Eight: A Prequel to Sugar Fix

IV

Jon glanced around wildly, trying to determine if anyone was around, because he was running out of time to make sure. Richie's hand was spread in the center of Jon's chest, pushing him back, and Jon stumbled over his feet to walk backward at the same clip Richie's long legs were doing forward. Richie's chin was tilted down, his face angled toward the sight of his own hand, but his eyes were drawn up, pinning Jon's in their stare, his lip lightly bitten to one side.

"Rich--" Jon murmured, almost threateningly. The show was over, but the throbbing noises of the crowd were undiminished, as was the clatter of equipment cases being dragged from their neat stacks by roadies almost close enough to touch. There weren't many places to hide backstage, and none that would afford much privacy.

Looking behind him, just for a moment to see where he was headed, Jon's feet tangled again, and he slammed, shoulders-first, into a concrete block wall. He was tucked into a crevice between the corner of the room and the wall perpendicular to the one his back scraped against, and a stack of equipment cases at least seven feet high. Richie shoved the rest of him flush against the wall, thrusting his own body up against Jon's, molding into him and almost completely immobilizing him.

"Rich--" Jon whispered, even as he wrapped his arms around Richie's sweaty shoulders. Fabric slid beneath his fingers, and he grabbed fistfuls to keep his place, the mingled scents of their sweat making him harder. "Rich, we're gonna get caught--"

"So?" Richie said, sucking a spot on Jon's neck, and Jon tried to hide his face in the other man's shoulder. He supposed if someone walked by (which was a big fucking possibility), they might think his hair belonged to a female groupie, but they wouldn't mistake his face. As soon as he thought that, he realized how his hands and arms, clutching Richie's back, were probably not going to pass for female, either.

"We should wait--" Jon panted, drawing his knees up as Richie slipped supporting hands up under his ass. "-- for the-- for the hotel--"

"I want you now," Richie growled into the skin beneath Jon's ear, before leaving wet, rough kisses along Jon's jaw, making a beeline for his mouth. Jon's feet in their distinctive cowboy boots scrabbled at the leather of Richie's pants, out in the open for anyone to recognize. The struggle to stay suspended, engaging all the muscles of Jon's inner legs and ass and crotch, sent little roils of pleasure through him, punctuated by each time he came close enough to rub himself against Richie's hard-on.

"Fuck--" Jon hissed against Richie's mouth, and got his lower lip bitten softly.

"Is that an invitation?"

The cold coil of nervousness barely had time to unwind in Jon's body before Richie was thrusting against him, up under the hardened knot in Jon's pants, and Jon wriggled into him, riding the curve of his friend's hardness. His feet dug into the small of Richie's back, a thin layer of spandex all that separated him from the slick leathered mound of the other man's groin.

Jon heaved himself against Richie's mouth again, pushing his tongue into the recesses, tasting teeth and gums and rippling tongue, prodding deep enough to make Richie bite him in self-defense. Jon granted him temporary reprieve from the oral exploration, lifting his chin so Richie could lick more of his skin. "You taste so good--"

"So do you," Richie said into the hollow of Jon's throat, and the way his hips twitched, Jon knew he wasn't speaking of his lips or neck.

"Wanna taste me again to make sure?" Jon said, and Richie grinned, his teeth pressing against Jon's adam's apple, making Jon think of a cartoon wolf.

"Ah, you're a selfish fuck, huh?"

He let go of one side of Jon's ass, and Jon scrambled to remain hoisted. Chuckling, Richie used the free hand to inch beneath the brown leather vest Jon wore. His fingernails lifted the sweat-soaked curls of hair as they passed through, then dug in as the fingers retracted back into a fist. A low groan slithered from Jon's throat and even he was unsure whether it was mostly constituted of pleasure or pain.

Richie extended his fingers again, this time finding one of Jon's nipples and pinching it, pulling on it, and Jon tightened his legs up on Richie's body, yanking him in close enough to dry hump his belt buckle.

"Oh my," Richie said, sounding somehow more serious than his tone allowed. "What do we have here?"

"Don't-- stop--" Jon panted, wriggling himself against Richie until his cock shifted just enough to rub most of the head of it against the raised steel detail of the belt buckle, the spandex slippery between, so thin it was almost nothing.

Richie's body lurched downward an inch or two, and Jon caught his breath, thinking the other man had lost his balance, but he found himself sliding down the wall as Richie sank to his knees. Grappling against him so he wouldn't lose contact, Jon realized he was actually whimpering in frustration.

Once down on the floor, though, Richie grabbed Jon's ass and jerked him upward again, leaning back slightly to allow him ample room to climb back on. Jon folded his legs back and lodged his knees into the backs of Richie's splayed calves, and Richie grasped him harder.

"Use me," he said, and Jon grappled at his waist, pulling their bodies tight enough to hurt, bouncing against his belt, and the ridges of his pants, and the rock-solid bulge beneath. Richie had a hand under his vest again, and Jon moaned softly in anticipation of the contact, but the wolfish smile was back.

"What do you want, baby?" Richie purred.

"You know what I want--"

"Tell me, Jonny."

Jon opened his mouth to answer, but couldn't locate any words, all his attention consumed by the other man's fingertips, rough on his flesh, rolling one of the hardened peaks between them now, drawing it out.

"Tell me," Richie hissed.

The demand poured from Jon without warning. "Suck them--" he breathed. "Oh-- god-- oh-- please--" The words popped rhythmically out of him as he bucked into Richie.

"I already sucked something of yours," Richie said, moving to the other nipple and squeezing it. "Whatcha gonna give me in return?"

The thunk of an equipment case being jerked down from the top of a stack less than ten feet from them made Jon scramble to his feet, pulling Richie with him. Richie poked his head out for a second. "He's gone," he reported. "You go out straight, and I'll go the other way here in a few seconds."

Jon nodded his understanding, and started walking, but Richie grabbed his arm. "Take off your vest."

"What?"

"Yeah, you need something to carry in front of you, man."

Jon looked down at the unabated swelling in his pants and wondered how the hell he was going to make it to the hotel without losing his fucking mind.