Eight: A Prequel to Sugar Fix

VIII

"What do you want tonight?"

Richie grazed his fingertips up and down the length of Jon's upper arm, before he slipped his arm around the other man's stomach and pulled him back into himself. Jon burrowed down further into the embrace and the pillows. He stared out into the darkness of the room, at the silhouettes of the furniture piled with guitar cases and luggage. This was his life. Their life.

"This," Jon said.

"What else?"

"I wanna taste you again."

A chill swept in behind Jon as Richie pulled away from him, urged him onto his back. The lips that touched his were on the cusp of familiarity already, the tongue that was flavored with the cigarettes and whiskey they'd shared earlier knew exactly how to move to bring him alive, whether here on his mouth, or elsewhere on his body.

When Richie broke away, Jon said, "Do you love me?"

And he thought he could almost hear his friend's heart thudding in the darkness.

"Of course I do, you know that," Richie said.

It was friendship love Richie meant. Jon knew he was purposely avoiding the real meaning of the question, but he didn't know why. One way, it complicated things and crushed his soul. The other way, it really complicated things and made him feel...

happy? Terrified?

Jon decided he didn't really want to know anymore. If Richie didn't want to tell him, that was his prerogative. Jon would just have to capitulate. Settle for the taste of the man, and hope it stayed forever in his mouth.

He twisted himself around, opposite to Richie, and pushed the man's boxers down. Took him into his mouth, as he felt Richie do the same to him, deep and unafraid. The actions, if not the words, were unafraid. There was that.

Jon dropped down, to the back of his throat, and sucked hard, trying to own as much of the man as possible, and Richie squirmed, attempting to pull away a bit, groaning against Jon's cock. Jon dug his fingertips into the insides of the man's thighs, letting his nails bite into the skin before dragging them upward toward Richie's balls. Richie pulled off of Jon and pushed Jon's head off him.

"Stop," he breathed. "I don't want to go yet."

When he resumed, his own fingernails were digging into Jon's ass, and the backs of his thighs within seconds, and Jon had a sudden thought that they were owning each other somehow, and he almost came just at the thought, so he pushed Richie away while he tried to blank his mind.

As soon as he gave permission to proceed, Richie had a hold of his balls, rough, squeezing and tugging, and Jon broke off Richie's dick long enough to catch his breath. "Ah! God--"

And then his mind wandered back to it, that he was owning and being owned, he couldn't stop the thought from consuming him, from sending waves of heat through his belly. And the more the thought consumed him, the rougher and more vehement his actions became, and Richie's in return, and the more they made each other stop, to keep from coming too soon. To make it last as long as possible. Jon didn't know if it was a game to Richie or not, but for him, he just knew it couldn't end. Not tonight.

He felt Richie's fingers creeping toward his asshole, fingers already wet from having participated in the blowjob, and he drew back long enough to say, "Do it."

It hurt this time, and it felt good. He was tense against the trespass, but he wanted it all the more, and groaned in encouragement, knowing the vibration of his mouth around Richie's cock would make the man crazy. And then they had to stop again. Jon had no idea how many times they'd gone at it, but he was pretty sure one of them was going to spontaneously combust at some point, if they didn't finish it soon.

The only reason Jon decided he wanted it to end was sheer physical exhaustion. And when he said, "Don't stop this time," and heard the relief in Richie's affirmative, he knew the other man was feeling the same.

It was the hardest he'd ever come in his life.

By the time he crawled back to the top of the bed, and laid beside Richie, he was crying. He was beyond thankful for the darkness.

"I can't believe we held out that long," he said, trying to sound light.

"Twelve times," Richie said.

Jon let the comment sink into him. Richie was keeping score on some level, too. Wanting it to last, taking mental mementos from it. Jon almost climbed up onto him, went for broke, said the things. All of them. But Richie spoke first.

"Did you call her yet?"

"No."

"What are you waiting for?"

Jon was silent. Tried to relax his throat so his voice would come out steady, and Richie wouldn't know he was crying and ask questions. Tried to decide how to answer the question.

"What about... you know-- this?" he said, finally.

There was silence again, this time on Richie's end. Then, "What about it?"

"When I get back with her, what happens with us?"

He felt Richie kiss him on the side of his head in the blackness. "It's a fling, Jonny. I never meant to get between you guys."

Jon felt the bed shift, and he knew Richie had sat up. He almost reached out for him, almost pulled him back, but he didn't. When Richie spoke again, the sound of his voice indicated he was standing.

"You should call her," he said. And then there were the rustling noises of jeans being dragged on. "I'm gonna go, okay?"

"Okay," Jon said, and this time his voice wasn't steady. He knew Richie heard it, too, but the other man didn't let on. A flash of light poured in from around the corner, outside the bedroom, what must have been the hallway lights as Richie let himself out the suite door.

And just like that, it was over.

END