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"Dad! Get on Twitter right now!" an overly-excited voice chattered into David Jade's ear, too fucking early in the morning.
"I thought I hired you so I didn't have to touch that infernal cesspool of the internet ever again," David mumbled against the phone, instead of cussing Nicole out for calling too early. He'd never cuss Nicks out, because she was his daughter and he loved her very much and she was his social media manager and was usually right.
"You'll want to see this," she said. "Come on, chop chop, why are you so slow—aw, fuck, you're in Finland," she said.
"Yeah," David croaked. "The festival started yesterday. Can this wait until morning? My morning?"
There was a pause, and that showed that Nicole was actually thinking about his request, which was a good sign. David settled back into bed hopefully, only to have Nicole say, "Sorry, this one really is important. Worth waking up for. Computer, now."
David sighed and swung his legs off the side of the bed, stumbling towards his laptop. "You're lucky I love you, Nicks."
"You're lucky I took this job. And you'll see why in a second," Nicole shot back.
David propped the laptop open, logged into Twitter, and…
"Nicks," he said slowly.
"Uh huh," Nicole said, sounding smug.
"Is it just me or is the number on that blue bell a bit higher than it usually is? A couple zeros on the end sort of higher?"
"Uh-huh," Nicole said, like she was giving him a present and she was excited to have him open it. This was not a particularly reassuring noise, David decided, since she had made the same sound when she was eleven and had decided to give him a gopher snake she had found in the backyard.
"Am I cancelled?" David asked. He didn't know exactly what it meant to be cancelled, but it seemed like the sort of thing that would come with a lot of notifications.
There was an ugly snort on the other side of the phone. "No, Dad, kinda the opposite," Nicole said patiently. "Jonathan Vane said you were his favorite artist!"
David blinked and wondered if this would make sense if he was more awake. Probably not. "You're saying the name Jonathan Vane like I should know who that is."
"No. I refuse to believe even you have missed this much popular culture. He was the guy in Lieutenant Thunder? He played, you know, the titular Lieutenant Thunder?"
Oh god, those were those…ubiquitous movies with the superpowers and the punching. He had heard of them. The next one was coming out soon, wasn't it? The Breaking Storm? Still, it was his right and duty to exasperate his daughter, so he answered, "Porn? Is this a porn thing?"
"Right," Nicole said dryly. "That'd work better if you hadn't made the same joke when the movie came out, and then five times after. Nice try."
David laughed. "Smart. Where'd your brains come from?" he asked, the old call-and-response.
"I don't know, I think they were a prize in a cereal box. Certainly not from you," Nicole answered promptly. "Okay, seriously, joking aside, we do need to figure out how to handle this. He followed you."
"Is this something that needs to be handled?" David asked, feeling a headache starting to pulse behind his eyes. "Can't Mr. Vane just like my music and we'll call it a day?"
"You could follow him back! Message him! I almost did for you, but then I realized that was probably unethical. But you should say hi."
"Why should I say hi?" David asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Is he actually any good?" He'd always had the impression that those movies were easily digestible fluff. Not bad, but not how he wanted to spend his time.
"He has fourteen million twitter followers," Nicole hissed in his ear. "Who cares if he's good? Say hi!"
"I don't have anything to say," David said, getting up from his laptop and walking away. He went to go find some water. Maybe things would make more sense with hydration and aspirin.
"He likes dogs," Nicole said. "You like dogs. Bam! Friendship. Look, you made five thousand dollars from streaming in the last four hours."
David nearly dropped the cup. He set it down carefully on the counter, then jogged back over to his computer, pulling up his Spotify stats. "You know," he said balefully, looking at the ridiculous number there. "I thought I understood the music industry. I really did."
"Well the tides they turned, well the sun it burned," Nicole sang.
"Don't quote my lyrics at me, young lady," David ordered.
"And I'm left yearning for simpler daaaays," she continued unapologetically, holding the note in her sweet, clear alto. Dropping back into normal speech she said, "Come on, Dad, stop being such a cliche of yourself. The music industry has always been about who you know. This guy is good to know. Gladhand him a bit. Maybe he's just a pretty face and an empty head, but it doesn't hurt to be nice."
"Yeah, yeah," David sighed. He did know better, he was just tired, and his head hurt. "You've got the rest of it, right? Everyone else?"
"Yeah, I've got it, I'll text you if there's any PR strategy stuff to think through." She paused. "You're going to say hi, right?"
"Yes, Nicks, I'm going to say hi. I'll let you know how it goes," he replied, faintly exasperated.
"You do that."
Before he handled Twitter, he needed some coffee. He stumbled over to the hotel coffeemaker and set it brewing, then went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He snorted when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His long brown hair (going more and more silver every day) had managed to snarl during his sleep, and he was doing a halfway decent mad scientist impression. He'd need to attack it with some conditioner later.
The coffee dinged its readiness, and David reluctantly pulled up his exploding notifications and flicked through them until he found the man in question. Mr. Jonathan Vane. Profile picture with swoopy blond hair, an earnest smile, and a jaw you could cut steel with.
Almost offensively pretty, really. David thought about the way his own skin was worn from too many outdoor concerts, and had smile lines from a life well lived. This kid looked like life hadn't touched him yet.
Regretting every movement of his mouse, David followed Jonathan, and then, as the Youths said, slid into his DMs.
He pictured the twitch on Nicole's face if he ever did actually use the phrase "Slid into his DMs" around her. It cheered him up immensely as he typed out a quick message.
David Jade @davidjade - Hi!
There. That should be reasonably polite enough. And maybe Jonathan wouldn't respond, and David could forget the whole thing and go back to b—
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Hello! Wow! I did not actually expect you to reach out
David Jade @davidjade - You're kidding, right? You're sort of impossible to miss right now
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Yeah, I just...sorta figured you only used Twitter for show promotion and music releases. Sorry if I, uh, blew up everything
David Jade @davidjade - You definitely did, but also, you drew a ton of attention to my music, so I'm calling it a win. As far as the Twitter thing, that's usually true. Public stuff is handled by my social media manager. But apparently when a guy with fourteen million twitter followers @s me, and a fuckton of people get interested in my stuff, I get roped in to deal with things personally.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Should I be apologizing? I'm finding it hard to read tone here.
David Jade @davidjade - No, no. Sorry, I'm just a little awkward typing. I should probably be falling to my knees and thanking you, if my Spotify streaming numbers are anything to go by. Seriously. Thanks.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Aw, no! Not awkward at all. And I was asked an honest question, I gave an honest answer. I think more people should check you out. You rock (pun very much intended)
David Jade @davidjade - Pun based on the name, or pun based on the career? It's important I understand so I can groan appropriately.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - The name? oh my god Jade your last name is a rock how did I never notice that?
David Jade @davidjade - you're not winning top points for observation, here.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - shut up.
David laughed, startling himself. He might actually like this guy.
David Jade @davidjade - Hey, can I ask a weird question?
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Uh, sure, but FYI, that is not a great opener for building confidence in online communication.
David Jade @davidjade - I said hi, we talked about puns, by internet standards I think we're best friends now. What more do you want?
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - well okay bestie, what's your question?
David Jade @davidjade - How did you even find my stuff in the first place?
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Oh, jesus, that's not weird, that's... extremely embarrassing maybe, but not weird.
David Jade @davidjade - well now I have to know
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - okay, so, I was fourteen and Heart of the Storm had just come out and my best friend gave me a burned CD that had Imperium Calling on it, and I just kept looping that one track over and over again. The speed and power of that guitar riff! I was obsessed. It was bad. When I realized you had a whole ALBUM out I threatened a hunger strike until my mom bought it for me.
David Jade @davidjade - I'm sorry, I thought I was talking to an adult. A grown man, with a career. Not an INFANT who was FOURTEEN when Heart of the Storm came out. Jesus fuck I had a kid by then. My kid was a SECOND GRADER by then
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - I am 32!!
David Jade @davidjade - Good for you, infant, I'm forty-fucking-six
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - rude, old man, you're rude. I say nice things about your music, and you're rude
David stepped back from the screen and pinched his nose as genuine, shoulder-shaking chuckles rolled through him.
David Jade @davidjade - I'm sorry, I forgot, you should be kind to children
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - I'm sorry, I forgot you need to be patient with the elderly.
David Jade @davidjade - I deserved that
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - You did
David Jade @davidjade - seriously, thank you for sharing your story. I'm not what I expect a guy like you to be listening to, so I was curious.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - my turn to be curious, what do you think "a guy like" me listens to?
David Jade @davidjade - Two soulful skinny-jeaned indie artists, four male pop artists, one female pop artist who is your go-to at karaoke, one obscure music genre you picked up from a soundtrack, and Beyonce.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Well fuck, T Swift IS my go-to at karaoke. You're way off with the rest, though. Well. Not Beyonce. I do love Beyonce.
David Jade @davidjade - Who doesn't?
David looked up at the clock, and blinked when he realized how much time had gone past. It was actually morning now, and he probably should talk with some people about the surge in popularity, and get some breakfast.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - True that.
David Jade @davidjade - Hey, it's been fun talking, but I'm playing a festival right now and I should probably get my day started.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Right! It's Rockfest! Break a leg tonight.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Do they wish singers that?
David Jade @davidjade - Close enough. It works.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - Hey, feel free to say no, but if you're at all interested, I'd love to actually meet you after a show sometime. Maybe it would give you some more publicity.
David Jade @davidjade - Meeting you would be great, but don't worry about the photo op. I think you've already done more than enough on that front. I'll let my PA know you're on the green list.
Jonathan Vane @therealJVane - The green list! I feel special. Alright, good talking, have a great day!
David pushed back from the laptop with a bemused smile. That was a more pleasant conversation than he had expected. Right. He checked his phone.
Nicole had sent him a stream of texts, outlining the basic PR strategy. It was solid, her social media know-how always was, so he approved her outline and told her that he had played nice and said hi, like she'd told him to.
He sent a quick note out to his agent and his band. His first band had broken up when he was nineteen, and only his rhythm guitarist had stuck with him. After that, David had planned on being more of a solo act. He'd gotten lucky, though, and over the years had built a solid group of performers around him. There hadn't been any turnover in over a decade. There was something really stabilizing to the energy of the team. They took David's newfound fame in teasing stride; they were all old pros and wouldn't have an issue if the audience was a little more lively than usual.
Not, David thought, that this was particularly likely to have an effect on reality. Just weird online fame. He stopped, and thought about weird online fame, and then decided that one person deserved a more in-depth conversation.
"Eyo," Mike, David's rhythm guitarist and oldest friend answered cheerfully. "So you just callin' to brag in more detail?"
"No," David protested, smiling. "I’m just…not sure I really captured how insane the internet is right now. I was just thinking that there's a lot of attention, and more attention means more homophobes. Which means new people might find old pictures. Just wanted to give you the heads up."
Mike had been the first person to wrap his fingers around David's cock. A few years later, they had been forcibly and very publicly outed. They had gone from up and coming rock darlings to pariahs. Their band had broken up, their relationship had ended, but fortunately, their friendship survived it all.
"Gotta love the internet," Mike said ruefully. "Anyone harassing you yet?"
David hummed. "I've really only talked with the guy, said thanks, that whole thing. Nicks is handling the rest."
"Give her a raise," Mike immediately demanded.
"I intend to," David replied. "I've had a headache just thinking about having to deal with this on my own."
"Yeah that's—oh holy fuck, Jonathan Vane?" Mike squeaked at the end of it. "You didn't mention the guy was Jonathan fucking Vane."
David immediately catalogued the squeak as a noise he would tease Mike about forever. "Yeah, Nicks mentioned he was a big deal. I dunno. Apparently the guy's a rock fan."
"You're a pop culture hermit, it's so sad. He's a fucking god, that's what he is. Have you seen this man's abs?" Mike said. "Coming on those abs is a big wank fantasy of mine."
"Mike," David said, sounding strangled. "You can't say that about—"
"A superstar? Come on, it's not like I'm telling him," Mike sounded amused. "Besides, haven't heard any rumors he bats for my team. Your half-team."
"Half-team. Please, I have two full teams, thank you very much. Maybe even more teams than that. I have a whole fucking league. That's not—" David exhaled roughly. "I know the guy. Sorta. Keep your depraved fantasies to yourself."
"Oh you know him do you? Fine, but if you meet him, I demand you touch his abs and give me an update," Mike insisted.
"I absolutely will not," David replied, though he did make a mental note to try to find a picture of Jonathan shirtless. Apparently it was quite the sight. Then he immediately crossed the note off again. To David, he was just…a guy. If Jonathan wanted David to oogle shirtless pics of himself, he could send them.
Mike gave a longsuffering sigh. "You are cruel and uncaring. But seriously, thank you for the warning, I'll be fine. It'll be a joy to be gloriously gay in homophobes' directions for awhile. Are you going to be alright?"
David smiled fondly. "Yeah. We've both done this shit too many times to really get ruffled, you know?"
It had felt like the world was ending, the first time. And it was, very practically, the end of their budding career in the United States. But they had rebuilt the band, found a solid fanbase in Europe and Japan, and the threat of apocalypse got a little more distant each time their sexualities made the news cycles. These days, it didn't come close to balancing against the messages from kids who said that seeing happy queer men in public life was saving their lives.
Mike hummed in agreement. "Take care of yourself though, yeah?"
"You too," David said. "Call if you need anything."
"I will. See you tonight."
"So it's a little bit more dramatic than we were expecting," Kristin said placidly, twirling a drumstick between her fingers.
David looked from her, past the grinning Mike and over to Kiki, who was peeking out into the audience with wide eyes. David understood the feeling.
The festival was packed. They normally filled the place up well enough, had good energy and a good time. But now the audience was crammed in hip to hip, and there was a pulsing thrum of anticipation as they waited to go on stage. It was an artist's dream, but it was also overwhelming to have sprung on them without warning.
David supposed the whole thing with Twitter probably should have been a warning, but he had never expected it to translate to real life so tangibly.
"Alright," David said, "Circle up." Kiki tore her eyes away from the audience and turned back to him. Mike, Kristin, and Francis—the bassist—turned and faced him. "The job hasn't changed. We know our stuff, we go out there, and we put on a damn good show."
"Fuck yeah," Kristin drawled. "It's rock n' roll, baby, we were built for this."
"Yeah," David said, starting to feel the energy build. "Let's give them a show."
The roar of the crowd was a palpable thing when David walked on stage, it nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs. "Alright Tampere! How we doing tonight?" he growled into the microphone, and felt the thundering energy as the crowd screamed back at him. "That's right!" David yelled, and started wailing into the opening strings of Craven Riptide. The high pulse of the music blended with the crowd, and then Kristin came slamming in with the drums, and they were off.
Every performer is a little broken, David had often joked, to go up on stage and lay themselves bare. To cut veins open and bleed out for the hopes of adoration. But there were those magical moments when the crowd got it, and for a few bright shining moments David felt more like a supernova than a man.
They kicked off three high-energy songs in a row, then slowed down for a ballad. David's growly scream got a rest as he crooned instead, a heartbreak after the mad energy of earlier. Then they built again, My Girl was always a crowd-pleaser, it started slow but it built to a charging energy, until David was screaming again, "She's brilliant and strong she's sweet and a sledgehammer, she's my girl so respect her or FUCK OFF."
They roared from that high into a fast-paced charging rhythm that had Mike's fingers galloping along while Francis kept a steady bass line and David engaged in some of his notoriously bad "hop-dancing" (Nicole's words). Then Kristin got the spotlight in a percussive celebration of the best burger David had ever eaten. It was a cult classic, and he got riots if it wasn't in the setlist.
After Bacon, Lettuce, Tornado there was another ballad, and David's croon had turned raspy by this point in the evening, which was really perfect for Follow the River. It was a tired sort of song, he always liked having it later in the set. The audience swayed as Kiki's beautiful keyboard and the heartbeat of Francis's bass backed David's voice.
Another slow song, this one with a guitar solo so mournful it always made David tear up a bit, and then they left the stage.
There were grins all around as the shout for more, more, encore, encore got louder and louder before David grinned and said, "Alright, let's put them out of their misery," and then knee-slid back onto stage to the screams of the crowd, the fast pulse of Imperium Calling pouring out of his fingertips.
He didn't do the knee-slide anymore, and he remembered why as soon as he stood up. He'd pay for that later, but the debt seemed trivial now, not with the power of the screaming crowd, the sheer energy and power as his band filled in behind him. The music swelled and broke and the collective joy sank over all of them. It was that very best feeling, when artist and audience became one unified being, and the music reigned supreme.
It was hard to walk off stage for-real when the last notes of their two-song encore faded away. "Thank you," David said, meaning it profoundly. This was one of those nights that was going to stay etched in his memory. "Goodnight!"
The band was in the middle of their delirious, post-show group hug, when a throat cleared next to them. "Uh, Mr. Jade," came the slightly uneven voice of one of the backstage concert staff. David shook himself free from the group hug with concern. That was a tone of voice that suggested a problem.
"We have a visitor," the staff continued, waving her hand over to the giant next to her. "He, ah, says he's on the green list?"
"Holy fuck, abs," Mike muttered in sotto vocce, and David was going to kill him.
"There isn't really a green list, is there," said Jonathan fucking Vane, standing in front of David in Finland for some godforsaken reason. "You lied. I'm hurt."
Jonathan was, well, a lot to handle in person. David was a perfectly respectable human-sized person, 5'11" and comfortable enough in his skin that he hadn't lied and added an extra inch to his height in three decades. Jonathan, though, could pick David up and toss him over his shoulder, no problem. He was probably 6'4", 6'5", two David's wide at the shoulders and only a little bit more than one David wide at the waist. David could wrap his fingers around that man's hips so easily, and—
"I didn't lie!" he said, frantically wrenching his mind away from that train of thought. "I mean, I did, I don't even have a personal assistant, but I would have let the staff know if I had realized there was any possible chance you'd fly to Finland. Tonight!"
Jonathan shrugged. "I was filming in Switzerland. Wasn't that far away."
"I—huh. Well then," David ran out of anything to say, and just ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the god-like figure of the man in front of him. "Want to meet the band? These guys have been with me—"
"For at least twenty years, most of them! Yes, I'd love to meet them," Jonathan said, then turned his dazzling smile on David's crew.
"Oh, so when you say you're a fan, you mean you're a fan," Kristin clarified, holding out her hand with a smile. "Most people ignore the backup folks, which, by the way, is exactly how we like it."
"I could never ignore the woman that's the genius behind Bacon, Lettuce, Tornado," Jonathan protested with a broad grin.
Jonathan proceeded to make genuinely enthusiastic small-talk with the rest of the band, and seemed to take everyone's slightly star-struck attention in stride. David wasn't sure if it would have been better or worse if he had actually seen any of Jonathan's movies. Maybe it'd be easier if they could just mutually fan at each other. Instead, Jonathan was a very pretty, very friendly human that David sort of wanted to get to know better. It was strange.
"Well," David said, when he noticed various event staff casting him increasingly stressed out looks, "I'm scheduled to go out and sign for a bit. Anyone sticking around with me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at the crew.
"Fuck no," Mike answered quickly. "We're going to go get shitfaced. Meet us at the bar when you're done?"
"We'll see how I'm feeling," David replied.
"You wanna come?" Mike asked Jonathan, hopefully.
"Ah," Jonathan said, looking over at David. "Could I hang here until you're done?"
"Sure," David said, feeling pettily pleased that Jonathan wanted to hang out with him more than the rest of the band. He turned to the staff. "Could, you can find him some place to—"
"He can stay in the green room while you sign," a staff member agreed quickly.
The furor for signatures was worse than usual, but David managed his public-grin-and-small-talk easily enough. For every fan, this was a moment, and David felt it was a part of the public contract to honor it. Still, it was exhausting, after a show as big as that one had been, and by the time David stumbled back to the green room he felt almost numb.
He found Jonathan sleeping, his legs draped over the edge of the ratty green room couch. David wanted to join him, sit down next to Jonathan's hips and pillow his head along Jonathan's magnificent pecs. He bet Jonathan would be a comfortable pillow. Instead, David grabbed a water bottle and chugged half of it as he collapsed into one of the other chairs.
Jonathan startled as David sat, giving a rueful smile as he propped himself up on one elbow, looking a little rumpled. "Sorry," Jonathan said, blinking quickly. "I started filming pretty early this morning."
David winked at Jonathan, and once he had finished chugging the water, he said, "No worries. I'm still hopped up on adrenaline, so I'm not going to crash for a bit, but once I do, I'll be out."
"So what do you do to burn off steam?" Jonathan asked. "Going to join your friends at the bar?"
David shook his head. "Nah. I've been fighting a headache all day. No need to fuel it with alcohol. Food. I need actual food." He considered for a second. "I know a good hotdog stand. Want to come with?"
"Absolutely," said Jonathan, with a pleased smile on his face, as he swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood up.
David looked up, and up at him. "Are you even going to fit in a cab?" he asked.
Jonathan laughed. "I bought a rental. I'll drive. You navigate."
David agreed, and kept agreeing, right up until he actually saw Jonathan's car, and then he didn't just agree but was actually overwhelmingly excited. It was jet black, and it purred when Jonathan turned the engine on. "Money and class," David murmured, as he slid into the passenger seat.
Jonathan laughed. "Small pleasures, right?" he said, and before they were off tearing down Finnish streets. Crisp late night air and the smooth rumble of the car beneath them were calming, and David settled in as he pulled up the map.
Jonathan paused as he reached for the radio. "Just to check, it'd be really weird to play your stuff, right?"
"Extremely," David affirmed with a laugh. "What else you got?"
"Let's just go for the radio," Jonathan said, and started scrolling through the stations. They stopped on a mellow late-night jazz station. The lazy horns were the perfect addition to the night, and David leaned back in the passenger chair and enjoyed the moment.
His stomach growled, and Jonathan looked over. His smile in the streetlights was dazzling, and David felt his stomach flip. Unfair. It was unfair that any human would look that beautiful. Particularly while ferrying David to after-show food. Jonathan stepped a little harder on the pedal, and the car leapt down the road.
They found the "stand"—it had existed long enough that it had become a full-blown building with a kitchen, but the front was still kiosk-style, and they ordered their meals and took the food to the little standing tables that dotted the front of the building.
It was warm enough that the locals were wearing shorts and t-shirts, but cold enough that David was still grateful for his thick sweater as they stood hip to hip at a corner of the table, diving into the food. He scarfed down half of a hot dog without really appreciating it, but once the worst of his hunger was satiated David started taking smaller bites and enjoying the white cheddar and cucumber-mayonnaise combination.
Jonathan had a plate full of sliced sausage and some sort of grilled meat. It looked delicious.
"So," David said, swallowing down the bite of his hot dog. "What on earth made you decide to go come to Finland tonight?"
Jonathan shifted, and offered David a sheepish smile. "I don't know. I was just humming with excitement after our chat earlier, and I looked at my schedule and realized I wasn't filming for the next couple days, and just...figured I knew how I wanted to spend my time. I've been wanting to catch a live show of yours again for awhile now, and—"
David held up a hand. "Again?"
"Oh, yeah! You didn't tour too often in the US, but I caught your shows whenever you were within 100 miles of Phoenix, Arizona. Managed about two or three. But then I signed the contract with Action Comics and it became a lot harder to sneak away and just attend a show. I thought I should probably at least have my peop—"
"You're about to use 'have my people call your people' unironically, aren't you?" David asked.
"Maybe," Jonathan admitted.
"You're a fucking cliche," David said with a smile that hopefully softened the words. "Why didn't you? It's not like I would have turned you down."
Jonathan gave an uncomfortable shrug. "I don't really…meeting your heroes is a big thing, you know? I didn't want to, I don't know, make things awkward."
David took another bite of his hotdog to cover for the fact that, "heroes" did in fact make him uncomfortable. He was just enjoying hanging out with the guy. It was weird to remember that David was this whole thing to him.
"But this night's been a lot more comfortable than I expected," Jonathan continued. "Wish I had done it awhile ago, to be honest. I'm just enjoying hanging with you."
David swallowed quickly and smiled. "Yeah, agreed."
Jonathan's smile was radiant. "Can I compliment your set, or is that going too far down the awkward road again?"
"Jonathan, if you've met an artist that says they don't like praise for their art, they're lying. Compliment away."
"It just had such good flow tonight," Jonathan said perking up. "You're really clever with the way you build and release energy. You had the audience wrapped around your fingers."
"I feel like I have you to thank for that, at least somewhat," David said, looking up at Jonathan with a lopsided smile. "We haven't packed a stadium like that in years. We sometimes get that energy in smaller venues, but on that stage? Just, electric."
"You knew exactly what to do with it. You're a master at this. And, well," Jonathan ducked his head and shrugged, "you played my favorite songs. So maybe I'm a little biased."
"We've been closing with Imperium Calling for years now, it couldn't have been that much of a surprise." David chuckled.
"Ah, no." Jonathan shook his head. "Imperium Calling was my first, and you never forget your first"—Jonathan winked, and David embarrassingly felt his cheeks heat—"but my favorite song is My Girl."
David just looked at Jonathan for a long moment. There was—something. A distinct feeling of flirting happening here. Almost a date. But, like Mike had said, all the media had shown Jonathan with girls on his arm. And now here he was, saying his favorite song was My Girl. Two types of fans named that their favorite song. One type was dudes that really loved their women.
The other type was the ones that knew what the song was actually about.
Nicole had been eleven when she had first informed her dad that he had things wrong. David thought Nicole was a boy, and had been giving her a boy name and making her wear boy clothes. She would really appreciate it if he cut that out, please.
David had never been so grateful for being bi. If he hadn't already known what it was like to have the world try to crush him, if he hadn't already clung to Mike and cried while the media ripped them to shreds, he might have handled it worse than he did. He told Nicole he loved her, asked for a couple days to think about things. Then he went to the library and checked out every book on trans kids he could find and read through them in a coffee-fueled rampage, desperate not to fuck things up.
He probably had fucked some things up anyway. But these days he had a happy, smiling, brilliant daughter. She had made it to adulthood with grace and poise, she seemed absolutely content with her life, and she still loved her dad, so maybe all in all he had done okay.
Twelve-year-old Nicks (who had approved the nickname, deciding the important thing was that he said it in a girl sorta way) had helped him write the song, giggling excitedly at every profanity. My girl, respect her or fuck off.
Jonathan was looking back at him. As David watched, something pained flickered across his face, then he locked his jaw with determination. He took a slow breath, in and out, before saying quietly, "Your kid was really lucky to have a dad like you. My other favorite song is Follow the River."
David exhaled, hard. Follow the River was co-written by David and Mike, the last thing they had written while they were still together. It was half grief laid bare, half middle finger to everyone who tried to make being queer an ugly thing. It was probably the most beautiful song he'd ever write.
You tell me to fight the tide, you tell me I'm damned inside, and I'm feeling done tonight, I'm gonna follow the river down.
"Powerful choices," David said, his eyes never leaving Jonathan's. He'd had this conversation a few times. It never lost its importance. He always wanted someone to feel that whatever they were sharing was safe with him.
Jonathan gave a small nod. "They're powerful songs. I—uh, they've been really important to me. Once I knew what they meant. Some of what you went through with River… I wonder what it would be like to have a conversation like that."
David turned his hand and carefully brushed the back of his knuckles against the outside of Jonathan's arm. He figured that was about as far as he could get into comfort in a public space. "It's hard," he said softly. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone before they're ready. But, for me, it was freeing, too."
"Yeah, I—" Jonathan cut himself, darting a quick look around the restaurant and moving his arm a careful half-inch away from David.
David's heart broke for him, and for every queer person that the world that had made afraid. "You wanna get out of here?" David asked. "There's a nice patch of beach not that far away, if I remember right. Always liked seeing the lake at night."
"Yes," Jonathan agreed quickly, and they got back in his very nice rental, and David pointed them toward the lake. "I'm sorry," Jonathan apologized, as the road rolled past them. "I just—"
"Think I don't know exactly how scary that is?" David asked in return. "No judgement here, got that?"
"Got it," Jonathan said, and then a second later followed that with, "I'm gay."
"Kick-ass," David replied, and was gratified when Jonathan burst out laughing.
"You are the seventh person I've told and I think that's my favorite reaction," Jonathan said, laughing. "I'm sorry, man I know this is a lot to dump on someone, I really wasn't planning on it, but I just—"
"Shut up," David said, lightly smacking Jonathan's shoulder. "Seriously, you think this is the first time I've had this conversation? At least you didn't try to pull it in the autograph line. That always breaks my heart, there's not enough time to really talk."
"Oof," Jonathan said. They were quiet for a long moment, before Jonathan said, "I didn't really have a follow up, I just wanted you to know."
"Sounds good," David said. "You got any specific queer performing artist questions you want to ask?"
"No," Jonathan said faintly. "I think I've used up all my courage on that particular front."
David looked down, and saw that Jonathan was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were going white. Time to ease the conversation onto simpler topics. He thought for a second, then said, "So where do you live, anyway?"
"I—huh?" The white receded as Jonathan relaxed his grip.
"I realize I'm assuming Los Angeles, but I don't actually know. Where's home for you?" David said.
"Oh! I, uh, do have a place in L.A.. Parents are still in Phoenix, and that still sort of feels like home-home, you know? I travel so much for filming, haven't really gotten the chance to settle in yet. Even though I've had the place for eight years now. How about you?"
"Raising a kid does wonders for tying you to a place. I grew up in Delaware, but home is Oxnard now, since that's where Nicks grew up. She still lives right up the street."
"Oxnard!" Jonathan smiled. "That's really not so far from West L.A.. God, it's hilarious that we met in Finland."
"Small world," David said dryly. "Made smaller when you charter a last-minute flight."
The beach was cold and dark when they finally arrived. They both stepped out of the car and hesitated at the edge of the parking lot. David shivered in his sweater.
"Were you really wanting to see the beach, or—"
"No, just trying to figure out a place to go," David was happy to say quickly. He did not like the idea of soggy, sandy socks. "Honestly I've got a bottle of Cab in my hotel room and I really just want to go there, turn the heater on high enough to please my Southern Californian bones, and have a glass."
"I can take you back to the hotel," Jonathan said, doing a pretty good job of only sounding a little disappointed.
"I've got two glasses and plenty of wine," David said. "You can join if you want. I'm enjoying our conversation."
Jonathan looked over at David, and David was reasonably sure he read Jonathan's thoughts. Is this a come-on? Or is it actually conversation he wants? He's bi, I'm gay, but that doesn't mean I should assume—
David saw the moment when Jonathan decided the answer to the question didn't matter, and just nodded. "I'd like that."
David was glad Jonathan hadn't asked him. Truth be told, he didn't know the answer. He didn't sleep with fans and he didn't sleep with people he didn't know, and technically, Jonathan was both. But he didn't feel like either. So, hell, David would invite him in, and they'd see where the evening went.
On the ride back to the hotel they talked about pets—Nicole had been right, they did both love dogs, though neither had one right now because they had to travel too much. By the time they had pulled into the parking lot they were talking about their favorite places to travel, as the heater was turned on they talked about the songs they had heard in these places, and as he poured the wine David sung out a few bars of an Irish jig he had heard one late night walking the streets of Dublin.
It was the end of the night and his throat was raspy, there was a burr in his voice as he meandered his way around soft syllables. He held the wineglass out to Jonathan, still singing. Jonathan smiled, looking a little overwhelmed and helpless, and David wasn't really surprised when Jonathan took the glass only to set it down, and turn back to David.
"Can I?" he asked softly. David nodded, and Jonathan kissed him.
It felt inevitable once it was happening. Of course, they were kissing. Of course they were going to fuck. But David honestly hadn't planned it, and was still faintly surprised, when Jonathan slid down on his knees and started reaching for David's pants.
David groaned and braced himself back on the table, as Jonathan freed David's cock and swallowed it down. It wasn't much of a mouthful at the beginning, everything had happened quickly enough that David hadn't had time to get hard. Jonathan didn't seem to mind, considering the way he ran his tongue worshipfully around David's shaft. David was getting stiffer by the second, and it was incredibly hot to watch the way Jonathan's lips stretched around his growing cock.
After a minute, his cock was big enough that Jonathan couldn't keep it all in his mouth easily. David's cock started to slip between Jonathan's lips, and David groaned at the sensation. Jonathan smirked, and then he got to work. He braced his hands along David's thighs and started rocking, his hot slick tongue sliding deftly over the sensitive underside of David's cock. His warm, sweet mouth was perfect, and David caught himself growling something to that effect.
Jonathan pulled off of David's cock and beamed that radiant smile up at him. "You can pull my hair if you want," he said, fluttering his eyelashes, before sealing his lips around David's cock again and sliding down slowly.
David was only human, and he wasn't entirely sure he could be held responsible for what happened next. Jonathan didn't seem to mind when David grabbed his wavy blond hair. He gave a moan of pleasure that vibrated around David's cock, and another when David started moving his hips in a counterpoint to Jonathan's mouth. After a brief struggle with restraint, David gave up and started fucking Jonathan's mouth in earnest and Jonathan, beautiful man that he was, took it.
"Jesus, fuck, I'm going to—" David barely managed to slow himself down before he came. Throbbing with want, he shuddered, gasping on the edge of his orgasm. Still, he had enough fucking self control to not come in anyone's mouth without having permission, first.
Jonathan pulled off, and then gasped, "Do you want to come on my face?" and that was it, David was fucking done. Those words, that idea shoved him over the edge and he was coming in spurts that did paint Jonathan's face, those deep blue eyes, that clever mouth, those ridiculous cheekbones with David's come. David's knees gave out, and he collapsed back on the table, breathing hard. His knees were weak.
Jonathan was still looking up at David, dazed, and his pink tongue darted out from the side of his mouth to lap at the bit of the fluid that had landed there.
"You're fucking gorgeous," David groaned. "Come here."
He kissed Jonathan, despite the mess. He used his thumb to smear his come a little further into Jonathan's cheek, feeling possessive and ridiculous and disinhibited enough not to care. Jonathan shivered, and opened his mouth wider, and David got the feeling that Jonathan was maybe the sort that liked being claimed.
"Shower with me?" David asked. "Then we can see about returning the favor."
Jonathan seemed to come back to himself, he lost some of the stunned expression and nodded, shakily starting to stand. His pants were tenting, and David couldn't help but cop a feel as he helped Jonathan back to his feet.
"Some heavy equipment there, big guy," David purred as he stroked the bulge. "I want to see it."
Jonathan started stripping in the middle of the hotel room. David almost protested that he meant in the shower, but quickly realized that Jonathan Vane getting naked in front of him was possibly the best thing that could have ever happened. Or the worst, depending on how you thought about it.
"How does anyone compete with that?" David blurted as Jonathan's shirt came off, his eyes wide as he traced over Jonathan's sculpted physique.
Jonathan looked up, and was surprisingly serious as he said, "It's a tool that gets me work. I take care to have it look a certain way. It's not a competition. And even if it was…" Jonathan blushed and looked away, and he was once again just the guy that David knew, and not the superstar with the body of the greek god. "Even if it was, I don't think you understand just how beautiful I think you are."
David looked down at his body—skinny, with an artfully tattered t-shirt, ripped jeans and combat boots. Leathery, showing a lot of evidence of a life well-lived. It was a fine body, but beautiful was taking it a bit far. "It's not a competition," David decided to settle on.
Jonathan nodded, looking unconvinced, but he did finish stripping, leaving the glorious whole of him on display. His cock was...proportional.
"Yeah," David decided, staring at that cock. "I'm going to need you to fuck me."
"I can do that," Jonathan said, sounding a little breathless.
"After the shower," David decided, reaching to strip his own t-shirt off. "Give me a little time to warm up again."
Jonathan, it turned out, was more than happy to help David warm up. He started with the excuse of helping David get clean, but very quickly the washcloth was abandoned, and Jonathan was using his fingers to massage soap into David's skin. He had very talented hands. David wasn't warmed up, so much as on fire.
"God, you—your fingers. You should play guitar," David gasped, as Jonathan's right thumb ran slowly across circles around David's right nipple, and his left index finger slid inside David's ass.
"Hey, uh, I haven't had sex with anyone since my last STD panel, and I'm clear. Do we need condoms?" Jonathan asked, as his finger circled David's prostate.
David did know better, he honestly did. They had already been stupid once that evening, they should have had the condom talk long before his dick wound up in Jonathan's mouth. They should slow down, breathe, discuss safe sex, and negotiate boundaries. But, Jonathan's fingers felt divine, David's STD panel was clear too, and what he actually said was, "Get your fucking cock in me right fucking now."
Feeling the full silken length of Jonathan breaching the rim of muscle and filling David up without any barriers made it really hard for David to feel any sort of regret at his decision. He'd probably bemoan his stupidity in the morning. Right now, though, the thrill of reckless intimacy was just fucking hot.
David braced his hands along the side of the shower and shoved back against Jonathan's thrusts. They fucked hard and fast, their skin slapping together in the spray. Jonathan's big hand was wrapped possessively around David's hip, and they rode that rhythm faster and faster. Jonathan started gasping and managed to whimper, "David, I'm going to—"
"Come in me," David said, then groaned as Jonathan got both hands on his hips and slammed into him, again, again, and all he could do was brace until Jonathan crashed against him one more time and froze.
Deep inside David, he could feel Jonathan's cock pulse, as behind him, Jonathan groaned and pressed his forehead against David's shoulder. The shower rained down around them, as Jonathan laid a kiss between David's shoulderblades. They stayed, just like that, for a long moment. David basked in the nearly-uncomfortable feeling of fullness, the lazy wanton satisfaction of being stuffed full of cock and come.
"I'm going to pull out," Jonathan murmured, and David nodded, feeling that he was probably close to slipping out anyway.
As Jonathan slowly separated the two of them, David looked down at his own half-hard cock in bemusement. He hadn't thought he'd get hard again. He didn't usually, while bottoming, nevermind the fantastic orgasm he'd gotten less than half an hour earlier.
Jonathan reached around and cupped David's erection, and made an inquisitive noise.
"Don't worry about it," David said, straightening up from where he was still braced against the shower. "I feel amazing, and orgasm number two is slow in coming, these days."
"Can I try?" Jonathan asked, and it wasn't like being stroked in the shower by a beautiful man was a burden, so David nodded his assent. Jonathan squirted some conditioner into his hand and worked David slowly.
David let his eyes fall shut, and went to lean back against Jonathan. Jonathan stopped him with a hand between his shoulderblades, tipping David back toward the wall. David fell forward, bracing himself, but before he could ask what was going on Jonathan fell to his knees as he licked his way down David's spine, pausing to nose at the cleft of David's ass. His free hand spread David's cheeks, and then his tongue pressed hot against the rim of David's asshole.
He was still loose from the fucking and dripping Jonathan's come, and now Jonathan was lapping at him, that clever tongue worming his way inside David, filling him again. David hoped the hotel walls were thick, as his embarrassingly loud moan echoed around the bathroom.
Jonathan moved his tongue in and out, dancing around the sensitive muscle of David's ass. Jonathan' cock had split him open and pounded him messy, and now Jonathan's tongue was exploring, cleaning it all up again. David shuddered against the wall, feeling vulnerable and open, pinned between Jonathan's clever tongue and his slick hand.
He lost track of time, there, only gradually becoming aware that he was panting, gyrating, thrusting between tongue and fingers. He was pretty sure he whimpered, pretty sure he begged, absolutely positive that Jonathan wasn't going to stop until he came.
When it finally happened, it was almost a relief. David came with a ragged gasp, his cock spurting as Jonathan stroked him hard and slow through his orgasm. His whole body felt prickly and oversensitive, absolutely buzzing with sensation.
His knees buckled, and he let himself slide to the floor of the shower. He was done. No more David, just a hazy pile of bliss and contentment. Behind him, Jonathan gave a soft groan and shifted off his knees (the part of his brain that was still capable of making any sense winced in sympathy, that had to ache), until he was sitting on the floor of the shower too.
The water was still hot, thank fuck for good hotel booking, and David let himself collapse back against Jonathan, his back to Jonathan's chest. Jonathan brought his arms around David, and they sat and cuddled. Jonathan pressed little kisses to the top of David's hair.
"Good?" Jonathan asked mildly.
"What do you fucking think?" asked David. "No, it wasn't good, it was mind blowing, soul-shattering, I've run out of adjectives, that's how good it was."
"Hm," Jonathan said, a pleased little noise.
David squirmed, trying to get more of himself pressed against Jonathan's body. "Vain fucker."
"Yes," Jonathan said dryly. "I am a Vane, and apparently, I'm a pretty good fucker."
David groaned, and halfheartedly tried to headbutt Jonathan.
They stayed that way a little longer, before David decided he felt capable of moving again. They groaned and levered themselves out of the shower, laughing a little at their mutual lack of coordination.
"Want to stay tonight?" David asked, yawning as he towled himself off.
Jonathan didn't immediately answer, and when David looked up, he saw that Jonathan had stopped moving his towel. He was looking at David with a stricken expression on his face. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said slowly, flinching as he looked at David.
David felt his heart twinge. Ah, yes, the bad old closeted days. He reached over and stroked Jonathan's bicep. "Hey, it's alright. This was still a really good evening."
Jonathan gave him a grateful smile. "Yeah. It's not—"
"I know," David said gently.
"Do you think—if I saw you again, later?" Jonathan asked, the words sounding wrenched out of him.
David sighed, and then stepped forward and kissed Jonathan gently. He poured all the warmth and affection he could into the kiss, then he pulled away and said, "I don't date closeted guys anymore."
Jonathan flinched. "Of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to put you in a—"
"Shush. It's not that I'm not interested, alright?" David stepped into Jonathan's space and stole his towel, reaching up to help dry off the space between Jonathan's shoulderblades, and down his spine. "But spending every hookup terrified of getting caught…I'm over it. If I'm with someone, I'm with someone, and if I'm not I shouldn't fuck around until I get caught."
"Probably smart," Jonathan said faintly. "If I was out…"
"You'd better believe I'd be making a play," David said softly. "But listen, I meant it when I said it was terrifying, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone who isn't ready." He finished towling Jonathan's backside, and poked at Jonathan's shoulder until he turned around.
Jonathan still looked miserable. "What if I'm never ready?"
David shrugged. "Then you're not ready. It's your life, your choice."
"Can I see you again?" Jonathan asked, and there was a vulnerable little tremble to the words that tore at David's chest. "Not—not as anything. Just, to see you."
"Of course," David said. "Yes, the sex was fucking incredible, but I don't need it to like you. Come by for dinner sometime when we're all in California. You can meet Nicks, and her dog."
Jonathan nodded, looking a little better. "I'd like that."
David kissed Jonathan again, a little worried he was sending a mixed message, but more concerned that he get to say goodbye properly. Jonathan grabbed at him, pouring himself into the kiss, and David figured they both probably needed that moment of connection.
When they reluctantly separated, David said, "I'm going to crash soon, I can feel it, but you want to hang out and actually drink that glass of wine first?"
Jonathan smiled, it was a weak smile, but he was trying. "I would."
They settled in on the couch, both with their wine, and David with a hairbrush. "This monster," he explained gesturing at the mass of hair on top of his head, "will turn into a hedge if I don't brush it out while it's still wet."
"Can I—?" Jonathan asked, pointing at the hairbrush.
David wasn't going to say no to that. He wound up sitting on the floor between Jonathan's knees, while Jonathan slowly brushed out his hair. He finished his wine and as they talked, relaxation slid heavy into his limbs. He closed his eyes and let himself think of nothing more than enjoying the feeling of the brush running through his hair.
He woke up again when Jonathan moved. He startled, and looked around trying to get his bearings. Jonathan shushed him, and then a strong arm braced along David's back, another under his knees, and he was…he was being carried. If he were any less exhausted he'd protest it strenuously, but he was tired right down to his fingers and toes, and the coddling felt nice.
He was tucked into bed, his hair was carefully pulled out and laid across a pillow, and warm lips brushed against his temple. "Goodnight, David," Jonathan said, and it was the last thing David remembered until morning.
Nobody seemed to guess what had happened, except for Nicole. David was surprised. He would have put money on it being Mike that figured things out. But as soon as he got back from Finland with Jonathan Vane's number in his phone, Nicole had looked at the number, looked back at him, and gave a slight sigh. "Do we need a "dating a gay superstar" PR strategy?"
David blinked, so surprised he didn't even consider lying. "No. One time thing, unless he decides to come out on his own." Then he blinked, and realized what his mouth was saying. "Jesus, Nicks, you can't share—"
"I know," Nicole cut him off, dismissing his concerns with a small wave of her hand. She looked at him sympathetically. "You doing okay? You look like you got hit by a truck, and a little bit more than your usual post-concert blues."
"I really like him, Nicks," David said, a little wistfully. "Just wishing the world was different. You know."
"I know," Nicole said, and yeah, if anyone did, she fucking did. They hugged, and the world was still fucked, but at least this little corner of it was good.
He didn't have long to think about it, regardless. Between Nicole and his agent, David's newfound fifteen minutes of fame was being leveraged into gigs, appearances, and a new single. It felt good to be busy.
He didn't know if it was better or worse that Jonathan was still around. They chatted pretty often, on some well-encrypted text messaging platform Nicole had installed on his phone. Jonathan had come up for dinner, and Nicole did a really good job not fawning over him too much. Jonathan did a much worse job not fawning over Nicole's dog, and spent at least half the visit rolling on the floor with Nicole's stubby-legged mutt.
Nicole, shark that she was, managed to get pictures cross-posted between twitter and instagram, and proceeded to banter with Jonathan both as herself, and as David.
"Isn't that awkward?" David asked both of them, who were sitting on couches in his living room, posting on their phones at the same time.
"It's acting," Nicole said with a flourish.
David rounded on Jonathan. "It's not weird for you?"
"I'm a professional, David," Jonathan replied primly. "Besides, if I play nice, she'll let me visit her dog again."
"Now I see your true motivations," David said dryly, as he stared down at the picture on his phone, Jonathan sprawled out on the floor laughing as his face was enthusiastically licked. His heart ached, just a bit, like a muscle used too hard for too long. It'd heal, it'd be stronger after. "Can't say I blame you, though, it is a really cute dog."
Much to David's relief, Jonathan didn't ask for anything more than friendship. David would have said no, but it would have broken his heart. Instead they were actually becoming…friends. They spent time together. He even got to join Jonathan on set a couple times, hanging out with him during lunch breaks.
The media noticed, of course, doing thinkpieces about Jonathan's unusual "bromance" with a middle-aged musician. Jonathan didn't mention them, so David followed his lead.
Still, his heart nearly stopped when he was watching a news clip, and the anchor asked Jonathan, "I'm curious Jonathan, are you aware of the scandal that happened when your friend was younger? He was caught having a gay affair with his guitarist! It wrecked their band."
Jonathan's face locked down, and he leaned in. "I'm not aware of anything of the sort. I do know that when David was nineteen, he and his committed boyfriend were publicly outed. That's not a gay affair, and the only shame associated with it is on the media for the way they handled it. I want to believe we're better now, don't you?" he asked, and the smile he turned on the anchor was not very sweet.
"Oh, well, of course," she said, rapidly backpedaling.
"Thank you," David said quietly, on the phone with him later.
Jonathan was quiet for a long moment. "Has anyone been bothering you?" he finally asked.
"All sorts, but it's fine. Going to leverage it to do some charity fundraising for homeless shelters for queer kids. Thanks for drumming up the publicity."
There was another long pause, and then Jonathan asked, "Want me there?" It sounded like he was having to scrape the words out of his throat.
"Not if it's going to make you miserable and worried," David said. "You've already given me plenty of publicity. I've got this."
Jonathan paused again. "I'm sorry," he said in a raw whisper.
"Fucking hell. Listen to me," David ordered with a snap. "I am not judging you, I am not disappointed in you. I think that you've got more eyes on you than I ever did, and that you need to be fucking careful. I get that, I respect it, now stop chewing yourself up because we're living different lives."
"I know we're different," Jonathan snapped back, his voice raising over the phone. "You ever think that maybe I'm jealous of that? You are exactly who you say you are, no hiding. I know there's an easy answer to that, but I can't—I haven't—" Jonathan's voice cracked and he fell silent.
David's chest ached. "It's not easy," he said, softly. "God knows it's not easy."
"Yeah," Jonathan agreed. He sounded exhausted. "I should go, sorry, I'm just…not good company tonight. Night."
The call disconnected, and David stared at his phone with an uneasy sense of guilt. He wasn't sure what he felt guilty about. Maybe about fucking Jonathan in the first place. Maybe it'd be easier to be the friend he needed if David didn't have the memory of what his mouth felt like stretched around David's cock.
David sighed. It was late. They'd talk later, work it out.
Jonathan didn't text the next day, and the day after that all David got was:
Some stuff came up, I'll be out of touch for a couple days.
The Industry wasn't kind to its cogs. David did his best to shrug it off, and got on with the benefit concert.
Things were going pretty well, on that front, right up until the tour of the venue, two days before the performance.
"You guys aren't going to be too gay, right?" the event coordinator asked, as clicked his pen aggressively over the checklist he had just finished with David and the band.
David stopped, blinking. He didn't actually just hear— That man did not just say—
"It's a fundraiser for an LGBTQ youth shelter," Kiki said gently. It was her syrupy tone she broke out when she was about to, in her words, cut a bitch.
"Yeah, yeah, suffering kids, it's good PR," the coordinator said blithely. He clicked his pen some more. Ca-chick, ca-chick. "That's not what I'm talking about. The Briston Foundation has a reputation, you know?"
David didn't stab the pompous ass with his own pen, barely. He shoved his hands in his pockets and managed to hiss out, "What exactly are you concerned about?"
"The Briston Foundation is fronting the event costs, so one hundred percent of the donations can go to the shelter. It's a very generous move on our parts, and we've attached our name to your performance. We just want to make sure it's in line with our image."
"We're here to do a show and help kids," David said. He hoped to God and every fallen devil that Mike managed to keep his mouth shut. Out of all of them, his anger flashed the hottest. "That's it."
"Good!" The coordinator said, like they'd reached an understanding. "So, uh, you can take your controversial song out of the set, right? The one about the river?"
"You want us to take Follow the River out of a fundraiser for queer kids?" Mike snarled and oh shit, they were fucked.
"Yeah not a problem, we're keeping things more high energy, anyway," Kirstin said, yanking on Mike's arm. "We've actually got some new stuff we might work in instead. World debut, that sort of thing."
It was enough to keep Mike quiet, at least for the moment, and David threw up a prayer of gratitude.
The coordinator brightened. "Oh, that's a great idea. Thanks for being cool, I'll let my bosses know." He and his fucking monstrous smile and his arrogant little pen clicks left, and David turned just in time to see Mike yank his arm out of Kristin's grip.
"What was that?" Mike hissed, sounding betrayed.
Kristin talked fast and low, with a quick glance around to make sure they were alone. "Our contract with them does give them input on the setlist. It does not give them input on behavior. We can be as flamboyantly outrageously gay as we want, on stage. We just need to get there. So we're going to do exactly what we promised. We'll take River out, we'll polish up Grandstand and put it in, now that we have explicit permission to debut a new song."
Grandstand for the Damned was a swagger song, filled with all the arrogance that decades of survival in a fucked up world offered. It was loud and angry and queer, the very definition of "too gay."
Mike growled. He leaned in close, and said, "I want to be extremely gay. I want to be fuck you gay about this whole thing."
David thought hard for a second. "It's not going to impact the kids, right?"
"Briston Foundation can't touch the funds raised," Kristin affirmed with an evil little grin. "And let's be honest, the people watching and donating will enjoy a bit of drama."
"Then let's be fuck you gay," David said with a grin.
"Yeah!" Kiki punched the air. "I'm going to wear a bedazzled suit!"
"I've been wanting to get an undercut," Kristin mused.
David sobered, then waved a hand for their attention. "There's a very real chance this is the end of our U.S. careers, part two." He laid a hand on Mike's elbow and said, "I know the rest of you joined us after the first band fell apart. This is a choice for all of us. I don't want it to be something you regret."
He looked at all of them, ending on Francis. Francis was their newest member (he'd still been with the band for a decade, but still). He was also the token straight guy. He was married with a wife and two kids. If anyone was going to back off, it'd be him.
Francis offered the group a cheery smile. "I'm pretty sure Janine will let me borrow her heels. They make my calves look fabulous."
"Yeaaaah," Kristin said, slapping Francis on the back. "Let's piss some people off."
"Hey," Mike said, turning to David. "We should do the guitar thing."
"Oh!" David grinned, and turned back to Mike. "Yes. Yes we should absolutely do the guitar thing."
The energy at the fundraiser was good. The flow of their set was broken up by appeals for donations and stories about kids, so it was honestly for the best that they took out most of their slow songs. It still ached that Follow the River wasn't in there, but the high-energy anthems were the way to go.
David had stalked his way on stage wearing a long black jacket that he had shrugged off midway through the first song to reveal a bare, glitter-brushed chest and tight leather pants. The crowd screamed, and David hoped that the Briston Foundation reps, wherever they were, choked.
It could be argued that David was a decade and a half past his best self to wear leather pants and body glitter. That was quitter talk, though, and David still felt fabulous. Besides, there was a certain suspension of disbelief when a person pranced around with a big red guitar over their crotch. It made David feel bold.
Midway through their set, Mike took off his jacket, to reveal a leather bondage harness along his chest and shoulders. He'd put his nipple piercings back in, too. Hot, said the part of David's hindbrain that had been figuring out what he liked, sexually, right about the same time Mike had gotten his nipples pierced.
The audience roared their approval, and Mike shimmied, his shoulders flexing against the leather restraints. He looked over, and David caught his eye. They grinned at each other, full of exaltation and excitement, like they were seventeen again and untouchable.
"I hope you all don't mind," David said, tearing his eyes away from Mike and looking back at the crowd. "But we thought we'd play you something new tonight!" David danced his fingers across the strings, introducing the crowd to the thrumming opening of Grandstand for the Damned.
He braced his feet wide and thrust the guitar forward, leaning into the phallic energy of being lead guitar in a way he didn't usually. Grandstand was a song with swagger, and David played it to the hilt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mike moving, slinking his way across the stage. He moved like his rhythm line, a sly, seductive thing.
Mike stopped next to David, and then leaned over to slide his tongue up the side of David's neck.
David hadn't known exactly what Mike was planning, but he was ready for it anyway. There were only so many ways fuck you gay could go. This was hardly the first time they had flirted on stage. David just smirked out to the audience, channeling the same energy of every male rockstar that had performed with beautiful women hanging all over him. The audience gasped and screamed and generally loved it.
Mike pranced around next to David for the rest of the song, and then they slid into the last verse, doubling it before bringing it to a slamming end.
David let the silence hang for one second. Two seconds. Two and a half. And then, telegraphing the movement with his entire body, he swayed his way into the high, brutally fast opening riff of Imperium Calling.
After the first verse, Mike stepped behind David, vanishing from sight as they rode into the chorus. David took a breath. Here we go. He pulled his guitar up. In the heartbeat pause before the second verse started, Mike pressed up against David's back, whipping his guitar around front of both of them, just under David's. He popped up on David's shoulder, grinning to the audience as he effortlessly played his section. They were a two-headed, four-armed, guitar playing machine.
It was a fun image, but only a setup to the real show.
They swayed against each other, gyrating together. Really playing up the fuck you gay. As the second verse finished, David felt his heart begin to beat a little faster. Time for the solo. It was an impossibly hard piece of music, and it was one of the greatest prides of David's professional career that he could manage it consistently, night after night of performance.
So hey, why not, while televised, in front of one of the biggest audiences they'd ever had, make it even more difficult? David surreptitiously loosened the straps that braced his guitar.
In the breath before the solo started, Mike tossed the neck of his guitar up, and David dropped the neck of his own guitar to catch it. Their guitars crossed now, as David frantically found the frets on the neck of Mike's guitar, while Mike was doing the same.
David just had to hope that Mike got it right, as he attacked the solo, dancing the fingers of his right hand across the strings of the lead guitar.
The notes rang out clear and perfect. Mike was handling the frantic fretwork of the solo, while David played the strings. And in the meantime, David's left hand picked out the chords while Mike kept the steady chug on the strings of the rhythm guitar.
It wouldn't work if David thought about it too hard. It wouldn't work if they didn't trust each other implicitly. It wouldn't work if it wasn't a solo that they'd both played backward and forwards for years. It wouldn't work if they weren't both magnificent guitarists.
But they were and the music flowed powerful and true out of them.
The crowd went wild. They didn't understand the whole impossible complexity of what was happening, probably, but they knew it was a show, and they knew it was for them, and they roared their approval. David screamed out as his fingers flew, and the crowd yelled back. It was a primal call-and-response that needed no words, just music.
He felt Mike's nose brush his cheek, and instinctively, he turned toward Mike. Mike grinned, and kissed him.
Jesus fuck, like what they were doing wasn't complicated enough? David didn't really kiss back, just held his lips against Mike's as he kept the dream-trance focus that let his fingers do the impossible. Mike wasn't really angling for a makeout session though, it was about the performance, about the image of two men proud to do the impossible, and unashamed of who they were.
Rock n' roll, baby.
They finished the solo flawlessly, and managed to separate again without too much trouble. They did a sort of bouncing foot-high-five, and David turned back to the microphone and called out to the audience, "For every kid who feels like their world is ending, for every terrified person out there who has been told they are worthless, there is no shame in this," he yelled the last line, snarling it into the microphone. "There is no shame in us! We are beautiful, we are wonderful, and we deserve love!"
The audience screamed, and David smiled out at them. "I love you," he said. "I love you and you deserve the world."
He said it to the audience, to the kids in the shelters, he said it to his and Mike's past selves. He also said it to a honey-haired man with a brilliant smile, who was hiding his heart from the world, just to keep it safe.
They stumbled off stage at the end of the night, and the post-concert hug went a little longer than usual. They pressed together in a mass of trembling energy, arms and bodies together.
"If we never work again, this is how I want to go out," Francis mumbled, as his arm around David's shoulders squeezed a little tighter.
"Yeah," Kristin said, as she pressed a kiss to the side of Kiki's head, and another to Mike on the other side. "Hell of a show."
Francis left with his wife and Kiki and Kristin left to find a club, planning to dance and burn off some energy. They invited David and Mike along, and Mike said, "Maybe. I'll meet you there if I do."
Once they were gone, he turned to David and raised an eyebrow. "You were fucking hot tonight."
David laughed. "God, you too. Every time we do it, I still can't believe it works."
"Right?" Mike said, holding up his hands. They trembled. "I have so much energy to burn."
"Join them at the club?" David asked.
"Probably. Unless…" Mike paused, tilting his head. "Wanna make a mistake tonight?"
They did this, sometimes, when they both were single and lonely, or when they were both high on adrenaline, or when they were both too drunk to remember it was a bad idea. David could realize, now, that they'd always want different things. Mike was the sort of guy that wanted adventure in everything, while David wanted the promise of domesticity. It'd feel nice for awhile, and then they'd fall apart again. But for a minute, they wouldn't be lonely, and that was a bargain they'd made more than once.
Not tonight, though. David shook his head. "Sorry. I'm, ah…" He thought about Jonathan, kneeling in front of him with his mouth around David's cock. He thought about Jonathan, sounding like he was tearing his own heart out, wishing that things could be different. He thought about Jonathan, rolling around on the floor of his house, playing with Nicole's dog. "…think my heart's all tied up at the moment."
Mike raised an eyebrow. "I know 'em?"
David gave a sad smile. "It's not going anywhere. But I'm not ready to let it go."
Mike sighed. "Alright. Another night alone."
"Go clubbing," David ordered. "Wear that. I suspect you'll have some company by the end of the evening."
Mike laughed. Then he stepped in and hugged David again. "Thanks," he whispered. David could fill in the rest. For the night. For all the nights before. For all the nights to come.
"Thank you," David said in reply, squeezing him tight.
"You going to go mope tonight?" Mike asked. "Wallow in those post-show blues and a broken heart?"
David took a breath. He wanted to. He really did. But he knew it wasn't what he really needed right now. "No, I'll come with."
"Good," Mike said firmly, and slung an arm around David's shoulders. "Don't worry, we're going to find some of those frilly pink drinks that kick like an angry mule. It's going to be fun."
David's phone was ringing, and he fervently wished for death. His head hurt, he had let Mike press way too many frothy pink drinks in his hands, and they had been out late. When would Nicole learn to stop calling him the night after a concert?
Then he remembered the concert.
"How bad is it?" he rasped as he answered the phone.
"Turn on the news right now. Channel Five," Nicole ordered.
"Oh god, that bad? What are they saying about the show?" David groaned as he groped for the remote.
"No, dad, I don't think anyone's talking about the concert, turn on the news."
"Then why—" David finally managed the right combination of buttons to get the TV turned on.
Jonathan sat next to a pretty woman with blond ringlets and a wide smile. "I just want to be my most authentic self," he said.
Underneath him, the news ticker-tape read, "Lieutenant Thunder star Jonathan Vane reveals the truth: He's gay!"
David nearly dropped the phone. He fumbled it back up to his ear without looking at it; his eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
"And that includes sharing with the world that I'm gay. It's a secret I've kept for far too long, because I was scared. I don't want to be scared anymore."
"You could have told me he was planning this," Nicole said. "I wouldn't have said anything but I would have had a statement or something."
"He didn't tell me," David said, feeling lost as he stared at the screen. He had figured—it was arrogant, he supposed—but he had always figured that if Jonathan decided to take this step, he would have talked it through with David.
Jonathan looked dazzling. He nodded seriously in response to the announcer, smiling a little as he mentioned that he wished everyone he had dated well, and he even remained good friends with some of them. But there was a reason it hadn't worked out with anyone.
"Huh," Nicole said. "I thought he would have—"
"Me too," David said. "But it looks like he figured it out on his own."
"News feeds have been noticing for a while now your new friendship with musician David Jade. He's bi, isn't he? Anything to report on that front?"
David's heart flipped, but Jonathan just turned to the woman with his camera-ready smile. "I appreciate David a lot. He helped me think through some of this. And, you know, he was an example when I really needed one. That's part of the reason I'm having this conversation now. I realized there's probably some people out there that need to know my story, just as much as I needed to know David's."
"Thank you for sharing with us," the woman turned back to the camera with a polished smile. "For more information, please read the full interview on LGBTQ Nation. Great stuff in there. Next up, we've got—"
David turned off the TV. He felt oddly hurt. It had been a secret he was keeping, it had felt like a big thing. He had expected to find out…differently, that he didn't need to keep it anymore.
"Has he texted you?" Nicole asked.
David perked up. He hadn't checked. "I don't know. I'll look."
"I'm going to tweet a general support of friend message, okay?"
"Let me draft something, okay?" David said. "I'd like it to come from me."
"Aw," Nicole said, her voice softening. "Okay."
David frantically pulled up his text messages. Nothing. He stared at the frustrating lack of a response, then sighed and started drafting a supportive tweet. He got the message over to Nicole, and approved her edits. Then he spent the rest of the morning waiting for…something, anything, from Jonathan. It didn't come. He checked out of his hotel and flew back to Oxnard. He got into his house, packed his stuff away, and agonized over whether or not to reach out.
He finally decided to send a message.
Saw the news, how you feeling?
Short, and it put the ball in Jonathan's court. Let him know that David was thinking of him. Maybe he was just stressed out by the whole thing. When David was stressed, he had trouble talking, sometimes.
Two hours later, Jonathan finally responded.
Better now, thanks.
And then nothing.
Reluctantly, David texted Nicole a screenshot of their conversation, and then called her. "Is there some subtext I'm missing?" he asked plaintively.
Nicole hummed. "That looks a lot like a brush-off."
"That's what I feared," David said, having to fight off a fit of morose melodrama.
"You guys okay?"
"I mean…I thought we were. Our last conversation ended sort of weird, though. I wonder—aw, fuck. I hope I didn't pressure him or anything. I thought I made that clear."
"Hey," Nicole had her soothing voice on. "I'm sure you were clear. You know this is big. Maybe he's just working through some stuff. You'll be there if he needs you."
"You're right." David took a deep breath, and leaned back into old humor to steady himself. "Smart. Where'd you get your brains from?"
"I don't know, I think a crow gave them to me in exchange for a bead. Definitely not you."
David gave a rough chuckle. "Got that right. And yes, good advice. I'll be there when he needs me."
As the weeks went on, and no word came from Jonathan, David grew more and more aware that Jonathan, apparently, did not need him after all. David sighed, and tried not to feel like he'd lost something.
Except, of course, he had. He'd had a hope that maybe, someday, they could try again, without the weight of secrets hanging over them. That maybe he could have Jonathan in his bed through the night, and kiss him in the morning. It had been a good dream.
He'd lost the dreams, and he'd also lost the reality. Jonathan wasn't coming around for dinner anymore, he wasn't inviting David out to the set, he wasn't texting David about a new taco place he'd tried. He'd lost Jonathan's friendship.
He tried not to be too hurt. He was just…what Jonathan had needed for a time. That was fine. He hoped Jonathan was happier now. He was too fucking old to wallow of a broken heart.
He wallowed for another three weeks. Then, out of the blue, his phone rang.
It wasn't Jonathan, just like it hadn't been Jonathan anytime in the last month-and-a-half. It was Mike, who gave a cheerful, "Eyy! How's it going?"
David had managed to hide the worst of his moping from Mike, thank god. He had mostly managed it by claiming he was songwriting. He always got a little in his head when he was songwriting. "I think I've got something for the verse. Nearly ready to run by you, I think."
"Awesome, awesome. Anyway, I'm calling because I kinda sorta got caught by the paparazzi making out with my golf instructor."
David blinked. "You probably shouldn't make out with your golf instructor."
"That's like, the whole point of having a golf instructor," Mike scoffed. "Besides, you haven't seen this dude's shoulders. Golfer shoulders… Anyway, no big, just wanted to give you the heads up because, you know…"
"Assholes," they said together.
Mike laughed. "You got it."
"So," David asked. "Is this a serious enough thing that I need to break out the shovel and have a talk?"
"God no, I just want to grind up on him so hard he comes in his pants in public." Mike paused. "I don't know, maybe someday. I'll let you know how the taste of the bad side of fame goes. He makes it through that, maybe it's time for a talk."
David smiled at his phone. That was practically ring-level commitment, coming from Mike. He hoped it worked out for him this time. "Sounds like a plan. Call if you need anything."
"Will do."
David put his phone down, and it buzzed. He rolled his eyes. Mike had probably sent David a link to whatever trash rag had picked him up for a gossipy article, with his own snarky commentary attached. Mike had responded to shame by having none.
He looked at the phone, and then yelped. Audibly yelped. Embarrassing.
But it was Jonathan. David stared at his phone, a complicated, miserable feeling twisting in his gut. He almost didn't answer it. Bastard had dropped him to go live his fancy new gay life! He didn't need David, well, then David didn't need him!
David had, fortunately, matured somewhat since the age of eight, when he had friend-broken-up with someone because they ate lunch with someone else one time. He braced himself and pulled open the message.
Saw the news, you okay?
David furrowed his brow. What was Jonathan even—no. He didn't have time for this. He called Jonathan.
"Uh, hi?" Jonathan sounded hesitant, as well he should, the jerk.
"What happened now?" David asked, tired. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh no," Jonathan said, sounding small. "I shouldn't…I shouldn't be the one to tell you. No. But, uh—"
"Please, don't make me look it up. I can just see myself spending eight hours trolling through every website, wondering with each new article if this is what you're on about."
"Yeah," Jonathan said, and it sounded like he was wincing. "Okay, look"—there was a rustle as Jonathan pulled his phone away from his ear—"I've sent you a link," he said, his voice back loud. "Maybe don't look at it yourself. Maybe send it to Nicole? Something. I don't know. Sorry."
While Jonathan was still talking, David put him on speakerphone and clicked the link. He was treated to a full-screen shot of Mike pressing a gorgeous silver fox of a man up against a tree.
"Oh, lord, I did not need to see that," David said.
"No," Jonathan said, sounding miserable. "I told you not to click on it."
"What is his hand even doing? I don't—I don't want to know," David decided.
"Are…are you okay?" Jonathan asked hesitantly.
David rolled his eyes. Then he stopped, and remembered that Jonathan was only a little over a month into being an out gay guy. This sort of exposure hadn't had time to lose its terror, yet.
"Don't worry about it," David said, trying to sound reassuring. "This sort of thing gets less scary as time goes on." David manfully managed to keep from adding, which you would know if you had talked to me. Instead, he just threw in, "Besides, Mike's been lonely lately. Maybe the guy will work out and it'll be good for him."
Jonathan made a slightly strangled noise. "I, uh, should go."
David should have just let Jonathan off the phone with dignity. But he couldn't help himself. "No, please," he begged. "I've missed you, it's good talking."
There was a pause, and for a moment David hoped that he had hooked Jonathan again. But Jonathan just said, "No, I need to go. But I miss you too, and I promise, we will talk again really soon. Okay?"
Better than nothing. "Okay," he said, trying not to sound too disappointed. He went to the kitchen, deciding to throw something nicer together for dinner, trying to get his mind off the whole thing. Maybe Nicks would come over. They'd been meaning to have a classic movie marathon sometime.
He was fifty minutes into slow-roasting a massive squash when his doorbell rang. This was a significant surprise, considering he hadn't actually called Nicole yet. Maybe his daughter had developed psychic powers. More likely, it was a delivery. He went to answer the door.
It was not a delivery. It was a Jonathan.
"I…thought you were in Los Angeles," David said slowly.
"I was," Jonathan affirmed. "I, uh, might have broken some traffic laws in my rush to get here."
"Uh-huh," David nodded blankly. He blinked, staring past Jonathan out to the yard—the patch of grass was normal, the privacy fence was normal, the decorative house gnome that Nicole had bought as a joke gift and David unironically loved was normal. He looked back at Jonathan, still there, still decidedly not-normal. "Why are you here?"
Jonathan looked sheepish. "Well, we were on the phone, and I realized I really, really didn't want to get this next question wrong, or misunderstand anything, or anything like that."
David felt like screaming. Didn't want to misunderstand anything, hm? Maybe you should have thought about that before you dropped me entirely. He didn't say that, though, or scream, he just said, crisply, "And what's the question?"
"Did you and Mike get back together?" Jonathan asked, his eyes big and searching.
David wondered if Jonathan had hit his head on something. "What? Uh, no? Should I have read further down that article? Is that what they're saying?"
"You were kissing!" Jonathan blurted out. "You were on stage, and god, having sex would have been less intimate than what you pulled with that solo, and you were kissing."
"Oh," David blinked, as a cascade of realizations crashed down on him. "Oh, god, you thought—"
"I was too late," Jonathan continued. "I couldn't get my shit together fast enough, and that's fine, I didn't expect you to wait for me. I was working on it, though, it was just…something I needed to do for myself. I couldn't make it come together before the concert, and I saw you two and figured…You and Mike deserve happiness. It's the perfect ending to the story and…"
"Oh my fucking god," David said, rubbing his temples. "That's why you dropped me."
"I was giving you space to reconnect with your long-lost love! I didn't drop you!" Jonathan sounded so indignant it almost countered for how ridiculous he was being.
"My long-lost—no, Mike is not my long-lost anything. He's my rhythm guitarist! We see each other all the time! I'm not—pining after him, or anything."
"I know your story, though," Jonathan said, his shoulders slumping. "You didn't break up because you didn't like each other."
"Ah, we would have broken up sooner or later. I love Mike, but he was never going to be my endgame. We need different things." David hoped he had gotten his point across, but just to really make sure, he reiterated, "What was onstage was a performance. We wanted to get the crowd riled up, get the money flowing, and piss off some homophobic people. That's it."
Jonathan rocked back on his heels, licking his lips. "Okay," he said quietly. He didn't say anything else, like he wasn't sure what his next move was.
David took a breath, "But you weren't as far off as you might have been. He did ask if I wanted to fool around after the show."
"Oh?" Jonathan said, and David hoped he was a better actor when he was getting paid, because his studied nonchalance was not convincing.
"Yeah," David said. "And I considered it. But then, I couldn't help but remember the last time I had company after a show. It was a really nice time. And I realized, well, I'm sorta hung up on that guy."
"That's—it uh, might be a good thing," Jonathan said, starting to unfurl from his protective hunch. "I heard the guy is pretty hung up on you too."
"I thought he might be," David said, lifting his chin with a bit of rocker swagger. "But we had a deal, I wasn't going to make a play unless he decided to come out."
"I heard he came out recently," Jonathan said. "It's been in the news. Have you, ah, thought about making that play?"
David took a breath, and decided to be brave. "I have." He looked Jonathan in the eye, and said, "If you want me, I'm yours."
"Oh, god," Jonathan groaned, swaying a little.
David pressed on, finding it easier to say the rest now that the first was out there, "I've been hung up on you since we met. I like you, so fucking much. I'm still not cool being anybody's secret, so if you're not ready, I'll give you the time you need. I'll even promise to wait for you, if you promise to really work toward the two of us, together. I want—"
Jonathan kissed him. He had been talking, and then Jonathan's arms were around him, Jonathan's lips were on his, and David groaned as he was wrapped up by the touch. It was as good as he'd remembered.
There was still a momentary flutter of concern, they were still outside, the privacy fence was good, but there were certain angles—no. No Jonathan knew, Jonathan knew better than David did, how to keep a secret. This was a choice. This was the answer. David tightened his arms around Jonathan and threw himself into the kiss.
"No," Jonathan said when he pulled back, answering with words the same question he had already answered with action. "No more waiting. I want you, I want this. I'll let my PR person know to start drafting a statement." And then the doofus actually started reaching for his phone.
David reached forward, and laid a hand on Jonthan's arm. "Later. Right now, there's really only one thing I want to know."
"What?" Jonathan asked. "Anything."
"Do you want to come in?" David asked, stepping back from the door and gesturing Jonathan inside. Jonathan laughed and entered.
David waited until the door was safely closed, and then pivoted and shoved Jonathan up against the nearest wall, kissing him hard and fast, like he'd wanted to for months. Jonathan was right there, completely eager, melting under David's touch.
"Can I fuck you?" David asked when he finally broke off their hungry kiss. He didn't wait for an answer before he continued his kisses down the line of Jonathan's neck. "Can I mark you?" he asked against Jonathan's collarbone.
Jonathan groaned. "Yes. Yes to all of it. Fuck, just—if you mark above the shirtline there's every chance it'll wind up front page news."
David pulled back, laying his hand along Jonathan's throat. He didn't choke, just...suggested, with his grip, that he could. He stroked his fingers down the side of Jonathan's neck. "Should I avoid that?"
Jonathan shuddered, and then after a moment said, "No."
David felt a private triumph rise in him. He had known, all those months ago, that Jonathan wanted to be claimed. "Ask for it," he ordered, playing his fingers along Jonathan's throat.
"Please," Jonathan said, listing back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, submitting to David's hold on his throat. "Tell the world you want me."
"I'll tell the world I have you," David growled, and dropped his hand, replacing it with his mouth. He sealed his lips around the skin of Jonthan's neck, worrying at it in the way he was so careful not to before.
David kissed the skin until it was hot and tender, until all he could taste was Jonathan, until Jonathan was trembling under his touch. "David," Jonathan whimpered. "David, David," he babbled reverently. David could feel the press of Jonathan's erection against his hip.
David pulled off Jonathan's neck and ran his finger along the already-darkened skin there. He threw up an apology to whatever makeup department had to work with Jonathan next. It didn't really come close to matching the possessive pride he felt, though. Mine.
"Please," Jonathan moaned, and rocked against David again, his big cock straining at the front of his jeans. There was about fifteen different conversations they should have, but fuck it, Jonathan was here and David had missed touching him. They could talk later.
"I'm going to go get the lube," David said. He gestured toward the living room, the first room off the entryway. "Make yourself comfy?"
David hustled to the bedroom and came back with the lube and condoms (he figured he should probably make good decisions while he still had the willpower to do so). He expected to find Jonathan sprawled out on one of the couches. Instead, Jonathan was in the middle of stepping out of his jeans and boxers, his shirt already tossed on the couch.
"Your enthusiasm for getting naked does not get old," David informed him, as he pressed up behind Jonathan, running his hands from Jonathan's powerful thighs to his ridiculous abs. He carefully avoided Jonathan's erection, liking too much the way Jonathan twitched with desire whenever he got close to his cock.
"You like me naked," Jonathan said, and fuck right David did.
"How do you like me?" David asked, as he trailed his hand up to pinch at Jonathan's nipple.
"Inside me," Jonathan answered, and, hoo, that had not been the answer David had expected but he was on board with it.
He didn't bother stripping, just bent Jonathan over the side of the couch and unzipped his jeans, starting to pull his cock out. He paused, looking at the scene. It was…
David knew he really liked Jonathan. In a long-term, want to have you in my life sort of way. In a rapidly-turning-into-love sort of way. In a very respectful sort of way.
Right now, though, he felt very disrespectful. He was thrumming with excitement at the sight of chiseled, gorgeous, naked Jonathan bent over and waiting for him. David nearly purred with satisfaction as he parted Jonathan's asscheeks. "Beautiful," he said, as he used his thumb to slick lube into that tight rim of muscle.
"Please," Jonathan said, spreading his feet a little wider.
David was never going to refuse an invitation like that. He slid the condom on and pressed in, slow and steady until he was buried in Jonathan's gorgeous heat. "Okay?" he asked, smoothing his palm over the ridges of Jonathan's spine.
Jonathan clenched around him. "Move, damn you," he bit out, pushing himself deeper on David's cock.
David could take a hint. He fucked Jonathan hard, his hips driving Jonathan against the couch. It wasn't a gentle fuck, there was too much pent-up energy. It was a release, the longing and hurt and grief of the last few months finally finding an outlet. It was hope and a promise, that they fit together, and there was more to come.
Jonathan got his hands braced against the couch cushions and started pushing back. It was good when they connected, but they kept losing the rhythm and slowing down again. David growled in frustration and reached forward, grabbing at Jonathan's arms and tugging them back.
Jonathan resisted for a second, but then he let David take his arms away, his face and shoulders pressed against the couch cushion, and his ass even higher in the air. David led Jonathan's hands back, until they crossed at the small of his back. David wrapped the fingers of one hand around the wrist of the other.
"Hold for me," he ordered.
"Fuck," Jonathan whined, and gripped his wrist hard. He shifted, spreading his legs still wider, open and beautiful for David.
"Good," David said, smoothing his hand down Jonathan's ribs. "Hold on," he said mildly, then gripped Jonathan's hips and started fucking again.
David built back up to the fast pace, and then took them even faster. He hammered into Jonathan, every thrust shoving Jonathan's cheek against the couch cushion, and his hips against the armrest. It was a pure power fantasy, Jonathan surrendering everything to David's lead, and god it was perfect. Fucking perfect. David came with a rush, burying himself deep in Jonathan, gasping and tensing as pleasure rolled through him.
"Yes," Jonathan said, pressing back. "Please, can I…?
"Yeah," David said, not sure what Jonathan was asking for, but certain that right now he wanted to give this man anything, everything he wanted.
Jonathan unclasped his hands and pushed himself up. He started pumping his cock, grabbing blindly ahead with his other hand until he found his shirt. He dragged the fabric over and with a few more frantic thrusts, was coming.
The clenching around David's cock was almost too much, and he shuddered, overstimulated. "God, Jonathan, god…"
The condom contained most of the mess when David finally pulled out. Another point in the favor of responsibility. "Bathroom," he declared, dragging the stumbling Jonathan over to the nearest bathroom. He ran the sink until it was warm, then used a towel to clean the both of them off. It was a nice feeling, domestic, the way Jonathan laughed softly and cuddled up against David while he worked.
"I think I'm going to need to borrow your washing machine," Jonathan said ruefully, staring at his come-covered shirt.
"You'd probably rip the seams out of any shirt of mine you borrowed," David replied with a laugh. "Hope you're okay lounging around shirtless."
"I'm considering lounging around naked." Jonathan threw David a playful grin. He tugged at the waistband of David's jeans, still unbuttoned. "Any chance I can convince you to do the same?"
"I like the way you think," David said, obligingly stripping. "Since you're going to be around through the laundry cycle, want to stay for dinner? I'm—" David had a moment of panic before he remembered that the giant squash would be very hard to burn. "—roasting a squash," he finished, a moment later.
Jonathan didn't answer right away. He caught David's hands and said, low and intent, "Ask me again."
David cocked his head. "Do you want to stay for dinner?"
"Ask me again what you asked me in the hotel bathroom," Jonathan clarified, squeezing David's hands. "Please, ask me again."
Understanding flooded David. He reached around and gripped the back of Jonathan's neck. "Hey handsome? Want to stay tonight?"
"Yes," Jonathan said in a rush. "Yes, I—it almost killed me, walking away from you that night. I wanted, so badly, to tuck myself in next to you."
"I wanted you there," David said, remembering the ache of waking up alone. "I want you here. I want to wake up with you. I want to learn how you like your coffee and argue over the best way to cook bacon, all that shit. I want you around, in my space, in my life."
David's stomach twisted after that declaration, a sour fear prickling along his skin. He had been left behind, more than once, for wanting too much, too soon. What if Jonathan—?
"Good," Jonathan said, sounding relieved and happy. "I want it too. All of it," he promised and reached for David's waist. He reeled David in and kissed him, soundly, deeply, chasing all the fear away.
Jonathan was always beautiful, but there was something particularly lovely about him in the soft morning light. He was lounging on one elbow, hovering above David, occasionally dipping down to give a kiss to David's nose, his collar, his temple.
"Hey…" Jonathan blushed, and hesitated before he said anything else. After a moment, he continued, "Can I take a picture? Of us?"
"Yeah," David said, ruefully bringing a hand to his hair. It was probably a mess.
He noticed the way Jonathan's hand shook slightly as he raised his phone, pointing it at the two of them. David realized that this might be the first time Jonathan felt safe enough in a relationship to dare to take a photograph. The accompanying wave of emotion banished his grumpy worries about what his hair looked like, and he cuddled up next to Jonathan and smiled.
The picture was a good one. The golden morning light was kind to them both, softening any harsh lines or deep shadows. The sheet dipped across their torsos, showing off the scattering of love-bites they had left across each other's chest. They looked contented, unashamed, and so fucking happy David wanted to cry.
"I'll send it to you," Jonathan said.
A moment later, David's phone dinged and he felt a surge of joy all over again, just seeing the picture a second time. He fiddled with his phone for a moment, then held up the picture, showing Jonathan. "Okay?"
Jonathan gave a half-smile. "Yeah, okay." His smile twisted down after a second, and he threw David a worried look. "Is she going to want to kill me?"
David rolled his eyes. "Nicole loves you. Between the two of us, I'll probably get the shovel talk." David gave Jonathan's shoulder a reassuring kiss and pressed send.
The picture sped along its way to Nicole, along with the accompanying message:
Looks like we're going to need that dating a gay superstar PR plan after all