Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 8

My eyes fluttered open, my vision blurred by the bright light shining directly in my face. I grunted and brought my hand up, shielding my eyes and turning my head to see an empty, unmade bed beside me—my bed. I quickly turned my head the other way and saw John's head resting on my shoulder, with his eyes closed and his lips parted ever so slightly. His soft breaths danced across my chest, sending shivers down my spine as the reality of the situation began to sink in for me.

It wasn't a dream.

"Oh god," I muttered, rubbing my hand over my aching eyes before running it through my messy blonde locks and scanning the room for ways to get out of the situation before John woke up, or worse, before Brian and/or Freddie barged in and saw us in bed together. I glanced down at the bassist's hand resting on my bare stomach, his fingers curled around my side. I frowned and cautiously moved my hand over his, slowly plucking it from my torso. I watched him the entire time, making sure that I didn't stir him awake, but as soon as I laid his hand down in the space between us, his eyes popped open and scared me out of the bed. John gasped and shot his arms out to catch me, but it was too late, and I fell to the floor with a loud thud.

The two of us sat with breaths held and eyes wide, listening carefully for the sounds of our roommates—their footsteps, their quiet chatter, anything. However, after remaining still and keeping our lips tightly sealed, we heard nothing.

"I think we're good," John whispered as I groaned and dropped my head back on the hardwood floor, closing my eyes. The bed creaked underneath him as he swung his legs over the side and grabbed my hands, pulling me up off the floor as he stood up and smiling at me. I glared in return, but when I looked down and saw our hands still intertwined, the annoyed expression was replaced by the subtle grin that appeared on my face.

John slipped one of his hands out of our hold and brought it up to my chin, tilting my head up and his gaze instantly being drawn towards my lips. I licked them intuitively as we began to shorten the distance between us, our lips millimeters apart and the electricity we still shared from last night returning with full force. I closed my eyes, smirking as I felt his lips on mine, when the door burst open behind John, startling us away from each other and immediately dissolving the building tension.

"'Morning, you two!" Brian exclaimed as we disappointedly met his gaze, his arrival occurring at the most inopportune time and his cheerfulness in the morning unwavering as he obliviously continued to tell us, "Freddie's making breakfast and I'm getting the van ready to hit the studio. Could one of you lend me a hand?" He locked eyes with me and tilted his head to the side, wordlessly implying that he wanted that lending hand to come from me.

I sighed and unenthusiastically stepped forward, brushing past John and snatching up the discarded pair of jeans that were slung over my bed post. I stuck my feet through the legs and pulled the pants over my waist with a small hop, looking back at John who had averted his gaze elsewhere while I zipped and buttoned them up. I returned my attention to Brian and said, "Give me a minute and I'll be right out."

Brian nodded his head in understanding, his eyes flickering over to John for a moment before he gave me one last glance, flashed me one more smile, and closed the door behind him. I stayed frozen in place as the guitarist's footsteps echoed in my ears like drums the further he distanced himself from John's and my bedroom.

I suddenly jumped at the shock-like sensation that jolted through my entire body out of nowhere, looking back and down to see a clean t-shirt crumpled up on the floor by my feet. I glanced up and saw John back in bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap; the corner of his lip pulled up into a sly, mischievous smirk.

I bit my lip, feeling torn all over again. I knew that if I didn't leave the room soon and assist Brian in lugging my drum kit to the van, he would grow suspicious—not that he already wasn't—but I also knew that I'd never been more compelled to stay behind; to finish what John and I had started. My desire was driven by curiosity, the pleasure drawing me in like a magnet as I wondered how much better the pleasure could've been had we had more time, or had we been elsewhere, alone.

I couldn't figure out what it was that sparked my impulsivity. Could it have been that we were both just so desperate for affection and attention that we sought it out in one another? If that were the case, then this would all be easier—a simple misunderstanding that we could laugh about and move on from, but deep down I had a feeling that there was something more to it; that it was something else.

Acting on a whim, I quickly swooped in and kissed him once more, releasing the frustration that had started to form the longer I thought about our situation. He responded immediately, grabbing at me to pull me into bed with him, but before his action could gain any momentum, I gently pushed him away. "Let's continue this later," I suggested, choosing to ignore the growing tension in my lower abdomen and backing away, snatching the shirt he'd tossed at me up off the ground, "Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, his tone a strange mixture of high and low, as if he was choking on something. Perhaps it was the excess of words that longed to follow his rather simple reply, whether it be the request for me to stay or the explanation I'd been dreading but waiting for—that this was a one-time thing that could never happen again. I couldn't imagine how I would react if the latter were to be true, with the idea so new and fresh to me that I wasn't ready to part ways with it yet. I'd barely just begun.