They slowly pulled into the truck stop. The bus's airbrakes wheezed and the vehicle shuddered to a stop. Richie got up immediately and headed for the door. Jon stood up slowly, stretching his arms behind his head. The tension was getting on his nerves. Even drinking wasn't working anymore. He'd even taken to going straight to his hotel room after shows, not even stopping in the bar. Straight to sleep. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner the next day would be there and over. Over and over. He stepped out of the bus and made his way between the 18-wheelers aligned on the sprawling concrete parking lot. He walked into the truck stop restaurant, ignoring the head turns. His long hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, he wore a torn tshirt and torn jeans. His snakeskin boots were pinching his feet, but he'd not bothered looking for anything else.
He noticed a green chalkboard on an easel as he walked in. Etched in white and pink chalk: "Today's Special: Chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn on the cob, peach cobbler, etc." His stomach started to growl. The aroma of greasy food filled the air as he glanced around for Richie. He saw the guitarist seated across the room and made his way over.
He slid into the booth across from Richie. The guitarist didn't look up, just rubbed his stubble covered chin with the back of his hand while he studied the gravy stained menu. Jon leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw Richie was still moving his hand back and forth over his chin. For some reason Jon became mesmerized by that motion. His gaze moved up to study the guitarist's full lips, slightly pouting. At that moment, Richie licked his lips. Jon felt a slight quiver in his gut. He became aware that he was staring at Richie and when he looked at the guitarist's eyes he knew he had been watched. Jon quickly turned away.
Richie cleared his throat. "Somethin' wrong?" he asked.
"Nah," Jon replied, not looking back. He studied the fine d�cor of the establishment. The ripped green vinyl upholstery of the booths complemented the food stained burgundy carpeting. The faded fake flowers on each table provided the finishing touch. Looked like 99% of the places they stopped to eat.
Richie continued gazing at Jon's profile. His hair was uncharacteristically pulled away from his face. He stared at the angular features, slightly grizzled by a day's growth of beard. It was apparent that Jon had lost a few pounds in the last few months, his eyes had a gaunt look about them when he'd been drinking too much. Richie could see those blue eyes darting around the room, never resting. Those blue eyes finally turned his way and he couldn't look away. They looked at each other for a moment. Then that moment turned into a minute. Then longer.
"What?" Jon asked in a low voice. What he wanted to do was reach over and touch Richie, to see if he'd flinch away.
Richie swallowed. He began to lick his lips again and saw Jon's eyes flick down to catch the motion. Jon bit his bottom lip.
"I'll be back, gotta take a leak, order me the special and a coke," Richie got up to find the men's room.
Jon watched him walk across the dining room. He also noticed the other patrons watching Richie as he walked by. When he looked back he caught himself appraising the dark haired guitarist's physique, starting from his glossy dark hair and moving down his back to his ass, then down his long legs. The way he sauntered when he walked . . .
What the fuck was wrong with him. Fuck, too damn long on the road, he's getting turned on by Richie. But he'd gotten weary of the nameless faces of the women he used night after night. Sex just wasn't fun anymore.
The waitress cleared her throat and he jumped when he realized she had been standing there a while.
"What can I get ya, doll?" she asked. Her bleached blonde hair was slightly disheveled. She had three pencils stuck in it on top of her head. She had a ketchup stain smack on top of the left breast of her yellow uniform. Her name badge said Karen and she had a scratched and stained smiley face sticker on it. She wasn't looking at him, just staring at her pad, stubby pencil poised, waiting for the order.
"Two lunch specials and two cokes please," he told her.
"Sure thing, hon," She jotted it down on her pad and plodded away to deliver the order to the kitchen.
Jon got up and went in the direction of the restrooms. He pushed the door open to the men's room and almost ran into a large bald man.
"I'm sorry, excuse me," he stammered, as the large man brushed by glaring at him wordlessly.
Jon slipped in and turned the corner. Two other men were in the restroom. Jon stepped over to the urinal and relieved himself. He zipped up as the two strangers left. There was no sign of Richie. He washed his hands and studied the row of condom vending machines lined up along the wall. The "french tickler" was ribbed in a way that would keep you hard for hours. Or so it said right there. Well, unless the french tickler was some outrageously gorgeous bitch sent from heaven . . . Wearing a condom while fucking was like wearing a plastic bag over your head. While he was looking for paper towels he heard a whisper behind him.
"Hey."
Jon turned toward the sound and saw Richie standing in the doorway of the handicapped stall. Jon looked around, knowing fully well no one else was there, wiped his hands on his jeans and walked over. Richie backed up into the stall and Jon followed him in. Richie reached behind Jon when he was inside and slid the door latch shut.
"What the fuck are you . . ." but before he could finish his sentence, Richie had planted his mouth on Jon's. Jon went wide-eyed and began to push Richie away, but the sensation of the guitarist's tongue pushing its way into his mouth overwhelmed him. His heart began pounding as he felt the blood rise in his veins, not to mention his cock. He closed his eyes and let Richie explore his mouth before he began pushing back with his own tongue.
"Mmmmm," Richie began to moan. He let his hands brush against the singer's torso, moving along the lean body.
"Shhhh," Jon broke the kiss. He looked up at the taller man in wonder. Richie smiled.
The guitarist reached down and lightly ran his fingers over the bulge in Jon's jeans. Jon looked down and considered this. He felt himself become hard, aching, the quivering blood rush he was accustomed to feeling when a woman aroused him. Not Richie. He looked back up at Richie's face and couldn't decipher the expression. He looked away, listening. They heard the door to the restroom open and several different sets of footsteps. They backed further into the stall and remained silent, hoping no one would notice there were two pairs of feet under the door. The sounds of men taking care of their business, streams of urine draining into the urinals, the water running in the sink, footsteps leaving.
Jon felt warm moist breath in his ear and felt a jolt run down his body. Richie unbuttoned Jon's jeans and slowly slid the zipper down. Jon sucked in a breath. The touch of Richie's calloused fingers on his member sent a lightning bolt through him. God he wanted this. He leaned forward and kissed the guitarist again, thrusting his tongue around, getting to know the hot interior of that mouth.
Richie pinched the head of Jon's cock with his fingers, Jon almost bit down on Richie's lip. He pushed his cock into Richie's hand, rubbing the pinched flesh against the hard palm. Richie closed his hand around it and smeared the drop of precum over the smooth skin.
"FUCK!" he exclaimed in a loud whisper. He lowered his head against Richie's shoulder.
"We can't do this here," he was too nervous to carry this any further. He pushed away and tried to tuck himself in. He looked up and saw Richie had his eyes closed, was leaning against the wall behind the toilet, rubbing his own crotch.
Jon took a few deep breaths trying to gain control over himself. They'd have to find somewhere else to continue this. As he watched Richie rub himself, a thought came to him. He smiled.
"I dare you to give me a blow job on the bus later," Jon said as he zipped up and unlatched the stall door.
Richie's eyes flew open. Jon looked at him one more time, turned and left.
Richie stood there speechless. Then he started laughing to himself. Ok. Just a blow job? Well, we'll see. He adjusted himself, pulled his shirttail down and walked out of the stall and into the dining area. He was starving.