And That Makes You Dangerous 4/8
OK, the new activity got me to *finally* finish the rewrite on chapter 4. I apologize for not updating this much, much sooner. I'm going to post another chapter today too, hopefully to make up for it a bit.
**Please keep posting, we might get the lurkers to peek out from their caves... ;)
Title: And That Makes You Dangerous
Rating: R overall (NC-17...a little)
Pairing: John/Keith (implied Pete/John throughout)
Era: Lifehouse sessions (late ‘70 - early 1971)
Warnings: alcoholism, bad!drug use, swearing, sex, and soap!angst, level 5...heh heh
Summary: Pete notices a change in John’s behavior when Keith is around. John sees it too. When both begin to question why, soul searching ensues.
Disclaimer: Of course, this didn't occur, but it makes for a good story. Oh, and I don't make money from this. Man, that would rock.
Author's Notes: Here are the links to the older chapters, for those who haven't read it, or don't remember! Chapter One | Two | Three
********************************************************************************************
Chapter Four:
"You, you with the poisonous eyes. One look, and I'm hooked, one touch and my goose is cooked." -You
How did I get so drunk?
John furrowed his brow for a moment.
It could have been the whiskey, or perhaps the brandy...no, definitely the gin...and maybe the two pints tossed on top...
That made him chuckle for a brief moment, in spite of the situation. But then the real world intruded again when he remembered his actual question.
Why did I get so drunk?
It was that mystery that filled John's head as he made his way to his favorite armchair, sitting back, sighing as a wave of dizziness washed over him, making more complicated thought useless.
He wouldn't normally allow himself to get more pissed than his drinking companion, since Keith always needed to be watched. Of course, it wasn't usually a problem; John could easily drink the drummer under the table. But this evening he'd noticed, only too late, that it seemed for every one glass that the drummer consumed, he'd had two of his own. Perhaps, musing on it now, he'd just been trying to dull his emotions for his friend with alcohol. He supposed he'd regret it in the morning, but it had made for a smoother evening thus far.
In the month that had passed since Keith's near-miss, John found himself becoming increasingly careless in controlling his emotions. His intent to keep the drummer at arms length became quickly impossible; John was afraid to let Keith out of his sight too often, and Keith only responded to the increased attention with more enthusiasm.
He was caught in a vicious trap. He recognized this pattern from past experience. John sighed, swiping his hands down over his face and closing his eyes for a moment.
Keith had disappeared into the loo several minutes ago, leaving John to stagger his way to the chair, toss his jacket aside, and bask in the warmth and haziness of the evening's excess. On a night like this, they'd generally retire to separate rooms in John's house, sleep it off, and then head off to the studio next afternoon, or morning if Pete was being particularly churlish...but they'd probably repeat it all again tomorrow night.
John allowed his thoughts to drift, sinking into the chair, content to make this his accommodation for the evening. He was only barely awoken several minutes later by the sound of footsteps, and he forced open his eyes and blearily eyed a figure in the entryway in front of him.
Keith was standing, or rather leaning, in the doorway, still in the frilled shirt and tight trousers he'd come home in. He seemed quite well composed considering the evenings consumption, but as John glanced into his eyes, he knew that Keith had snorted a line in his bathroom.
God, please not tonight...
John immediately felt on edge. He was too drunk and too exhausted, and he knew he had his emotions a bit too close to the surface to trust himself beyond this point. And he definitely didn't trust Keith; another line of coke likely meant another round of chaos.
"My dear boy, what's say we have a bit of fun?" Keith proclaimed in his best Queen's English.
A red flag was slowly going up inside John's barely functioning brain. He peered at Keith's face, and felt his stomach sink. The drummer was wearing a decidedly nasty smirk, and the sheer mischief in his eyes unnerved John; he hated to be caught unprepared for whatever madness Moonie might want to get into.
"Mmm?" John finally uttered, realizing he'd spent too long trying to think to actually respond.
Keith slowly ambled closer, an exaggerated mock-innocence in his expression.
"I've something in mind," he responded lowly.
John had no time to react before he found himself pinned down, Keith's arms locking his own against the armrests, which he tightly gripped out of reflex. The familiar deep brown eyes were just inches away, and they looked decidedly predatory.
"Wha..?" was all he could get out before Keith's mouth descended on his. It took a moment for John to register what was happening, a few seconds in time where he felt the warmth of Keith's lips on his own, and smelled the brandy on his breath. Then his brain kicked in, and he closed up, backing himself deeper into the chair. The reaction didn't deter the eager drummer, who settled himself into the chair, straddling the bassist's lap.
As Keith's tongue continued to fight to gain entrance into his mouth, John slowly realized that the other man's hands weren't holding his down anymore. In fact, he now felt a tingling sensation at the back of his neck where one of those hands had gripped him, and was kneading his sore muscles. He also became faintly aware of the other hand ripping at the buttons on his shirt.
Keith's hand touching his bare chest finally elicited a startled gasp, exposing an opening the drummer didn't miss. He deepened the kiss until he felt the older man finally respond, raking his fingernails over a nipple and sighing happily at John's responding grunt.
John's hands came to rest on Keith's waist, and he closed his eyes and allowed this new sensation in, losing himself in the moment. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol mingled with another taste, one uniquely Keith's, and John reached for it as if needing to quench a deep thirst.
After a few seconds, Keith let his friend up for air, an evil look in his eye when he licked his lips.
John's look, on the other hand, was more shell-shocked. This situation was cascading out of his control. Breathing heavily, he landed the drummer with a questioning expression.
"Keith, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice weak even to his own ears.
Keith leaned in close to John's ear, a devilish smile on his face.
"Like I said, just a little fun," he whispered, as if revealing some big secret. He followed it up by latching on to the bassist's neck with his mouth, resuming the exploration with his hands as well, caressing the skin beneath his fingertips.
John leaned his head back, letting a small moan slip out. He was fast losing the ability to stop this, whatever it was, from continuing, but every remaining brain cell that worked was screaming for him to do it. To stop this before it went too far.
But most of him had resigned to the fact that it had gone too far already.
A jolt of pleasure sent him out of his thoughts again, as he became aware of a hand massaging him through his pants. He heard panting breaths, and realized they were his own. He could hear a zipper, then felt a hand freeing him, relieving the uncomfortable tightness. Fingers gripped his flesh, and his coherent thoughts started to fall away. But there was no movement, just the teasing touch, and John pried his eyes open to see what was happening.
Keith was staring, one hand still in John's hair, the other holding his cock, with a satisfied look on his face. His pupils were dilated, the black depths peering directly into the dazed blues beneath him.
"So, you want me to stop, eh?" he asked politely, raising an eyebrow as he noted John's hands again clenched the armrests, now in a white-knuckled grip.
"Y-Yes..." John breathed out, though he knew it was a lie.
"I don't think you do," Keith answered slyly, agreeing with John's inner voice. He gave his friend a quick squeeze before beginning to move his hand, stroking him in a steady rhythm while he kissed and nibbled at the exposed chest in front of him.
John closed his eyes again, reveling in the feelings, the pleasure that was slowly engulfing him, and tried not to think about the persistent voice of reason at the back of his head that said he'd regret it. How could he regret something that felt so good?
"God...it's...mmmfuck." John's words came out as disjointed mumbles, egging the drummer on as he became more bold in his explorations of the man in front of him. He was enjoying this feeling of control over his friend. His partner.
John gritted his teeth and let out a long groan, the pleasure spiking as a warm mouth replaced a cold hand on him. He couldn't help but thrust back into the waiting mouth, his hips shuddering involuntarily. A sudden loss of sensation roused him faster this time, as he looked down at those big brown eyes again.
"You still want me to stop, then?" Keith asked, much more confidently this time.
"No...please," was all John could breathe out, before the mouth quickly returned, and the last of his thought fled him. He could feel the warmth in his body increasing, the sheer torture of the rising pleasure crying out for release. This was what he wanted, what he'd dreamed of. Just when he thought he would explode from holding himself back, the warm wetness went away, replaced again by the swift movement of a hand on his now wet flesh. He felt as well as heard Keith's breath next to his ear.
"Come on, Johnny. Come for me," he whispered.
John let out a startled cry, his head jerking back as his orgasm finally came over him, whiting out his vision and sending deep shivers of pure ecstasy up his spine. A long sigh escaped him, and he felt the slickness as the drummer's hand continued pumping him until he was spent.
After a few moments of regaining his breath, he was vaguely aware of a damp hand rubbing against his pant leg, and a wickedly grinning drummer leaning over his face. He was drawn into a single kiss before the other man pulled away.
"Sweet dreams," Keith called, as if from far away, and John realized that blackness was beginning to take over his vision. He allowed it to come, not fighting off the combined excesses of his evening. Instead, part of his mind was hoping it would protect him from the morning to come.
There'll be hell to pay...
************
John jerked awake, grimacing reflexively as his stiff muscles protested the sudden movement. Cracking open his eyes slowly against the light, he eventually could see faint sunlight and realized it was morning. He had spent the night in an armchair.
Not the worst place I've woken up.
His head ached, though not so much as he'd expected, and he gave a silent thanks for small miracles before straightening up and attempting to regain his bearings. As he peered around the room, his eyes fell on the nearby sofa, and on the body laying there, snoring softly.
The memories of the previous evening practically blindsided him, and John's eyes widened as he immediately scrambled around for evidence that what he recalled was in fact a reality, as he feared, or just a vivid dream, as he prayed.
He first noted his shirt was ripped open, clearly a bad sign, and though he saw that he was tucked into his briefs, his fly was undone. And there was a telling stain on his pant leg.
"Fuck!" he blurted out, not worried about waking his sleeping...
Molester? Horny band mate? Friend who loved him?
No, he couldn't allow his thoughts to go in that direction. He had to keep his cool. John was once again thankful, this time for the initial haziness of his memories; he didn't need the distraction right now. His first order of business should be to assess Keith's condition and get himself cleaned up, then he could worry about how to handle this.
He grunted softly, shaking his head as he realized all the buttons on his shirt were gone, before rising from his seat and stretching out his aching muscles. He made his way to the sofa, where Moonie lay sprawled haphazardly, the usual disheveled mess after a night like the last one.
The occasional snore assured John that his breathing was fine. It was Keith's state that had him more anxious; his trousers and briefs were halfway down, and his shirt, and a bit of the sofa, had a familiar stain on them. All evidence would indicate the drummer had wanked himself off and passed out where he was. The coke always made Keith extra randy, and he'd been drinking so much on top of it. And John couldn't remember if he'd pulled a bird at all that week. It was Keith, after all. Maybe he'd just gone a little too long...
It can't be more than that.
John abandoned his thoughts and left Keith as he was, intending to go take care of himself and question the man when he awoke, catching him exposed. John wanted to confront him before the clever drummer could come up with a sly excuse.
As he showered, John attempted to formulate a response to the situation. Well, several responses, honestly. It all hinged on Keith's own responses. If the situation was as he believed - that the drummer was just really horny and was suffering the effects of his myriad intakes of the evening before - then his reaction was simple: forget it and move on with life as if nothing had occurred.
He didn't like that prospect at all, but the alternative frightened him even more.
What if Keith actually felt something for him as well?
John refused himself this train of thought, labeling it too dangerous to pursue, too risky to let himself want to believe. If it somehow happened, he'd just have to improvise.
Instead, he concentrated on trying to relieve the tightness of his muscles under the pounding stream of hot water, while simultaneously blocking more memories threatening to complicate his situation. It was some time before he realized he'd been in the shower over an hour, and John hastily finished up and changed into fresh clothes.
After a quick detour to the bar for a shot of whiskey, he made his way back to the sitting room. Unfortunately, Keith was already awake, and had somewhat tidied himself up. He started at John's approach, but quickly recovered.
"Morning, is it?" he questioned, tone revealing nothing.
John nodded, and they sat for a time in awkward silence. He finally cleared his throat, inwardly cringing at how the sound pierced the silence between them.
"How you feeling?" John finally asked, trying to keep his voice equally even. He was pretty sure he was succeeding.
"Not too bad, considering. Rough night though." He sniffed, not meeting the grey eyes that were fixed on him. "What time we get in?" he finally asked, just a bit nervously.
"'Round one or two, I'd say. I'm a bit fuzzy on it," John lied just slightly, trying to coax more information from the drummer.
"Yeah, same here," Keith agreed. After a quick sigh, the younger man finally met his friend's eyes. "Probably fantastic and outrageous, though!" he exclaimed proudly, smiling devilishly.
His eyes looked relatively sincere to John, and he'd much rather believe Keith had just forgotten it all, anyway.
It just meant he could try to do the same.
********************************************************************************************
All feedback is appreciated...comments = <3
**Please keep posting, we might get the lurkers to peek out from their caves... ;)
Title: And That Makes You Dangerous
Rating: R overall (NC-17...a little)
Pairing: John/Keith (implied Pete/John throughout)
Era: Lifehouse sessions (late ‘70 - early 1971)
Warnings: alcoholism, bad!drug use, swearing, sex, and soap!angst, level 5...heh heh
Summary: Pete notices a change in John’s behavior when Keith is around. John sees it too. When both begin to question why, soul searching ensues.
Disclaimer: Of course, this didn't occur, but it makes for a good story. Oh, and I don't make money from this. Man, that would rock.
Author's Notes: Here are the links to the older chapters, for those who haven't read it, or don't remember! Chapter One | Two | Three
********************************************************************************************
Chapter Four:
"You, you with the poisonous eyes. One look, and I'm hooked, one touch and my goose is cooked." -You
How did I get so drunk?
John furrowed his brow for a moment.
It could have been the whiskey, or perhaps the brandy...no, definitely the gin...and maybe the two pints tossed on top...
That made him chuckle for a brief moment, in spite of the situation. But then the real world intruded again when he remembered his actual question.
Why did I get so drunk?
It was that mystery that filled John's head as he made his way to his favorite armchair, sitting back, sighing as a wave of dizziness washed over him, making more complicated thought useless.
He wouldn't normally allow himself to get more pissed than his drinking companion, since Keith always needed to be watched. Of course, it wasn't usually a problem; John could easily drink the drummer under the table. But this evening he'd noticed, only too late, that it seemed for every one glass that the drummer consumed, he'd had two of his own. Perhaps, musing on it now, he'd just been trying to dull his emotions for his friend with alcohol. He supposed he'd regret it in the morning, but it had made for a smoother evening thus far.
In the month that had passed since Keith's near-miss, John found himself becoming increasingly careless in controlling his emotions. His intent to keep the drummer at arms length became quickly impossible; John was afraid to let Keith out of his sight too often, and Keith only responded to the increased attention with more enthusiasm.
He was caught in a vicious trap. He recognized this pattern from past experience. John sighed, swiping his hands down over his face and closing his eyes for a moment.
Keith had disappeared into the loo several minutes ago, leaving John to stagger his way to the chair, toss his jacket aside, and bask in the warmth and haziness of the evening's excess. On a night like this, they'd generally retire to separate rooms in John's house, sleep it off, and then head off to the studio next afternoon, or morning if Pete was being particularly churlish...but they'd probably repeat it all again tomorrow night.
John allowed his thoughts to drift, sinking into the chair, content to make this his accommodation for the evening. He was only barely awoken several minutes later by the sound of footsteps, and he forced open his eyes and blearily eyed a figure in the entryway in front of him.
Keith was standing, or rather leaning, in the doorway, still in the frilled shirt and tight trousers he'd come home in. He seemed quite well composed considering the evenings consumption, but as John glanced into his eyes, he knew that Keith had snorted a line in his bathroom.
God, please not tonight...
John immediately felt on edge. He was too drunk and too exhausted, and he knew he had his emotions a bit too close to the surface to trust himself beyond this point. And he definitely didn't trust Keith; another line of coke likely meant another round of chaos.
"My dear boy, what's say we have a bit of fun?" Keith proclaimed in his best Queen's English.
A red flag was slowly going up inside John's barely functioning brain. He peered at Keith's face, and felt his stomach sink. The drummer was wearing a decidedly nasty smirk, and the sheer mischief in his eyes unnerved John; he hated to be caught unprepared for whatever madness Moonie might want to get into.
"Mmm?" John finally uttered, realizing he'd spent too long trying to think to actually respond.
Keith slowly ambled closer, an exaggerated mock-innocence in his expression.
"I've something in mind," he responded lowly.
John had no time to react before he found himself pinned down, Keith's arms locking his own against the armrests, which he tightly gripped out of reflex. The familiar deep brown eyes were just inches away, and they looked decidedly predatory.
"Wha..?" was all he could get out before Keith's mouth descended on his. It took a moment for John to register what was happening, a few seconds in time where he felt the warmth of Keith's lips on his own, and smelled the brandy on his breath. Then his brain kicked in, and he closed up, backing himself deeper into the chair. The reaction didn't deter the eager drummer, who settled himself into the chair, straddling the bassist's lap.
As Keith's tongue continued to fight to gain entrance into his mouth, John slowly realized that the other man's hands weren't holding his down anymore. In fact, he now felt a tingling sensation at the back of his neck where one of those hands had gripped him, and was kneading his sore muscles. He also became faintly aware of the other hand ripping at the buttons on his shirt.
Keith's hand touching his bare chest finally elicited a startled gasp, exposing an opening the drummer didn't miss. He deepened the kiss until he felt the older man finally respond, raking his fingernails over a nipple and sighing happily at John's responding grunt.
John's hands came to rest on Keith's waist, and he closed his eyes and allowed this new sensation in, losing himself in the moment. The taste of cigarettes and alcohol mingled with another taste, one uniquely Keith's, and John reached for it as if needing to quench a deep thirst.
After a few seconds, Keith let his friend up for air, an evil look in his eye when he licked his lips.
John's look, on the other hand, was more shell-shocked. This situation was cascading out of his control. Breathing heavily, he landed the drummer with a questioning expression.
"Keith, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice weak even to his own ears.
Keith leaned in close to John's ear, a devilish smile on his face.
"Like I said, just a little fun," he whispered, as if revealing some big secret. He followed it up by latching on to the bassist's neck with his mouth, resuming the exploration with his hands as well, caressing the skin beneath his fingertips.
John leaned his head back, letting a small moan slip out. He was fast losing the ability to stop this, whatever it was, from continuing, but every remaining brain cell that worked was screaming for him to do it. To stop this before it went too far.
But most of him had resigned to the fact that it had gone too far already.
A jolt of pleasure sent him out of his thoughts again, as he became aware of a hand massaging him through his pants. He heard panting breaths, and realized they were his own. He could hear a zipper, then felt a hand freeing him, relieving the uncomfortable tightness. Fingers gripped his flesh, and his coherent thoughts started to fall away. But there was no movement, just the teasing touch, and John pried his eyes open to see what was happening.
Keith was staring, one hand still in John's hair, the other holding his cock, with a satisfied look on his face. His pupils were dilated, the black depths peering directly into the dazed blues beneath him.
"So, you want me to stop, eh?" he asked politely, raising an eyebrow as he noted John's hands again clenched the armrests, now in a white-knuckled grip.
"Y-Yes..." John breathed out, though he knew it was a lie.
"I don't think you do," Keith answered slyly, agreeing with John's inner voice. He gave his friend a quick squeeze before beginning to move his hand, stroking him in a steady rhythm while he kissed and nibbled at the exposed chest in front of him.
John closed his eyes again, reveling in the feelings, the pleasure that was slowly engulfing him, and tried not to think about the persistent voice of reason at the back of his head that said he'd regret it. How could he regret something that felt so good?
"God...it's...mmmfuck." John's words came out as disjointed mumbles, egging the drummer on as he became more bold in his explorations of the man in front of him. He was enjoying this feeling of control over his friend. His partner.
John gritted his teeth and let out a long groan, the pleasure spiking as a warm mouth replaced a cold hand on him. He couldn't help but thrust back into the waiting mouth, his hips shuddering involuntarily. A sudden loss of sensation roused him faster this time, as he looked down at those big brown eyes again.
"You still want me to stop, then?" Keith asked, much more confidently this time.
"No...please," was all John could breathe out, before the mouth quickly returned, and the last of his thought fled him. He could feel the warmth in his body increasing, the sheer torture of the rising pleasure crying out for release. This was what he wanted, what he'd dreamed of. Just when he thought he would explode from holding himself back, the warm wetness went away, replaced again by the swift movement of a hand on his now wet flesh. He felt as well as heard Keith's breath next to his ear.
"Come on, Johnny. Come for me," he whispered.
John let out a startled cry, his head jerking back as his orgasm finally came over him, whiting out his vision and sending deep shivers of pure ecstasy up his spine. A long sigh escaped him, and he felt the slickness as the drummer's hand continued pumping him until he was spent.
After a few moments of regaining his breath, he was vaguely aware of a damp hand rubbing against his pant leg, and a wickedly grinning drummer leaning over his face. He was drawn into a single kiss before the other man pulled away.
"Sweet dreams," Keith called, as if from far away, and John realized that blackness was beginning to take over his vision. He allowed it to come, not fighting off the combined excesses of his evening. Instead, part of his mind was hoping it would protect him from the morning to come.
There'll be hell to pay...
************
John jerked awake, grimacing reflexively as his stiff muscles protested the sudden movement. Cracking open his eyes slowly against the light, he eventually could see faint sunlight and realized it was morning. He had spent the night in an armchair.
Not the worst place I've woken up.
His head ached, though not so much as he'd expected, and he gave a silent thanks for small miracles before straightening up and attempting to regain his bearings. As he peered around the room, his eyes fell on the nearby sofa, and on the body laying there, snoring softly.
The memories of the previous evening practically blindsided him, and John's eyes widened as he immediately scrambled around for evidence that what he recalled was in fact a reality, as he feared, or just a vivid dream, as he prayed.
He first noted his shirt was ripped open, clearly a bad sign, and though he saw that he was tucked into his briefs, his fly was undone. And there was a telling stain on his pant leg.
"Fuck!" he blurted out, not worried about waking his sleeping...
Molester? Horny band mate? Friend who loved him?
No, he couldn't allow his thoughts to go in that direction. He had to keep his cool. John was once again thankful, this time for the initial haziness of his memories; he didn't need the distraction right now. His first order of business should be to assess Keith's condition and get himself cleaned up, then he could worry about how to handle this.
He grunted softly, shaking his head as he realized all the buttons on his shirt were gone, before rising from his seat and stretching out his aching muscles. He made his way to the sofa, where Moonie lay sprawled haphazardly, the usual disheveled mess after a night like the last one.
The occasional snore assured John that his breathing was fine. It was Keith's state that had him more anxious; his trousers and briefs were halfway down, and his shirt, and a bit of the sofa, had a familiar stain on them. All evidence would indicate the drummer had wanked himself off and passed out where he was. The coke always made Keith extra randy, and he'd been drinking so much on top of it. And John couldn't remember if he'd pulled a bird at all that week. It was Keith, after all. Maybe he'd just gone a little too long...
It can't be more than that.
John abandoned his thoughts and left Keith as he was, intending to go take care of himself and question the man when he awoke, catching him exposed. John wanted to confront him before the clever drummer could come up with a sly excuse.
As he showered, John attempted to formulate a response to the situation. Well, several responses, honestly. It all hinged on Keith's own responses. If the situation was as he believed - that the drummer was just really horny and was suffering the effects of his myriad intakes of the evening before - then his reaction was simple: forget it and move on with life as if nothing had occurred.
He didn't like that prospect at all, but the alternative frightened him even more.
What if Keith actually felt something for him as well?
John refused himself this train of thought, labeling it too dangerous to pursue, too risky to let himself want to believe. If it somehow happened, he'd just have to improvise.
Instead, he concentrated on trying to relieve the tightness of his muscles under the pounding stream of hot water, while simultaneously blocking more memories threatening to complicate his situation. It was some time before he realized he'd been in the shower over an hour, and John hastily finished up and changed into fresh clothes.
After a quick detour to the bar for a shot of whiskey, he made his way back to the sitting room. Unfortunately, Keith was already awake, and had somewhat tidied himself up. He started at John's approach, but quickly recovered.
"Morning, is it?" he questioned, tone revealing nothing.
John nodded, and they sat for a time in awkward silence. He finally cleared his throat, inwardly cringing at how the sound pierced the silence between them.
"How you feeling?" John finally asked, trying to keep his voice equally even. He was pretty sure he was succeeding.
"Not too bad, considering. Rough night though." He sniffed, not meeting the grey eyes that were fixed on him. "What time we get in?" he finally asked, just a bit nervously.
"'Round one or two, I'd say. I'm a bit fuzzy on it," John lied just slightly, trying to coax more information from the drummer.
"Yeah, same here," Keith agreed. After a quick sigh, the younger man finally met his friend's eyes. "Probably fantastic and outrageous, though!" he exclaimed proudly, smiling devilishly.
His eyes looked relatively sincere to John, and he'd much rather believe Keith had just forgotten it all, anyway.
It just meant he could try to do the same.
********************************************************************************************
All feedback is appreciated...comments = <3