun was pointed to his head. Maybe Lance wants to see if John can introduce him to Adrienne, because god, would the two of them be pretty together. Hell, maybe Lance just wants to see if John could score him some good pot, since John's pretty sure that even though Lance is a billion times more famous than he is, John still has the best connections when it comes to drugs.
So John doesn't call. He keeps Lance's number on his phone and when he gets a new phone, he carefully enters Lance's number again, not because he's going to call him, but because if Lance calls John, John wants to make sure he knows who's calling so he answers.
But John isn't going to call.
*****
Hard Rock Café, 2002
John's drunk. He's drunk and he's playing anyway, but he doesn't think anyone can tell. Because he's a professional, dammit, he can play while drunk, he can play while high, he can play while fucked up. But he's thinking that maybe he shouldn't play while drunk, because he feels jumpy. He feels like someone is staring at him, which no fucking shit, of course someone is staring at him. Hundreds of people are staring at him; it's a fucking concert.
But it feels different. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up, it's like someone is staring and not looking away. And that's just fucked up because there's two other guys in his band, and the fucking touring musicians, whoever the hell is staring at him needs to stop immediately because John's about two seconds away from fucking up the lyrics, and while it wouldn't be the first time he did that, he'd rather not do it now and let whoever it is staring at him think it's because of them.
He manages to get through the song and picks up his beer - not that he needs it - and takes a long swallow, finishing it. He gets a different guitar and strums it a few times, trying to be all suave and look through the hair over his face at the crowd, scanning the faces, trying to figure out who the fuck is staring.
He can't figure it out, so he says fuck it and starts to play the next song. The hair on his neck is still standing up, but he pushes the feeling out of his mind and just plays. He closes his eyes and sings and when he opens them, the lights are on the crowd and they're singing along with him and thank fucking god, because he looks at the bar and he sees Lance, and the words go right out of his head.
John hasn't seen him for a couple years, not beyond pictures anyway, because Lance is still really fucking famous and his picture is everywhere, but John's sure that it's Lance. Lance is on a barstool, one foot on the bottom rung and one on the floor. His elbows are on the bar, he's leaning back, his tee shirt pulled across his chest. There's a glass dangling from the fingers of one hand and Lance is watching John like he wants to fuck him. When John looks up and meets Lance's eyes, Lance starts to smile slowly, but John doesn't see the end result, because the lights are back on the band, and John's momentarily blinded from the sudden brightness, so he closes his eyes, listens to the crowd to find his place, and starts to sing again.
John's eyes keep moving back to the bar, but he can't see Lance again. He's wondering if he imagined it. Maybe John was just too drunk, maybe he's seeing things. He's seeing Lance in his dreams once in a while, why the fuck wouldn't he imagine him in an actual place? He pushes the feeling out of his head and motions for another beer and when his guitar tech brings him the bottle with the next guitar change, John chugs half of it before looking back at the crowd and grinning.
After the show, John runs backstage and grabs a towel, running it over his face and arms. He has another beer in his hand already and he vaguely thinks he should stop drinking, but then someone comes to the door and John looks up, and this is definitely not a mirage or a figment of his imagination, Lance is definitely standing there staring at him and the hair on the back of John's neck is standing up again, so maybe it was Lance that made John jumpy on stage.
Rob notices Lance then and grins at him. Rob remembers him from Wango Tango. Rob remembers everyone he meets, it's a weird thing that John's noticed about Rob through the years, but man, it really comes in handy when John runs into someone he knows he should know, but really has no fucking idea who it is. But now Rob's talking to Lance, and that's good, because then maybe John won't have to talk to Lance, and that would be perfect, because John has no idea what he would even say to him, because John thinks that "hey, how about getting out of my fucking dreams you asshole" isn't really polite and also not something that Lance can help.
John sees the photographer and knows that he's going to have to talk to Lance, because the venue wants pictures, they want to brag about the people who come here to play and about the random people who just happen to be in the crowd. But when John stands up and moves to where Lance is standing, Lance smiles at him, and John thinks that Lance didn't "just happen" to be anywhere. John thinks that Lance knows exactly where he is and why he's there.
Lance puts his arm around John's waist for the picture and John forces a smile and doesn't think about the way Lance's hand rests on his lower back. John's own arm is behind Lance, but not touching him, John's brain hasn't quite caught up to what's going on here right now and he doesn't want to touch Lance inappropriately. The flash goes off and John steps away from Lance like he's been burned. Lance doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he keeps on smiling, and that makes John scowl. Because if he didn't notice, fuck him, he should have, and if he did notice, he shouldn't be smiling about the fact that John doesn't want to be touched. Lance should be pissed off. He should be angry.
Rob spots someone else that he knows and wanders off. Mike is doing what Mike always does, and that's spend more time talking to the touring musicians than his own band mates, so now Lance is turning to him and oh shit, what the hell is John supposed to do now?
John turns away. He turns away and goes back to the couch and sits down, picking up his beer and ignoring Lance and his heavy gaze. John wants to be left alone, but maybe someone should have told Lance that, because Lance is standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest and looking down at John.
"You didn't call," Lance says, and John says, "nope," and takes another swallow of his beer. Lance is undeterred, though, John knows that look. Adrienne gives him that look a lot when he's supposed to be doing something like saying "I love you, too," and he doesn't. She just stands there and stares at him, her gaze unwavering until he either relents and says it back or gets up and leaves. Maybe John should hook Lance and Adrienne up, they seem to have a lot in common. "Why didn't you call?" Lance asks him and John's not paying attention, so he misses the question.
"Huh?" John asks.
"Why didn't you call?" Lance repeats.
John scowls, "You had my number, phones work both ways." He tilts his beer to his lips again, looking away from Lance.
"I told you I wasn't going to call," Lance tells him, sitting down on the couch. John looks over and Lance is staring at his fingers. John follows Lance's gaze and they're nice fingers, long, the nails aren't chewed down, and when Lance turns his hand over to rub his palm, John notices they don't have calluses like John's own fingers, which are chewed up from years of playing the guitar. Lance has nice hands.
"You have nice hands," John says and then blinks, because what? Lance looks up at him and he's starting to smile again, and John knows that smile, he recognizes that smile from Wango Tango next to the bus, and John has a feeling he's screwed a little bit, because he's drunk and he's thinking about Lance's hands, and he's just a little bit horny because he hasn't been laid in a couple weeks, and Lance has a really nice smile, and really nice hands, and really nice eyes, even if they are a little weird, and John is pretty sure that if Lance wanted to put those hands on him, John would let him.
"Thanks," Lance says softly, ducking his head and blushing. He's quiet for a minute, then says, "Hey, where are y'all staying?" and John shrugs, and calls to Rob and Rob yells a name of a hotel back and Lance nods. "That's a nice place," he says and looks up at John, "you have your own room?" and John shakes his head, because what does Lance think they are, successful enough for that?
"No, we have a suite," John says. "All three of us."
"Come back to my place," Lance tells him.
"All of us?" John asks stupidly.
He's rewarded with a deep laugh and John feels the rumble right into the center of his chest. "No," Lance says. "Just you."
John wrinkles his forehead and stares at this kid. And he tries to process everything that's going on in his brain, because he thinks Lance just subtly propositioned him and he really, really wishes he weren't drunk, because this is kind of an important decision he has to make here.
John says, "You have a house in Orlando?" He's not stalling, not really.
"Yeah," Lance nods. "I live here part time. LA, too."
John shrugs and doesn't really have anything to say to that, so he's quiet. He can still feel Lance staring and he really wishes Lance would knock it off, but he can't really tell him that. Or, he could, but John's making an effort not be rude here.
"You gonna come or not?" Lance asks, and John mind flashes to Lance's mouth on his cock, John coming like it was the last time he ever would. He closes his eyes and says, "no," but what really comes out of his mouth is "yes," and Lance grins like he's lighting the world with his smile and stands up, waiting for John.
John came to the venue right from the hotel in a van with Mike and Rob. Lance came to the venue from his house in his 4Runner and when he unlocks it and John gets in, for a second, John thinks that it's actually his car. Except Lance keeps his cleaner. A lot cleaner.
They don't talk on the ride to Lance's house, which is perfectly okay with John, because he's silently freaking out. This is big. This is huge. He might let another guy touch his dick, when the only guy who's ever touched his dick was John himself. John looks at Lance's hands on the steering wheel, he sees how his fingers wrap around the wheel and he closes his eyes, picturing them wrapped around his dick. Lance does have nice hands, John thinks it might feel good, Lance would know how to touch him, Lance was a guy, he knew that it didn't always have to be nice and gentle, that sometimes a guy likes a little bit of pressure, too. He's tried to get Adrienne to realize that, but every time he put his hand over hers on his dick, she'd either protest that she knew what she was doing or she'd stop altogether and let him do the work. And what the hell fun was him doing all the work when she was right there?
John wonders if Lance will suck his dick. He wonders if he could ask him to do that. Because John has been staring at Lance's mouth for a couple minutes now, and he thinks that he could be into that. Lance has a nice mouth. It forms words very nicely and when he smiles, he has a lot of teeth, which is a stupid thing to think, but John's in a stupid place right now, so it's okay. But Lance smiles with his whole mouth, not a tiny little fake smile, but an earnest, larger than life smile, and he's smiled like that for John once already tonight, and John kind of liked it, so if sucking John's dick will get Lance to smile like that again for him, well, who is John to deny that?
They're at Lance's house before John is really finished thinking and he has a few moments of blind panic as he gets out of the truck and follows Lance to the house. Because what the hell is he doing? This is so not how the night was supposed to go, and John is drunk and that's never a good thing for when he goes home with people, because he's fucked a lot of people and doesn't remember their names the next morning, and with the way Lance is looking at him, John has a feeling he'll remember Lance's name and that is just not good. Not good at all.
"Come on in," Lance says and pushes open the door to his house and Jesus Christ is Lance's house fucking huge. John steps into the foyer and looks down the hallway and he thinks that his entire house could fit into the living room of Lance's place. He stands in the entranceway awkwardly and shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. He really wishes he had a beer and then remembers that he's supposed to stop drinking tonight and bites the inside of his cheek to will the craving to go away.
Lance tosses his keys on the table and starts to walk though the house, not looking back, assuming John is going to follow. So John follows Lance, surreptitiously looking in the doorways of the rooms of Lance's house. Lance flicks on lights and they're standing in a kitchen and John practically has a hard on just from this room. He walks in and moves around the island to the stove and turns to Lance, "This is your fucking kitchen?" He looks at the empty pizza box on the counter and opens the fridge with is empty except for a couple six packs of beer and some condiments. "Do you even cook?"
Lance shakes his head, "No. Mostly take out." He smiles faintly and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at John. "You cook?" John nods and helps himself to a beer. "You can cook breakfast then," Lance says, and John really wishes he didn't just take a sip of beer, because now he's choking on it and wow, how suave is he? Lance just smiles and takes the bottle of out of John's hand, drinking from it and turning away. "Grab yourself another one, we'll sit in the living room."
John passes on the beer and just follows Lance through the house. Lance turns on a lamp and the room brightens somewhat, but not enough for John not to think of mood lighting. Lance is totally trying to seduce him. John looks at Lance who is now sprawled out on the couch. It's totally working.
John sits next to him, but with space between them and Lance smiles that half smile of his and doesn't say anything. He swallows more of the beer and then leans forward and puts the bottle on the coffee table in front of him. He reaches out and puts his hand on John's thigh and John looks down at Lance's hand and clasps his own hands together so he doesn't touch Lance.
"You should relax," Lance tells him, his voice an octave deeper and how exactly is John supposed to relax when Lance's porn voice is washing over him and Lance's hand is on his thigh? Lance moves closer and his voice is at John's ear, low and breathy and goddamn if it's not making John hard. "I don't bite," Lance says, and nips at John's earlobe, "much."
John really doesn't know what he's supposed to do here. Is he supposed to kiss Lance? Because he really doesn't want to. He's mostly okay with Lance touching his dick, and he's kind of okay with Lance sucking his dick, but he's really not okay with actually kissing Lance. And yeah, that makes him an asshole, he supposes, but whatever, he's been an asshole his whole life, why should this be any different? But he has to make this decision, because Lance's hand is moving over his shirt and across his chest and his mouth is moving from John's ear down his neck and now over his jaw, and in a few seconds, Lance's mouth is going to be right next to John's, and John has to figure out if he wants to kiss him or not.
Lance shifts and his hand slides up John's chest to his neck, gently turning John's face towards his. John shakes his head and puts his hand on Lance's forearm, squeezing it slightly. "No," he mumbles and immediately Lance stops. Because Lance is not an asshole and if John says no, Lance is going to comply.
Lance blinks owlishly. "No?" He starts to sit back, "okay."
John shakes his head, "No. It's… just no kissing."
Lance's forehead wrinkles and he tilts his head and says, "What are you like Pretty Woman or something?" and John doesn't really get that reference, it must be one of those gay movies that he hasn't seen, so he says, "what?" and Lance shakes his head and says, "Nevermind, fine, no kissing."
John's not sure if Lance is disappointed with that or not, he can't tell from the tone of Lance's voice, he's sure if he knew Lance longer than an hour, he would be able to figure it out, but the truth is, he doesn't know Lance that long, he talked to him for a grand total of about fifteen minutes before Lance invited him here and put his mouth on John's neck, so John decides that he doesn't care if Lance is upset about the no kissing thing, because Lance will still get him off and that's all that's important.
John doesn't really have to do much work. Lance straddles his legs and kisses along John's skin and John mostly just has to tilt his head back and close his eyes and feel. And Lance does feel pretty fucking good, and he knows Lance can tell that John's enjoying himself, because Lance is moving his hips on John's dick, and even through his jeans, John can feel the pressure and wants more of it.
Lance slides down his body and pushes John's shirt up, covering one of John's nipples with his mouth and John hisses. His hands are clenched in fists at his sides, he can feel the nails digging into his palms. Lance takes his time, licking and biting and sucking and kissing John's torso and John bites his lip to keep from begging Lance to just touch him now, please. Lance knows, though, because Lance opens John's jeans and deftly slides his hands inside and John moans when Lance's perfect fucking fingers curl around his dick.
John must have lost track of some time after Lance touched him, because suddenly his jeans are around his ankles and he can feel Lance's breath on his cock, and he opens his eyes and looks down and Lance looks up at him with those big fucking weird eyes and smirks before his tongue comes out of his mouth and laps at the tip of John's dick. John groans and his hand unclenches and moves to Lance's hair and Lance pauses to push his head into John's hand before taking John completely in his mouth.
John moans and drops his head back on the couch again. Lance uses his tongue like its sole purpose is just to suck dicks and John wonders if he can introduce Lance to Adrienne because Lance sure could teach her a few things about giving head. Lance finds the perfect balance between sucking and stroking and the perfect mix of pressure and release and his mouth is the perfect temperature for this and he uses the perfect amount of saliva and all this is just completely stupid shit, but goddamn it makes for one incredible blowjob.
John's hand in Lance's hair is holding on tight. He's forcing Lance to go faster, tugging on Lance's hair, up, down, up, down and Lance doesn't resist, he just lets John do whatever the fuck he wants to do. Lance keeps up, he opens his mouth and his throat and John shoves his dick in Lance's mouth as far as it can go and when he hits the back of Lance's throat, he comes unexpectedly, his body spasming, and Lance gags just a little bit and John realizes that he never let go of Lance's hair, and he somehow manages to get his fingers to comply with that and Lance pulls back slightly, his mouth still on John's cock and he swallows everything John shoots, and then takes a few minutes to lick John clean while all the while John can only moan and let his hips jerk at every touch of Lance's tongue.
Lance sits back on his heels and brings a hand to his lips to wipe the corner of his mouth and John looks at him through half-lidded eyes. The kid really is beautiful, John thinks, and has a really great fucking mouth. Lance is sort of smiling at him, and John realizes that Lance wants him to repay the favor, but hell no, John isn't going to do that, he wouldn't even know how to do that, and this is why he never called the kid, because now he has to tell him no.
Lance doesn't make him say it, though, Lance must be more intuitive than John is and he can see it in John's eyes. Lance's face falls slightly and he says, "I need a beer, you want?" and John just nods and watches Lance go to the kitchen, before pulling up his pants and closing them.
Lance comes back into the room and hands John a beer. Lance's bottle is already half empty and John wonders how Lance doesn't just want to go and brush his teeth after all that, but he doesn't ask. There's just some things you don't bring up. Lance sits back down next to John, and John looks over at him to see him looking down at his beer, and Lance isn't exactly pouting, but it's close, so John sighs softly, tells himself to be less of an asshole and moves just a bit closer to Lance, their arms and thighs pressed against each other.
Lance looks up at him and smiles faintly and John smiles back and says, "Thanks," and then laughs softly, says, "thanks," again, "that was seriously the best blowjob of my life," and Lance laughs and ducks his head, and even John has to admit that when this kid blushes, there ain't no one prettier.
Lance leans his head against John's shoulder and yawns. He mumbles something about going to bed, and he gets up, pulling John to his feet and dragging him to the bedroom. Lance undresses and John just stands there awkwardly until Lance says, "look, we're just going to sleep, okay?" and John nods and undresses, sliding into the sheets next to Lance.
Lance curls up next to him, his head on John's chest and he falls asleep immediately. John absently strokes Lance's hair with his fingers, and stares at the ceiling. This was just so wrong of him, this was a huge mistake and he's an asshole.
He falls asleep and wakes up in the morning before Lance does. Lance is lying on his stomach, his face turned towards John's. His back is perfect and John reaches out and runs his fingers over Lance's spine lightly before getting out of bed and getting dressed. He looks back at Lance still sleeping and goes downstairs.
Through the hallway and into the kitchen. He pauses briefly, remembers Lance's smile as he told him he could cook breakfast. This is his chance to redeem himself. He could cook breakfast for the kid and maybe walk out of here with his head held high.
John passes through the kitchen and lets himself out the front door.
*****
Super Bowl 2003 (Tampa Bay vs. Oakland)
John can't figure out why his band got chosen to play the Super Bowl weekend, but they did and here he is, tailgating in the fucking parking lot. He wanted to leave, he wanted to get the hell out of here and beat the traffic, but Rob had to go and be all… Robbish and make friends, so now he's drinking. And the game's starting in a half hour so he has to figure out if they're staying for that or leaving. He really, really hopes they leave, because on the best day he doesn't give a rats ass about football, and it's not like Buffalo is any fucking good that they ever had a shot at being in the Super Bowl, and that's the only team he'd bother watching.
But of fucking course Mike now wants to stay for the game, and two can't leave without the third, and Rob's on board because they get to watch it from a box suite where there's free food and alcohol so John can't do anything but follow them. He's already kind of drunk, so he figures he can manage to get all the way drunk on someone else's tab, and maybe the game won't be so bad after all.
The suite is way nicer than John expects and there's a bar in the back of it and it's stocked with top shelf alcohol, none of that Bankers Club shit in this suite. John feels like a fucking traitor ordering a vodka and cranberry juice and getting Absolut vodka instead of the shit that comes in a gallon jug and costs all of about eight bucks, but he orders it and drinks it and then tries something else, because vodka and cranberry juice is kind of a gay drink, John thinks, it's not something a real man would drink, not like Jack and Coke, or tequila with just about anything. So he orders a Jack and Coke and drinks it while standing at the bar, checking out the waitress that's just come into the room. He thinks she's pretty fucking hot, and he's wondering if they have a policy about not going home with customers.
He catches her eye and smiles at her in a manner which he really hopes isn't leering, but with all that he drank this afternoon, it could be leering, but she smiles back and comes towards him with her tray of pigs in a blanket and she might be swaying her hips a bit more than before just for John's benefit, but that might also be the effects of the alcohol in his brain.
He's smiling down at her, being cool and suave and pretty fucking debonair if he does say so himself, when the door opens and more people come in. John glances up, not out of curiosity, but more out of habit, wanting to know who's in the room, and he stops talking mid-sentence. He momentarily forgets the waitress is standing in front of him and when he remembers, she's already turning away to go make nice with someone else. Someone who's probably way more cool and suave and debonair than John would ever be.
John is trying to figure out how he can get Rob and Mike's attention and get them the hell out of there before Lance fucking Bass, who just walked in the door, sees them. John's motioning to Rob as subtly as he can, but Rob's not looking at him, Rob's grinning at Lance and the guy with Lance - who John really thinks he should know, too, but has no fucking clue - and John sees Lance notice Rob and narrow his eyes slightly before turning and looking around the room. Lance's eyes find him and John doesn't really think he can coolly turn back to the bar and pretend he didn't see Lance, and just once, just one fucking time, John wishes he would be fucking stone cold sober when he ran into Lance, because this really isn't fucking fair that he's always drunk and Lance always isn't.
Lance makes small talk with Rob for a few minutes before excusing himself and coming to the bar to stand next to John. John's not looking at him, he's leaning on the bar, having ordered another Jack and Coke. Lance smiles at the bartender, says, "Hey, I'll have a vodka and cranberry juice," and John snorts, because that seems about right.
Lance waits until he gets his drink and the bartender walks away before talking to John. He doesn't look at him, his fingers are on the stirrer in his glass and he's making a mini-whirlpool in the red liquid. John's eyes are on the liquid in the glass, hypnotized by the motion. Lance says to him, "You didn't call," and John nods, "nope," and Lance must get angry because he stops stirring and John can see his fingers tense on the straw.
"Why don't you ever call me?" Lance asks, his voice tight.
John rolls his eyes slightly, "Hey, you have my fucking phone number, if you want to talk to me so fucking bad, you call me."
Lance turns and John looks at him. Lance's weird eyes are flashing and it's kind of cool how they darken right in front of John's eyes. His voice is level, soft. "I told you at Wango Tango I wasn't going to call you."
"Oh, that's right," John says, as if he's just remembering, but there's sarcasm laced under his words. "Well, then, I guess I just didn't want to call." He shrugs, "again, you could have called me."
"And what would I have said, John?" Lance asks him. He reaches for his phone off of his belt and opens it up, mimicking talking on it. "Hey, John, it's Lance. Remember me? Yeah, the guy that was good enough to suck your fucking dick, but not good enough to stick around the next morning for?"
John hisses and reaches for Lance's wrist, pulling the phone away from his ear and says, "Shut the fuck up! You want everyone to hear you?"
Lance jerks his hand from John and narrows his eyes, "I don't give a shit who hears me, John!"
"Yeah, well, I fucking do, so shut the fuck up."
"No shit!" Lance says to him. "I had no idea you wouldn't want anyone to know! Wow, color me surprised. John Rzeznik, homophobic asshole." He snorts, shaking his head and turning. "Whatever. Point taken. Have a nice fucking life." Lance turns from him and goes back to his friend, talking to him for a minute before heading towards the door. Good fucking riddance, John thinks.
Rob glances over at him and raises his eyebrows. John shrugs, but Rob comes over to him anyway. "What the hell did you say to him?"
"Nothing," John says, "why?"
Rob shrugs, "I dunno. He was talking to you, came back over to Joey," Joey, John thinks, yes, "and then split."
John shrugs, "Whatever, dude, I just said hi."
Rob gives him a look like he doesn't believe a word John is saying and John stares him down until Rob looks away. "Okay, just making sure I didn't have to apologize for your behavior." John scowls at him and Rob laughs, "hey, game's about to start, you gonna sit and watch it?"
John shrugs, "Yeah, maybe. Let me get another drink."
"You do know they have waitresses, right?" Rob asks him and John automatically looks around for the girl he was talking to before.
"Whatever, maybe I'll go get some air," John says, "You can't smoke in here, can you?"
Rob shrugs, "I have no clue."
John shakes his head, "Nevermind. I'm going back to the bus, sleep off some of this."
"Okay. Catch ya later," Rob says and John downs his drink and heads out the door that Lance just left. John wishes he waited a few more minutes, because if he has to run into Lance, he's not going to be happy.
Homophobic asshole. Whatever. John is not a homophobic asshole. He's an asshole, he'll admit that any day of the week, but he's not homophobic. Hell, he let Lance suck his dick! If he was homophobic - which he certainly is not - he would have told Lance to go fuck off a long time ago, he wouldn't have gone to his house and slept in his bed.
He wouldn't have hesitated in the kitchen the next morning and considered cooking Lance breakfast for those five seconds. And he certainly wouldn't have gone home and showered and jerked off to the image of Lance's mouth around his cock. And he never would have taken out his phone and thought about calling Lance if he was a homophobic asshole. He would have deleted Lance's number and gone on with his life.
John reaches his bus and takes out his phone. He scrolls through to the "L's" and presses "send" when he gets to Lance's number. The phone rings four times before going to voice mail. John hangs up and dials again. And again, and again. He knows that Lance has his phone turned on, he knows Lance is the kind of guy who never turns his phone off, not even at night, so he knows that Lance is ignoring his call. But that's fine. John can keep dialing. Hell, he has the entire duration of the Super Bowl to dial Lance's number. Either Lance is going to have to answer his call or shut off his phone. It's Lance's choice.
Lance picks up after John's called eleven times. "What the fuck do you want? Leave a fucking message," Lance says.
"Hello," John says calmly, smirking a little.
"Fuck you," Lance says.
"That's nice. This is the reason I never called," John says.
"What do you want?" Lance asks him and his voice is tired.
"I'm not a homophobic asshole," John says. "That pissed me off."
"Fine," Lance tells him, "you're not, can I go now?"
"No," John says, and he really should say yes. Yes, Lance you can go, but he doesn't, he says, "No," then, "Where are you?"
"What?"
"Where are you?" John asks him. "Is that a hard question? How much vodka was in that drink?"
"Fuck you," Lance says again and John almost smiles. It's kind of hot when this kid curses in that southern accent of his.
"My bus is in the parking lot, you should come hang out."
There's a long pause. A really long pause. It stretches out and John wonders if he lost the connection, so he pulls the phone from his ear and looks at the screen. He still has five bars and the time is ticking on the connected call, so he puts the phone back to his ear and says, "Lance?"
"You want me to come to your bus," Lance says flatly. "What for?"
John shrugs and sits back, "I dunno. Just because I'm bored."
Lance laughs and it's bitter. "And you want me to suck your dick again?"
John considers lying to him and saying the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but he's really not in the mood to have to remember lies and convoluted stories, so instead he says, "Well, you were really fucking good at it," and Lance calls him an asshole again and hangs up on him.
John laughs and tosses his phone into his bunk. He peels off his shirt and leans into the bunk to find a clean one. He's feeling pretty good, it's funny how bickering with Lance put him in a good mood. He takes it as a good sign, since whenever he bickers with Adrienne, he just wants to shove her head through the wall. Of course, Lance called him an asshole and hung up on him, so he's pretty sure it wasn't as good for Lance as it was for him. Oh well, John thinks, that's not his problem, that's Lance's.
There's a knock on the door of the bus and John turns towards away from his bunk, a clean shirt in his hand and moves to the door. It opens before he takes two steps and Lance is coming onto the bus. John bites back a smile and says instead, "Hey, come on in."
"Fuck you," Lance says, "you invited me."
John raises his eyebrows, "nice language, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Lance shrugs, leans against the kitchen counter and appraises John. "Sure don't kiss you, do I?"
John almost laughs, but turns away so Lance doesn't see his smile. "No, you do not." John looks down at his shirt to figure out how it goes on, and suddenly, Lance is pressed up against his back, and woah, was this supposed to happen? Okay, yeah, it was, John thinks, why else would he ask Lance to come over? Of course, Lance did hang up on him and call him an asshole, so John's not really sure what Lance has planned, he could be reaching around him for the knife lying on the counter to stab him. John drops his shirt and pushes the knife back a bit and says, "Um."
Lance's voice is low, his mouth pressed in between John's shoulder blades. "Oh, come on, John, you want me to suck your dick."
"You think I'm an asshole," John points out and shivers slightly at Lance's breath on his skin.
"You are," Lance says. "But you have a nice dick, so I'll do you a favor and suck it."
John laughs and it kind of comes out like a groan, because this is not what he expected from Lance. He's not really sure what he expected, but he certainly did not expect Lance to curse this much, he didn't expect Lance to be so forward with what he wanted. He expected him to be quieter, shyer, more southern belle, which is really fucking stupid, because Lance sure as shit ain't a southern belle, but with those big eyes and that smile, he sure could be.
John turns and Lance and those eyes are staring up at him and John blinks and his breath catches in his throat. God. What the hell is going on with him? He must be drunker than he thought, because he almost closed his eyes and leaned forward to press his lips against Lance's. He shakes his head slightly and Lance smiles that half smile of his and whispers, "No kissing, right?" and John nods, "yeah, right," he says, "no kissing."
Lance shrugs and presses his lips to John's skin right under his jaw. John tilts his head back and leans his hands on the counter and Lance's hands are pressing into his sides, his palms flat on John's skin, and sliding up his stomach and to his chest. Lance's mouth is hot on his throat and John moans softly. Lance pulls back and John blinks and looks down at him. Lance steps back, pulling John with him and pushing him onto the couch.
John falls on the couch, half naked and sprawled. Lance kneels on the ground between his legs and reaches for John's waistband, flicking open the button of his jeans with his thumb and freeing John from his boxers. Lance leans down to slide his wet tongue along John's stomach and his fingers hook under the waist of John's pants, "off," murmurs Lance against his skin and John complies, lifting his hips for Lance.
John lets Lance do whatever he wants. John knows how this is going to go, Lance is going to tease him for a bit and then put his mouth over his cock and John's hips are going to rise off the couch and he's going to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out and his fingers will find their way into Lance's hair and Lance will give him the best blowjob of his life.
So John's relaxed. He's sighing softly as Lance's tongue flicks over the tip of his dick and he smiles to himself when his dick is fully in Lance's mouth, and it's just wet heat, hot and steaming and John wonders how long he can keep Lance around for the sole purpose of his mouth. He thinks probably not that long, since Lance kind of hates him.
Lance's hand wraps around John's cock and he slides it up and down, jerking John off in time with his mouth and his fingers are slick on John and John knows that you can't really just go out and find someone to practice this on, but somehow Lance must have, because goddamn is he good at this. Lance nudges John's legs, and John's legs open on their own, Lance's fingers digging into his thighs.
Lance moves his hand, slick with spit, over John's dick and under to cup his balls and his mouth follows and John groans, lifting his hips off the couch. Fuck, fuck, fuck, John thinks, and he thinks he's might be saying that out loud, but he's not sure, so he tries to figure out if he can hear his voice over the roaring in his head, but then Lance's hand is underneath him and his finger is slick with Lance's own spit and what the hell is he doing, this isn't part of the deal, Lance isn't supposed to slide his finger inside John's body, but that's exactly what Lance is doing and John tries to stop him, looks down and says, "hey, wait a min…" but then Lance bends his finger, crooks it at exactly the right angle and John sees stars behind his suddenly closed eyes and okay, Lance is allowed to do that.
Lance is moving faster, his lips are covering John's dick and his head is bobbing up and adown and Jesus Christ, this is fucking good, Lance's mouth and Lance's finger and just Lance. Lance puts his tongue flat against the underside of John's dick and slides his mouth slowly down from the tip to the base. John's head falls back on the top of the couch and he thinks that he can't take much more of this, because Lance's finger is pressing exactly where it's supposed to be pressing, and John's not sure why he's surprised, because Lance is a fucking god, and he knows shit like this. But then Lance's tongue is suddenly not on John's dick anymore, it's licking his balls and John groans, and then it's moving lower and oh my god, he's not going to do this, but he does, he slides his tongue inside John, right next to his finger and John thinks there is no way I'm kissing him now, and he comes hard, spasming against Lance's mouth, and he feels the wetness on his chest, because this time Lance's mouth isn't over him, it's under him and his tongue is in him and god, is John ever going to stop coming, because it doesn't feel like it at all.
Lance's hand is flat on John's stomach and when John stops quivering, Lance sits back and wipes his mouth and John's eyes open partway to look down at him and his eyes are drawn to Lance's mouth and as he watches, Lance licks his lips and sits up. John is still trying to catch his breath, so he doesn't move, so when Lance stands up John's eyes are directly level with Lance's waist and he can see Lance is hard, he can see the bulge beneath Lance's jeans. His mind is racing, he's trying to figure out if he could actually touch Lance's dick, he's never touched another guy's dick before, but maybe he should do this for Lance, since Lance just had his tongue in John's ass.
But he doesn't even get the option. Lance takes a step back, says, "see ya. I'm not going to tell you to call me, because I know you won't." He turns and heads out the door of the bus, and if John wasn't sitting on the couch completely naked and sticky, he would wonder if Lance was even there at all.
*****
John considers calling him this time. He really does. He even opens his phone and scrolls to Lance's number. He never follows through, though. He tells himself it's because Adrienne is right in the next room, or because Rob's going to be at his place in ten minutes to pick him up, or because hey, he's not gay, what the hell does he need Lance for anyway? but he never really convinces himself any of those things are true.
Except the gay thing.
So John doesn't call Lance. He doesn't call him and he doesn't think about him, ever. Except that he totally thinks about him all the time. And it's not so bad when he's eating breakfast or reading the paper, because hey, maybe Lance likes Cheerios or is reading the stock report just like John is. It's bad when he thinks about him during sex with Adrienne.
John used to think that he and Adrienne had a pretty good sex life. She was flexible, she's willing to do pretty much anything John wants to do, and once she even offered to let John tie her up. John really wanted to do that one, and possibly shove a gag in her mouth so she would just shut the fuck up for once, but he decided against it because he was pretty sure Adrienne would want to be untied at some point, and it would be really easy for John to leave her there for days and not miss her at all.
But then John met Lance. And suddenly, Adrienne didn't do anything right. She used too much spit during a blowjob, she didn't use enough. She sure as hell didn't use enough pressure during a hand job, John thought that before he met Lance, but now it was amplified, as if he was justified in his thinking. And she wanted to kiss him too often.
John had gone out and rented Pretty Woman after Lance made that reference the first time they hung out. John wanted to know what Lance was talking about, and even though the movie starred Julia Roberts and was totally not a movie that straight guys would ever like in a million years, he needed to know what the hell Lance meant by that comment.
And he wishes that were it. He wishes that he felt kissing was too intimate, that it was something reserved for people who meant something to each other, who were maybe in love. But John's an asshole and he just didn't want to kiss Lance because that would mean that he wasn't as straight as he claimed to be.
John tries to forget that Lance had his tongue in John's ass, and that right there proves that he's not exactly walking a straight line.
But he kisses Adrienne. And she wants to kiss him too much. God, she's always touching him, running her hand over his arm, turning his face towards hers for a good morning kiss or a goodbye kiss or a goodnight kiss. And she's constantly hugging him and kissing the side of his neck or his cheek. She doesn't just leave him alone when he's trying to do something like read the fucking paper, she always has to be touching him and kissing him and John wishes that he could just tell her, "Look, kissing is for people in love and I'm not really sure I'm in love, so how about you knock it off?" But he doesn't do that. He sighs, kisses her and goes on his way.
But the blowjob thing is something he can't really ignore anymore. Because he closes his eyes and he sees Lance while Adrienne is on her knees in front of him, and it's not like he's picturing Lance giving him head, it's that he's wishing Lance were, because he's so fucking good at it, and Adrienne is so fucking not.
And John kind of wants her to do that finger thing, too, but how the hell do you even bring something like that up?
But Adrienne's pretty open, John thinks. Adrienne wanted him to buy a fucking swing to hang from the bedroom ceiling, she'd probably understand that hey, guys have prostates, they like when they're stimulated and she's really way too fucking stupid to think that John let some pop star stick his finger - and tongue, god, his tongue - up his ass.
So the next time Adrienne comes over and wants to have sex, John pushes her head down and she goes willingly in front of him, her fingers deftly opening his jeans, her head already bobbing up and down on his cock.
John's decided the best approach is to start coaching her on the easy stuff first. And since he has no idea how to tell her to use less spit, so he fists his hands in her hair and goes for the pressure.
"Uhh, baby, yeah," John moans, his eyes shut. "Use your hand," Adrienne moves her fingers to grip him loosely, stroking him. "Harder, harder," John says, reaching down and closing his fingers around hers.
"You want to do this?" she says, sitting back on her heels.
John sighs and looks down at her, "Come on, Ade, just… it feels good. Harder, you won't break it."
She sort of rolls her eyes at him and goes back to what she was doing, her fingers tight around his cock, and yes, that's it, harder, harder, faster. John rests his head on the back of the couch and she mumbles around him, "you like that?" and he groans in response. She seems to like the noises she's getting from him, so she says, "What else, Johnny? Tell me what you want."
John's breath catches for a second because this is his chance. He didn't even have to ease her into it, she asked, it's really very easy for him to tell her now.
"Well," John says and she looks up at him, her hand still stroking his dick. "Mmm, yeah, baby, like that, hard." He pets her head and says, "Do me a favor," and she smiles and purrs, "anything," and he says, "I want your finger, stick your finger in me," and her eyes widen and she sits back, her hand not on his dick anymore and he knows that he ain't getting anything else the rest of the night.
"What?" she asks.
"Come on, Adrienne, it feels good," John tells her.
"How the fuck would you know?" she asks him. "We never did that, how would you know how it feels?"
John panics slightly, because she does have a point. He snorts, "It's common knowledge," he tells her. "Guys have a prostate, it's amazing when it's stimulated."
She wrinkles her nose and her forehead and looks at his naked body with distaste. John feels like he should cover up or something. Adrienne says, "did you shower?" and he wants to slap her.
"What? The fuck, Adrienne!" He shakes his head, "of course I fucking showered, I'm not a Neanderthal!"
"You shit out of your asshole, Johnny, I ain't sticking my finger up there!"
John wants to laugh. In fact, he does. He starts laughing in disbelief that this fucking girl would think of something like that, when in fact, really, she should think of something like that, but come the fuck on, Lance had his tongue there and that's way worse than a finger. So John goes for broke - since he's not getting any anyway - and says, "So I guess you tonguing me is out of the question?" and Adrienne looks horrified and gets up, picking up her coat and purse and leaving, telling John to "not fucking call me anymore, you sick bastard."
John wants to care, but can't. He just waits until he hears the door slam behind her, reaches down and jerks himself off, thinking of Lance the whole time.
part two