What Happens on Tour: Chapter 1
Title: What Happens on Tour (or Five Times Jon Surprised Denis): Chapter 1
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show.
Pairing: Jon/Denis Leary
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Warning: I have blatantly ignored the fact that Denis has been married for ages as well as the basic laws of continuity. And reality. But who needs such things?
A/N: As with everything I write, I am unsure of the suck factor of this thing. I’m on the fence at the moment. But, UNLIKE everything I write, this is actually 95% finished. So, uh, put that in your pipe and smoke it. Also: much of this was inspired by this interview. It’s kind of necessary if you want to know what the hell I’m referring to. There’s also lots of other interviews that showcase their awe-inspiring lurve for one other.
Length: 2754
Feedback: Always welcome with open arms and loads of metaphorical cookies.
Summary: A story of tours, drugs, alcohol, and the occasional act of gayness between friends.
WHAT HAPPENS ON TOUR
Or Five Times Jon Surprised Denis
Chapter One
It’s cold - the chill in the air nips at Denis’ ears and nose and the tips of his fingers as he puts another cigarette to his mouth, watching the smoke curl into the slight wind that’s started up. His eyes wander across the parking lot that’s about as dead as could be expected on a Thursday morning in front of a church. Denis still isn’t 100% on the details concerning why they’re meeting in front of a church but Bean’s the one who set it up so Denis just chalks it up to them not having anywhere better to go.
To be honest, he likes the cold. Enjoys it, even. He’s a cold-weather man by nature, what with being from Boston and all. It’s in his blood. In his veins. He enjoys being able to pull his jacket up, enjoys the warmth of his zippo lighter as it sits just-used in his hand, and he likes the way the brisk air burns in his nose and makes him feel more awake than he’s accustomed to before noon.
The other guys who are on the tour (there’s about 4 of them, minus Zeto and Bean who are elsewhere making sure their provisions are in order… and by “provisions” they mean “booze”) are huddled on the opposite end of the lot all crowded around the van, their boisterous voices carrying on the wind towards Denis.
He feels old. He knows it’s stupid but, in that moment, he feels old. All the rest of the comics look green or at least near-green - they’re all over-eager and under-prepared and most likely haven’t done anything like this before. He doesn’t mind, really, being the seasoned one - in any case he’s got Zeto and Bean there with him to help him not feel like such an old fogie - but he’s still going to have moments like these, feeling old and grouchy and not a one bit enthusiastic about two months of cold beds and cold showers and more whiskey than can be healthy for anyone.
He sighs and watches as the smoke puffs around him, his eyes coming to rest on the hunk of shit Bean has rented for them to take across the Midwest. It looks about two potholes shy of the bumper falling off but Denis figures he’ll be drunk about 90% of the time he’s in the stupid thing so why get all bent out of shape over the mode of transportation? At least it’s better than the cockroach-ridden and decidedly toilet-less Winnebago they’d taken south last year. Denis inwardly grimaces at the memory. What a fucking disaster that had been.
It’s then, as he contemplates the memory of watching Bean scream like a little girl when that raccoon fell out of the overhead storage space and had consequently caused Mark, one of the other young comics, to crash the piece of shit and make them all to lose their deposit, does Denis notice him.
Denis knows in the back of his mind that he’s seen him before but he’s pretty sure hasn’t really looked at him. He’s decent features-wise. Youngish. Curly brown hair poking out of the bottom of the beanie shoved over his head. A nose that just screams Jew. And there is that characteristic, I’m-a-comedian-so-I-find-the-world-amusing smirk that he’s wearing which Denis could recognize just as well as if it were on his own face.
But what makes the guy stand out, what makes Denis finally really notice him, is the fact that he’s not talking. He’s just standing there, listening to the other guys’ bullshit, taking the shit, talking shit, yet he doesn’t participate - he just watches them with that smirk and his eyes crinkling and that in and of itself is enough for Denis to pause and consider this guy. He’s dressed like he’s practically homeless; his jacket is big enough to fit Denis which is saying a lot, given the fact that the guy is pretty damn short. He’s got on these ratty jeans, threadbare and faded, the thin material hanging onto him in a way that indicates that they’re too big as well. Denis takes note of how thin he is… he looks like he’s on the struggling comic’s diet; meaning ramen, ramen, and more ramen. He’s pulling at the beanie, shuffling a foot that’s clad in a similarly ratty sneaker, their laces untied and dirty but he’s still smiling. Smirking. Silent.
“Denis!” It’s Bean who causes him to nearly have a heart attack and swallow his cigarette all at once when he bounces over, all energy and childish glee. Denis does his best to glower. “Denis, shit man, this is fucking crazy, yeah? I’m so fucking excited, dude. This is going to be the best Denis. The best!”
Zeto sidles along his excited friend and gives Denis a curt nod. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Denis turns his attention back to Bean. “Just how much speed did you take this morning?”
Bean shakes his head, eyes wide and pupils just a little too dilated. “Hey, hey, this is just nerves man! I hardly slept a wink last night! Yeah, this is the coffee and lack of sleep talking.” He pauses and looks back at Denis’ unbelieving gaze. “Okay, so maybe lack of sleep and a few pills.”
Denis looks towards Zeto. “I trust you’ll be driving?”
Zeto smiles. “Duh.”
Bean looks like he’s about to say something when his wild wandering eyes seem to catch on something.
“Oh!” he cries, grabbing onto Denis’ arm like a fucking leech and hauling him across the parking lot. “Ooooh!” Denis drags his feet across the pavement, trying to convey just how irritated he is at being yanked around like this. “Denis, right, Denis?” With that, Denis finds himself shoved forward and face-to-face with the guy he’d been staring at. The guy cocks his head their way, not turning the rest of his body until Bean grabs his arm with the hand that’s not clutching Denis and drags him over. “Denis, this is Jon!” He shakes Jon’s arm as if disbelieving that he’s actually there. “Dude, man, I’m so fucking stoked you’re coming. So fucking stoked.”
Jon doesn’t say anything; his eyes merely twinkle as his smile turns sincere and he quirks an eyebrow.
Denis rolls his eyes and leans forward. “He claims it’s ‘caffeine.’”
Bean frowns at him before grabbing Jon to throw an arm around his shoulders, his other hand remaining fixed to Denis. It puts them all in an awkward sort of huddle, Jon smiling all the harder as Denis glares at Bean.
“Fuck you, Leary,” Bean says without any malice. “Anyway, this is Jon Leibowitz. He’s, like, the funniest son of a bitch you could ever hope to meet, dude. Ever. Seriously.” He leans forward. “Seriously.” Jon looks like he’s struggling with all his might not to laugh and remains silent. Denis pretends to be more interested in the gravel at his feet. “And this is Denis Leary, the grumpiest asshole this side of the Mississippi, though not for long!” He laughs, high and loud. Denis just glowers.
“Thanks,” he grumbles, putting his cigarette out as he still avoids Jon’s amused gaze. Yanking his arm out of Bean’s grasp, he jerks his head towards the van. “Can we get going already? I like to sit when I drink.”
Bean has the presence of mind to roll his eyes, whispering to Jon, “He acts so put out but he loves this shit, man. He loves touring.”
“Yeah,” Denis remarks, his tone dry. “I love it because of the awesome company and sparkling conversation.”
Jon bites his lip, like he’s trying not to full out grin. Denis just wishes he would already. When he bites his lip like that it makes Denis wonder why he won’t show his teeth and if these hidden teeth are straight, causing him to shake away the odd thought.
He seriously needs a drink; the flask of whiskey lies heavy in his jacket pocket and burns his hand as his fingers it, aching for him to take a sip. So he throws an expectant glance Zeto’s way, earning a tired, “All right Denis. Jesus, we’ll get going.”
By default, Bean gets shotgun. The rest of the passengers hardly mind seeing as he’s so jittery he keeps firing off questions and statements like a fucking machine gun. The only one who doesn’t seem to be bothered is Zeto which is just as well, seeing as he’s sitting next to him.
Denis sits on the bench seat nearest to the front, the cracked leather poking him through his pants and crinkling as he shifts. The other kids seem to catch the drift that he likes to be alone and move silently to the back, leaving him to stretch out his long legs and finally reach for the flask itching in his pocket. Maybe once he gets a drink it won’t feel so damn frigid… God knows the heat in this piece of shit probably doesn’t work. He looks up in surprise when Jon doesn’t seem to understand the silent agreement that has been acknowledged by the rest of the car and plops next to Denis without a care in the world. Zeto sends Denis an amused glance through the rearview mirror as Bean prattles on about something to do with how awesome Cincinnati is and puts the van into drive.
Jon smiles at him, eyeing the flask as Denis takes another sip. Denis in turn sends him a challenging stare.
Jon sniffs the air and settles into the seat, his arms draping over the back. His one hand settles dangerously need to Denis’ shoulder. He ignores it.
Jon cocks his head. “Whiskey?”
Denis narrows his eyes. “Yeah. Why?”
Jon holds up his hands but doesn’t stop smiling, apparently not frightened by Denis at all. Denis can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not so he takes another sip, feeling the hot weight settling in his stomach and onto his face.
“No reason, dude. Just asking.”
Falling silent, Jon pulls out a little case from his large jacket, biting his lip in concentration as he strives to roll a cigarette in the jostling car. His fingers absently tug at his beanie again as he struggles to line up the tobacco, a little frown forming at the corners of his mouth.
Unable to fight the curiosity, Denis taps his fingers on the flask as he eyes Jon. “You roll your own?”
Jon gives a half shrug but doesn’t look at him, the little pink tip of his tongue appearing between his lips as his brow furrows. “Always liked them this way. Want one?”
Denis sniffs and eyes Jon’s handiwork; he suspects he’s too good to only have experience with rolling cigarettes. “Yeah,” he grates out, taking another swig and pretending to forget the pack of Marlboros sitting in his pocket. “Why not.”
Jon shoots him a sideways glance, still seeming amused and not at all fooled by Denis’ rough posturing. Jon’s eyes are grey in the dusty filtered light of the cold interior of the van, reflecting the cloudy skies outside. Denis decides that maybe it’s best to turn his gaze to the window.
He’s about to take another drink (“Slow down,” says the quiet voice inside him that sounds suspiciously like his mother) when he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“Here,” Jon says, handing him the cigarette. The end product is very nice and Jon must see the impressed rise of Denis’ eyebrows because he quirks his lips and murmurs, “You’re welcome.”
Denis narrows his eyes and takes it, pulling out his lighter. After lighting his own he hesitates before shoving the flame forward as an offering to Jon. He blinks before nodding and leaning in, cupping the flame as he breathes in. Once the end flares, Denis pulls away, feeling an odd jump when their fingers brush clumsily.
“Thanks,” Jon says in a puff of smoke, his gaze flicking back up to Denis. He breathes it back in through his nose and his eyes look even more clouded in that moment, drawing Denis in as he observes Denis from underneath hooded eyelids. Denis tries to look away, to take another gulp from his flask or a drag on his cigarette but Jon is smirking again, only it’s different and heavy and heady and Denis feels his pulse quicken on its own accord.
The moment is broken when someone coughs in the back. Denis shoots his eyes to the culprit, glowering when he sees one of the younger guys shifting awkwardly in his seat.
“Uh,” the guy says, coughing again. “Would you guys, uh, mind… um… not smoking in the car?”
Denis stares at him.
The kid glances at the guys sitting next to him who all avoid his gaze like the plague. “Uh… please?”
Denis closes his eyes, praying for patience, before regarding the kid again. He looks like he’s in his early twenties. He’s nicely dressed, meaning he’s probably still on mom and dad’s dime. His hair is also coifed in that stupid way young people are wearing their hair these days and Denis feels annoyed, even though in reality he isn’t that much older.
He sighs. College fuckers.
Instead of voicing this thought, he jerks his head to the window next to the seat the kid is in. “Do you know what that is?”
The kid flicks his eyes between the window and Denis. “A… window?”
“Very good. Now what can you do with a window?”
The kid looks to his seat mates again who continue to look anywhere else. “Uh…” He gulps. “You can open it?”
“Awesome. I was afraid there for a minute that you didn’t understand how a window works.” Denis then turns back around, smiling slightly to himself as he hears the kid stammer out an apology and slide the window open.
Jon clears his throat, breaking him out of his self-satisfied revelry. Jon’s cigarette is sitting between the fingers of his left hand, his right now holding a book that has appeared out of nowhere. The part of the title Denis can see indicates that it’s about “the people’s history” or some shit. He smirks and turns his attention back to Jon.
“You want something?”
“So Denis,” Jon says, ignoring Denis’ curt words and taking another drag on his cigarette. “Your standup basically consists of you being a cantankerous asshole?”
Denis grins, pleased. “Why yes. You’ve seen my work?”
Jon smiles. “No. I was just making an educated guess.”
Denis is pretty sure when he thinks about it later that he must look stupid in that moment, gaping slightly at Jon as the rest of the car breaks out into hesitant titters, save Zeto who guffaws outright.
When everything settles into silence, Denis finds himself still staring stupidly at Jon who has turned his attention back to his book, that small smile still on his face. He seems to notice Denis’ gaze because he glances his way and bites his lip. Denis feels the odd jump again, like the one when their fingers had touched, and he realizes with belated bitterness that he likes this guy.
“You’re ashing on your pants,” Jon informs him, turning back to his book.
Denis curses and brushes the ember of his jeans before glaring out the window, settling into a funk that would last the rest of the trip.
They don’t really talk for the majority of the tour; they both fall into a habit of silently cohabitating small spaces, their faces resolutely blank as they share gas station bathroom mirrors when they shave or brush their teeth. The other guys chat and cut up and are generally stupid but Jon and Denis feel each other out in the vacuum of silence. Neither gives feedback on the others’ sets, instead opting to sit in the back and begrudgingly laugh and smile behind closed fists, never letting loose and letting the other hear their laughter.
It’s not until later that Denis learns that Jon laughs like a wounded, wheezing bird and Jon discovers that Denis gets handsy when he’s drunk. Denis will also come to know that when Jon grins, he shows straight top teeth though he usually covers it with a fist and a giggle. He’ll learn that it makes him want to make Jon laugh over and over again, and he’ll usually be successful. But for that tour they just float around each other, synchronized swimmers in a dance that will later blossom into something else.
End of Chapter One.
Endnote: I’d like to dedicate this to mutantjules, who I promised this fic to for her birthday forever and a half ago. Sorry I fail, babe. Hope the rest of you enjoyed it!
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show.
Pairing: Jon/Denis Leary
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Warning: I have blatantly ignored the fact that Denis has been married for ages as well as the basic laws of continuity. And reality. But who needs such things?
A/N: As with everything I write, I am unsure of the suck factor of this thing. I’m on the fence at the moment. But, UNLIKE everything I write, this is actually 95% finished. So, uh, put that in your pipe and smoke it. Also: much of this was inspired by this interview. It’s kind of necessary if you want to know what the hell I’m referring to. There’s also lots of other interviews that showcase their awe-inspiring lurve for one other.
Length: 2754
Feedback: Always welcome with open arms and loads of metaphorical cookies.
Summary: A story of tours, drugs, alcohol, and the occasional act of gayness between friends.
WHAT HAPPENS ON TOUR
Or Five Times Jon Surprised Denis
Chapter One
It’s cold - the chill in the air nips at Denis’ ears and nose and the tips of his fingers as he puts another cigarette to his mouth, watching the smoke curl into the slight wind that’s started up. His eyes wander across the parking lot that’s about as dead as could be expected on a Thursday morning in front of a church. Denis still isn’t 100% on the details concerning why they’re meeting in front of a church but Bean’s the one who set it up so Denis just chalks it up to them not having anywhere better to go.
To be honest, he likes the cold. Enjoys it, even. He’s a cold-weather man by nature, what with being from Boston and all. It’s in his blood. In his veins. He enjoys being able to pull his jacket up, enjoys the warmth of his zippo lighter as it sits just-used in his hand, and he likes the way the brisk air burns in his nose and makes him feel more awake than he’s accustomed to before noon.
The other guys who are on the tour (there’s about 4 of them, minus Zeto and Bean who are elsewhere making sure their provisions are in order… and by “provisions” they mean “booze”) are huddled on the opposite end of the lot all crowded around the van, their boisterous voices carrying on the wind towards Denis.
He feels old. He knows it’s stupid but, in that moment, he feels old. All the rest of the comics look green or at least near-green - they’re all over-eager and under-prepared and most likely haven’t done anything like this before. He doesn’t mind, really, being the seasoned one - in any case he’s got Zeto and Bean there with him to help him not feel like such an old fogie - but he’s still going to have moments like these, feeling old and grouchy and not a one bit enthusiastic about two months of cold beds and cold showers and more whiskey than can be healthy for anyone.
He sighs and watches as the smoke puffs around him, his eyes coming to rest on the hunk of shit Bean has rented for them to take across the Midwest. It looks about two potholes shy of the bumper falling off but Denis figures he’ll be drunk about 90% of the time he’s in the stupid thing so why get all bent out of shape over the mode of transportation? At least it’s better than the cockroach-ridden and decidedly toilet-less Winnebago they’d taken south last year. Denis inwardly grimaces at the memory. What a fucking disaster that had been.
It’s then, as he contemplates the memory of watching Bean scream like a little girl when that raccoon fell out of the overhead storage space and had consequently caused Mark, one of the other young comics, to crash the piece of shit and make them all to lose their deposit, does Denis notice him.
Denis knows in the back of his mind that he’s seen him before but he’s pretty sure hasn’t really looked at him. He’s decent features-wise. Youngish. Curly brown hair poking out of the bottom of the beanie shoved over his head. A nose that just screams Jew. And there is that characteristic, I’m-a-comedian-so-I-find-the-world-amusing smirk that he’s wearing which Denis could recognize just as well as if it were on his own face.
But what makes the guy stand out, what makes Denis finally really notice him, is the fact that he’s not talking. He’s just standing there, listening to the other guys’ bullshit, taking the shit, talking shit, yet he doesn’t participate - he just watches them with that smirk and his eyes crinkling and that in and of itself is enough for Denis to pause and consider this guy. He’s dressed like he’s practically homeless; his jacket is big enough to fit Denis which is saying a lot, given the fact that the guy is pretty damn short. He’s got on these ratty jeans, threadbare and faded, the thin material hanging onto him in a way that indicates that they’re too big as well. Denis takes note of how thin he is… he looks like he’s on the struggling comic’s diet; meaning ramen, ramen, and more ramen. He’s pulling at the beanie, shuffling a foot that’s clad in a similarly ratty sneaker, their laces untied and dirty but he’s still smiling. Smirking. Silent.
“Denis!” It’s Bean who causes him to nearly have a heart attack and swallow his cigarette all at once when he bounces over, all energy and childish glee. Denis does his best to glower. “Denis, shit man, this is fucking crazy, yeah? I’m so fucking excited, dude. This is going to be the best Denis. The best!”
Zeto sidles along his excited friend and gives Denis a curt nod. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Denis turns his attention back to Bean. “Just how much speed did you take this morning?”
Bean shakes his head, eyes wide and pupils just a little too dilated. “Hey, hey, this is just nerves man! I hardly slept a wink last night! Yeah, this is the coffee and lack of sleep talking.” He pauses and looks back at Denis’ unbelieving gaze. “Okay, so maybe lack of sleep and a few pills.”
Denis looks towards Zeto. “I trust you’ll be driving?”
Zeto smiles. “Duh.”
Bean looks like he’s about to say something when his wild wandering eyes seem to catch on something.
“Oh!” he cries, grabbing onto Denis’ arm like a fucking leech and hauling him across the parking lot. “Ooooh!” Denis drags his feet across the pavement, trying to convey just how irritated he is at being yanked around like this. “Denis, right, Denis?” With that, Denis finds himself shoved forward and face-to-face with the guy he’d been staring at. The guy cocks his head their way, not turning the rest of his body until Bean grabs his arm with the hand that’s not clutching Denis and drags him over. “Denis, this is Jon!” He shakes Jon’s arm as if disbelieving that he’s actually there. “Dude, man, I’m so fucking stoked you’re coming. So fucking stoked.”
Jon doesn’t say anything; his eyes merely twinkle as his smile turns sincere and he quirks an eyebrow.
Denis rolls his eyes and leans forward. “He claims it’s ‘caffeine.’”
Bean frowns at him before grabbing Jon to throw an arm around his shoulders, his other hand remaining fixed to Denis. It puts them all in an awkward sort of huddle, Jon smiling all the harder as Denis glares at Bean.
“Fuck you, Leary,” Bean says without any malice. “Anyway, this is Jon Leibowitz. He’s, like, the funniest son of a bitch you could ever hope to meet, dude. Ever. Seriously.” He leans forward. “Seriously.” Jon looks like he’s struggling with all his might not to laugh and remains silent. Denis pretends to be more interested in the gravel at his feet. “And this is Denis Leary, the grumpiest asshole this side of the Mississippi, though not for long!” He laughs, high and loud. Denis just glowers.
“Thanks,” he grumbles, putting his cigarette out as he still avoids Jon’s amused gaze. Yanking his arm out of Bean’s grasp, he jerks his head towards the van. “Can we get going already? I like to sit when I drink.”
Bean has the presence of mind to roll his eyes, whispering to Jon, “He acts so put out but he loves this shit, man. He loves touring.”
“Yeah,” Denis remarks, his tone dry. “I love it because of the awesome company and sparkling conversation.”
Jon bites his lip, like he’s trying not to full out grin. Denis just wishes he would already. When he bites his lip like that it makes Denis wonder why he won’t show his teeth and if these hidden teeth are straight, causing him to shake away the odd thought.
He seriously needs a drink; the flask of whiskey lies heavy in his jacket pocket and burns his hand as his fingers it, aching for him to take a sip. So he throws an expectant glance Zeto’s way, earning a tired, “All right Denis. Jesus, we’ll get going.”
By default, Bean gets shotgun. The rest of the passengers hardly mind seeing as he’s so jittery he keeps firing off questions and statements like a fucking machine gun. The only one who doesn’t seem to be bothered is Zeto which is just as well, seeing as he’s sitting next to him.
Denis sits on the bench seat nearest to the front, the cracked leather poking him through his pants and crinkling as he shifts. The other kids seem to catch the drift that he likes to be alone and move silently to the back, leaving him to stretch out his long legs and finally reach for the flask itching in his pocket. Maybe once he gets a drink it won’t feel so damn frigid… God knows the heat in this piece of shit probably doesn’t work. He looks up in surprise when Jon doesn’t seem to understand the silent agreement that has been acknowledged by the rest of the car and plops next to Denis without a care in the world. Zeto sends Denis an amused glance through the rearview mirror as Bean prattles on about something to do with how awesome Cincinnati is and puts the van into drive.
Jon smiles at him, eyeing the flask as Denis takes another sip. Denis in turn sends him a challenging stare.
Jon sniffs the air and settles into the seat, his arms draping over the back. His one hand settles dangerously need to Denis’ shoulder. He ignores it.
Jon cocks his head. “Whiskey?”
Denis narrows his eyes. “Yeah. Why?”
Jon holds up his hands but doesn’t stop smiling, apparently not frightened by Denis at all. Denis can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not so he takes another sip, feeling the hot weight settling in his stomach and onto his face.
“No reason, dude. Just asking.”
Falling silent, Jon pulls out a little case from his large jacket, biting his lip in concentration as he strives to roll a cigarette in the jostling car. His fingers absently tug at his beanie again as he struggles to line up the tobacco, a little frown forming at the corners of his mouth.
Unable to fight the curiosity, Denis taps his fingers on the flask as he eyes Jon. “You roll your own?”
Jon gives a half shrug but doesn’t look at him, the little pink tip of his tongue appearing between his lips as his brow furrows. “Always liked them this way. Want one?”
Denis sniffs and eyes Jon’s handiwork; he suspects he’s too good to only have experience with rolling cigarettes. “Yeah,” he grates out, taking another swig and pretending to forget the pack of Marlboros sitting in his pocket. “Why not.”
Jon shoots him a sideways glance, still seeming amused and not at all fooled by Denis’ rough posturing. Jon’s eyes are grey in the dusty filtered light of the cold interior of the van, reflecting the cloudy skies outside. Denis decides that maybe it’s best to turn his gaze to the window.
He’s about to take another drink (“Slow down,” says the quiet voice inside him that sounds suspiciously like his mother) when he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“Here,” Jon says, handing him the cigarette. The end product is very nice and Jon must see the impressed rise of Denis’ eyebrows because he quirks his lips and murmurs, “You’re welcome.”
Denis narrows his eyes and takes it, pulling out his lighter. After lighting his own he hesitates before shoving the flame forward as an offering to Jon. He blinks before nodding and leaning in, cupping the flame as he breathes in. Once the end flares, Denis pulls away, feeling an odd jump when their fingers brush clumsily.
“Thanks,” Jon says in a puff of smoke, his gaze flicking back up to Denis. He breathes it back in through his nose and his eyes look even more clouded in that moment, drawing Denis in as he observes Denis from underneath hooded eyelids. Denis tries to look away, to take another gulp from his flask or a drag on his cigarette but Jon is smirking again, only it’s different and heavy and heady and Denis feels his pulse quicken on its own accord.
The moment is broken when someone coughs in the back. Denis shoots his eyes to the culprit, glowering when he sees one of the younger guys shifting awkwardly in his seat.
“Uh,” the guy says, coughing again. “Would you guys, uh, mind… um… not smoking in the car?”
Denis stares at him.
The kid glances at the guys sitting next to him who all avoid his gaze like the plague. “Uh… please?”
Denis closes his eyes, praying for patience, before regarding the kid again. He looks like he’s in his early twenties. He’s nicely dressed, meaning he’s probably still on mom and dad’s dime. His hair is also coifed in that stupid way young people are wearing their hair these days and Denis feels annoyed, even though in reality he isn’t that much older.
He sighs. College fuckers.
Instead of voicing this thought, he jerks his head to the window next to the seat the kid is in. “Do you know what that is?”
The kid flicks his eyes between the window and Denis. “A… window?”
“Very good. Now what can you do with a window?”
The kid looks to his seat mates again who continue to look anywhere else. “Uh…” He gulps. “You can open it?”
“Awesome. I was afraid there for a minute that you didn’t understand how a window works.” Denis then turns back around, smiling slightly to himself as he hears the kid stammer out an apology and slide the window open.
Jon clears his throat, breaking him out of his self-satisfied revelry. Jon’s cigarette is sitting between the fingers of his left hand, his right now holding a book that has appeared out of nowhere. The part of the title Denis can see indicates that it’s about “the people’s history” or some shit. He smirks and turns his attention back to Jon.
“You want something?”
“So Denis,” Jon says, ignoring Denis’ curt words and taking another drag on his cigarette. “Your standup basically consists of you being a cantankerous asshole?”
Denis grins, pleased. “Why yes. You’ve seen my work?”
Jon smiles. “No. I was just making an educated guess.”
Denis is pretty sure when he thinks about it later that he must look stupid in that moment, gaping slightly at Jon as the rest of the car breaks out into hesitant titters, save Zeto who guffaws outright.
When everything settles into silence, Denis finds himself still staring stupidly at Jon who has turned his attention back to his book, that small smile still on his face. He seems to notice Denis’ gaze because he glances his way and bites his lip. Denis feels the odd jump again, like the one when their fingers had touched, and he realizes with belated bitterness that he likes this guy.
“You’re ashing on your pants,” Jon informs him, turning back to his book.
Denis curses and brushes the ember of his jeans before glaring out the window, settling into a funk that would last the rest of the trip.
They don’t really talk for the majority of the tour; they both fall into a habit of silently cohabitating small spaces, their faces resolutely blank as they share gas station bathroom mirrors when they shave or brush their teeth. The other guys chat and cut up and are generally stupid but Jon and Denis feel each other out in the vacuum of silence. Neither gives feedback on the others’ sets, instead opting to sit in the back and begrudgingly laugh and smile behind closed fists, never letting loose and letting the other hear their laughter.
It’s not until later that Denis learns that Jon laughs like a wounded, wheezing bird and Jon discovers that Denis gets handsy when he’s drunk. Denis will also come to know that when Jon grins, he shows straight top teeth though he usually covers it with a fist and a giggle. He’ll learn that it makes him want to make Jon laugh over and over again, and he’ll usually be successful. But for that tour they just float around each other, synchronized swimmers in a dance that will later blossom into something else.
End of Chapter One.
Endnote: I’d like to dedicate this to mutantjules, who I promised this fic to for her birthday forever and a half ago. Sorry I fail, babe. Hope the rest of you enjoyed it!
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