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They had been on the road for 13 hours, and after dealing with Tico’s snoring for 5 of those, and inane chatter for the other 8, Jon swore he could feel the weight of his eyebags sinking deeper into his skin.
As the bus rumbled to stop, he pulled back the curtain and was greeted by the sight of a weathered strip motel. The white exterior had long since faded to a greyish creme color and the second c on the Vacancy sign flickered before going out entirely. Beyond the sign, one lone street lamp illuminated ‘Dream Motel,’ written in plain indigo lettering. The surrounding coniferous forest choked out any remaining light in the area, looking like a vignetted photograph. Jon felt a prickling sensation crawl down his spine, as his entire focus became the motel for a brief moment.
Jon let the curtain fall. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he pushed the creeping unease to the back of his mind and turned back to look at his neighbor.
Richie had not stirred even as everyone else started moving around. His usually expressive face was completely relaxed, not even a hint of his laugh lines showing through. Lips slack and slightly parted, he was drooling a little bit onto his denim jacket. His lips looked so plush, particularly his full lower lip, Jon wondered if they would feel as soft as he imagined against his own. Before Jon could analyze where the hell that thought came from, Richie’s lashes fluttered and he slowly opened his eyes.
Sleepy brown eyes met blue ones.
“What?” Richie rumbled out before yawning.
Jon looked away from the other man. “We’re here.”
“Where’s here?”
Jon opened his mouth to respond with ‘I don’t know, just the most ominous looking motel in the world’ but was beaten by the door of the bus clanging open and Doc sauntering up the creaky steps.
“Given that it is already past 11, we’re stopping here for the night. We’ll pick up tomorrow morning at 9 AM.” He gave the boys a pointed look. “So you guys better be ready to go by 8:30. That way we will still have plenty of time to make it to the venue.”
Upon seeing Jon grimace, Doc held up a hand. “Don’t go complain’ now, just be grateful you don’t have to sleep in the cots tonight. I coulda had us hauling ass there overnight, but I figured we would all appreciate real beds for once, even at this motel.”
Jon’s frown deepened and he glanced over at Richie. Catching Jon’s gaze, Richie smiled softly and gave him a pat on the arm.
The lead singer just let out a huff, and bit out a non-committal, “Fine.”
Doc’s eyes narrowed and he studied Jon for a moment before turning his focus back towards the rest of the band.
“Here are your room keys. One of you guys gets a room all to himself.” He pressed three pairs of keys into Richie’s hand and turned to walk down the stairs. “I’ll be in room 17, hopefully you won’t have to use that information tonight. Bobby, you’re in the room next door. Goodnight.”
The bus door shut with a wheeze and clank.
“So now what?” Jon grumbled.
“Five way rock, paper, scissors?” David proposed with a teasing grin. Richie chuckled and Jon felt the throbbing sensation behind his eyes intensify.
---
“I can’t believe we’re staying here.” Jon complained, jangling the keyring with the small number 20 written on it as he attempted to twist the key.
“C’mon, it’s not so bad. Like Doc said, a bed that isn’t built for tiny people will be a welcome change.”
Despite Jon letting out a small grunt of exertion, the key remained stubbornly in the upright position. “And now we can’t even get into the room!” Jon was aware he was getting worked up, but the weight of the day was crushing his patience and his head.
Suddenly, Jon felt the warmth of Richie pressed up behind him.
“Let me give it a try.” Richie’s voice was in a lower timber and his breath caressed the side of Jon’s cheek as he reached around the shorter man. Jon’s eyes widened as he turned his head jerkily to look at his lead guitarist. Richie’s tongue was peaking out, tracing the corner of his lip and his brows were furrowed. One large hand covered Jon’s almost entirely and the other reached around him to pull on the handle of the door. It was like a hug from behind Jon realized, or something else…
His cheeks were hot.
“Nice and easy.” Richie mumbled to himself. Jon couldn’t control the shiver that went down the length of his body. Just like that, the key turned smoothly towards the left and the door opened.
And the warmth was gone. Jon missed it immediately.
Looking over his shoulder, Jon was greeted by the sight of Richie rubbing the back of his neck, the apples of his cheeks tinged scarlet. Catching Jon’s embarrassed expression, the other man offered up a half-hearted grin and shrugged.
Jon shut his mouth and grabbed both their bags, kicking the door all the way open and storming in.
“Oh fuck no.”
Jon set the bags against the wall, across from the singular bed. The interior of the room was as run down as the outside. The sour smell of stale cigarette smoke suspended over the air, not masked at all by the cloying sweetness of too much air freshener. The color scheme was overwhelmingly yellow. Faded saffron walls, light wood finish side tables and a lone dresser, and even a large painting of sunflowers, suspended over the only bed.
“This has got to be a mistake.”
Richie flopped face-first onto the bed. “Well yeah, but it’s fine.” It came out muffled as he spoke directly into the paisley duvet, still facedown.
“I’m going to get Doc, we can get this straightened out at the front desk together. Or if Teek’s room has two queens, we can trade him.”
“Jon, stop.” The blond paused his stride and spun around on his heels to face the other man. “It’s late, we can make do.” Richie was propped up on one elbow now, the usual good humor gone from his face. For a split second, he appeared older than his 25 years, his hair limp and a touch greasy from the road, a crease between his brows. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. Jon was hit with the overwhelming urge to banish that world-weary expression from Richie’s face, by any means necessary.
Dragging his right hand down his face, the older man continued, “Besides this isn't the first time we’ve shared a bed.” In a flash, the spark returned to Richie’s hazel eyes, and his lips parted in a smarmy grin. Something within Jon relaxed. “Are you certain you don’t want to spend the night with me?” He patted the bed with his free hand and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Normally, Jon would tell him to stop being a dumbass or laugh at Richie’s ridiculous antics, but not tonight.
Tonight he turned away to hide his returning blush. If he hadn’t, he would have seen the smile wither away and fall from Richie’s face.
Jon opened his suitcase with more force than necessary and grabbed his toiletries bag and some pajamas. “Fine. But I’m showering first.”
“Go ahead,” Richie answered quietly. The door had already shut behind him.
---
Jon turned the dial so the water was just short of unbearably hot, as he wanted to wash away more than his soreness and lingering headache. That plan wasn’t working out so well. The water cascading down his back felt divine, but he was plagued by thoughts of Richie.
He had no problems admitting to himself that he had come to love his bandmate, as their relationship had blossomed from strangers, to friends, to something akin to blood brothers. Even if he was a bit awkward expressing it sometimes or reciprocating the brunette’s easy affection.
But recently, he’d caught himself watching the other man unconsciously. Especially during those quieter moments, when it was just the band together or even just the two of them.
Jon poured a large amount of shampoo into his left hand and then transferred half into his right.
Rubbing the shampoo over the length of his tresses, he quickly developed a rich lather.
Lemongrass, how fitting.
The heat and the soothing task allowed his mind to wander to places that Jon knew he would deny in the morning light. That maybe he held more than just platonic feelings for his best friend. And sometimes, he almost thought that Richie felt the same way.
Scrubbing his scalp with his blunt nails, Jon realized that he hadn’t just been watching Richie, but committing his face and mannerisms to memory. His Richie-isms if you will. He was never going to tell the other man that.
How Richie would set his jaw and hold direct eye contact when he lied. How he would smile even wider when he was down, but the darkness in his eyes would betray him every time. And that despite being one of the most friendly people Jon had ever met, Richie had the tendency to keep people at arms length, as he was more sensitive than he let on.
Running his right hand down his chest in circular motions, thoroughly washing the thick hair there, Jon’s hand slowly descended lower, stopping right above his cock. Jon thought about how Richie would bite his lower lip in a deliberate manner whenever he was trying to make it with a girl, and how that would make desire pool deep in Jon’s belly, even if he was never the intended target.
Jon gave his pubic hair a teasing tug, feeling his cock fill out. Giving himself some languid pumps, Jon imagined those lips doing other things. Sucking hickeys on his neck, biting his flesh, or best of all, stretched around his dick.
Flashing back to the previous night, during the show, Jon had caught the other man staring at him multiple times. Richie had some of the warmest eyes Jon had ever seen, but yesterday they were so intense it was like being set ablaze. Sweat dripping down his brow, Richie would just hold his gaze until Jon was forced to look away. His cock throbbed, fully erect now.
Jon was panting, flushed all the way down his chest from both the water and his activities.
Did Richie even like men? Did he even like men? A wave of nausea rose up through his throat and Jon squeezed his hands into fists as all the tension from before returned.
He was attracted to Richie. Fuck. That was a problem.
Mirroring Jon’s declining mood, the hot water ran out. Soon enough, Jon was shivering in the cold stream, his erection completely wilted.
It’s probably for the best, Jon determined ruefully, he wasn’t even sure if he could look Richie in the eye right now.
Turning the water off and stepping out onto the cool tile, he dried himself as fast as possible with a mustard colored towel. Wrapping it around his head and pulling on his pajamas, Jon pushed open the bathroom door.
“Rich, I’m sorry I-” Jon called out, only to abruptly cut himself off upon registering the sight before him.
The light from the bathroom illuminated the contours of Richie’s face, giving his skin a subtle glow. Long dark lashes lay still against his cheeks and the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest was the only movement, the only sign of life.
Like an asteroid caught in the earth’s orbit, Jon felt gravity pull him towards the other man. And without even meaning to, he was at Richie’s side, standing over the sleeping brunette.
Richie was a bit like the sun, Jon mused, warm and beautiful. And what did that make him, Jon wondered. Perhaps the moon, only capable of reflecting a fraction of the sun’s light. Looking up, Jon’s gaze passed over the painting again. On second thought, maybe a sunflower was more fitting, cursed to forever turn its face to follow the sun. The past proved that he would inevitably be watching Richie, thinking of him, for as long as he kept this secret and as long as they remained in a band together.
Jon shut his eyes and pulled the towel off his damp hair, allowing it to drop to the floor beside him.
He adjusted the ugly duvet so that it covered Richie a bit better. Richie turned his head and buried it deeper into his pillow, but did not wake. Jon kinda wished that he had.
With one last glance at his friend, Jon turned away. He could feel his elevated pulse and anxiety crawling under his skin, and even without the unnerving barrenness of the motel room and the sunflowers taunting him, the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily against his soul.
It was going to be a long night.
---
Richie slowly found himself being pulled into the realm of consciousness by unfamiliar noises. Like a diver coming up for air, he was abruptly pushed to the surface by a kick to the shin.
Groggily looking around, Richie landed on Jon’s form. The blond was thrashing, eyes squeezed shut, a stream of nos, expletives, and garbled fragments leaving his lips. There were wet tear tracks down his cheeks. Richie sat up immediately.
“Please no!” Jon called out, still moving erratically. The duvet had completely slipped down his torso and Richie could see that his sleep shirt was soaked in sweat and that his bangs were matted to his forehead.
“Jon, wakeup!” Richie said loudly, but the other man didn’t appear to hear him. “Jon!” Richie grabbed Jon’s shoulder and shook him roughly.
Jon’s eyes snapped open and he immediately moved to swing a left hook out at his assumed attacker. Before he could make contact, Richie closed his hand around Jon’s fist.
Richie watched Jon’s pupils constrict as he focused on the other man and blue eyes were in the present once more. Richie gently lowered both their hands, but still held on.
“Rich?” Jon croaked out.
“It’s me.” There was an awkward pause and Jon sniffled. Richie let go of his hand. “You were having a nightmare.”
Jon’s breath hitched. “Richie, I thought-” Jon’s face crumpled and he let out a sob, shoulders shaking. Richie felt pain stab through his chest upon seeing more tears from his friend. Pushing aside any nervousness, Richie opened his arms and spoke gently.
“Get over here.”
Jon’s scaleras were red and irritated, and his beautiful blue eyes were glassy and lost. Richie tried to keep his expression from shifting, as Jon hesitated and searched his face.
Seemingly reassured with what he found, Jon slowly closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms stiffly around Richie.
Feeling that Jon was still not hugging him fully, as there was a conscious sliver of air between their bodies, Richie took a deep breath and pulled the other man fully into his lap. After a moment, Jon melted against him.
Jon was trembling just a little, and Richie could feel the wetness of the younger man’s tears as he cried softly. The tender ache in Richie’s soul swelled to a crescendo from feeling Jon against him, its presence almost impossible to ignore. Stomping down his emotions, Richie purposefully chose to focus on Jon and his needs.
Rubbing the blond’s back, Richie whispered, “It’s alright, I got you.” Jon seemed to cry harder and buried his face into the crook of Richie’s shoulder. “Shhh,” he soothed, moving one hand to stroke Jon’s hair. “You’re safe baby.” Jon’s hair tickled Richie’s face, he noticed that it had the faint smell of lemons and something sweet.
He wanted to stay like this forever, just holding Jon.
Richie continued to murmur sweet nothings, until he could feel Jon’s breathing even out and his body stop shaking. Drawing back slightly, Richie saw that Jon was flushed across the bridge of his nose, but his eyes were clear.
“Are you okay?” Richie questioned, his voice still hoarse from sleep.
Jon nodded. “I’m okay now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Jon moved to hug him tighter, and replied in a subdued voice. “No… maybe later.” Richie’s heart leaped as they were cheek to cheek with Jon leaning his face against Richie’s. All the warmth swirling around his chest was rising upwards, trying to claw its way out. Richie knew his blush matched Jon’s. He felt lightheaded.
“Alright.” Moving unconsciously, the brunette raised his chin, and pressed a light kiss to the top of Jon's head. “No matter what, I’ve got you.” Richie husked, laying an open mouth kiss on the other man’s neck. Jon gasped but did not move away.
He was being swept away by the wave. Moving a hand to carefully grasp Jon’s chin, Richie pressed their lips together.
It was no more than a peck but he knew he had crossed a line.
Richie pulled away and stammered out, “I’m so sorry! Please fucking forget about that, it won’t happen again!” His face was florid and he felt a bead of sweat drip down his temple. He couldn’t look at Jon, staring instead at the worn bedspread.
A beat of silence, of paralysis. He heard Jon suck in a breath and then deliberately breathe it out.
Suddenly he felt two hands gently cup his cheeks and they guided his face upwards so that he was forced to meet Jon’s gaze.
Flecks of light danced in Jon’s cerulean eyes, illuminated by the fragments of daylight that filtered through the motel blinds. Richie’s heart rate accelerated further.
Jon offered up a small, genuine smile.
“What if I don’t want to forget?” The younger man used his thumbs to trace the brunette’s cheekbones. His hands were wavering slightly. He then moved one hand to caress the cleft of Richie's chin. “It's okay as long as it's with you. I want to see where this road takes us.” His expression held a touch of anxiety but the affection shined through. With his pink lips parted and his face devoid of its usual barriers, Jon was irresistible.
“Do you want to try that again?”
This time Richie answered him with a kiss.