The after show party was grating on his nerves. He didn't know very many of the people who somehow got backstage tonight, didn't want to know any of them.
He'd already had two glasses of wine more than usual in the amount of time he'd been here. He knew better than to get drunk, but in this state of mind, he couldn't help it. The room began to develop a blurry edge to it, his eyes beginning to get tired.
He rubbed them with his index finger and thumb and refocused on the young woman standing in front of him, drabbling on about what? He couldn't remember. She'd been at it for ten minutes now. It's not that she wasn't worthy of his attention, she was not bad looking, and seemed intelligent, but she was trying too hard, as do many who finally garner his attention.
His gaze drifted to a person across the room. Richie was standing in a group of four others, two women and two men. He seemed to be trying to endure the same torture, a fake smile glued to his face. They'd been on this tour forever it seemed. He didn't know what city he was in, they all looked alike at night. He did know they had one more show at this venue, tomorrow night.
No after show party tomorrow, jump on the plane immediately and fly to the next city. Do it again. And again. Why'd he choose this vocation again? Oh yeah, I remember, I love my job, he thought. He drained his glass and sighed.
"Excuse me, I'm about to piss all over myself," he pushed by the woman as he headed across the room. The woman's mouth dropped open and she blushed, perplexed as to what she'd done to lose his interest.
Jon made his way through the crowd, ignoring anyone trying to capture his attention, focused on taking steady steps and walked past Richie to the long table covered with bottles of wine, hard liquors, soft drinks and mixers. Jon found the bottle of wine he'd last poured from, it was empty.
He looked for another bottle of the same, didn't find any so he picked up another, glanced at the label and poured his glass full. It was a chardonnay. Not his favorite, but what the hell. He swallowed a mouthful, swishing it around first to wash out the taste of the beaujolais he'd been drinking, then put the glass to his lips again. He turned and almost spit out the mouthful of wine. Richie was standing within two feet of him. His eyes locked on Richie's.
"How about a smoke?" he asked.
"Thought you'd never ask," Jon swallowed and answered.
They walked out of the room together toward double doors that led to the open arena area. Richie handed Jon the pack of cigarettes after tapping one out for himself, then offered him the lighter. They continued walking, smoking and drinking in silence, glad to be away from the onslaught of people for a moment.
They went under the stage structure, through a walkway that allowed access under the floor where electrical cabling was channeled to the stage surface.
All the roadies and stage personnel were gone for the night, they'd be back tomorrow to set up for the show. Jon took the last swallow of wine, set his glass down on a steel support and leaned against the metal frame. He took a long drag on his cigarette.
"Jesus, Rich, I'm so fuckin' tired of this shit. I don't know how much longer I can do this," Jon looked down at his feet as he exhaled a stream of smoke.
"Know what you mean, babe," Richie reached out and stroked the side of Jon's face with this index finger. He stepped forward and lifted Jon's chin with his hand, dipped his head and touched his lips to the singer's.
Jon tipped his head up, closed his eyes and uttered a soft moan. He parted his lips to taste Richie's mouth, letting the silky warmth bathe his tongue. Cigarettes and whiskey. With a splash of wintergreen?
"Have you ever done it under the stage?" he whispered, his eyes still closed.
"No, never had the opportunity to do it under the stage," Richie answered. "Yet." Jon smiled.
"I wanna fuck under the stage, Rich," he opened his eyes and Richie's face swirled in front of him. Yep. He was drunk. He put his hand down on the steel bar he was leaning against to steady the world. He dropped his cigarette and after two tries to step on it, smashed it with his foot.
His hand went to his crotch and he started massaging his own hard on.
"Hold on cowboy," Richie placed his hand on Jon's, "Don't get too carried away. I don't have anything, do you?"
Jon was almost to the point of not caring, but Richie wasn't going to be as reckless. He wasn't as far gone as Jon. Richie leaned in and pressed his body against Jon's, the singer looked up and sucked in a breath.
"Well, then do somethin' because I'm horny as fuckin' hell," Jon began to unzip his pants, his hard on aching to be touched. Richie obliged by stroking it softly, the heated flesh throbbing in his hand.
Richie looked at Jon's face and wanted to do as he asked, throw him down and fuck the daylights out of him right there under the stage. In the dim light he could see Jon's eyes were half closed, his lips parted in a half smile, only a sliver of white teeth visible, his cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, hair brushing his forehead in chunks of blond.
Richie licked those lips and pushed into his mouth. Jon was pliant, so relaxed, he pushed his hips into Richie's hand.
"I need more, Rich," Jon groaned as Richie quickened his motions. Richie dropped to his knees and held Jon's hips steady with both hands. Jon wobbled a little, trying to support himself by hanging on to the steel stage supports.
Richie covered the head of Jon's erection with his mouth, then let the length of it slide in, all hot and thick, down his throat. Jon let out a gurgled sound, then his knee buckled and he almost went down. Jon was too drunk to stand.
Fuck, this ain't gonna work Richie thought. He stood and pulled Jon's shirt over the front of his pants to cover his exposed cock.
"What're you doin?" Jon's speech was on the verge of being slurred, "Where are we goin?"
"I told you to hold on. You wanna fuck, then we're gonna fuck."
Jon took a few steps and thought it was funny that everything all of a sudden skewed sideways for a moment.
"Oh shit," he said as he stumbled forward.
Richie put his arm around Jon and led him out from under the stage toward the tunnel that led to the dressing rooms. They'd almost made it when someone stepped out of another doorway directly into their path. Richie quickly pushed Jon behind him against the wall.
"Sorry, didn't mean to run over you, man," Richie apologized to the strange man. The man stepped backwards and looked at Richie then at Jon leaning against the wall and seemed shocked to have run into them, he stammered an apology and went in the direction that Richie and Jon had come from.
Jon had his hands over the front of his pants and a silly smile cracked his face.
"I'm drunk, Rich," he giggled.
"No fuckin' shit," Richie laughed, "The perfect time to take advantage of you, don't you think?"
Jon nodded in agreement as Richie gripped his upper arm and guided him into the dressing room. The room was deserted, their wardrobe cases standing in a row, their stage clothes they had worn a little while ago were gone to be cleaned.
Richie sat Jon down on a stool and walked to where his bag was and dug around in it until he found the lubricant. Jon had begun to stroke himself again, and reached for the lube, but Richie snatched it away.
"Gonna make me beg now?" Jon whined.
"That sounds appealing."
"Yeah, well, you already forgot what I said I wanted anyway." Jon looked directly at Richie, his eyes looked deceivingly sober at that moment.
"What's that?"
"I wanna fuck under the stage."
Richie hesitated. Shit, sometimes Jon could be bullheaded even when drunk.
"At this rate, we ain't never gonna fuck anywhere."
Richie pocketed the lube and pulled Jon up again.
"Zip up for this trip, please," Richie ordered. Jon looked down and fumbled with his zipper, getting it most of the way up, then pulling his shirt down over it. They left the dressing room, went back up the tunnel, Jon walking with his hand against the wall the entire length of the walkway.
He could feel his head clearing a little, not a good sign in his opinion. Maybe they should take a detour back to the party and get a refill. He veered in the direction of the party and Richie reached out and snatched his shirt, pulling him back.
"I want another glass of wine, man," Jon tried to pry Richie's hand off his shirt.
"Why are you so fuckin' stubborn sometimes?" Richie was getting exasperated. He was having trouble maintaining his interest in Jon's drunken game. He let go of Jon's shirt.
"If you don't come with me now, you aren't gonna have your fun," he threatened. Jon stopped and turned. His head was definitely clearing, albeit slowly.
This is what happened when they were out on the road too long. The arguing would begin insidiously, then escalate until they realized they were saying very ugly things to each other. And meaning it. He let out a breath, took in another, considered his words for once.
"I'm sorry, I'm being a shithead," he said.
"It's ok," Richie said softly. Jon smiled and let out another breath. He stepped to Richie and put his face against his shoulder.
"It would not be a good thing if I didn't get to have my fun, now would it?" He lifted his head, propped his chin on the shoulder and looked into Richie's eyes and licked his lips. Surely he couldn't know what he does to me, Richie thought as he fell into the blueness of those slightly bloodshot eyes. He felt his arousal growing.
He grabbed Jon's arm again and spun him around through the double doors, back under the stage. Jon didn't waste any time and went deep under the stage structure, seeking a secluded spot with enough room to maneuver in. He looked up at the bottom of the stage inches from the top of his head.
He tried to suppress the claustrophobia that began to clog his throat. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all he thought.
"You ok, man?" Richie saw the look on Jon's face. Jon closed his eyes and nodded. Another glass of wine would have done him good. But he wasn't going to get it now, so get over it. He kept his eyes closed and felt Richie touch his arm.
He closed his mind to everything else except that touch, let the sensation take over. This was the hardest game of chicken he'd created so far. Now that he was beginning to sober up a little, he wished they'd stayed in the dressing room. Shit, he was spoiled.
At that moment, Richie's warm hand touched his neck and warm lips pressed against his; it felt like a hot knife in his groin. Hot tongues pressing against each other, teeth clashing, he reached under Richie's shirt, ran his hands up and down his back, came back around the front and unfastened the button and zipper, pushing down, reaching in and feeling hotness.
He kept his eyes squeezed shut, did everything by feel, felt his own pants being pushed down around his thighs, then they fell a little by themselves. He waggled them down further, the cool damp air in the arena raising goose flesh across his legs. Then a hand on his hard cock, sending another deep quake through him. He had to pull his mouth away, take a breath, vertigo beginning to overwhelm him.
He was being turned around, he opened his eyes and tried to focus, the spinning took a moment to stop. He saw a waist high steel bar in front of him and he bent over enough to grasp it with both hands. He closed his eyes again when he felt the ceiling closing in.
He felt Richie's slicked fingers probing him and he winced when one pushed into him, then relaxed and let the burning touch to his prostate subside, and then he felt the touch again, his insides wanting to explode. Richie positioned himself behind Jon and gently began to push his hard cock into that tight opening, feeling it tense, then relax, sliding in further.
He began slow, deliberate strokes, feeling Jon's body moving in rhythm, holding him steady with his hands on Jon's hips. Jon dropped his head between his arms, pushed back into Richie, feeling the fullness rocking him. Each stroke sent a tidal wave of blood through his groin, pulsing hot, making him breathless.
He felt the surge of his orgasm break through, making him ejaculate forcefully, spurting to the floor in front of him. He felt Richie coming, the spasms shooting deep into him. They held their positions, Jon leaning back into Richie, the blood gone from his head. He knew if he opened his eyes now, he'd probably fall over from dizziness.
"You ok, man?" Richie asked in a low voice as he bent closer to Jon's head.
"Just don't let go, I'll probably fall on my ass," he replied.
"No. Can't let that happen," Richie chuckled. Jon began to stand up, forcing Richie to withdraw from him.
Jon stepped forward and leaned his head against the steel bars, eyes still closed, still gripping the structure to keep himself upright. Richie pulled up his pants and partially zipped up. He reached down and pulled Jon's pants back up, then wrapped his arms around the singer, hugging him close.
"Turn around," he said as he began to turn Jon around to help him finish pulling up his pants. Jon let go of the bars and felt himself being turned, felt Richie tugging on his pants. He opened his eyes and saw Richie standing there, just looking at him.
"What?" he asked, his eyes wanting to close again. Ok, now he needed to sleep. Anywhere'll do.
"Nothing," he said, then broke into a wide grin, "Happy now? Got your way?" Jon closed his eyes and smiled.
"Yeah, I'm happy now. And sleepy too. Can I lay down and go to sleep now?"
"Sure, let's go," Richie pulled Jon's arm over his shoulder and helped him out from under the stage. He walked out of the cavernous backstage area to the corridor that circled the stadium. He located the cars and motioned to one of the drivers standing by to open the door.
"Take us to the hotel," he said to the driver after he watched Jon get in.
He slid into the back seat after the singer and slammed the car door. When he turned toward Jon he laughed to himself. Jon was leaning against the other side of the car, fast asleep.