Who Knows When (Joger/Dealor)

Chapter 48

We didn't stop until we were a good few blocks away from the overcrowded establishment, John pulling the two of us into one of the alleyways cast in shadows and pushing me into one of the walls. He kept his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place, and dropped his head, panting. I couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped my lips and brought his tired eyes up to mine which could barely stay open. "What's so funny?" he asked me.

I stifled the giggles that wanted to persist just long enough to answer, "He...He thought I was a girl, John." After I got his name out, though, I couldn't maintain my composure and burst out into a laughing fit that John only smirked at.

"Everyone does, Roger," he countered, relinquishing his hold of me and resting his hands on his hips.

I somehow managed to calm down enough and survey my surroundings, realizing for the first time we weren't in the bar anymore. "Wait, why'd you bring us out here? Aren't you s'pposed to be on stage?"

John shook his head, folding his arms over his chest and mumbling, "I don't want to go back there, Rog. It's a hot mess...an absolute train wreck; an utter catastrophe. They don't know what the hell they're doing. I-I didn't know it was going to be this bad. We sounded fine during rehearsal; I don't know what went wrong."

I frowned at his frustration and disappointment, hating to see him so defeated. It absolutely broke my heart, and so, in my barely sober state, I offered, "Well, it is just your first night. You guys didn't really have time to practice or get used to each other, so of course it was gonna be a shitshow. And it doesn't help that they're all wankered beyond belief, more than me...which is really saying something. I mean, really."

A soft chuckle emanated from the back of the bassist's throat, bringing a small grin to both our faces. I tilted my head down and looked at the ground that was slowly starting to be pulled out from underneath me, grabbing onto John for support and glancing up to meet his concerned gaze. "Y-You need to go back, though," I stuttered as he placed his hands on my hips, grounding me, "They need you. They can't do it without you. I mean, you're the only good thing going for them."

He smirked. "And what happened to you not wanting them to take me away?"

I mirrored his expression, replying drunkenly, "Now, Jonathan Richard Deacon, who said anything about me being okay with them taking you away? I just think for the sake of saving face—and not just for you, but for all you bastards—you need to go back there."

The bassist sighed, though the smile on his face remained. "Still not Jonathan, but—"

"Oh, whatever. You know what I mean," I muttered, pulling him close and drawing him in for a sloppy, yet well-received kiss—just like the first one we shared. We fell back into the brick wall, our bodies pressed against one another's and our hands gripping the other's arms and sides as we became swept away in the moment. Our breathing picked up, and our minds dissolved our surroundings, making the two of us feel like we were the only ones around.

We tugged at each other's clothes and kissed different spots to elicit different moans and groans from the other person, and I almost forgot about what I had just said to him. It was only when John pulled back for a split second to whisper, "How about we take this elsewhere, yeah?" that I remembered where he needed to be.

"No, John," I disagreed, shaking my head and biting my lip that ached for his, "No, you need to go back to the bar. You need to finish that show."

The bassist pouted, caressing my cheek with the back of his hand. "But Roger—"

"We'll finish this later tonight," I told him with a tap on his nose, "Promise."