The Circle 1/1 (Bon Jovi)
Title: The Circle
Genre: Slash
Bands: Bon Jovi
Main Characters: Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora
Adult Content: Yes
Words: 1802
Chapter: 1/1
Summary: The best thing in Jon's life is also the worst.
Teaser: Jon's prided himself for a few years now on finally being normal, on having his shit together; he tries not to think about it too much, but in some remote part of his brain he doesn't like to let himself access, he knows as long as he has Richie, as long as Richie's like this, his shit will never, ever be together.
Notes: Written for Yuletide 2009
Jon and Richie have had approximately thirteen billion fights. Three-fourths of those have gotten physical; maybe one third of those have ended in a broken bone or some other lasting injury.
But none of those earlier fights were from such unequal ground, were Richie at rock-bottom stumbling back over a table, onto the floor, catching himself at just the wrong angle on his arm, after a push from top-of-the-world never-been-better Jon.
Ten seconds is all it takes for the air around them to change, for everything to change; apparently the playing field makes all the difference.
* * *
The first time Jon kisses Richie, they're drunk as all fuck (not unusual), double-teaming this girl (significantly more unusual) who's too wasted to do much more than lie there and moan (less usual than being smashed, more than the sharing chicks thing). Jon's felt...off...all night, not necessarily bad, just different, and when he's looking at Richie over this girl's shoulder, when he can't take his eyes off Richie's lips, he figures he probably knows why.
It's not some life-changing revelation, or anything; Jon's known who he was for probably his whole life, most of it at least. He's the guy who can make out with David in his basement after rehearsal, can take the hot chick in his math class to prom three months later, can do all that without conflict. This isn't even really the first time he's thought about making out with Richie, just the first time he's been in a situation acting on it doesn't seem like a bad idea.
What's surprising, earth-shatteringly so, is that Richie doesn't even pause for a second before kissing back, before licking his way into Jon's mouth and tangling one hand in his sweat-damp spray-sticky hair.
Jon comes thinking about the way Richie tastes, about Richie's hands on him; the girl might as well not even be there.
*
The first time Richie kisses Jon is years later, when the parties are all running together, when no one's sleeping enough, when everyone hates each other and no one bothers to hide it. The buses are too fucking crowded, the same buses that were awesome party centrals years ago, Richie's bandmates are all assholes, and he's so cranky all the time even the constant buzz he maintains can't keep his cool.
Jon's kind of a fucking princess, gets bitchy fast when he's uncomfortable, so he's the worst one now, snapping at everyone, ripping heads off over little shit like snoring and drinking a glass of his wine. Shoving him against a wall shuts him up the first hundred times, punching him the next, and then it's all Richie can think to do, to kiss him silent every time his voice gets too high, too loud, too irritating.
Richie's not gay. Richie's doing a public service.
* * *
Jon can't breathe, can't move, can't fucking think, and the wheezy, pained breaths Richie's drawing are too loud in the tense silence. It wasn't his fault, he was just - Richie wouldn't - it's not like this is the first time.
"You have no idea," Richie gasps, because just breathing apparently wasn't annoying enough, wasn't making it hard enough for Jon to fucking think, "how much I hate you."
It's not the first time for that, either, but for some reason, for a hundred reasons, this time it cuts through Jon like nothing else. But at least it forces him into action, gives him enough of a push to call a fucking ambulance about the weird way Richie's arm is bent.
Jon's prided himself for a few years now on finally being normal, on having his shit together; he tries not to think about it too much, but in some remote part of his brain he doesn't like to let himself access, he knows as long as he has Richie, as long as Richie's like this, his shit will never, ever be together.
But this particular tie can't be severed. In another remote part of his brain (how much of his fucking head has Richie taken over, motherfucker), Jon knows he doesn't want it to be.
* * *
Jon and Richie don't talk for four years. Richie thinks about it every day, marks an 'x' on the calendar in his head. Somewhere along the way, he drank so much drinking doesn't work anymore, and Richie doesn't know any other way to stop thinking about things he doesn't want to think about.
Richie gets married because he falls in love. It's not because he's lonely (at least not entirely), it's not to get anything out of his head (because that probably wouldn't work anyway, right?). It's simple, uncomplicated, and Richie clings to it like a fucking drowning man.
When the phone rings at four in the morning, Richie knows, and not answering it doesn't even occur to him.
*
"That's fucking ridiculous," is exactly the reaction Jon expects when he suggests a therapist, but it's not optional. Tico's just mad 'cause he knows he's got a drinking problem, 'cause he knows the only reasons no one's brought it up are fear of hypocrisy and focusing on Alec's way more fucked-up behavior. David's mad because he's mad at everything Jon does, because four years wasn't enough time for him, or something.
Richie's mad for reasons Jon can only begin to think about, but he just nods and says, "okay". He barely says anything to the guy when they're all together, Jon gets the feeling he doesn't say much more when he's in his own private sessions.
After every group meeting, Richie fucks him, holds onto him like he thinks Jon's trying to escape, buries his face in Jon's neck and thrusts too hard and Jon has no idea what it means. He doesn't ask, and he doesn't talk about it.
* * *
It's probably time for another four-or-five-year hiatus. That's usually what broken bones herald, the end of the rope. But Jon doesn't bring it up, and nobody asks. Richie uses the "fell in the bathtub" excuse on everyone, even David who he usually tells everything to. Jon's pretty sure no one believes him, but nobody asks. Story of their life.
* * *
"I saw The Leading Man," Richie says, doesn't bother with a greeting.
Jon cradles the phone between his shoulder and his ear, which turns out to be a stupid idea since he can't exactly dry dishes without moving his arm. "Oh yeah?"
"Not bad. You were basically playing yourself, though."
"Is that a compliment?"
Silence for a few seconds, and then, "Shit, I hate the phone. I was shrugging."
"You don't know whether you meant to compliment me or not."
"It was probably a loaded shrug."
"You're an idiot. And I'm doing dishes, so I'm hanging up."
"There was a time I was more exciting than housework."
"There was a time I didn't live in fear of my wife's wrath."
Jon doesn't say "I love you," and Richie doesn't say it back.
*
Richie's surprised at his own reaction to the news about David; somewhere along the way, he apparently grew up a little. There's not gonna be a new album, our idiot keyboardist cut his idiot finger off was actually a good excuse to drink, and here he is thinking more about David's welfare than his own lack of a half-empty glass.
He flies out to visit, but David doesn't want to talk to anyone because he's a giant drama queen (it's probably justified this time, but what-the-fuck-ever, Richie flew across a continent to cheer him the fuck up), so he spends the entire time he's planned for the trip with Jon.
Despite a wife and daughter to draw him, he's almost reluctant when it's time to leave.
* * *
Jon Bon Jovi is not a violent person, but sometimes he'd like to punch his entire band in the face. Everybody notices Jon and Richie aren't speaking; everybody pretends to believe Richie broke his arm on the edge of the bathtub, everybody pretends not to notice the tense silence. If one of them would just say something, Jon could go from there, because obviously neither him nor Richie are gonna give in first. Richie's stubborn, and Jon's - Jon isn't a coward, fuck no, but somewhere between his hands hitting Richie's chest and Richie hitting the floor, everything else hit Jon, and it's all way too big for him to deal with.
So everybody watches Jon's jaw get tighter and tighter with every passing hour; everybody watches Richie drink himself stupid in a way he hasn't even attempted since 1989.
And nobody says anything.
* * *
Jon writes maybe six hundred songs between the time David hurts his finger and the time he calls to say he can actually play the fucking piano again. Five hundred and fifty of those are so obviously about Richie he doesn't show them to anyone; of the fifty left, forty of them make at least one band member look up and ask him if he's sure he wants to say that much.
The answer in his head is always "yes", but he never really says it out loud.
*
California holds almost nothing for Richie anymore; he doesn't even bother going home after the Crush tour ends. Richie got married because the way he fell in love was the exact kind of simple he needed to be the eye of the hurricane that was whatever the fuck he had with Jon; he didn't even notice the point his marriage got so complicated and tense and frustrating Jon turned into the simple one.
Richie's been living in Jon's guest house for two and a half years, minus touring time and a whole bunch of visits home to see his daughter, when they legally separate. He doesn't bother to leave; it's not until David asks if he's gonna buy a house in Jersey or stay on the left coast he realizes the thought hadn't actually occurred to him.
* * *
Richie's arm heals; nothing else gets better. David, whose mood can take more punishment than anyone's, has started talking in tense one-syllable words, and only when he has to; Jon hasn't actually seen Tico, aside from onstage, for a week. It's like he got caught in a fucking time warp, like some sick demented lesson-teaching angel or demon or what-the-fuck ever wanted him to go back to the day five of them stood in an airport, no one said anything, and Jon decided this wasn't fucking fixable.
He thought he'd learned that lesson; it had been, they'd triumphed, blah blah fucking blah. Maybe the lesson was he wasn't supposed to fix it.
Maybe the lesson was he was supposed to fix it this time, too.
Genre: Slash
Bands: Bon Jovi
Main Characters: Jon Bon Jovi, Richie Sambora
Adult Content: Yes
Words: 1802
Chapter: 1/1
Summary: The best thing in Jon's life is also the worst.
Teaser: Jon's prided himself for a few years now on finally being normal, on having his shit together; he tries not to think about it too much, but in some remote part of his brain he doesn't like to let himself access, he knows as long as he has Richie, as long as Richie's like this, his shit will never, ever be together.
Notes: Written for Yuletide 2009
Jon and Richie have had approximately thirteen billion fights. Three-fourths of those have gotten physical; maybe one third of those have ended in a broken bone or some other lasting injury.
But none of those earlier fights were from such unequal ground, were Richie at rock-bottom stumbling back over a table, onto the floor, catching himself at just the wrong angle on his arm, after a push from top-of-the-world never-been-better Jon.
Ten seconds is all it takes for the air around them to change, for everything to change; apparently the playing field makes all the difference.
* * *
The first time Jon kisses Richie, they're drunk as all fuck (not unusual), double-teaming this girl (significantly more unusual) who's too wasted to do much more than lie there and moan (less usual than being smashed, more than the sharing chicks thing). Jon's felt...off...all night, not necessarily bad, just different, and when he's looking at Richie over this girl's shoulder, when he can't take his eyes off Richie's lips, he figures he probably knows why.
It's not some life-changing revelation, or anything; Jon's known who he was for probably his whole life, most of it at least. He's the guy who can make out with David in his basement after rehearsal, can take the hot chick in his math class to prom three months later, can do all that without conflict. This isn't even really the first time he's thought about making out with Richie, just the first time he's been in a situation acting on it doesn't seem like a bad idea.
What's surprising, earth-shatteringly so, is that Richie doesn't even pause for a second before kissing back, before licking his way into Jon's mouth and tangling one hand in his sweat-damp spray-sticky hair.
Jon comes thinking about the way Richie tastes, about Richie's hands on him; the girl might as well not even be there.
*
The first time Richie kisses Jon is years later, when the parties are all running together, when no one's sleeping enough, when everyone hates each other and no one bothers to hide it. The buses are too fucking crowded, the same buses that were awesome party centrals years ago, Richie's bandmates are all assholes, and he's so cranky all the time even the constant buzz he maintains can't keep his cool.
Jon's kind of a fucking princess, gets bitchy fast when he's uncomfortable, so he's the worst one now, snapping at everyone, ripping heads off over little shit like snoring and drinking a glass of his wine. Shoving him against a wall shuts him up the first hundred times, punching him the next, and then it's all Richie can think to do, to kiss him silent every time his voice gets too high, too loud, too irritating.
Richie's not gay. Richie's doing a public service.
* * *
Jon can't breathe, can't move, can't fucking think, and the wheezy, pained breaths Richie's drawing are too loud in the tense silence. It wasn't his fault, he was just - Richie wouldn't - it's not like this is the first time.
"You have no idea," Richie gasps, because just breathing apparently wasn't annoying enough, wasn't making it hard enough for Jon to fucking think, "how much I hate you."
It's not the first time for that, either, but for some reason, for a hundred reasons, this time it cuts through Jon like nothing else. But at least it forces him into action, gives him enough of a push to call a fucking ambulance about the weird way Richie's arm is bent.
Jon's prided himself for a few years now on finally being normal, on having his shit together; he tries not to think about it too much, but in some remote part of his brain he doesn't like to let himself access, he knows as long as he has Richie, as long as Richie's like this, his shit will never, ever be together.
But this particular tie can't be severed. In another remote part of his brain (how much of his fucking head has Richie taken over, motherfucker), Jon knows he doesn't want it to be.
* * *
Jon and Richie don't talk for four years. Richie thinks about it every day, marks an 'x' on the calendar in his head. Somewhere along the way, he drank so much drinking doesn't work anymore, and Richie doesn't know any other way to stop thinking about things he doesn't want to think about.
Richie gets married because he falls in love. It's not because he's lonely (at least not entirely), it's not to get anything out of his head (because that probably wouldn't work anyway, right?). It's simple, uncomplicated, and Richie clings to it like a fucking drowning man.
When the phone rings at four in the morning, Richie knows, and not answering it doesn't even occur to him.
*
"That's fucking ridiculous," is exactly the reaction Jon expects when he suggests a therapist, but it's not optional. Tico's just mad 'cause he knows he's got a drinking problem, 'cause he knows the only reasons no one's brought it up are fear of hypocrisy and focusing on Alec's way more fucked-up behavior. David's mad because he's mad at everything Jon does, because four years wasn't enough time for him, or something.
Richie's mad for reasons Jon can only begin to think about, but he just nods and says, "okay". He barely says anything to the guy when they're all together, Jon gets the feeling he doesn't say much more when he's in his own private sessions.
After every group meeting, Richie fucks him, holds onto him like he thinks Jon's trying to escape, buries his face in Jon's neck and thrusts too hard and Jon has no idea what it means. He doesn't ask, and he doesn't talk about it.
* * *
It's probably time for another four-or-five-year hiatus. That's usually what broken bones herald, the end of the rope. But Jon doesn't bring it up, and nobody asks. Richie uses the "fell in the bathtub" excuse on everyone, even David who he usually tells everything to. Jon's pretty sure no one believes him, but nobody asks. Story of their life.
* * *
"I saw The Leading Man," Richie says, doesn't bother with a greeting.
Jon cradles the phone between his shoulder and his ear, which turns out to be a stupid idea since he can't exactly dry dishes without moving his arm. "Oh yeah?"
"Not bad. You were basically playing yourself, though."
"Is that a compliment?"
Silence for a few seconds, and then, "Shit, I hate the phone. I was shrugging."
"You don't know whether you meant to compliment me or not."
"It was probably a loaded shrug."
"You're an idiot. And I'm doing dishes, so I'm hanging up."
"There was a time I was more exciting than housework."
"There was a time I didn't live in fear of my wife's wrath."
Jon doesn't say "I love you," and Richie doesn't say it back.
*
Richie's surprised at his own reaction to the news about David; somewhere along the way, he apparently grew up a little. There's not gonna be a new album, our idiot keyboardist cut his idiot finger off was actually a good excuse to drink, and here he is thinking more about David's welfare than his own lack of a half-empty glass.
He flies out to visit, but David doesn't want to talk to anyone because he's a giant drama queen (it's probably justified this time, but what-the-fuck-ever, Richie flew across a continent to cheer him the fuck up), so he spends the entire time he's planned for the trip with Jon.
Despite a wife and daughter to draw him, he's almost reluctant when it's time to leave.
* * *
Jon Bon Jovi is not a violent person, but sometimes he'd like to punch his entire band in the face. Everybody notices Jon and Richie aren't speaking; everybody pretends to believe Richie broke his arm on the edge of the bathtub, everybody pretends not to notice the tense silence. If one of them would just say something, Jon could go from there, because obviously neither him nor Richie are gonna give in first. Richie's stubborn, and Jon's - Jon isn't a coward, fuck no, but somewhere between his hands hitting Richie's chest and Richie hitting the floor, everything else hit Jon, and it's all way too big for him to deal with.
So everybody watches Jon's jaw get tighter and tighter with every passing hour; everybody watches Richie drink himself stupid in a way he hasn't even attempted since 1989.
And nobody says anything.
* * *
Jon writes maybe six hundred songs between the time David hurts his finger and the time he calls to say he can actually play the fucking piano again. Five hundred and fifty of those are so obviously about Richie he doesn't show them to anyone; of the fifty left, forty of them make at least one band member look up and ask him if he's sure he wants to say that much.
The answer in his head is always "yes", but he never really says it out loud.
*
California holds almost nothing for Richie anymore; he doesn't even bother going home after the Crush tour ends. Richie got married because the way he fell in love was the exact kind of simple he needed to be the eye of the hurricane that was whatever the fuck he had with Jon; he didn't even notice the point his marriage got so complicated and tense and frustrating Jon turned into the simple one.
Richie's been living in Jon's guest house for two and a half years, minus touring time and a whole bunch of visits home to see his daughter, when they legally separate. He doesn't bother to leave; it's not until David asks if he's gonna buy a house in Jersey or stay on the left coast he realizes the thought hadn't actually occurred to him.
* * *
Richie's arm heals; nothing else gets better. David, whose mood can take more punishment than anyone's, has started talking in tense one-syllable words, and only when he has to; Jon hasn't actually seen Tico, aside from onstage, for a week. It's like he got caught in a fucking time warp, like some sick demented lesson-teaching angel or demon or what-the-fuck ever wanted him to go back to the day five of them stood in an airport, no one said anything, and Jon decided this wasn't fucking fixable.
He thought he'd learned that lesson; it had been, they'd triumphed, blah blah fucking blah. Maybe the lesson was he wasn't supposed to fix it.
Maybe the lesson was he was supposed to fix it this time, too.