TITLE: Skylines and City Boys
PAIRING: John Nolan/ Jesse Lacey
RATING: NC-17 FER BOYSECKS!!!!
SUMMARY: Chapter four! (finally)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, all of this is a figment of my imagination, None of this is true!! Please don’t sue me.
I’m standing in front of my closet, trying desperately to find something that doesn’t look horrible on me.
Nothing I own fits. End of story.
John bustles in already dressed and looking perfect and if I didn’t love him so much I would hate him. “Are you still not dressed?” He chastised.
Obviously I’m not dressed so he’s just being facetious.
“I take time alright; I’m not as naturally good looking as you are.” I banter back. He comes behind me to wrap his arms around my waist and let me lean my head back into the crook of his neck.
“I just want to make a good impression on this guy; I think he might be serious about doing the new album and everything I own just screams unprofessional.”
It’s far too hot out to wear really nice slacks, although fall is coming. The wind that blows through the trees is hot and sticky, and if you happen to catch a face full it’s hard to breath.
“Ok,” John says surveying my wardrobe. “You’re going to wear….this.” He grabs a clean black shirt and form fitting jeans. “Its casual, but it’s not sloppy.” He’s right, and I know I’m going to wear that and it will probably look great, but I don’t want to admit that he so easily defeated what I had been struggling with for the better part of fifteen minutes.
I sighed, “I don’t know John, you really think that’s nice enough?”
“Jess its fine.” He rolled his eyes at me and I gave him a look that said quite plainly ‘This is serious!’
“Besides,” he said quickly, “you look good in everything.” I smiled and said “And you look even in better in nothing.” I leaned in and kissed him quickly before taking off my shirt and putting on the clean black one.
I still don’t know exactly where John and I stand, but he and I are the only people standing.
Everyone else is completely in the dark about our relationship and, for now, that’s the way it has to be.
Michelle comes around every couple days or on weekends and takes inventory of the chemistry between us and I can see the little cogs in her head spinning. Her eyes will linger on me and the casual conversation has an undertone that builds on sexual tension.
I wouldn’t so much mind her knowing, since she is John’s sister but I really don’t need his whole family to know, or any of her friends that would be aching to blog that Jesse Lacey and John Nolan are totally doing it.
Kevin knows. I haven’t said it but he knows, and he let me he knows. And I let him know that I know he knows and that it’s true; but the entirety of that conversation took place in an absence of argument rather than any sort of declaration. He isn’t jealous, he isn’t surprised and he doesn’t make it a big deal because that’s Kevin and everything is just, cool.
I drink the rest of my coffee quickly and John and I head out to meet this guy. I’m driving, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and the silence is clearly too much for John. It’s hot and tense in the car and if I wasn’t so nervous I would try to do something to break the heat but since I am all I can focus on is this asshole Chevy in front of me going 48 in a 65.
John clearly can’t take it anymore because all of a sudden, he starts to sing.
He’s singing Everyday Is Like Sunday and tapping his fingers on his legs to get the beat right. His voice, while beautiful, doesn’t quiet do Morrissey justice and I feel it’s my duty to step in and sing along side him.
Soon we’re screaming out “Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come!”
He faces me as he sings and I wish I could kiss him right now but the speeding traffic on both sides of us is begging me not to, so instead I reach out my hand and take his, blaring out the words alongside him.
* * * * *
Back at home, he’s lounging out on the couch, taking up too much room. I come up and lay on top of him. “Ah, Jess-” He laughs, “you’re crushing me!”
I move so that my weight is settled on his hips rather than on his chest. I grind my pelvis against him, supporting myself on my arms that are on either side of him.
His eyes darken and he nods his head. “Come with me…” He says and gets up off the couch, taking my hand. I follow him into his bedroom and sit on his bed. “I want to show you something” he says, going into his closet and pulling out a shoebox. Intrigued, I move to the edge of the bed so he can sit next to me.
He opens the box and I can see that it’s full of pictures. There are a few family snapshots, mostly of Michelle and him in their house in Levittown, the rest is pictures of him and me, clad in everything from school uniforms to punk rock attire.
“No shit” I say, reaching down to tenderly pick up a photograph of him and I, in perhaps the eighth grade. Both of us are standing outside my house, wearing school uniforms. It must have been the first day of school, the tree in the background is bright red and John is sticking his tongue out at the camera. My face is screwed up, but we both look happy enough. I can almost remember my mother taking the picture although I’m almost positive the memory is fabricated. I could replay it almost exactly, like any other first day of school from kindergarten to senior year; it would have been nearly the same thing. My mother making us take serious photos before allowing us to snap one with our tongues out, our faces mashed.
He pulls out another picture, him and me at a pizza place, dressed casually. We had to be about fifteen, Michelle is in the background with one of her friends, not looking at the camera. The shot clearly took us by surprise. My face is turned directly towards the lens, my eyes a clear blue, my skin pale. It must have been snapped the moment that I looked up, someone poised and waiting to capture the moment. John isn’t looking that camera; instead he’s looking at me.
His hazel eyes are wide and lost as they collect my features. It’s similar to the look he gives me now, the look that makes my heart skip and my joints ache for his touch.
And here, more than ten years earlier, he still gives me the same look. I get chills looking at him, his thin pale arms sticking out from under a washed out tee shirt, his hair loose in his face, glasses slung low on his nose. He has one hand, five spindly fingers near his forehead. I trace the image with my fingers and say to him “You’re so beautiful.”
He’s quiet, still staring at the image. “That was you’re birthday, at Pete’s Pizza.”
“Oh yeah,” I say, the memory becoming clearer. “I wanted to kiss you.” He says, “I didn’t know why, I thought about doing as a birthday joke but I didn’t want you to be mad at me.”
I turned to face him slowly and said “I wouldn’t have been mad.” That’s probably not true, I would have been angry, but not so much at John as I would have been at myself for enjoying it.
He pulled out another picture of me, about fourteen with a guitar on my lap in a fort we built in the creek, a cigarette hanging loosely in my lips. I had never been a smoker, not one to inhale but at the time we thought it made us cooler and, in retrospect, it did.
There’s another photo from the same day, in black and white, of John on the ground, a can of pop in his hands and fire in his eyes. A crooked smile creeps up across his mouth, as if I had snapped the photo too soon, without waiting for him to smile all the way. I can remember this one; can remember us fighting over who took the pictures and who posed.
I am so overcome with emotion at the sight; it’s like someone who I hadn’t realized I’d missed, because I thought they had been with me all along.
My eyes burn and I say slowly, “I…I have loved you, for a very long time.”
He’s looking at me when I meet his face. “I know” he says. And he kisses me, softly on the mouth. “I’ve always loved you, Jess.”
He pushes my shoulders back, setting the box on the floor and settles into me on the bed.
He kisses my neck, trailing his way over my collarbone and I can’t help but let out a moan. It’s impossible for me to be silent when I’m with him. I tug at his shirt, slipping it over his shoulders as he moves down my chest, taking my shirt off slowly. I kiss him again, pulling him as close to me as I can and moving my mouth to suck at his ear, nipping gently. He moans, his breath catching in his throat and his hands dart up to my shoulders. I feel a shudder push through his body and am willing to bet money it settled in his groin. I move my hands to his shorts, pushing against the soft material to test my theory.
Sure enough, he’s stiff inside his shorts his breath catches in his mouth as I tug at his shorts, pulling his boxers off his legs with them.
My hand wraps around his cock, tugging slowly but firmly and all of a sudden he’s kissing me with a new passion. He sucks my breath out from inside as my stomach flips, and all of a sudden I am overwhelmed with the urge to be inside him.
It’s something we have never done before, but I’m aching, I need it.
“John…” I say, my eyes begging him for more, more, more.
“Jess-” He looks at me, uncertainty written all over his face like markings in the margin of a textbook.
“I love you,” I say “I love you, I need you, please.” I kiss him, and he pulls me close to him and unfastens my pants. A new fever in his eyes as he tugs them off nodding. I can see his eyes, reflecting the same need I’m feeling.
John Nolan wants me as much as I want him.
He reaches for a bottle of lube and puts some in his hand, bringing it down to my pulsing cock. I’m watching him, his look of concentration and determination as he runs his hot, wet hand over me.
I drink him in, he’s positively intoxicating and I can’t stand not touching him, not kissing him.
I only notice he’s ready for me when he says my name. “Are you sure?” I ask.
He nods, writhing under me and says “Please, do it.”
I slip one wet finger inside of him first, letting his muscles clench around me. Another one follows, scissoring inside him.
Soon I replace my fingers with the tip of my cock, bringing my hands down to support my weight.
And John Nolan under me, biting his lip and holding my gaze is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
I push, slowly, forcing my way inside.
He throws his head back but I know it’s more from pain than from pleasure.
My heart is racing so face, I can taste my pulse. “Are you ok?” I ask him, scared now.
I never wanted to hurt John; I don’t want him to hurt. “Yes, yes Jesse move, please”
And I do as I’m told, pumping slowly into him and out again, trying to find a rhythm.
I’m gasping and I lean down to kiss him, soon he’s moaning with me. His nails are digging into my side and he’s pulling me deeper into him.
It’s like no sex I’ve ever had, I’ve never felt so full and so warm and so, so unbelievable turned on.
I’m talking, I’m vaguely aware, I’m mumbling something about “so tight” and “god, this is so good” and I’m met with a fast paces, breathy “fuck, I love you, I love you much.”
And then his nails are digging into my shoulder and he’s bucking up against my hips, pulling me closer into him.
“Jess, oh god, yeah, yeah Jess- I’m, I’m gonna come” He’s panting, his face contorts into a beautiful look of what could pass for pain, but I know is anything but. And then I can feel hot, sticky liquid on my stomach, and that’s all I need because a moment later I’m deaf, and blind, and grunting as I cum deep inside him. He clutches me to him and I collapse.
I’m trembling, shaking and out of breath. I’m sweating and there are tears in my eyes from the sheer strain of my orgasm.
“Holy fuck” he says. “Jess, that…oh my god”
“I know” I say, I can’t move, I want to but I can’t I weight two tons and I’m superglued to the mattress.
He seems to be suffering the same fate, because with my head on his chest I can hear the jackhammer that his heart.
We both fall asleep within minutes, tangled to each other in bliss.