Skylines and City Boys
This is my first band fic but I write fanfiction all the time. Please let me know what you think, I have some great ideas for where this could go but I really want to get some feedback. I’m a (the biggest) Jesse Lacey fan, so I know I got that down, and I’m trying my best to get John right, so any feedback is great. Thank you all!
It’s hot and dark in my studio apartment that overlooks the crappiest, most desolate part of the city. Even though its night, the air doesn’t seem to want to cool down any. The accumulation of sweat from the people prancing around this Godforsaken city all day has risen into the air and hangs above everyone, a thin, sheer layer of smelly, sticky mist. This tank top sticks to my chest and I wish that the fucking air conditioning was working.
My feet stick to the hard wood floor as I walk into the kitchen, searching desperately for something cold. The phone rings when just as I open the fridge and I debate just letting it ring, because really, there isn’t anyone I want to talk to. But I know that it’s probably John and to ignore John would be a fucking feat in my book, so I scamper like a little girl back across the floor and answer the phone in a slightly (not really, I mean….It’s just cos its hot out) out of breath voice.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing, running a marathon?”
Seriously, I’m hardly out of breath at all, he’s just an ass. “Its ten million and two degree’s in the fucking apartment. I don’t know why a goddamn air conditioning store is closed on three day weekends. That’s retarded.”
“You’re retarded”
“Is that why you called” I say in an annoyed voice, even though I’m smiling and he knows it.
“Yes” he says, his voice is playful. I can see it in my head, John across town, flopping with a smile onto his bed in his (air conditioned!) too white bedroom with a few lame posters on the walls, and lame blue sheets.
“You wanna come over?” John asks, “I have cold beer and A.C”
As if he had to give me any reason besides the fact that he’s there.
“Sure, lemme just grab a shower and I’ll be over in a few”
“See you then.” And the phone clicks, he doesn’t even wait for me to say goodbye but it doesn’t matter. I rush off to the shower, eager to get this layer of scum off of my skin.
I try to tell myself that I’m not actually thinking about John when I wrap my hand around my cock.
That I’m not doing this so that I won’t have to worry about being unbearably hard when I’m around him.
It’s natural, and I’m hot and bored and nights like this always turn me on.
I’m not thinking about his voice, or the way his body moves. I’m not thinking about his eyes or the way he smells. I try to flash images of other people in my head, that girl from the market in the skirt that was way too short.
I’m not thinking about his long, boney fingers or the way his lips tremble when he laughs, I’m thinking about the magazine that’s hidden in the drawer next to my bed. The one with the girls and their fingers and legs, and chests.
It doesn’t matter, when I cum, his name is on my lips, his skin is pressed against my mind, invisible and unknowing. I do my best not to feel guilty. You’d be amazed at the things you learn to live with.
I get dressed in jeans and a red tee-shirt and focus on my wet hair that cools my head down, cools my thoughts down and brings me back to reality. Instead of thinking about what John would say if he knew what I just did, I think about how happy I am that my car has A.C.
John’s apartment is probably the same size as mine, but not all one room. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom streaming out from a living room with a kitchen attached, classic New York two bedroom. It’s plain but in its simplicity it entirely John-like. John doesn’t have a roommate, he had a roommate but they ended up sleeping together and then things got complicated and she left.
I don’t care, I hate her.
John’s a big believer in the ‘sex complicates everything’ department and as much as I wish it weren’t true, it is.
He would never sleep with me, if not for the fact that he likes girls, then just for the fact that he would never be willing to fuck up our friendship. Anything with John would be a onetime mistake, and as much as my body would agree to the contrary, I’m not willing to live with that.
I show up at John’s house, my hair has dried into dark curls and the thin layer of sweat has reappeared on my skin. When he answers the door he’s all pointy hips and smooth ivory skin.
I wish he would put a shirt on, I mean come on.
“Jesse!” he says enthusiastically, as if he wasn’t expecting me.
“Where’s the beer you promised?”
“Big cold white thing in the kitchen.”
I grab two beers from the fridge and head back into the living room. John is lounging with his feet across the couch.
“Move” I say and he lifts his feet up just enough for me to slide under them.
This man will be the death of me, I swear.
His bare feet are in my lap, flexing and pointing as he presses the buttons of his Playstation a little too enthusiastically.
On the screen, he’s flying a space plane through an alien marshland.
He mumbles something about running out of gas and then his feet flex again in my lap, his toes digging into my thigh.
I’m sweating and I’m running out of excuses cos John’s apartment is perfectly air-conditioned and I don’t think he’ll believe that my core body temperature is up just because.
I think about dead cats and burning buildings and the silhouettes of suicide jumpers just to get my mind off of him.
I think about that pixilated plane on the screen running out of gas and falling hundreds of thousands of feet into the desert.
Onto rocks. Sharp rocks.
“I need another beer, you want one?” I ask him as I slide out from underneath him and meander back into the kitchenette.
“I’m good” he says, arching his body dramatically as if that would really make the videoplane fly any harder to the left.
“Maybe if you throw yourself against the wall the plane will move harder” I said nonchalantly, sitting back down on a chair.
“Pfffft” John says his eyes glued to the screen. “I don’t know what people are talking about when they say these things melt your brain.”
“Oh yeah, I can see you’ve still got all your brain cells in tact” I bantered back at him.
“You’re just jealous cos I’m on level nineteen and you couldn’t make it past level four.” He said, taunting me.
“Wanna bet” I got up from my seat and leaned over, taking the control from his unsuspecting (beautiful) hands.
“Oh don’t” he says, smiling.
I grin wickedly and he pounces, I manage to hold the remote above my head, as he tackles me to the floor. The plane crashes onto some giant space dome and John thinks that this is reason enough to beat the crap out of me.
He may be smaller than I am, but he’s not weak. Within a minute he has me pinned beneath him, thrashing madly. He holds me down with his (oh so pointy) hips and tries his best to take my wrists in his hands. I arch my back of the floor, once, twice, and three times until I manage to roll on top of him.
He’s sweating but he’s laughing like a little bitch as I top him. Push his arms behind him manage to still his legs with mine.
It’s a good minute of him thrashing (agonizingly) underneath me, almost so that I figure it would be safer to just get up, let him win, but I know he wouldn’t take that.
He finally stills underneath me and says “Bastard. You win.”
I roll off of him, panting, sweating and spent. He laughs and moves closer to me. For a split second I can see it, the post coital cuddling that we’re never going to have.
“More beer?” he mumbles and I say “Just gimme a second”
I just wanna hold onto that image for a second, I just wanna hold him for a second.
He laughs and gets up; his jeans slung low on his hips, showing the tiniest bit of his slender ass, his back covered in a slight sheen of sweat.
“You want another?” he yells to me from the kitchen. I pull myself up to lean against the couch, catch my breath.
“Yeah” I say…. “That would be great.”’
He comes back and hands me a beer, looking at the time flashing on the DVD player.
“Dude…” he says slowly “since when is it three in the morning?”
“Since seventeen minutes ago” I say, sipping my beer.
John rolls his eyes “Always the smart ass” he says.
“You mean always the smart one”
“Oh yeah, right, mister ‘I took algebra three times’”
“Oh whatever, it’s not like you passed that class with flying colors, a D is hardly a good grade”
“You’re just jealous of my D’s” He says smiling and grabbing his chest.
“Yeah John, your D’s are the ones I want” if only he knew. Then again I don’t know how I would feel if John suddenly had D’s. I mean, breasts are great they’re just….not John.
“I know who’s D’s you want” he says slowly, teasing me.
He doesn’t of course; I don’t want anyone’s D’s
“Oh yeah, right” I say.
“Okay, fine, I don’t really. You’re so sexless sometimes.” Another sip of beer.
“I am not sexless” I say defensively, “I’m just private”
“You’re too secluded”
“You live alone!”
“Because of sex, I can’t live with people! I just end up sleeping with them. It’s not like I want to live alone.”
He sips his beer slowly, and then his eyes widen.
“Jesse! Dude, move in with me.”
“Ugh, no John…that’s a bad idea”
He rises up to his knees on the couch so that he’s taller than me, his flat stomach in my face
“No, it would be great! You’re here all the time anyway right, why not save some extra money, plus with band practice and everything, it would be so easy.”
He’s right of course, and it is a good idea.
“You sure you’ll be able to keep your hands off me?” I ask him, smiling seductively.
He rolls his eyes and says “I’ll do my best.”
My head is screaming at me. My heart is screaming at me. My body is screaming at me.
Everything is yelling in different languages and I can’t hear anything because all I can focus on is the static of John. His eyes, peering down into me like a kid on Christmas.
“Alright…” I sigh resigned. “I’ll move in with you.”
He’s way too pleased and obviously doesn’t realize what this arrangement entails.
But he’s so happy, and his smile is more contagious than the plague and I can’t help but be happy too.
“This…” he says “Is going to be so great”
Oh John, you have no idea.
It’s hot and dark in my studio apartment that overlooks the crappiest, most desolate part of the city. Even though its night, the air doesn’t seem to want to cool down any. The accumulation of sweat from the people prancing around this Godforsaken city all day has risen into the air and hangs above everyone, a thin, sheer layer of smelly, sticky mist. This tank top sticks to my chest and I wish that the fucking air conditioning was working.
My feet stick to the hard wood floor as I walk into the kitchen, searching desperately for something cold. The phone rings when just as I open the fridge and I debate just letting it ring, because really, there isn’t anyone I want to talk to. But I know that it’s probably John and to ignore John would be a fucking feat in my book, so I scamper like a little girl back across the floor and answer the phone in a slightly (not really, I mean….It’s just cos its hot out) out of breath voice.
“Hello?”
“What are you doing, running a marathon?”
Seriously, I’m hardly out of breath at all, he’s just an ass. “Its ten million and two degree’s in the fucking apartment. I don’t know why a goddamn air conditioning store is closed on three day weekends. That’s retarded.”
“You’re retarded”
“Is that why you called” I say in an annoyed voice, even though I’m smiling and he knows it.
“Yes” he says, his voice is playful. I can see it in my head, John across town, flopping with a smile onto his bed in his (air conditioned!) too white bedroom with a few lame posters on the walls, and lame blue sheets.
“You wanna come over?” John asks, “I have cold beer and A.C”
As if he had to give me any reason besides the fact that he’s there.
“Sure, lemme just grab a shower and I’ll be over in a few”
“See you then.” And the phone clicks, he doesn’t even wait for me to say goodbye but it doesn’t matter. I rush off to the shower, eager to get this layer of scum off of my skin.
I try to tell myself that I’m not actually thinking about John when I wrap my hand around my cock.
That I’m not doing this so that I won’t have to worry about being unbearably hard when I’m around him.
It’s natural, and I’m hot and bored and nights like this always turn me on.
I’m not thinking about his voice, or the way his body moves. I’m not thinking about his eyes or the way he smells. I try to flash images of other people in my head, that girl from the market in the skirt that was way too short.
I’m not thinking about his long, boney fingers or the way his lips tremble when he laughs, I’m thinking about the magazine that’s hidden in the drawer next to my bed. The one with the girls and their fingers and legs, and chests.
It doesn’t matter, when I cum, his name is on my lips, his skin is pressed against my mind, invisible and unknowing. I do my best not to feel guilty. You’d be amazed at the things you learn to live with.
I get dressed in jeans and a red tee-shirt and focus on my wet hair that cools my head down, cools my thoughts down and brings me back to reality. Instead of thinking about what John would say if he knew what I just did, I think about how happy I am that my car has A.C.
John’s apartment is probably the same size as mine, but not all one room. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom streaming out from a living room with a kitchen attached, classic New York two bedroom. It’s plain but in its simplicity it entirely John-like. John doesn’t have a roommate, he had a roommate but they ended up sleeping together and then things got complicated and she left.
I don’t care, I hate her.
John’s a big believer in the ‘sex complicates everything’ department and as much as I wish it weren’t true, it is.
He would never sleep with me, if not for the fact that he likes girls, then just for the fact that he would never be willing to fuck up our friendship. Anything with John would be a onetime mistake, and as much as my body would agree to the contrary, I’m not willing to live with that.
I show up at John’s house, my hair has dried into dark curls and the thin layer of sweat has reappeared on my skin. When he answers the door he’s all pointy hips and smooth ivory skin.
I wish he would put a shirt on, I mean come on.
“Jesse!” he says enthusiastically, as if he wasn’t expecting me.
“Where’s the beer you promised?”
“Big cold white thing in the kitchen.”
I grab two beers from the fridge and head back into the living room. John is lounging with his feet across the couch.
“Move” I say and he lifts his feet up just enough for me to slide under them.
This man will be the death of me, I swear.
His bare feet are in my lap, flexing and pointing as he presses the buttons of his Playstation a little too enthusiastically.
On the screen, he’s flying a space plane through an alien marshland.
He mumbles something about running out of gas and then his feet flex again in my lap, his toes digging into my thigh.
I’m sweating and I’m running out of excuses cos John’s apartment is perfectly air-conditioned and I don’t think he’ll believe that my core body temperature is up just because.
I think about dead cats and burning buildings and the silhouettes of suicide jumpers just to get my mind off of him.
I think about that pixilated plane on the screen running out of gas and falling hundreds of thousands of feet into the desert.
Onto rocks. Sharp rocks.
“I need another beer, you want one?” I ask him as I slide out from underneath him and meander back into the kitchenette.
“I’m good” he says, arching his body dramatically as if that would really make the videoplane fly any harder to the left.
“Maybe if you throw yourself against the wall the plane will move harder” I said nonchalantly, sitting back down on a chair.
“Pfffft” John says his eyes glued to the screen. “I don’t know what people are talking about when they say these things melt your brain.”
“Oh yeah, I can see you’ve still got all your brain cells in tact” I bantered back at him.
“You’re just jealous cos I’m on level nineteen and you couldn’t make it past level four.” He said, taunting me.
“Wanna bet” I got up from my seat and leaned over, taking the control from his unsuspecting (beautiful) hands.
“Oh don’t” he says, smiling.
I grin wickedly and he pounces, I manage to hold the remote above my head, as he tackles me to the floor. The plane crashes onto some giant space dome and John thinks that this is reason enough to beat the crap out of me.
He may be smaller than I am, but he’s not weak. Within a minute he has me pinned beneath him, thrashing madly. He holds me down with his (oh so pointy) hips and tries his best to take my wrists in his hands. I arch my back of the floor, once, twice, and three times until I manage to roll on top of him.
He’s sweating but he’s laughing like a little bitch as I top him. Push his arms behind him manage to still his legs with mine.
It’s a good minute of him thrashing (agonizingly) underneath me, almost so that I figure it would be safer to just get up, let him win, but I know he wouldn’t take that.
He finally stills underneath me and says “Bastard. You win.”
I roll off of him, panting, sweating and spent. He laughs and moves closer to me. For a split second I can see it, the post coital cuddling that we’re never going to have.
“More beer?” he mumbles and I say “Just gimme a second”
I just wanna hold onto that image for a second, I just wanna hold him for a second.
He laughs and gets up; his jeans slung low on his hips, showing the tiniest bit of his slender ass, his back covered in a slight sheen of sweat.
“You want another?” he yells to me from the kitchen. I pull myself up to lean against the couch, catch my breath.
“Yeah” I say…. “That would be great.”’
He comes back and hands me a beer, looking at the time flashing on the DVD player.
“Dude…” he says slowly “since when is it three in the morning?”
“Since seventeen minutes ago” I say, sipping my beer.
John rolls his eyes “Always the smart ass” he says.
“You mean always the smart one”
“Oh yeah, right, mister ‘I took algebra three times’”
“Oh whatever, it’s not like you passed that class with flying colors, a D is hardly a good grade”
“You’re just jealous of my D’s” He says smiling and grabbing his chest.
“Yeah John, your D’s are the ones I want” if only he knew. Then again I don’t know how I would feel if John suddenly had D’s. I mean, breasts are great they’re just….not John.
“I know who’s D’s you want” he says slowly, teasing me.
He doesn’t of course; I don’t want anyone’s D’s
“Oh yeah, right” I say.
“Okay, fine, I don’t really. You’re so sexless sometimes.” Another sip of beer.
“I am not sexless” I say defensively, “I’m just private”
“You’re too secluded”
“You live alone!”
“Because of sex, I can’t live with people! I just end up sleeping with them. It’s not like I want to live alone.”
He sips his beer slowly, and then his eyes widen.
“Jesse! Dude, move in with me.”
“Ugh, no John…that’s a bad idea”
He rises up to his knees on the couch so that he’s taller than me, his flat stomach in my face
“No, it would be great! You’re here all the time anyway right, why not save some extra money, plus with band practice and everything, it would be so easy.”
He’s right of course, and it is a good idea.
“You sure you’ll be able to keep your hands off me?” I ask him, smiling seductively.
He rolls his eyes and says “I’ll do my best.”
My head is screaming at me. My heart is screaming at me. My body is screaming at me.
Everything is yelling in different languages and I can’t hear anything because all I can focus on is the static of John. His eyes, peering down into me like a kid on Christmas.
“Alright…” I sigh resigned. “I’ll move in with you.”
He’s way too pleased and obviously doesn’t realize what this arrangement entails.
But he’s so happy, and his smile is more contagious than the plague and I can’t help but be happy too.
“This…” he says “Is going to be so great”
Oh John, you have no idea.