long fic: Prelude To A Kiss (Lance/John Rzeznik) 3/6
Prelude To A Kiss; part 3 of 6
John wants to call Lance after New Years, but he doesn't. He thinks about it a lot. More than he should probably, and he tries to figure out what to say to Lance, but he can't. Because he's pretty sure with how his mouth doesn't listen to his brain sometimes, Lance would pick up the phone and John would say, "hey, what's, up? No, I'm fine, so are you still in love with me?" And John doesn't think that's a great idea.
So he doesn't call. But he really wants to. Because if there is any time John should call Lance, this is it. He doesn't know what Lance is thinking, Lance didn't say much before running out of the hotel room, and John feels like he should do something. Like maybe he should call Lance just to say hi, just so Lance doesn't think John's an asshole.
Tomorrow, he thinks. He wakes up, thinks about calling Lance, thinks tomorrow, then goes about his day. And tomorrow turns into another tomorrow, then another and another and suddenly a whole month of tomorrows have passed and John still hasn't called. So now it's February and John hasn't called Lance, and that opens up a whole new issue: will Lance think he's an asshole for waiting a month to call or will Lance be happy that he did?
John's standing in his kitchen making dinner, and he realizes it's the same pasta he made when Lance came over around Christmas. He sighs and puts down the spoon and picks up his phone. He doesn't care if Lance thinks he's an asshole, he's going to call. It's been a month and okay, he should have called earlier, he can admit that, but at least he's calling now, right? At least he's still thinking about Lance and he's not hoping Lance fell off the face of the earth. So if Lance wants to get mad, let him get mad, because John is trying here, it's the best he can do, he doesn't know how he's supposed to react in situations like this, how the fuck is he supposed to react when a guy tells him that he loves him?
John sighs and holds the phone at his ear, looking at the postcard Lance got him. On the bus ride back to LA, John had lay down in his bunk, one arm behind his head and stared at that postcard. Every time he looked at it he noticed something different. The number on the cable car, or the store in the background, or the thin layer of snow on the ground. He recognized the street, closed his eyes and remembered running from the cops on that street, he wondered if one of the alleys on the postcard was one he ducked into to get away. He was amazed every time he looked at it or the map that Lance got them for him. It was like Lance knew him, and that amazed him.
When he got back to LA, he got the map framed. He took it to a shop and he got it professionally matted and framed and he hung it in his studio at his house. He liked being able to look up while he was recording and see it. Lance was right, it was like having a little piece of home with him. At the same frame place, he bought a plastic case for the postcard. The man at the shop told him it was for storing important photos, and John immediately bought one. He attached magnets to the back of it and hung it on his fridge. He never opened the fridge without thinking of Lance.
Lance's voicemail picks up and John clears his throat, "Hey, Lance. It's me. John. Rzeznik." He shakes his head, god, he sounds like a tool already. "It's um, about four and I was just making dinner and I was wondering if you ate anything. But you're not around, I guess, so um… I don't know, call me if you want. Or, hey, I'll be in your neighborhood later, I have to do some shit, so maybe I'll just stop by. If you're home, great, if not, that's cool, too, it'll probably be after seven. Okay. Um. That's it. Bye."
John hangs up his phone and goes back to making his dinner. He sighs, wishing Lance had answered. He wonders if Lance was ignoring his call, or if he really wasn't around to answer the phone. He wishes there was a way to see if his voicemail was picked up, if Lance maybe screened his call, then maybe listened to John's voice over and over again.
John eats his dinner then cleans up, washing the pans, wasting time until six-thirty when he can leave and head to Lance's house. He really has no reason to go to that neighborhood, and if Lance asks him what he was doing there, he's going to lie and say that he wanted to pick up some coffee from that gourmet shop three blocks from Lance's complex and Lance will have to believe him because when Lance was at John's house, he made fun of John for spending money on expensive coffee but wearing a beat up old pair of shoes.
John really can't quite figure out why he cares so much about Lance. What the hell should he care if Lance is okay or not? God, John should be running from Lance, not driving to his house. Lance is in love with John - in love! Why does John want to encourage that? He knows that he'll only break Lance's heart in the long run, if he hasn't already.
But John does care for Lance. No, he's not in love with him, but he considers Lance a friend. And that's almost laughable, because he can count on one hand the number of times that he even talked to Lance, so how could he and Lance be friends? Hell, how could Lance be in love with him? Isn't falling in love something that takes time?
John gets to Lance's house and wipes his hands on his thighs as he approaches the door. He's about to ring the doorbell when he sees a note taped to the door. J - I'm out back, just come in. And John assumes that's for him, but there's like a million J's just in Lance's group, so he's not sure, but he tries the door and it's unlocked, so he steps inside cautiously, "hello?" but doesn't get an answer. He walks through Lance's house, and it's mostly dark, there are no lights on in any of the rooms except the kitchen, where the light is on above the stove.
John looks out into the backyard and Lance is there, lying on his back on a blanket. There's a cooler next to him and if John squints, he can see a bottle next to Lance's hip. John opens the sliding glass door and goes into the yard, walking to the blanket and pausing when he gets next to it.
"Um. Hey," John says softly. "I saw the note on the door, I didn't know if I was J or…"
Lance glances at him, "Who else would be J?"
John shrugs, "I dunno. Aren't the guys in your band J's?"
Lance almost smiles, "Name them."
Oh shit. John pauses; there was that guy at the Super Bowl. "Joey?" he says and Lance nods. John realizes that Lance wants him to name another. John really hates this game. "Um... James?"
Lance shakes his head, "JC and Justin. And there's Chris, too." He looks back up at the sky. "I'm a James."
"Yeah?" John asks, surprised. "I didn't know that."
"Yeah, James Lance," Lance tells him, sitting up and picking up his beer. "After my dad. He's Jim. It's why I go by Lance."
John tilts his head and looks down at him, "you're not a Jim. Definitely went with the right one."
Lance smiles faintly, but doesn't reply. John stands there awkwardly and wonders what the hell he should say now. He's slightly panicked because he knows what's in his head and he really doesn't want to ask Lance if he's still in love with him. So instead he says, "What are you doing out here?"
"Drinking," Lance tells him.
"Oh," John nods. Well, this could be good, for once John won't be the drunk one. He tilts his head, "how come?"
Lance laughs bitterly and John's slightly taken aback. "God," Lance says. He shakes his head and looks up at John and John takes a step back, because Lance really looks like shit. John didn't notice before because it's kind of dark out and Lance didn't really look at him, but now he is, and John squats down and reaches out his hand, touching Lance's face briefly. Lance closes his eyes and leans into John's touch.
"You look like shit, baby," John says softly and Lance's eyes open. Lance blinks and there's tears behind his eyes and John doesn't know what to do. "Lance?"
"God," Lance says, pulling back and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, I just…" he sniffles a bit and picks up his beer, taking a long swallow of it. "Look, I'm sorry about New Years," Lance says softly, his eyes on the blanket between his feet. "I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to."
"No," says John, waving his hand, "it's cool. Really." He sits down next to Lance. "Don't worry about it."
Lance laughs again, "Is that why you haven't called? Because it's cool?"
John smiles faintly, "Hey, I never call when you tell me to, why should I start now? Didn't want you to get any ideas." He nudges Lance's shoulder gently with his and Lance laughs softly, and this time, some of the bitterness is gone.
"You want a beer?" Lance asks him and John nods, because who is he to turn down free beer? Lance hands him one and John opens it, looking up at the sky. Lance opens another of his own. "You know anything about the stars?" he asks John, and John shakes his head.
Lance leans back on his elbows and John does the same. Lance puts his head next to John and points up, tracing a star pattern. "That's the Big Dipper," and John nods, because even he knows that one. Lance traces another, "that's Gemini, the twins." He crosses his arm over John and says, "That one's Orion."
"I've heard of that," John says.
Lance smiles, "Yeah, a lot of people have."
John shakes his head, "Wait, which one is it?" He points, "Doesn't he have a belt? That's not a belt."
Lance pushes John's arm to the left, "No, there." Lance's hand circles John's wrist and his breath is hot on John's cheek. He moves John's arm to trace the constellation. John turns his head slightly and Lance's lips are right there, inches from his own.
John licks his lips, remembering Vegas, remembering a shower, remembering Lance's lips on his cheeks, remembering a bed, a hurried apology, Lance's lips brushing against his so briefly, as if his lips were butterfly wings against paper. Lance is still talking and John is just watching his lips form words and he has to look away because if he doesn't, he just might close the distance between their mouths and kiss Lance, and that is not a good way to convince Lance that he shouldn't be in love with John.
John clears his throat and sits up a bit, leaning back on his elbows. Lance moves away from him, and John wonders if Lance thinks he's sitting too close for John's liking. John reaches out and tugs Lance back next to him, pushing Lance's head on his thighs. Lance looks up at him and smiles faintly before resting his head on John's legs, lying perpendicular to John, his beer bottle resting on his stomach. John looks down at Lance, "So tell me about space. You want to go up there to get closer to the stars?"
Lance shrugs, picks at the label of his bottle. "Dunno. I guess. It's just what I always wanted to do."
John tilts his head, "Really? So the whole music thing…"
"Just a hobby," Lance says and John wants to laugh. Nice fucking hobby this kid got himself. Lance peels the label from his bottle, "Ever since I was a kid, my dad and grandpa had be outside looking at the stars. I got telescopes and books about space when other kids were getting Tonka trucks and tool kits." His eyes move back to the sky, and John looks up. "Hey, a shooting star," Lance says, pointing, "make a wish."
John doesn't see the star in enough time, so he doesn't make a wish. He looks down at Lance who closes his eyes briefly before opening them. "What did you wish for?" John asks.
Lance smiles at him, "I can't tell you. It won't come true."
John smiles and says, "So what happened with getting up there?"
"Funding. I didn't have the twenty million to go." John whistles under his breath and Lance says, "yeah. Exactly." He takes a sip of beer and says, "I'll get there one day. I wanted it too long to give up on it."
John looks down, this kid has some determination. He doesn't let anything get in the way of what he wants, and John's pretty sure that he won't let a measly twenty million come between him and the sky. "You trained, though, right? I remember seeing something on the news."
Lance grins, "Yep. Went to Russia, I'm a certified cosmonaut."
"You speak Russian?" Lance looks up at him and says something in Russian. Yeah. That's kind of hot, John thinks. "What did you say?"
Lance smiles slowly, "I can't tell you that. It's a secret."
John laughs, "Come on! Tell me!"
Lance just shakes his head. "No." He smiles, then turns serious, looking away from John. "Why'd you come here?"
John's voice is quiet, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That you didn't think I hated you."
Lance shakes his head, "I never thought that."
John laughs softly, "Yes, you did. Face it, Lance, I'm an asshole."
Lance nods, "Yeah, I know. But you're not." He smiles faintly, "Don't ask me to explain that, I have no idea. I just think… you try too hard to act like you don't care, but you really do. I know you do."
John takes a sip of his beer and sits up, leaning on his hands. "Can I ask you something?"
Lance smiles crookedly, "I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to ask."
"You don't know what I'm going to ask," John tells him.
Lance turns his head and looks at John. "You want to know how I can be in love with you. Or. Wait. Maybe if it's true or if I just said that."
John scowls. "Okay, fine."
Lance laughs for a minute then nods. "It's true. I am. I wish I wasn't, because I know that I'm not what you want. I'm not who you want. You don't want a guy, you want to fall in love with a beautiful girl and live happily ever after. You don't want this life, hiding and not letting people know who you really are."
"I hide a lot of things from people," John tells him. "My life isn't exactly an open book."
Lance nods, "I know. But this isn't like not admitting you have a girlfriend or not talking about your personal life. This is bigger. This can ruin your career. This is being scared that someone is going to find out and hate you because of it." He turns his head again, looking up at John. "You don't want this. Hell, you don't even want to kiss me, I know you don't want to fall in love with me."
John doesn't know how to reply to Lance, he has no idea what to say. He lifts a hand and runs his fingers through Lance's hair. "I like you, though," John tells him. "I like fighting with you, I like pissing you off."
Lance laughs, "Hey, thanks a lot," he says and John smiles.
"I thought about not calling. Just letting it go and going on my way," John tells him and Lance nods, because he knows. Of course he knows. "But. I like you and I like hanging out with you, and no, you're right, I don't want to fall in love with you, but I do want to be your friend."
"With benefits?" Lance asks, and his voice is slightly hopeful.
John laughs and tugs on Lance's hair. "Maybe. I just… I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Lance. This isn't going to go anywhere. Me and you… we'll never happen, not like that."
Lance nods and sits up, wrapping his arms around his legs. "I know," he says so softly, John strains to hear him. "You won't be hurting me."
John watches him for a minute. "You'll be hurting yourself," he says. "Are you sure you want that?"
Lance lifts his shoulders and then lets them drop. He turns his head to look at John. "If it means getting to be with you? Yeah. I'll take it any way I can get it."
*****
John's not sure that he's okay with this whole arrangement he and Lance came up with. He left Lance's house that night feeling uneasy and unsettled and still feeling like somehow he was an asshole who didn't care about Lance and what he was feeling.
Lance had told him over and over that John wasn't being a dick, that Lance could walk away any time he wanted to, that Lance was the one initiating this whole thing, that he knew what he was doing. Yes, he was in love with John, no, that hasn't gone away, but he could handle it. He knew that John didn't want the same things, that John would never want the same things and he was just going to go about this whole thing like he has been since they met.
John sighs as he enters his house. The ball is still in his court. Nothing's changed in their fucked up relationship except John knows how Lance feels. Lance still isn't going to call John, he won't bother John, won't be that clingy, annoying friend that no one wants. Lance won't bother John when John doesn't want to be bothered and if John never calls Lance again, Lance will deal with that and move on.
So if all this is true, if nothing's changed, why does John feel like an even bigger asshole than before?
John tosses his keys on the table in the kitchen and gets a beer out of the fridge. He sits on the back porch and drinks it, his head resting on the back of the chair, his eyes closed. He thinks about Lance. They talked more about space and John can't even believe the passion the kid has. He talked about going to space camp when he was a kid, he talked about his telescope and how much it cost, but how it was totally worth it with all the shit he can do. He talked about being in Russia and what he learned and he's genuinely not pissed off about not being able to go, he accepted it. Yes, he's upset, but he's not angry. John would be angry.
Lance showed John the scar from his heart surgery and John had reached out and ran his fingertip over the small white line. "Was it worth it?" John asked him. "All this - the training, the heart surgery, everything - and you didn't even get to go."
Lance nodded and pulled his shirt back down. "It was totally worth it. John, it's like…" Lance paused, searching for his words. "It's who I am. It's a part of me. It's like…. I don't make music, not in the way you do. I don't write, I don't play, and I can't sit down and start with a blank page and end up with this incredible song. I'm a geek." Lance smiled. "I'm a space geek and it's been a part of me as long as I can remember, and anything I do to further that is worth it. I can't imagine not having that in my life." John shook his head and Lance sat up straighter, facing him. "Songwriting is your life, right? Just imagine if you had to pay to do it. If every time you sat down to write a song, you had to pay a thousand dollars, no matter if you were just fucking around in your basement as a sixteen year old kid or if you were writing the next top 40 hit. And you're okay with that, you're writing like it's free and you're making progress, you're learning how to get better and better, and then one day, you ran out of money. You were told that you weren't allowed to write songs anymore. Would you just… stop trying? Would you sit there and let them tell you that you can't do this one thing that defines who you are?"
"But that doesn't define you," John said.
Lance nodded, his voice passionate, "Yes. Yes, it does. Most people don't know that, most people see me as one of the guys in *NSYNC." Lance shook his head, "But that's not who I am. That's who I was for the past few years, but that's not who I am. I was a whole different person before the group and that person is still inside me. And I was that person a hell of a lot longer than I've been this guy." Lance met John's eyes. "I could give music up tomorrow and I'd still be happy. I couldn't give up this." Lance waved at the sky. "I couldn't give up this," he said again, his voice quiet.
John tilts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a long swallow, thinking about that conversation. He sat and watched Lance in awe. He had never known anyone in his life to be that passionate, that devoted to something before. Lance spoke about his dreams like they were never out of reach. Lance believes it could still happen for him, and he believes it with so much hope that John believes it, too.
John wonders how Lance loves. He wonders if Lance loves with the passion he feels for his dreams. He wonders what it's like to be on the receiving end of that love, really on the end of it, full time, not what he's experiencing now. Because John's only getting part of it. He's getting the part where Lance will drop things to see him, where Lance will open up with him about what he's feeling, he'll share details of his life. He's getting the part with the fantastic fucking blowjobs and the new experiences in sex.
But he's not getting all of it. He's not getting random phone calls in the middle of the day. He's not getting little gifts that just made Lance think of him - not because it's Christmas, but just because it's Tuesday and Lance loves him. He's not waking up next to Lance and falling asleep next to Lance.
And he's not getting kisses. Perfect, mind-blowing, stop the world kisses that make John weak in the knees to think about. He's not getting Lance's hands holding his face as Lance tilts his head to kiss John deeper. He's not getting Lance's tongue dragging along his lower lip just before Lance's teeth nip at it. He's not getting Lance's breath on his lips seconds before his mouth lowers onto John's. He's not getting soft kisses across his face, over his nose and closed eyes and down to his lips. He's not getting Lance laughing against his mouth, or saying the words "I love you" against his lips. He's not getting any of that.
And he's almost sure he doesn't want it.
*****
John keeps himself busy over the next few months. He calls Lance every other week or so, and not every time is because he's horny. He calls Lance just to check in, see how he's doing. He laughs at Lance's boredom, he swears every time he talks to Lance and asks him what he's doing, he says, "God, nothing, entertain me." Lance misses being on the road, he says and he misses recording. When John reminds him that he said he could give up music and be happy, Lance laughs and says, "Yes, well, now I need something to actually do!"
John likes talking to Lance. He likes when Lance picks fights over John being cheap and he likes when Lance has stories to tell him about going to the grocery store and the guy he got behind in the checkout line. John wishes he could go grocery shopping with Lance just one time, because it sounds like Lance has a lot of fun while doing it, when for John it's a major fucking chore to go out and buy bread. Lance talks like he makes lists to go and John wonders what exactly he makes a list of, because he sure doesn't have anything in his fridge and when he mentions that to Lance, Lance says, "Alcohol, of course," and John laughs, because knowing Lance, he's not lying.
John calls Lance a lot when he's pissed off. John's been recording and he's starting to stress about a show they're doing in July, which is fucking ridiculous, because it's only the end of March and he shouldn't worry about it now, but he's John fucking Rzeznik and sometimes he thinks Worry is his middle name, so he worries. They're talking about playing a new song for the show, so now they have to actually write a fucking song and John hates when he has to write under pressure. He wrote Gutterflower in two weeks and look how well that turned out for him, so yeah, John needs less pressure, please. But he calls Lance and picks a stupid fight with him about Lance falling in love too easily and it was stupid, because Lance is a nice guy and he never brings that shit up or reminds John of it and now John's using that just to get out his own fucking aggression and remind him again why he's not married? But Lance fights back and when he's had enough, he says, "Fuck you, John. I liked it better when you never called," and hangs up on him and John throws his phone across the room and doesn't bother picking it up before he just goes upstairs and to bed.
Since that night in Lance's backyard, John has seen Lance a total of three times. And each time Lance sucked his dick and gotten him off and each time John reached for Lance and only once Lance sighed and pushed him away. There was something different that night, though, John thinks. Lance had been in a bad mood when he showed up at John's house and John asked him about it, but Lance just waved his hand and reached for John's belt and John wasn't thinking about it anymore.
John's gotten better, he thinks, at blowjobs. It's not like he knows first hand or anything, since he can't suck his own dick to compare or anything, and he's pretty fucking sure he's not as good as Lance, because if John didn't recite the scales in his head or list the ingredients for a lemon meringue pie in his head while Lance was sucking him, he'd seriously come in about two minutes, because Lance has the best mouth in the history of ever. But he holds his own, he's sure about that. Lance never has any complaints anyway, and Lance is the only one who matters, since John sure as fuck isn't blowing anyone else.
In fact, Lance is the only guy John has anything to do with anymore. He still goes out and picks up women, he's been dating this one chick, Ashley, off and on for a month now, nothing serious, just having fun, but he doesn't have any urge to find a guy to get him off. If he wants that, he just calls Lance, and since Lance is more than willing to do whatever John wants him to do, John really gets the best of both worlds. And he only occasionally feels like an asshole.
John wonders sometimes how straight he really is anymore. But then he picks up a girl and he remembers why he loves them so much. Curves and soft skin and legs that go on for miles. He likes how smooth their face is when he's kissing them, he likes the needy, breathless noises they make when he does something they like. He likes the high pitched moans when they come, the way their breath catches in their throats and the way their toes curl and the way they squeeze their tits as their orgasms overtake them. Because women just let go. They have no control over anything when they come, they thrash around on the bed for minutes leading up to it and they arch their backs and lift their hips and cry out and they have absolutely no concept of anything. John fucking loves that. He loves the power he feels like he has over them in those five minutes. Because he's doing this to them, he's the reason they can't remember their own name. It's all him.
But then he's with Lance and Lance is so responsive to his touches. Lance fists John's hair in his hands and moans softly when John takes him in his mouth. Lance's voice gets impossibly deep and the rumble goes right to John's chest and it makes his dick twitch in response. When Lance comes, he bites his lip and he closes his eyes and he always, always says John's name. Lance might not remember his own name, but he always remembers John's. He likes how sensitive Lance is right after he comes, how when John tries to rub his thumb over the tip of Lance's dick, Lance jerks away, pushes weakly at John's hands in protest.
But he's not gay. He doesn't like guys, he just likes Lance. He doesn't walk down the street and notice guys, he doesn't look twice at a guy in a restaurant or in the grocery store. He only has eyes for women. He loves women.
So many he's not bisexual. Maybe he's Lancesexual. Maybe he's being a selfish asshole and wants Lance for himself, wants Lance to be at his beck and call whenever he wants him, but doesn't want to give up women. He and Lance don't actually have sex, John's dick has never been anywhere but Lance's mouth, and if only had to live with that, he'd go insane. And he's not sure he wants to do anything else with Lance. He's perfectly content with blowjobs and fingers and rimming. John hasn't even stuck his finger up Lance's ass, and he's really, really not keen on putting his tongue there, so yeah, John can't ever be anything more with Lance, because he's not ready for all that shit. He's just not.
*****
John decides to give up writing a new song to perform in July and they decide, instead to do a remake of "Give A Little Bit." When they listen to it and it's like an hour long, it's just as bad as writing a new song because now they have to pick it apart and figure out what parts they want to sing and they end up arranging it again rather than just singing a snippet of it and John sometimes hates his fucking job.
He doesn't see Lance for a month, he barely talks to him, he's in the studio all day and by the time he gets out at night, all he wants to do is come home and crash. He doesn't call much, just once or twice to say hi, and that's all he has time for before he's falling asleep on the phone. Lance never asks him to come over, he never just drops by and John finds that he kind of misses him.
Lance calls him one day, and when John looks at his display, he panics, thinking something is wrong. He's at the studio and he immediately gets up from the mixing board, tells Rob he needs to take this call, and goes outside, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.
"What happened?" John asks when he picks up the phone.
"Hey, nice to hear your voice," Lance says, and his voice is teasing, so John's heartbeat slows down a bit, starts to go back to normal.
"Why are you calling me?" he asks.
Lance hesitates, says, "Sorry," and John realizes how harsh that came out.
"No, no," John says quickly, "I didn't mean that." He takes a drag off his cigarette and sits on the curb. He exhales and stares at the ash on the end of the cigarette. "I just meant you never call me, and now you are, and you never do, so what's up? Did something happen?"
"No," Lance says, then, "am I bothering you?"
"Nah," John tells him. "Just working, I needed a break anyway."
"Okay," Lance says, "If you're sure." John assures him that yes, he's sure and Lance says, "So it's my birthday on Tuesday."
"This Tuesday? As in tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, why don't you tell me at the last minute?" John asks him.
"Shut up," Lance says affectionately. "Look, I'm not telling you this to get you to buy me a present. Trust me, I know how you are about parting with your money."
John smiles and drops the cigarette on the ground at his feet, crushing it out with the toe of his sneaker. "Bite me, Bass."
"Anytime you want," Lance says, and his voice suddenly drops an octave and John shudders.
"So why are you telling me?"
"I want to see you. If you can, I mean. I wouldn't normally ask, but hey, it's my birthday and if I can't ask to see you on my birthday, when can I ask, right?"
Lance is talking quickly, John wouldn't exactly call it babbling, but he wouldn't exactly not call it babbling either. John smiles and lets him talk, lets him get a bit uncomfortable when John doesn't reply, and then when Lance starts faltering and saying, "Nevermind, it was stupid, I'm sorry I bothered you, I'll let you get back to work," John finally interrupts him and says, "I'll be at your place at 5," and Lance's voice perks up, gets hopeful and he asks, "Really?" and John smiles again as he says, "yeah."
"Okay," Lance says. "Cool. Thank you."
"No need to thank me," John tells him, standing up. "It'll be good to see you."
"I want to give you a blowjob for my birthday," Lance says, and his voice is doing that dropping thing again and John groans.
"Tomorrow," John says and hangs up the phone.
*****
John leaves the studio early on Tuesday. He wants to have enough time to shower before going to Lance's house and he maybe thinks he should buy him a birthday present. He's been thinking about what to get him and he can't think of anything, and John's not really a mall kind of guy, but since he has no ideas, he's thinking he should wander around the stores for a bit and try to find something.
But when John drives past the mall, the parking lot is full, and he's not in the mood for this shit, and what the hell is he going to get Lance anyway? Lance is richer than fucking God, he has everything he could possibly want.
John wonders if he gives in and kisses Lance, if that would be present enough.
But he can't do that. Because he lied to Lance and told him he only kissed if he was in love, and he's not in love with Lance, he can't let Lance get the idea that he is.
And he's not in love, he's really not. But when John thinks about Lance, he sometimes thinks about what it would be like to kiss him. He kisses the girls he picks up and feels their smooth skin, and wonders what it would feel like to kiss Lance with a little bit of stubble on his face. He wonders if Lance's lips are as smooth as those girls, because he's seen Lance put chapstick on his lips, so maybe they would be. He wonders what kinds of sounds Lance makes when he kisses, because everyone makes sounds, whether it's small whimpers or soft sighs, but everyone makes sounds.
But since he told Lance that lie, he can't exactly back up and say, "oh, hey just kidding, I kiss people when I'm not in love," because then Lance would look at him differently and want to know why he lied, what the real reason is, and John really can't tell him that.
So John pulls into the mall parking lot and goes inside the building, trying to find something to buy him. He tries to think of something that would mean half as much to Lance as that postcard and map meant to John, but he has no idea what to get. He wanders around, thinks about maybe getting Lance some clothes, making a joke of it and buying him Fruit of the Loom three-packs or something, but then he walks past a store called The Discovery Store and he goes inside.
John spends more money than he planned on, but he ended up getting Lance a DVD set about NASA and this really fucking cool projector thing that projects planets and stars on the ceiling and the walls and yeah, okay, maybe the target audience for it was ten, but John thinks it's really fucking awesome, so he bought it anyway.
He hurries home, showers quickly and attempts to wrap the presents. The only paper he had in the house was either Christmas paper or newspaper, so he just wraps the gifts in the red and gold Christmas paper. He tries to take his time and remember how Lance wrapped John's gifts, but somehow they don't turn out well at all, and John throws them back into the bag and figures that hey, if nothing else, Lance can make fun of him and Lance loves doing that.
He gets to Lance's house only ten minutes late, and when Lance answers the door, the smile on his face is at least a little bit in relief.
"Shut up, like I wouldn't show," John tells him when he sees the look, and Lance rolls his eyes slightly and smiles. John steps into the house and smells… "You didn't attempt to cook did you?"
Lance scowls at him, "Oh god, bite me so hard," and turns to go to the kitchen. John grins, and follows Lance, dropping the bag with the presents inside the living room. Lance is at the oven, bending over and getting something out, and John takes the opportunity to check out Lance's ass.
"So how old are you?" John asks, helping himself to a beer and sitting on the barstool. "Are you legal yet?"
"You're really on a roll tonight, aren't you?" Lance says, smiling at him. "I'm twenty-five," he says and John groans.
"You're way too young for me to be fucking you," John tells him and Lance sets the dish on the stove and looks at him. John takes a drink and when he realizes Lance is staring at him, he lowers it. "What?"
"Would you?" Lance asks him.
"What?"
"Fuck me?" Lance says, and his face is turning a really nice shade of red. "I mean, I never asked because I thought…" he sighs and closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Nevermind."
John tilts his head and watches Lance. His movements are jerky, embarrassed. He's getting out a tray from the fridge and when he opens it, there's salad inside, so John assumes that Lance ordered the food in and he breathes a sigh of relief at that. Lance gets out a few bowls and puts some greens in them, setting them on the table.
Would he? Fuck Lance. Wow. This is big. Lance wants John to fuck him, Lance wants John's dick inside of him, not just in his mouth, but in his ass. Lance trusts John that much, he trusts John to have sex with him and not hurt him.
And god, this has got to be killing Lance. It has to be, John thinks. He can't imagine what it's like to be in love with someone, to be this close to having someone, and yet a million miles away. And to want more of him, really, Lance wants all of him, he wants John to fuck him, and that will just make Lance feel closer to John, and god, how is this not tearing Lance apart little by little?
John says softly, "Lance, I…" he searches for words, but none come to him.
Lance shakes his head and waves his hand, his back to John. "Hey, no worries," he says and his voice is falsely upbeat. He forces a laugh, "I know you're not into that, it's cool." He turns around and smiles at John and the strained smile breaks John's heart just a little bit.
John shakes his head, "No, Lance. No, no. It's just…" he sets the bottle of beer he was drinking on the counter and crosses to stand in front of Lance. He puts his hands on Lance's shoulders, runs them down his arms slightly. He meets Lance's eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
Lance wrinkles his forehead, "You won't. I've done it before."
"No," John says, smiling and shaking his head. "I mean. Lance, you're in love with me. I don't want to do this and hurt you."
"Oh," Lance says and looks away from John's eyes. John really wishes he hadn't done that, because he's getting better at reading Lance, but not when he can't see his eyes. Lance is quiet for a long time, then looks back up, and now his eyes are determined and John groans inwardly, because he knows he's not going to win this. "Look, I told you before that I'll take you any way I can get you. You're not hurting me. None of what we do is you," he shakes his head, "not anymore."
John sighs, "Knowing that it's not me hurting you doesn't make it any easier, Lance. And yes, it is me, too. You think I don't know what's going to happen if I come over here? If it were all you, you'd be calling me, you'd be coming to see me, you wouldn't put this in my hands." His voice is angry, and he hates that, he wishes he could stop it, because he's not angry at Lance, he's not, he's angry at himself, he's angry at the whole situation. He's fucking pissed that Lance can't be to him what he is to Lance.
Lance bites his lip, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I swear, John, I'm okay."
"No," John tells him, running his thumb along Lance's collarbone. "I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad at the situation. I'm mad at myself."
"Don't be," Lance says. He laughs softly, "Come on, this is the perfect situation for you. You get off and have no strings attached."
"Yeah," John says softly, not smiling. "I guess I do."
Lance clears his throat and steps back, "Look, let's not talk about this anymore. I have dinner and then we can just hang out or whatever, okay?"
John smiles, "Sure. I have presents."
Lance raises his eyebrows and his eyes light up and John grins. Lance claps his hands together, "Presents? I told you you didn't have to do that."
"I know, but shut up, I wanted to."
Lance smiles and steps closer to John, wrapping his arms around John's waist. John slides his arms around Lance's shoulders and holds him. Lance says, "thank you," so softly against John's chest, he's not sure he even heard him. John just tightens his arms and kisses the top of Lance's head.
*****
Lance loves his gifts. He opens the DVDs and he takes out each box, reading the back of it and excitedly telling John what's on each disk. He takes out the insert and John waits the ten minutes it takes Lance to read every word printed on it. He wants to put disk one in the DVD player right now, but John makes a pained face and Lance laughs at him and sets them aside.
He takes the projector and plugs it into the wall, pushing aside his couch and the coffee table. He shuts off the lights and turns on the projector. John lies on his back and looks up at the stars dancing across Lance's ceiling and walls. He feels Lance lie down next to him and he turns his head to look at Lance, and he smiles at Lance's expression, the white lights from the stars shining on Lance's face.
"Any constellations in here?" John asks and Lance nods.
"Yeah, there's millions," Lance says and looks at John. "Look, right there," he outlines a group of stars. "That's Rzeznikics. He's the god of love. Most people assume that's Eros or Cupid, but they're wrong. Look at his big dick," Lance grins and John laughs.
"I don't know, are you sure that's the right name? With a dick like that, he must be a Bass."
Lance laughs and blushes an adorable shade of red and he sighs, resting his hands on his stomach. "This is really great, John," Lance says quietly. "Thank you."
John reaches out and takes one of Lance's hands in his. "Happy birthday," he says and smiles at Lance.
Lance turns his head and returns John's smile. He meets John's eyes and says, "I bet you know what I'm thinking right now."
John nods. "That you really want to kiss me?" he offers.
"Yeah," Lance says, licking his lips. "I really want to kiss you."
Me too, John thinks, but he doesn't say anything, he just squeezes Lance's hand. "Sorry," he says.
"It's okay," says Lance, "no big deal. I'll just have to thank you in other ways."
Lance smiles and turns on his side, running his finger along John's chest and down to the hem of his shirt. John sighs softly when Lance's finger runs over the skin at his stomach and he closes his eyes as Lance puts his mouth on John's hip, sucking the bone sticking out from his jeans.
John lets Lance touch him. He lets Lance run his hands and his lips and his tongue all over his body. He opens his eyes and is captivated by how beautiful Lance looks in the glow from the stars. His hands come up to grip Lance's arms, and Lance stops, looks up at him. John smiles softly and pushes Lance off him, rolls Lance's onto his back and presses his lips against Lance's neck.
John takes off Lance's shirt, his mouth skimming over exposed skin, tasting Lance, taking his time with Lance. John somehow feels something is changing, everything feels different right now. He's not sure what it is, but he feels like this is the last time he'll be with Lance, and that kind of scares him a bit. John's not sure he can define what he is to Lance, and he sure as hell can't define what Lance is to him, but he knows he doesn't want to lose what they have, but he just can't seem to shake the feeling that Lance is slipping away from him, even as his body is moving under him.
John takes off Lance's jeans, his mouth covering Lance's dick, his tongue lapping surely at the tip. Lance moans softly, says, "God John, I love you," and John's eyes close at the sound of the words. He moves his hand along Lance's length; Lance's moans making him hard, leave him wanting more.
John looks up at Lance and after a few seconds, Lance looks down at him, tilting his head. "What?" he asks. His voice is breathless and he is beautiful.
John nods, licking his lips. When he speaks his voice is husky, deep with lust. "I want to," he says to Lance. "I know I shouldn't do this, I know it's going to hurt you and god, Lance, I don't want to hurt you, but… I want to."
Lance smiles, slowly at first, as if he's afraid John is just teasing him, but when he realizes John is serious, his smile widens and he nods, "Okay. Okay, good. I have stuff…" he sits up, "hang on, I'll be right back. Unless… you want to go to the bedroom?"
John shakes his head, "Whatever you want."
Lance stops and looks down at him. "I just want you," he says so simply that John wants to cry.
"Go. I'll wait here."
Lance nods and gets up, heading out of the room. John takes off his shoes and socks and then his jeans, and when Lance gets back, he's naked and lying on the floor, looking up at the sky, trying to find Orion.
"You're so gorgeous," Lance tells him, standing over him, and John reaches out to circle his hand around Lance's ankle.
"Look who's talking," John says and Lance smiles, kneeling down next to him and handing him the shit in his hands.
"Okay, so not to sound like a teacher or anything, but you've never done this and I don't want it to hurt, so listen up." John nods and looks at the things in his hands. "Lube. I want you to use it, cause I've done this before, but it's been a while, so yeah. Go slow, one finger at a time, I'll let you know when I want more." John licks his lips, oh god, he's really going to do this. "Obviously, put on a condom."
"Yeah," John says. "Okay. It's cool."
Lance nods and touches John's shoulder and John looks up from his hands at Lance. Lance's eyes are expressive, John thinks; he wonders if Lance even realizes the amount of love he's showing John at this very moment. "I trust you," Lance says to him. "Stop thinking, okay? And. Well. Thank you," Lance tells him and leans forward, brushing his lips against John's quickly, it's exactly like the kiss Lance gave him on New Years. Except this time Lance wasn't getting up and leaving.
Lance pulls back and lies down and John moves between Lance's legs. He doesn't want to just jump right into this, so he goes back to what he was doing, his mouth finding Lance's dick again, his fingers circling around it. When Lance is making those breathless noises again, John reaches for the lube.
He opens the tube and squirts some of it on his fingers. He wrinkles his nose and rubs it between his thumb and his finger and it's cold. He wonders if he should blow on it to make it warm, but Lance is whimpering and John thinks that he should just get to it already.
He takes a deep breath and reaches for Lance, and Lance's legs fall open on their own. John puts one hand on Lance's hip and reaches under with the finger that's lubed. His finger slips inside Lance easily and John's more interested in the noises Lance is making than being grossed out by what he's doing. He moves his finger around and remembers what Lance did to him and he bends it at the first knuckle and Lance inhales sharply, hisses, and John knows he's doing it right.
After a few seconds, Lance is keening and begging for more, so John carefully slides in a second finger. Lance tells him to get him ready, and John's not really sure what that means, but he opens his fingers and scissors them slightly and Lance is moaning and saying, "yes, yes," over and over, so John's still doing pretty well for himself.
"One more, god," Lance says, and John's really skeptical, because this is going to be too much, but Lance's legs are falling open and he looks wanton, like a slut hired just to please John and John is kind of turned on by that, so he carefully pulls his fingers out and then slowly, so slowly, slides three inside of Lance and he practically howls and bucks against John's hand and John has to admit that he's on a little power trip right now, he cannot believe he's getting these noises out of Lance.
"Now, now," Lance is chanting and John pulls his fingers out, struggles with the condom wrapper, but manages to get it out and put it on. "More lube," Lance says, and John nods, already opening the tube and slicking it over his dick.
And fuck, is he hard. He swears he's harder than he's ever been in his life and this better be fucking good, he better not waste this fucking amazing erection he has for some really bad lay. But then he looks down at Lance, who is watching him through half closed eyes and is slowly, slowly jerking himself off waiting for John and John's ninety-nine percent sure this is going to be amazing.
"Ready?" John asks softly, and Lance moans, "God, yes, please."
John kneels in front of Lance, his hands on Lance's thighs. Lance opens his legs and John positions himself at Lance's entrance and slowly starts to press inside. It's hard. It's tight, god it's so fucking tight and how is Lance going to be able to take this, but he does, he breaths out, whimpers, shuts his eyes tightly and lifts his legs, his heels pressing on John's lower back. John's still not moving fast, he's still not inside Lance, and he's taking his time, he can't tell if Lance's eyes are screwed shut from pleasure or pain, and god, this is going to hurt Lance enough after it's over and he's still in love with John, and John's still not in love with Lance, and John just doesn't want to physically hurt Lance, too, because that would just be too much for him to deal with.
Lance groans and tightens his feet on John's back, pulling him closer, forcing John completely inside of him, and when John's buried deep inside Lance so suddenly like that, he groans himself, because Jesus fucking Christ, this is so fucking good, and John's been with a lot of women, he's had a lot of tight pussies, but nothing like this. Lance is so fucking tight around him, he's pressing against John like a woman never has and John can't breathe for a minute, he just stays still inside Lance and drops his head to Lance's shoulder, gasping for air.
Lance's hands are on John's back, starting at John's lower back and slowly moving along his spine to the nape of his neck. Lance's fingers feel like spiders dancing on John's skin and it should be ticklish, but it's not, it's Lance and it's so fucking sexy John cannot even stand it anymore. He starts to move, his body still pressed against Lance's, only his hips pulling back and sliding back in. He moans every time he slides back inside Lance, and John's wondering how often Lance will let him do this, he's almost beyond caring that he's an asshole for hurting Lance.
Lance lifts his hips to John's thrusts and John lifts himself off Lance's body, kneels on the floor and grips Lance's hips in his hands. His thumbs dig into the hollow of Lance's hips and he holds on, says, "God, faster?" and Lance whimpers, bites his lips and nods and tightens his ass around John, and all those signs point to yes, so John pulls out and slams back into Lance, and Lance cries out, his head falls back, his back arches off the floor and he screams John's name, his fingers clutching at John's forearms and John does it again. And again, and again, and again until he feels his orgasm approaching and he looks down at Lance, who is so fucking beautiful and so fucking breathless under him, and Lance's hand is moving to his dick, he's gripping it so hard John can see his knuckles turning white, and Lance gasps, "fuck, John, I'm gonna come," and then Lance is coming and his ass is clenched again, and that sets John off, and John comes a second after Lance, gasping Lance's name into the air.
John pumps his hips a few more times, milks his orgasm for everything it's worth. He relaxes his fingers on Lance's hips, loosens his grip and pulls out of Lance. He looks down and Lance's chest is heaving, his arms are at his sides, and he looks boneless. He looks well fucked, and John smiles because he did that to Lance. He fucked Lance so hard and so good that Lance can't even move. John lets his eyes move down Lance's body and he sees the white marks on Lance's hips from his fingers and he dips his head and kisses those marks, whispers "sorry," against them and Lance moans. John looks up and sees the come on Lance's stomach and chest and glistening on the tip of Lance's softening dick and John doesn't know what possesses him, but he crawls up Lance's body, his tongue flicking out and cleaning Lance up, moving from his dick to Lance's stomach, finishing with lapping the come on Lance's chest.
John finishes and he's lying on top of Lance, his chin on Lance's chest, and Lance has moved enough to put his hand under his head so he can look down his body at John. John smiles faintly up at him, "that was really… God, Lance, you're fucking fantastic at this."
Lance blushes and John reaches his hand up to run his finger over the red on Lance's cheeks. "You were amazing," Lance tells him, moving a hand to run though John's hair. Something in Lance's expression changes, and he whispers, "god, I wish you were mine."
John closes his eyes against Lance's touch and he doesn't know what to say. John can write songs that millions of people can relate to, he can somehow form sentences and put them to music and have them be played on the radio for ten fucking years, but he can't seem to find the words to reply to Lance. And somehow, that doesn't exactly seem fair.
So instead, he says, "happy birthday, Lance," and Lance's expression falters, falls for a brief moment before Lance recovers.
Lance smiles down at him, says, "best birthday, ever," and then looks away, back up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.
John moves off Lance, slides next to him, reaches on the couch for a blanket and covers both of them. He pulls Lance closer, pulls Lance's head onto his chest. He wraps his arms around this boy, this boy who loves him, who probably loves him more than anyone else John has in his life. He lets Lance run his fingers over his stomach, lets Lance whisper words of love against his chest. He closes his eyes at Lance's voice, wishes he could feel even half of what Lance feels for him. He feels tears start to leak out of the corner of his eyes, but lies perfectly still, not wanting Lance to know.
Lance falls asleep on John's chest, his arm around John's waist, his legs tangled with John's under the blanket. John lies awake for a long time, cheeks wet with tears, Orion lost in the sky on Lance's ceiling.
*****
John stays the night at Lance's, wakes up as the light starts streaming through Lance's windows. Lance groans and pulls the blanket over his head, mumbling something about it being too bright. John smiles and gets up, finding his boxers and pulling them on. He walks bare-chested through Lance's house, to the bathroom, rooting through a few drawers and finding a new, unopened toothbrush. He brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face and then heads back out of the room, going to the kitchen.
Lance has stocked his fridge since John was in his house last, and he has enough food for John to make breakfast. He hums softly as he moves around the kitchen, dicing onions, peppers, ham and cheese for omelets. He makes French toast because Lance doesn't have pancake mix, but that's okay, because John likes French toast better anyway. He cuts some fresh fruit, squeezes some orange juice and goes back into the living room to wake up Lance.
"Hey," John says, squatting down next to Lance's sleeping form. He reaches out and pulls the blanket from Lance's head and Lance moans, turning his face into his arms. John smiles, "Hey, Lance. Come on. I made breakfast."
"You mean you didn't run out on me this time?" Lance mumbles and peeks one eye out from under his arm at John. John can see the amusement glinting in Lance's eyes and he scowls. Lance laughs and rolls on his back, stretching like a cat. The blanket slips down his chest, pools at his waist and John watches him.
Lance catches him staring and smiles slowly. He sits up, completely aware of the way John's eyes move over his skin. "See something you like?" Lance purrs, putting his palm flat against John's chest. Lance's palm to John's bare skin and John wonders if Lance can feel his heartbeat, because John feels like it's about to burst out of his chest.
John clears his throat. "I do," he replies and leans forward, pressing his lips to the hollow of Lance's throat. "And it's in the kitchen." Lance groans and John smiles, getting up and heading back to the kitchen. "Come on. It'll get cold."
John doesn't look back, doesn't want to watch a naked Lance get up and put clothes on that beautiful body. He doesn't want to be affected by Lance, but he is, god help him, he is. Every move Lance makes affects John.
It's not so bad when they're not together. John can think about Lance in passing and be okay. He can go about his business, go to the studio, write songs and see something that reminds him of Lance and he's fine. He laughs or smiles and goes on his way. He doesn't have to pause and let his mind catch up with the breathless feeling in his body. He doesn't have to catch his breath because Lance takes it away.
But when he's with Lance, everything is completely different. He can't breathe. He wants to touch him for no good reason. He wants to curl up on the couch and wrap Lance in his arms. He wants him pressed against him, Lance's breath on his neck, their legs tangled together. He wants Lance across the table from him while they're eating, and he wants Lance in the same room with him while they're just hanging out. He wants Lance's undivided attention.
John smiles when Lance sits at the table in just his boxers. Lance says, "Just how many people are eating breakfast with us? Jesus, did you make enough food?"
John shrugs, says, "I didn't know what you liked," and sits across from him.
Conversation is easy, Lance is obviously tired, and he smiles at John sleepily for over half the meal before he wakes up all the way. John notices Lance's accent is thicker when he's tired, and once Lance stops yawning, he doesn't sound as much like a southern boy. John has to stop himself from feeding Lance oranges, and he can't tear his eyes away from Lance's mouth when he sucks the juice off his fingers.
Then Lance tells John that breakfast was amazing. He gets up and sits in John's lap and wraps his arms around John's neck. He looks John in the eyes, says very softly and very seriously that he has never had a better birthday. He tells John that he's amazing, he says that he knows John will never love him, but last night, Lance almost felt like what they had was real. He tells John he's going to get a shower and John could let himself out, he knows John's busy. He closes his eyes and kisses John's forehead, pressing his lips against John's skin and holding them there for a moment. He whispers so softly that he loves John, then gets up, and without looking back, leaves the room.
And when John has to physically stop himself from going after Lance and pressing his mouth to Lance's, he decides that he has to stop seeing him.
part four
John wants to call Lance after New Years, but he doesn't. He thinks about it a lot. More than he should probably, and he tries to figure out what to say to Lance, but he can't. Because he's pretty sure with how his mouth doesn't listen to his brain sometimes, Lance would pick up the phone and John would say, "hey, what's, up? No, I'm fine, so are you still in love with me?" And John doesn't think that's a great idea.
So he doesn't call. But he really wants to. Because if there is any time John should call Lance, this is it. He doesn't know what Lance is thinking, Lance didn't say much before running out of the hotel room, and John feels like he should do something. Like maybe he should call Lance just to say hi, just so Lance doesn't think John's an asshole.
Tomorrow, he thinks. He wakes up, thinks about calling Lance, thinks tomorrow, then goes about his day. And tomorrow turns into another tomorrow, then another and another and suddenly a whole month of tomorrows have passed and John still hasn't called. So now it's February and John hasn't called Lance, and that opens up a whole new issue: will Lance think he's an asshole for waiting a month to call or will Lance be happy that he did?
John's standing in his kitchen making dinner, and he realizes it's the same pasta he made when Lance came over around Christmas. He sighs and puts down the spoon and picks up his phone. He doesn't care if Lance thinks he's an asshole, he's going to call. It's been a month and okay, he should have called earlier, he can admit that, but at least he's calling now, right? At least he's still thinking about Lance and he's not hoping Lance fell off the face of the earth. So if Lance wants to get mad, let him get mad, because John is trying here, it's the best he can do, he doesn't know how he's supposed to react in situations like this, how the fuck is he supposed to react when a guy tells him that he loves him?
John sighs and holds the phone at his ear, looking at the postcard Lance got him. On the bus ride back to LA, John had lay down in his bunk, one arm behind his head and stared at that postcard. Every time he looked at it he noticed something different. The number on the cable car, or the store in the background, or the thin layer of snow on the ground. He recognized the street, closed his eyes and remembered running from the cops on that street, he wondered if one of the alleys on the postcard was one he ducked into to get away. He was amazed every time he looked at it or the map that Lance got them for him. It was like Lance knew him, and that amazed him.
When he got back to LA, he got the map framed. He took it to a shop and he got it professionally matted and framed and he hung it in his studio at his house. He liked being able to look up while he was recording and see it. Lance was right, it was like having a little piece of home with him. At the same frame place, he bought a plastic case for the postcard. The man at the shop told him it was for storing important photos, and John immediately bought one. He attached magnets to the back of it and hung it on his fridge. He never opened the fridge without thinking of Lance.
Lance's voicemail picks up and John clears his throat, "Hey, Lance. It's me. John. Rzeznik." He shakes his head, god, he sounds like a tool already. "It's um, about four and I was just making dinner and I was wondering if you ate anything. But you're not around, I guess, so um… I don't know, call me if you want. Or, hey, I'll be in your neighborhood later, I have to do some shit, so maybe I'll just stop by. If you're home, great, if not, that's cool, too, it'll probably be after seven. Okay. Um. That's it. Bye."
John hangs up his phone and goes back to making his dinner. He sighs, wishing Lance had answered. He wonders if Lance was ignoring his call, or if he really wasn't around to answer the phone. He wishes there was a way to see if his voicemail was picked up, if Lance maybe screened his call, then maybe listened to John's voice over and over again.
John eats his dinner then cleans up, washing the pans, wasting time until six-thirty when he can leave and head to Lance's house. He really has no reason to go to that neighborhood, and if Lance asks him what he was doing there, he's going to lie and say that he wanted to pick up some coffee from that gourmet shop three blocks from Lance's complex and Lance will have to believe him because when Lance was at John's house, he made fun of John for spending money on expensive coffee but wearing a beat up old pair of shoes.
John really can't quite figure out why he cares so much about Lance. What the hell should he care if Lance is okay or not? God, John should be running from Lance, not driving to his house. Lance is in love with John - in love! Why does John want to encourage that? He knows that he'll only break Lance's heart in the long run, if he hasn't already.
But John does care for Lance. No, he's not in love with him, but he considers Lance a friend. And that's almost laughable, because he can count on one hand the number of times that he even talked to Lance, so how could he and Lance be friends? Hell, how could Lance be in love with him? Isn't falling in love something that takes time?
John gets to Lance's house and wipes his hands on his thighs as he approaches the door. He's about to ring the doorbell when he sees a note taped to the door. J - I'm out back, just come in. And John assumes that's for him, but there's like a million J's just in Lance's group, so he's not sure, but he tries the door and it's unlocked, so he steps inside cautiously, "hello?" but doesn't get an answer. He walks through Lance's house, and it's mostly dark, there are no lights on in any of the rooms except the kitchen, where the light is on above the stove.
John looks out into the backyard and Lance is there, lying on his back on a blanket. There's a cooler next to him and if John squints, he can see a bottle next to Lance's hip. John opens the sliding glass door and goes into the yard, walking to the blanket and pausing when he gets next to it.
"Um. Hey," John says softly. "I saw the note on the door, I didn't know if I was J or…"
Lance glances at him, "Who else would be J?"
John shrugs, "I dunno. Aren't the guys in your band J's?"
Lance almost smiles, "Name them."
Oh shit. John pauses; there was that guy at the Super Bowl. "Joey?" he says and Lance nods. John realizes that Lance wants him to name another. John really hates this game. "Um... James?"
Lance shakes his head, "JC and Justin. And there's Chris, too." He looks back up at the sky. "I'm a James."
"Yeah?" John asks, surprised. "I didn't know that."
"Yeah, James Lance," Lance tells him, sitting up and picking up his beer. "After my dad. He's Jim. It's why I go by Lance."
John tilts his head and looks down at him, "you're not a Jim. Definitely went with the right one."
Lance smiles faintly, but doesn't reply. John stands there awkwardly and wonders what the hell he should say now. He's slightly panicked because he knows what's in his head and he really doesn't want to ask Lance if he's still in love with him. So instead he says, "What are you doing out here?"
"Drinking," Lance tells him.
"Oh," John nods. Well, this could be good, for once John won't be the drunk one. He tilts his head, "how come?"
Lance laughs bitterly and John's slightly taken aback. "God," Lance says. He shakes his head and looks up at John and John takes a step back, because Lance really looks like shit. John didn't notice before because it's kind of dark out and Lance didn't really look at him, but now he is, and John squats down and reaches out his hand, touching Lance's face briefly. Lance closes his eyes and leans into John's touch.
"You look like shit, baby," John says softly and Lance's eyes open. Lance blinks and there's tears behind his eyes and John doesn't know what to do. "Lance?"
"God," Lance says, pulling back and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, I just…" he sniffles a bit and picks up his beer, taking a long swallow of it. "Look, I'm sorry about New Years," Lance says softly, his eyes on the blanket between his feet. "I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to."
"No," says John, waving his hand, "it's cool. Really." He sits down next to Lance. "Don't worry about it."
Lance laughs again, "Is that why you haven't called? Because it's cool?"
John smiles faintly, "Hey, I never call when you tell me to, why should I start now? Didn't want you to get any ideas." He nudges Lance's shoulder gently with his and Lance laughs softly, and this time, some of the bitterness is gone.
"You want a beer?" Lance asks him and John nods, because who is he to turn down free beer? Lance hands him one and John opens it, looking up at the sky. Lance opens another of his own. "You know anything about the stars?" he asks John, and John shakes his head.
Lance leans back on his elbows and John does the same. Lance puts his head next to John and points up, tracing a star pattern. "That's the Big Dipper," and John nods, because even he knows that one. Lance traces another, "that's Gemini, the twins." He crosses his arm over John and says, "That one's Orion."
"I've heard of that," John says.
Lance smiles, "Yeah, a lot of people have."
John shakes his head, "Wait, which one is it?" He points, "Doesn't he have a belt? That's not a belt."
Lance pushes John's arm to the left, "No, there." Lance's hand circles John's wrist and his breath is hot on John's cheek. He moves John's arm to trace the constellation. John turns his head slightly and Lance's lips are right there, inches from his own.
John licks his lips, remembering Vegas, remembering a shower, remembering Lance's lips on his cheeks, remembering a bed, a hurried apology, Lance's lips brushing against his so briefly, as if his lips were butterfly wings against paper. Lance is still talking and John is just watching his lips form words and he has to look away because if he doesn't, he just might close the distance between their mouths and kiss Lance, and that is not a good way to convince Lance that he shouldn't be in love with John.
John clears his throat and sits up a bit, leaning back on his elbows. Lance moves away from him, and John wonders if Lance thinks he's sitting too close for John's liking. John reaches out and tugs Lance back next to him, pushing Lance's head on his thighs. Lance looks up at him and smiles faintly before resting his head on John's legs, lying perpendicular to John, his beer bottle resting on his stomach. John looks down at Lance, "So tell me about space. You want to go up there to get closer to the stars?"
Lance shrugs, picks at the label of his bottle. "Dunno. I guess. It's just what I always wanted to do."
John tilts his head, "Really? So the whole music thing…"
"Just a hobby," Lance says and John wants to laugh. Nice fucking hobby this kid got himself. Lance peels the label from his bottle, "Ever since I was a kid, my dad and grandpa had be outside looking at the stars. I got telescopes and books about space when other kids were getting Tonka trucks and tool kits." His eyes move back to the sky, and John looks up. "Hey, a shooting star," Lance says, pointing, "make a wish."
John doesn't see the star in enough time, so he doesn't make a wish. He looks down at Lance who closes his eyes briefly before opening them. "What did you wish for?" John asks.
Lance smiles at him, "I can't tell you. It won't come true."
John smiles and says, "So what happened with getting up there?"
"Funding. I didn't have the twenty million to go." John whistles under his breath and Lance says, "yeah. Exactly." He takes a sip of beer and says, "I'll get there one day. I wanted it too long to give up on it."
John looks down, this kid has some determination. He doesn't let anything get in the way of what he wants, and John's pretty sure that he won't let a measly twenty million come between him and the sky. "You trained, though, right? I remember seeing something on the news."
Lance grins, "Yep. Went to Russia, I'm a certified cosmonaut."
"You speak Russian?" Lance looks up at him and says something in Russian. Yeah. That's kind of hot, John thinks. "What did you say?"
Lance smiles slowly, "I can't tell you that. It's a secret."
John laughs, "Come on! Tell me!"
Lance just shakes his head. "No." He smiles, then turns serious, looking away from John. "Why'd you come here?"
John's voice is quiet, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That you didn't think I hated you."
Lance shakes his head, "I never thought that."
John laughs softly, "Yes, you did. Face it, Lance, I'm an asshole."
Lance nods, "Yeah, I know. But you're not." He smiles faintly, "Don't ask me to explain that, I have no idea. I just think… you try too hard to act like you don't care, but you really do. I know you do."
John takes a sip of his beer and sits up, leaning on his hands. "Can I ask you something?"
Lance smiles crookedly, "I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to ask."
"You don't know what I'm going to ask," John tells him.
Lance turns his head and looks at John. "You want to know how I can be in love with you. Or. Wait. Maybe if it's true or if I just said that."
John scowls. "Okay, fine."
Lance laughs for a minute then nods. "It's true. I am. I wish I wasn't, because I know that I'm not what you want. I'm not who you want. You don't want a guy, you want to fall in love with a beautiful girl and live happily ever after. You don't want this life, hiding and not letting people know who you really are."
"I hide a lot of things from people," John tells him. "My life isn't exactly an open book."
Lance nods, "I know. But this isn't like not admitting you have a girlfriend or not talking about your personal life. This is bigger. This can ruin your career. This is being scared that someone is going to find out and hate you because of it." He turns his head again, looking up at John. "You don't want this. Hell, you don't even want to kiss me, I know you don't want to fall in love with me."
John doesn't know how to reply to Lance, he has no idea what to say. He lifts a hand and runs his fingers through Lance's hair. "I like you, though," John tells him. "I like fighting with you, I like pissing you off."
Lance laughs, "Hey, thanks a lot," he says and John smiles.
"I thought about not calling. Just letting it go and going on my way," John tells him and Lance nods, because he knows. Of course he knows. "But. I like you and I like hanging out with you, and no, you're right, I don't want to fall in love with you, but I do want to be your friend."
"With benefits?" Lance asks, and his voice is slightly hopeful.
John laughs and tugs on Lance's hair. "Maybe. I just… I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Lance. This isn't going to go anywhere. Me and you… we'll never happen, not like that."
Lance nods and sits up, wrapping his arms around his legs. "I know," he says so softly, John strains to hear him. "You won't be hurting me."
John watches him for a minute. "You'll be hurting yourself," he says. "Are you sure you want that?"
Lance lifts his shoulders and then lets them drop. He turns his head to look at John. "If it means getting to be with you? Yeah. I'll take it any way I can get it."
*****
John's not sure that he's okay with this whole arrangement he and Lance came up with. He left Lance's house that night feeling uneasy and unsettled and still feeling like somehow he was an asshole who didn't care about Lance and what he was feeling.
Lance had told him over and over that John wasn't being a dick, that Lance could walk away any time he wanted to, that Lance was the one initiating this whole thing, that he knew what he was doing. Yes, he was in love with John, no, that hasn't gone away, but he could handle it. He knew that John didn't want the same things, that John would never want the same things and he was just going to go about this whole thing like he has been since they met.
John sighs as he enters his house. The ball is still in his court. Nothing's changed in their fucked up relationship except John knows how Lance feels. Lance still isn't going to call John, he won't bother John, won't be that clingy, annoying friend that no one wants. Lance won't bother John when John doesn't want to be bothered and if John never calls Lance again, Lance will deal with that and move on.
So if all this is true, if nothing's changed, why does John feel like an even bigger asshole than before?
John tosses his keys on the table in the kitchen and gets a beer out of the fridge. He sits on the back porch and drinks it, his head resting on the back of the chair, his eyes closed. He thinks about Lance. They talked more about space and John can't even believe the passion the kid has. He talked about going to space camp when he was a kid, he talked about his telescope and how much it cost, but how it was totally worth it with all the shit he can do. He talked about being in Russia and what he learned and he's genuinely not pissed off about not being able to go, he accepted it. Yes, he's upset, but he's not angry. John would be angry.
Lance showed John the scar from his heart surgery and John had reached out and ran his fingertip over the small white line. "Was it worth it?" John asked him. "All this - the training, the heart surgery, everything - and you didn't even get to go."
Lance nodded and pulled his shirt back down. "It was totally worth it. John, it's like…" Lance paused, searching for his words. "It's who I am. It's a part of me. It's like…. I don't make music, not in the way you do. I don't write, I don't play, and I can't sit down and start with a blank page and end up with this incredible song. I'm a geek." Lance smiled. "I'm a space geek and it's been a part of me as long as I can remember, and anything I do to further that is worth it. I can't imagine not having that in my life." John shook his head and Lance sat up straighter, facing him. "Songwriting is your life, right? Just imagine if you had to pay to do it. If every time you sat down to write a song, you had to pay a thousand dollars, no matter if you were just fucking around in your basement as a sixteen year old kid or if you were writing the next top 40 hit. And you're okay with that, you're writing like it's free and you're making progress, you're learning how to get better and better, and then one day, you ran out of money. You were told that you weren't allowed to write songs anymore. Would you just… stop trying? Would you sit there and let them tell you that you can't do this one thing that defines who you are?"
"But that doesn't define you," John said.
Lance nodded, his voice passionate, "Yes. Yes, it does. Most people don't know that, most people see me as one of the guys in *NSYNC." Lance shook his head, "But that's not who I am. That's who I was for the past few years, but that's not who I am. I was a whole different person before the group and that person is still inside me. And I was that person a hell of a lot longer than I've been this guy." Lance met John's eyes. "I could give music up tomorrow and I'd still be happy. I couldn't give up this." Lance waved at the sky. "I couldn't give up this," he said again, his voice quiet.
John tilts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a long swallow, thinking about that conversation. He sat and watched Lance in awe. He had never known anyone in his life to be that passionate, that devoted to something before. Lance spoke about his dreams like they were never out of reach. Lance believes it could still happen for him, and he believes it with so much hope that John believes it, too.
John wonders how Lance loves. He wonders if Lance loves with the passion he feels for his dreams. He wonders what it's like to be on the receiving end of that love, really on the end of it, full time, not what he's experiencing now. Because John's only getting part of it. He's getting the part where Lance will drop things to see him, where Lance will open up with him about what he's feeling, he'll share details of his life. He's getting the part with the fantastic fucking blowjobs and the new experiences in sex.
But he's not getting all of it. He's not getting random phone calls in the middle of the day. He's not getting little gifts that just made Lance think of him - not because it's Christmas, but just because it's Tuesday and Lance loves him. He's not waking up next to Lance and falling asleep next to Lance.
And he's not getting kisses. Perfect, mind-blowing, stop the world kisses that make John weak in the knees to think about. He's not getting Lance's hands holding his face as Lance tilts his head to kiss John deeper. He's not getting Lance's tongue dragging along his lower lip just before Lance's teeth nip at it. He's not getting Lance's breath on his lips seconds before his mouth lowers onto John's. He's not getting soft kisses across his face, over his nose and closed eyes and down to his lips. He's not getting Lance laughing against his mouth, or saying the words "I love you" against his lips. He's not getting any of that.
And he's almost sure he doesn't want it.
*****
John keeps himself busy over the next few months. He calls Lance every other week or so, and not every time is because he's horny. He calls Lance just to check in, see how he's doing. He laughs at Lance's boredom, he swears every time he talks to Lance and asks him what he's doing, he says, "God, nothing, entertain me." Lance misses being on the road, he says and he misses recording. When John reminds him that he said he could give up music and be happy, Lance laughs and says, "Yes, well, now I need something to actually do!"
John likes talking to Lance. He likes when Lance picks fights over John being cheap and he likes when Lance has stories to tell him about going to the grocery store and the guy he got behind in the checkout line. John wishes he could go grocery shopping with Lance just one time, because it sounds like Lance has a lot of fun while doing it, when for John it's a major fucking chore to go out and buy bread. Lance talks like he makes lists to go and John wonders what exactly he makes a list of, because he sure doesn't have anything in his fridge and when he mentions that to Lance, Lance says, "Alcohol, of course," and John laughs, because knowing Lance, he's not lying.
John calls Lance a lot when he's pissed off. John's been recording and he's starting to stress about a show they're doing in July, which is fucking ridiculous, because it's only the end of March and he shouldn't worry about it now, but he's John fucking Rzeznik and sometimes he thinks Worry is his middle name, so he worries. They're talking about playing a new song for the show, so now they have to actually write a fucking song and John hates when he has to write under pressure. He wrote Gutterflower in two weeks and look how well that turned out for him, so yeah, John needs less pressure, please. But he calls Lance and picks a stupid fight with him about Lance falling in love too easily and it was stupid, because Lance is a nice guy and he never brings that shit up or reminds John of it and now John's using that just to get out his own fucking aggression and remind him again why he's not married? But Lance fights back and when he's had enough, he says, "Fuck you, John. I liked it better when you never called," and hangs up on him and John throws his phone across the room and doesn't bother picking it up before he just goes upstairs and to bed.
Since that night in Lance's backyard, John has seen Lance a total of three times. And each time Lance sucked his dick and gotten him off and each time John reached for Lance and only once Lance sighed and pushed him away. There was something different that night, though, John thinks. Lance had been in a bad mood when he showed up at John's house and John asked him about it, but Lance just waved his hand and reached for John's belt and John wasn't thinking about it anymore.
John's gotten better, he thinks, at blowjobs. It's not like he knows first hand or anything, since he can't suck his own dick to compare or anything, and he's pretty fucking sure he's not as good as Lance, because if John didn't recite the scales in his head or list the ingredients for a lemon meringue pie in his head while Lance was sucking him, he'd seriously come in about two minutes, because Lance has the best mouth in the history of ever. But he holds his own, he's sure about that. Lance never has any complaints anyway, and Lance is the only one who matters, since John sure as fuck isn't blowing anyone else.
In fact, Lance is the only guy John has anything to do with anymore. He still goes out and picks up women, he's been dating this one chick, Ashley, off and on for a month now, nothing serious, just having fun, but he doesn't have any urge to find a guy to get him off. If he wants that, he just calls Lance, and since Lance is more than willing to do whatever John wants him to do, John really gets the best of both worlds. And he only occasionally feels like an asshole.
John wonders sometimes how straight he really is anymore. But then he picks up a girl and he remembers why he loves them so much. Curves and soft skin and legs that go on for miles. He likes how smooth their face is when he's kissing them, he likes the needy, breathless noises they make when he does something they like. He likes the high pitched moans when they come, the way their breath catches in their throats and the way their toes curl and the way they squeeze their tits as their orgasms overtake them. Because women just let go. They have no control over anything when they come, they thrash around on the bed for minutes leading up to it and they arch their backs and lift their hips and cry out and they have absolutely no concept of anything. John fucking loves that. He loves the power he feels like he has over them in those five minutes. Because he's doing this to them, he's the reason they can't remember their own name. It's all him.
But then he's with Lance and Lance is so responsive to his touches. Lance fists John's hair in his hands and moans softly when John takes him in his mouth. Lance's voice gets impossibly deep and the rumble goes right to John's chest and it makes his dick twitch in response. When Lance comes, he bites his lip and he closes his eyes and he always, always says John's name. Lance might not remember his own name, but he always remembers John's. He likes how sensitive Lance is right after he comes, how when John tries to rub his thumb over the tip of Lance's dick, Lance jerks away, pushes weakly at John's hands in protest.
But he's not gay. He doesn't like guys, he just likes Lance. He doesn't walk down the street and notice guys, he doesn't look twice at a guy in a restaurant or in the grocery store. He only has eyes for women. He loves women.
So many he's not bisexual. Maybe he's Lancesexual. Maybe he's being a selfish asshole and wants Lance for himself, wants Lance to be at his beck and call whenever he wants him, but doesn't want to give up women. He and Lance don't actually have sex, John's dick has never been anywhere but Lance's mouth, and if only had to live with that, he'd go insane. And he's not sure he wants to do anything else with Lance. He's perfectly content with blowjobs and fingers and rimming. John hasn't even stuck his finger up Lance's ass, and he's really, really not keen on putting his tongue there, so yeah, John can't ever be anything more with Lance, because he's not ready for all that shit. He's just not.
*****
John decides to give up writing a new song to perform in July and they decide, instead to do a remake of "Give A Little Bit." When they listen to it and it's like an hour long, it's just as bad as writing a new song because now they have to pick it apart and figure out what parts they want to sing and they end up arranging it again rather than just singing a snippet of it and John sometimes hates his fucking job.
He doesn't see Lance for a month, he barely talks to him, he's in the studio all day and by the time he gets out at night, all he wants to do is come home and crash. He doesn't call much, just once or twice to say hi, and that's all he has time for before he's falling asleep on the phone. Lance never asks him to come over, he never just drops by and John finds that he kind of misses him.
Lance calls him one day, and when John looks at his display, he panics, thinking something is wrong. He's at the studio and he immediately gets up from the mixing board, tells Rob he needs to take this call, and goes outside, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.
"What happened?" John asks when he picks up the phone.
"Hey, nice to hear your voice," Lance says, and his voice is teasing, so John's heartbeat slows down a bit, starts to go back to normal.
"Why are you calling me?" he asks.
Lance hesitates, says, "Sorry," and John realizes how harsh that came out.
"No, no," John says quickly, "I didn't mean that." He takes a drag off his cigarette and sits on the curb. He exhales and stares at the ash on the end of the cigarette. "I just meant you never call me, and now you are, and you never do, so what's up? Did something happen?"
"No," Lance says, then, "am I bothering you?"
"Nah," John tells him. "Just working, I needed a break anyway."
"Okay," Lance says, "If you're sure." John assures him that yes, he's sure and Lance says, "So it's my birthday on Tuesday."
"This Tuesday? As in tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, why don't you tell me at the last minute?" John asks him.
"Shut up," Lance says affectionately. "Look, I'm not telling you this to get you to buy me a present. Trust me, I know how you are about parting with your money."
John smiles and drops the cigarette on the ground at his feet, crushing it out with the toe of his sneaker. "Bite me, Bass."
"Anytime you want," Lance says, and his voice suddenly drops an octave and John shudders.
"So why are you telling me?"
"I want to see you. If you can, I mean. I wouldn't normally ask, but hey, it's my birthday and if I can't ask to see you on my birthday, when can I ask, right?"
Lance is talking quickly, John wouldn't exactly call it babbling, but he wouldn't exactly not call it babbling either. John smiles and lets him talk, lets him get a bit uncomfortable when John doesn't reply, and then when Lance starts faltering and saying, "Nevermind, it was stupid, I'm sorry I bothered you, I'll let you get back to work," John finally interrupts him and says, "I'll be at your place at 5," and Lance's voice perks up, gets hopeful and he asks, "Really?" and John smiles again as he says, "yeah."
"Okay," Lance says. "Cool. Thank you."
"No need to thank me," John tells him, standing up. "It'll be good to see you."
"I want to give you a blowjob for my birthday," Lance says, and his voice is doing that dropping thing again and John groans.
"Tomorrow," John says and hangs up the phone.
*****
John leaves the studio early on Tuesday. He wants to have enough time to shower before going to Lance's house and he maybe thinks he should buy him a birthday present. He's been thinking about what to get him and he can't think of anything, and John's not really a mall kind of guy, but since he has no ideas, he's thinking he should wander around the stores for a bit and try to find something.
But when John drives past the mall, the parking lot is full, and he's not in the mood for this shit, and what the hell is he going to get Lance anyway? Lance is richer than fucking God, he has everything he could possibly want.
John wonders if he gives in and kisses Lance, if that would be present enough.
But he can't do that. Because he lied to Lance and told him he only kissed if he was in love, and he's not in love with Lance, he can't let Lance get the idea that he is.
And he's not in love, he's really not. But when John thinks about Lance, he sometimes thinks about what it would be like to kiss him. He kisses the girls he picks up and feels their smooth skin, and wonders what it would feel like to kiss Lance with a little bit of stubble on his face. He wonders if Lance's lips are as smooth as those girls, because he's seen Lance put chapstick on his lips, so maybe they would be. He wonders what kinds of sounds Lance makes when he kisses, because everyone makes sounds, whether it's small whimpers or soft sighs, but everyone makes sounds.
But since he told Lance that lie, he can't exactly back up and say, "oh, hey just kidding, I kiss people when I'm not in love," because then Lance would look at him differently and want to know why he lied, what the real reason is, and John really can't tell him that.
So John pulls into the mall parking lot and goes inside the building, trying to find something to buy him. He tries to think of something that would mean half as much to Lance as that postcard and map meant to John, but he has no idea what to get. He wanders around, thinks about maybe getting Lance some clothes, making a joke of it and buying him Fruit of the Loom three-packs or something, but then he walks past a store called The Discovery Store and he goes inside.
John spends more money than he planned on, but he ended up getting Lance a DVD set about NASA and this really fucking cool projector thing that projects planets and stars on the ceiling and the walls and yeah, okay, maybe the target audience for it was ten, but John thinks it's really fucking awesome, so he bought it anyway.
He hurries home, showers quickly and attempts to wrap the presents. The only paper he had in the house was either Christmas paper or newspaper, so he just wraps the gifts in the red and gold Christmas paper. He tries to take his time and remember how Lance wrapped John's gifts, but somehow they don't turn out well at all, and John throws them back into the bag and figures that hey, if nothing else, Lance can make fun of him and Lance loves doing that.
He gets to Lance's house only ten minutes late, and when Lance answers the door, the smile on his face is at least a little bit in relief.
"Shut up, like I wouldn't show," John tells him when he sees the look, and Lance rolls his eyes slightly and smiles. John steps into the house and smells… "You didn't attempt to cook did you?"
Lance scowls at him, "Oh god, bite me so hard," and turns to go to the kitchen. John grins, and follows Lance, dropping the bag with the presents inside the living room. Lance is at the oven, bending over and getting something out, and John takes the opportunity to check out Lance's ass.
"So how old are you?" John asks, helping himself to a beer and sitting on the barstool. "Are you legal yet?"
"You're really on a roll tonight, aren't you?" Lance says, smiling at him. "I'm twenty-five," he says and John groans.
"You're way too young for me to be fucking you," John tells him and Lance sets the dish on the stove and looks at him. John takes a drink and when he realizes Lance is staring at him, he lowers it. "What?"
"Would you?" Lance asks him.
"What?"
"Fuck me?" Lance says, and his face is turning a really nice shade of red. "I mean, I never asked because I thought…" he sighs and closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Nevermind."
John tilts his head and watches Lance. His movements are jerky, embarrassed. He's getting out a tray from the fridge and when he opens it, there's salad inside, so John assumes that Lance ordered the food in and he breathes a sigh of relief at that. Lance gets out a few bowls and puts some greens in them, setting them on the table.
Would he? Fuck Lance. Wow. This is big. Lance wants John to fuck him, Lance wants John's dick inside of him, not just in his mouth, but in his ass. Lance trusts John that much, he trusts John to have sex with him and not hurt him.
And god, this has got to be killing Lance. It has to be, John thinks. He can't imagine what it's like to be in love with someone, to be this close to having someone, and yet a million miles away. And to want more of him, really, Lance wants all of him, he wants John to fuck him, and that will just make Lance feel closer to John, and god, how is this not tearing Lance apart little by little?
John says softly, "Lance, I…" he searches for words, but none come to him.
Lance shakes his head and waves his hand, his back to John. "Hey, no worries," he says and his voice is falsely upbeat. He forces a laugh, "I know you're not into that, it's cool." He turns around and smiles at John and the strained smile breaks John's heart just a little bit.
John shakes his head, "No, Lance. No, no. It's just…" he sets the bottle of beer he was drinking on the counter and crosses to stand in front of Lance. He puts his hands on Lance's shoulders, runs them down his arms slightly. He meets Lance's eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
Lance wrinkles his forehead, "You won't. I've done it before."
"No," John says, smiling and shaking his head. "I mean. Lance, you're in love with me. I don't want to do this and hurt you."
"Oh," Lance says and looks away from John's eyes. John really wishes he hadn't done that, because he's getting better at reading Lance, but not when he can't see his eyes. Lance is quiet for a long time, then looks back up, and now his eyes are determined and John groans inwardly, because he knows he's not going to win this. "Look, I told you before that I'll take you any way I can get you. You're not hurting me. None of what we do is you," he shakes his head, "not anymore."
John sighs, "Knowing that it's not me hurting you doesn't make it any easier, Lance. And yes, it is me, too. You think I don't know what's going to happen if I come over here? If it were all you, you'd be calling me, you'd be coming to see me, you wouldn't put this in my hands." His voice is angry, and he hates that, he wishes he could stop it, because he's not angry at Lance, he's not, he's angry at himself, he's angry at the whole situation. He's fucking pissed that Lance can't be to him what he is to Lance.
Lance bites his lip, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I swear, John, I'm okay."
"No," John tells him, running his thumb along Lance's collarbone. "I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad at the situation. I'm mad at myself."
"Don't be," Lance says. He laughs softly, "Come on, this is the perfect situation for you. You get off and have no strings attached."
"Yeah," John says softly, not smiling. "I guess I do."
Lance clears his throat and steps back, "Look, let's not talk about this anymore. I have dinner and then we can just hang out or whatever, okay?"
John smiles, "Sure. I have presents."
Lance raises his eyebrows and his eyes light up and John grins. Lance claps his hands together, "Presents? I told you you didn't have to do that."
"I know, but shut up, I wanted to."
Lance smiles and steps closer to John, wrapping his arms around John's waist. John slides his arms around Lance's shoulders and holds him. Lance says, "thank you," so softly against John's chest, he's not sure he even heard him. John just tightens his arms and kisses the top of Lance's head.
*****
Lance loves his gifts. He opens the DVDs and he takes out each box, reading the back of it and excitedly telling John what's on each disk. He takes out the insert and John waits the ten minutes it takes Lance to read every word printed on it. He wants to put disk one in the DVD player right now, but John makes a pained face and Lance laughs at him and sets them aside.
He takes the projector and plugs it into the wall, pushing aside his couch and the coffee table. He shuts off the lights and turns on the projector. John lies on his back and looks up at the stars dancing across Lance's ceiling and walls. He feels Lance lie down next to him and he turns his head to look at Lance, and he smiles at Lance's expression, the white lights from the stars shining on Lance's face.
"Any constellations in here?" John asks and Lance nods.
"Yeah, there's millions," Lance says and looks at John. "Look, right there," he outlines a group of stars. "That's Rzeznikics. He's the god of love. Most people assume that's Eros or Cupid, but they're wrong. Look at his big dick," Lance grins and John laughs.
"I don't know, are you sure that's the right name? With a dick like that, he must be a Bass."
Lance laughs and blushes an adorable shade of red and he sighs, resting his hands on his stomach. "This is really great, John," Lance says quietly. "Thank you."
John reaches out and takes one of Lance's hands in his. "Happy birthday," he says and smiles at Lance.
Lance turns his head and returns John's smile. He meets John's eyes and says, "I bet you know what I'm thinking right now."
John nods. "That you really want to kiss me?" he offers.
"Yeah," Lance says, licking his lips. "I really want to kiss you."
Me too, John thinks, but he doesn't say anything, he just squeezes Lance's hand. "Sorry," he says.
"It's okay," says Lance, "no big deal. I'll just have to thank you in other ways."
Lance smiles and turns on his side, running his finger along John's chest and down to the hem of his shirt. John sighs softly when Lance's finger runs over the skin at his stomach and he closes his eyes as Lance puts his mouth on John's hip, sucking the bone sticking out from his jeans.
John lets Lance touch him. He lets Lance run his hands and his lips and his tongue all over his body. He opens his eyes and is captivated by how beautiful Lance looks in the glow from the stars. His hands come up to grip Lance's arms, and Lance stops, looks up at him. John smiles softly and pushes Lance off him, rolls Lance's onto his back and presses his lips against Lance's neck.
John takes off Lance's shirt, his mouth skimming over exposed skin, tasting Lance, taking his time with Lance. John somehow feels something is changing, everything feels different right now. He's not sure what it is, but he feels like this is the last time he'll be with Lance, and that kind of scares him a bit. John's not sure he can define what he is to Lance, and he sure as hell can't define what Lance is to him, but he knows he doesn't want to lose what they have, but he just can't seem to shake the feeling that Lance is slipping away from him, even as his body is moving under him.
John takes off Lance's jeans, his mouth covering Lance's dick, his tongue lapping surely at the tip. Lance moans softly, says, "God John, I love you," and John's eyes close at the sound of the words. He moves his hand along Lance's length; Lance's moans making him hard, leave him wanting more.
John looks up at Lance and after a few seconds, Lance looks down at him, tilting his head. "What?" he asks. His voice is breathless and he is beautiful.
John nods, licking his lips. When he speaks his voice is husky, deep with lust. "I want to," he says to Lance. "I know I shouldn't do this, I know it's going to hurt you and god, Lance, I don't want to hurt you, but… I want to."
Lance smiles, slowly at first, as if he's afraid John is just teasing him, but when he realizes John is serious, his smile widens and he nods, "Okay. Okay, good. I have stuff…" he sits up, "hang on, I'll be right back. Unless… you want to go to the bedroom?"
John shakes his head, "Whatever you want."
Lance stops and looks down at him. "I just want you," he says so simply that John wants to cry.
"Go. I'll wait here."
Lance nods and gets up, heading out of the room. John takes off his shoes and socks and then his jeans, and when Lance gets back, he's naked and lying on the floor, looking up at the sky, trying to find Orion.
"You're so gorgeous," Lance tells him, standing over him, and John reaches out to circle his hand around Lance's ankle.
"Look who's talking," John says and Lance smiles, kneeling down next to him and handing him the shit in his hands.
"Okay, so not to sound like a teacher or anything, but you've never done this and I don't want it to hurt, so listen up." John nods and looks at the things in his hands. "Lube. I want you to use it, cause I've done this before, but it's been a while, so yeah. Go slow, one finger at a time, I'll let you know when I want more." John licks his lips, oh god, he's really going to do this. "Obviously, put on a condom."
"Yeah," John says. "Okay. It's cool."
Lance nods and touches John's shoulder and John looks up from his hands at Lance. Lance's eyes are expressive, John thinks; he wonders if Lance even realizes the amount of love he's showing John at this very moment. "I trust you," Lance says to him. "Stop thinking, okay? And. Well. Thank you," Lance tells him and leans forward, brushing his lips against John's quickly, it's exactly like the kiss Lance gave him on New Years. Except this time Lance wasn't getting up and leaving.
Lance pulls back and lies down and John moves between Lance's legs. He doesn't want to just jump right into this, so he goes back to what he was doing, his mouth finding Lance's dick again, his fingers circling around it. When Lance is making those breathless noises again, John reaches for the lube.
He opens the tube and squirts some of it on his fingers. He wrinkles his nose and rubs it between his thumb and his finger and it's cold. He wonders if he should blow on it to make it warm, but Lance is whimpering and John thinks that he should just get to it already.
He takes a deep breath and reaches for Lance, and Lance's legs fall open on their own. John puts one hand on Lance's hip and reaches under with the finger that's lubed. His finger slips inside Lance easily and John's more interested in the noises Lance is making than being grossed out by what he's doing. He moves his finger around and remembers what Lance did to him and he bends it at the first knuckle and Lance inhales sharply, hisses, and John knows he's doing it right.
After a few seconds, Lance is keening and begging for more, so John carefully slides in a second finger. Lance tells him to get him ready, and John's not really sure what that means, but he opens his fingers and scissors them slightly and Lance is moaning and saying, "yes, yes," over and over, so John's still doing pretty well for himself.
"One more, god," Lance says, and John's really skeptical, because this is going to be too much, but Lance's legs are falling open and he looks wanton, like a slut hired just to please John and John is kind of turned on by that, so he carefully pulls his fingers out and then slowly, so slowly, slides three inside of Lance and he practically howls and bucks against John's hand and John has to admit that he's on a little power trip right now, he cannot believe he's getting these noises out of Lance.
"Now, now," Lance is chanting and John pulls his fingers out, struggles with the condom wrapper, but manages to get it out and put it on. "More lube," Lance says, and John nods, already opening the tube and slicking it over his dick.
And fuck, is he hard. He swears he's harder than he's ever been in his life and this better be fucking good, he better not waste this fucking amazing erection he has for some really bad lay. But then he looks down at Lance, who is watching him through half closed eyes and is slowly, slowly jerking himself off waiting for John and John's ninety-nine percent sure this is going to be amazing.
"Ready?" John asks softly, and Lance moans, "God, yes, please."
John kneels in front of Lance, his hands on Lance's thighs. Lance opens his legs and John positions himself at Lance's entrance and slowly starts to press inside. It's hard. It's tight, god it's so fucking tight and how is Lance going to be able to take this, but he does, he breaths out, whimpers, shuts his eyes tightly and lifts his legs, his heels pressing on John's lower back. John's still not moving fast, he's still not inside Lance, and he's taking his time, he can't tell if Lance's eyes are screwed shut from pleasure or pain, and god, this is going to hurt Lance enough after it's over and he's still in love with John, and John's still not in love with Lance, and John just doesn't want to physically hurt Lance, too, because that would just be too much for him to deal with.
Lance groans and tightens his feet on John's back, pulling him closer, forcing John completely inside of him, and when John's buried deep inside Lance so suddenly like that, he groans himself, because Jesus fucking Christ, this is so fucking good, and John's been with a lot of women, he's had a lot of tight pussies, but nothing like this. Lance is so fucking tight around him, he's pressing against John like a woman never has and John can't breathe for a minute, he just stays still inside Lance and drops his head to Lance's shoulder, gasping for air.
Lance's hands are on John's back, starting at John's lower back and slowly moving along his spine to the nape of his neck. Lance's fingers feel like spiders dancing on John's skin and it should be ticklish, but it's not, it's Lance and it's so fucking sexy John cannot even stand it anymore. He starts to move, his body still pressed against Lance's, only his hips pulling back and sliding back in. He moans every time he slides back inside Lance, and John's wondering how often Lance will let him do this, he's almost beyond caring that he's an asshole for hurting Lance.
Lance lifts his hips to John's thrusts and John lifts himself off Lance's body, kneels on the floor and grips Lance's hips in his hands. His thumbs dig into the hollow of Lance's hips and he holds on, says, "God, faster?" and Lance whimpers, bites his lips and nods and tightens his ass around John, and all those signs point to yes, so John pulls out and slams back into Lance, and Lance cries out, his head falls back, his back arches off the floor and he screams John's name, his fingers clutching at John's forearms and John does it again. And again, and again, and again until he feels his orgasm approaching and he looks down at Lance, who is so fucking beautiful and so fucking breathless under him, and Lance's hand is moving to his dick, he's gripping it so hard John can see his knuckles turning white, and Lance gasps, "fuck, John, I'm gonna come," and then Lance is coming and his ass is clenched again, and that sets John off, and John comes a second after Lance, gasping Lance's name into the air.
John pumps his hips a few more times, milks his orgasm for everything it's worth. He relaxes his fingers on Lance's hips, loosens his grip and pulls out of Lance. He looks down and Lance's chest is heaving, his arms are at his sides, and he looks boneless. He looks well fucked, and John smiles because he did that to Lance. He fucked Lance so hard and so good that Lance can't even move. John lets his eyes move down Lance's body and he sees the white marks on Lance's hips from his fingers and he dips his head and kisses those marks, whispers "sorry," against them and Lance moans. John looks up and sees the come on Lance's stomach and chest and glistening on the tip of Lance's softening dick and John doesn't know what possesses him, but he crawls up Lance's body, his tongue flicking out and cleaning Lance up, moving from his dick to Lance's stomach, finishing with lapping the come on Lance's chest.
John finishes and he's lying on top of Lance, his chin on Lance's chest, and Lance has moved enough to put his hand under his head so he can look down his body at John. John smiles faintly up at him, "that was really… God, Lance, you're fucking fantastic at this."
Lance blushes and John reaches his hand up to run his finger over the red on Lance's cheeks. "You were amazing," Lance tells him, moving a hand to run though John's hair. Something in Lance's expression changes, and he whispers, "god, I wish you were mine."
John closes his eyes against Lance's touch and he doesn't know what to say. John can write songs that millions of people can relate to, he can somehow form sentences and put them to music and have them be played on the radio for ten fucking years, but he can't seem to find the words to reply to Lance. And somehow, that doesn't exactly seem fair.
So instead, he says, "happy birthday, Lance," and Lance's expression falters, falls for a brief moment before Lance recovers.
Lance smiles down at him, says, "best birthday, ever," and then looks away, back up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.
John moves off Lance, slides next to him, reaches on the couch for a blanket and covers both of them. He pulls Lance closer, pulls Lance's head onto his chest. He wraps his arms around this boy, this boy who loves him, who probably loves him more than anyone else John has in his life. He lets Lance run his fingers over his stomach, lets Lance whisper words of love against his chest. He closes his eyes at Lance's voice, wishes he could feel even half of what Lance feels for him. He feels tears start to leak out of the corner of his eyes, but lies perfectly still, not wanting Lance to know.
Lance falls asleep on John's chest, his arm around John's waist, his legs tangled with John's under the blanket. John lies awake for a long time, cheeks wet with tears, Orion lost in the sky on Lance's ceiling.
*****
John stays the night at Lance's, wakes up as the light starts streaming through Lance's windows. Lance groans and pulls the blanket over his head, mumbling something about it being too bright. John smiles and gets up, finding his boxers and pulling them on. He walks bare-chested through Lance's house, to the bathroom, rooting through a few drawers and finding a new, unopened toothbrush. He brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face and then heads back out of the room, going to the kitchen.
Lance has stocked his fridge since John was in his house last, and he has enough food for John to make breakfast. He hums softly as he moves around the kitchen, dicing onions, peppers, ham and cheese for omelets. He makes French toast because Lance doesn't have pancake mix, but that's okay, because John likes French toast better anyway. He cuts some fresh fruit, squeezes some orange juice and goes back into the living room to wake up Lance.
"Hey," John says, squatting down next to Lance's sleeping form. He reaches out and pulls the blanket from Lance's head and Lance moans, turning his face into his arms. John smiles, "Hey, Lance. Come on. I made breakfast."
"You mean you didn't run out on me this time?" Lance mumbles and peeks one eye out from under his arm at John. John can see the amusement glinting in Lance's eyes and he scowls. Lance laughs and rolls on his back, stretching like a cat. The blanket slips down his chest, pools at his waist and John watches him.
Lance catches him staring and smiles slowly. He sits up, completely aware of the way John's eyes move over his skin. "See something you like?" Lance purrs, putting his palm flat against John's chest. Lance's palm to John's bare skin and John wonders if Lance can feel his heartbeat, because John feels like it's about to burst out of his chest.
John clears his throat. "I do," he replies and leans forward, pressing his lips to the hollow of Lance's throat. "And it's in the kitchen." Lance groans and John smiles, getting up and heading back to the kitchen. "Come on. It'll get cold."
John doesn't look back, doesn't want to watch a naked Lance get up and put clothes on that beautiful body. He doesn't want to be affected by Lance, but he is, god help him, he is. Every move Lance makes affects John.
It's not so bad when they're not together. John can think about Lance in passing and be okay. He can go about his business, go to the studio, write songs and see something that reminds him of Lance and he's fine. He laughs or smiles and goes on his way. He doesn't have to pause and let his mind catch up with the breathless feeling in his body. He doesn't have to catch his breath because Lance takes it away.
But when he's with Lance, everything is completely different. He can't breathe. He wants to touch him for no good reason. He wants to curl up on the couch and wrap Lance in his arms. He wants him pressed against him, Lance's breath on his neck, their legs tangled together. He wants Lance across the table from him while they're eating, and he wants Lance in the same room with him while they're just hanging out. He wants Lance's undivided attention.
John smiles when Lance sits at the table in just his boxers. Lance says, "Just how many people are eating breakfast with us? Jesus, did you make enough food?"
John shrugs, says, "I didn't know what you liked," and sits across from him.
Conversation is easy, Lance is obviously tired, and he smiles at John sleepily for over half the meal before he wakes up all the way. John notices Lance's accent is thicker when he's tired, and once Lance stops yawning, he doesn't sound as much like a southern boy. John has to stop himself from feeding Lance oranges, and he can't tear his eyes away from Lance's mouth when he sucks the juice off his fingers.
Then Lance tells John that breakfast was amazing. He gets up and sits in John's lap and wraps his arms around John's neck. He looks John in the eyes, says very softly and very seriously that he has never had a better birthday. He tells John that he's amazing, he says that he knows John will never love him, but last night, Lance almost felt like what they had was real. He tells John he's going to get a shower and John could let himself out, he knows John's busy. He closes his eyes and kisses John's forehead, pressing his lips against John's skin and holding them there for a moment. He whispers so softly that he loves John, then gets up, and without looking back, leaves the room.
And when John has to physically stop himself from going after Lance and pressing his mouth to Lance's, he decides that he has to stop seeing him.
part four