Chapter Text
Waking up the next day was different. For a start, it was still morning. A massive achievement for John, if he was honest. The second thing he noticed was that he was sore. Everywhere. His lower back, his hips, his thigh muscles. It felt like he had one giant bruise all over his body. He could manage though. It reminded him of Smitty. Every ache prompted his brain to conjure up a slideshow of the younger fucking him open with his perfect fingers. Bending him over and railing him. Choking him.
Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about this. Scratch that, he definitely should not be thinking about that.
Smitty was still beside him, his mouth delicately parted and exhaling these soft sighs every other breath. He looked so cute. John desperately wanted to reach out and touch his pale skin. He needed to feel the smooth expanse of his chest, the rivets of his collarbones, grip his shoulders.
It was strange. Of course he had had feelings for other people he slept with, overwhelming feelings sometimes. But, this time he was obsessed. He’d perhaps been crushing on his best friend for years, but now? Now he truly and desperately ached for him. And now they were connected, physically and emotionally. Their newfound intimacy had opened up this entire new world of consciousness for John. He was so consumed by both peace and hunger. Both completely satisfied while also constantly needing more. Being around the younger was dizzying. There was this sense of calm and contentment that he felt. He felt the most ‘himself’ he’d ever felt, not needing to change any aspect of himself to make him seem more palatable. But there was also this incomprehensible noise of lust and need.
Damn. Smitty had a powerful dick. And the sex really was awesome too. They’d only been together twice, three times if you count Boston, and already they seemed to be perfectly in sync. Knew every corner of each other’s bodies and how to navigate them. And there was only more to explore, which John couldn’t explain how excited that fact made him.
John tentatively reached out and stroked a hand through Smitty’s dark hair. It was soft, but John already knew that since he’d done nothing but touch every inch of the boy since he’d got here. He wondered how he’d gone nearly ten years without touching him like this.
Slowly, the Canadian began to stir from his sleep, blearily opening his eyes a few times before settling on the man in his bed. He smiled tiredly as soon as he realised he was awake, reaching out a hand to ghost his fingers against John’s cheek. A subtle way to say ‘good morning’ as he battled his desire to go back to sleep. He knew he shouldn’t though, as they were travelling to Toronto today and he wanted to make a start on the two-hour journey.
After a few blissful moments relishing in the peaceful sanctuary of the bed together, both boys decided to get up and start their busy day.
Smitty had a full length mirror on one wall of his bedroom which caught John’s eye. The marks that adorned his pale skin were everywhere, ranging from purple hickeys to red handprints. Smitty was similar, minus the fingerprints on his neck. “Woah,” John murmured in awe, “we went a bit crazy,”
“Sorry,” Smitty bashfully apologised, madly blushing at the state of them both. “Just can’t help myself,” his voice was sultry and smooth as honey. “When I’m around you I lose control,”
That flustered John. Not just because of the way the brunet said it or the dirty implication, but also because the thought of someone actually finding him attractive, worthy of their attention and wanting to be around him, was quite foreign to him. Of course, if you saw him from the outside it seemed as though he oozed confidence. He’d been with countless men and women, but in all honesty he never felt wanted. Truly desired, inside and out. Struggling with insecurity made him latch on to unhealthy coping mechanisms; first it was food, then nicotine, before finally discovering his addition to pain. He’d dabbled with physical self-harm in high school, but quickly realised that was not an outlet to be abused. Instead, he decided to fill himself with tiny holes and metal, and that became both his identity and way to cope with not liking himself. His self expression was important to him now, especially since experimenting with sewing his own clothes.
After making sure Octavia was settled at her babysitter’s house, along with her favourite treats, toys, and emotional support blanket, the two boys started off on their trek to Toronto. It wasn’t that bad of a drive, just lots of boring bits of open road. Jaren used to love driving him and his high school friends to Toronto. He’d made lots of great memories in that city that he was excited to share with his best friend.
“Why did we wait so long to do this?” the brunet commented offhandedly, eyes dreamily transfixed on the man driving.
“What? You visiting Canada or us being gay for each other?” Smitty snarkily replied, looking over at the other man. His right hand was resting on John’s thigh, idly stroking his thumb against the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t even really remember how it got there. The elder let out a hearty laugh, the real one that Smitty could never tire of hearing. “Both,” he replied, resting his hand on top of the younger’s, letting their fingers mingle for a moment before picking their hands up and placing them on his junk. “John!” Smitty yelled, looking over with a shocked expression for a split second before returning his eyes to the road. “You cannot seriously be horny right now,” he mumbled, shaking his head slightly but not bothering to move his hand away just yet. John wasn’t even hard but if he continued then they’d soon both have a problem. “I’m always fucking horny,” the elder laughed, “especially around you,” he smirked, bucking his hips up against the younger’s hand.
“John, stop,” Smitty warned, feeling his jeans becoming tighter. “Why?” the brunet mused, stupidly cocky as always. Holding Smitty’s hand hostage, he rolled his hips again, letting out a tiny moan just to see the younger’s reaction. “John- I fucking mean it,” the Canadian breathed shakily, “or I’m gonna have to pull over and make sure you can’t fucking walk for the rest of this trip,” he managed to grit out. “You know that’s not much of a punishment, right?” The elder giggled but relented, releasing his grip on the other’s hand. The Canadian hesitated before returning his hand to the brunet’s leg, as far away from his dick as possible. He craved the intimate touch but needed to focus on driving, not getting hard.
“You’re such a dickhead, you know that?” Smitty sighed. “You love it,” the elder smirked. “I’m not so sure I do,” he huffed, sneaking a glance over at the man beside him. The grin that crept onto his face told a different story though. He couldn’t help but smile every time he looked down and saw his green nails gripping the steering wheel.
The drive after that was pretty boring, but the kind of boring that makes you realise how much you’d miss it if it wasn’t there. John was in charge of the music and would go on tangents about this genre or that album and how Anthony Fantano was wrong to give so-and-so a measly 7.3 when they really deserved an 8.6. Smitty could only smile and nod, adding a supportive word here and there. Truthfully, he really didn’t care. But he cared so so deeply for the man sat beside him that he wanted to listen and take in every word. He knew that John felt the same about him, god knows the amount of times Jaren has ranted about his stupid hockey team to the elder. And he always nodded and smiled. It was so so easy to be around each other. There was no pressure, no need for small talk or awkward niceties. No hiding. It was always just them, the most authentic versions of themselves. Truthfully, he was the happiest he’s ever been.
Finally arriving at their hotel, the two boys grabbed their bags and headed inside.
“Do you think they were judging us for only booking one bed?” the Canadian sheepishly asked as he set his pristine duffel bag down in their room. John scoffed and rolled his eyes at the brunet’s nervousness. “I’m sure they forgot about the entire interaction as soon as we turned the corner,” he comforted. He completely understood why the younger man was anxious for others to perceive him as gay, but still, he couldn’t help the little pang of hurt that dug deep into his heart at Jaren’s shame. Like their newfound relationship, their feelings, was something dirty and disgusting. John knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t help the creeping feeling of self-doubt, questioning whether Smitty was more ashamed of being gay or being seen with him. John knew that he wasn’t exactly the model image of a ‘bring him back to your parents’ boyfriend, but he hoped that he wasn’t too off-putting to imagine a future with.
John recognised the shame though. He’d felt the same way about himself for much of his teenage years. Which was one of the reason he’d turned to the piercings and tattoos. Yes, they made people look at him funny. But at the same time, he’d found a version of himself that he could actually stand to look at in the mirror. He felt cool. Unique. Worthy. And that’s what made him comfortable enough to accept and own his sexuality and overall weirdness. He just hoped that Smitty could also learn to accept whatever was going on inside his head.
Deciding to distract the younger from his inner conflict, John approached the brunet, placing his hands on his hips. He slyly began kissing the sides of his exposed neck. Licking the delicate skin just below his ear lobe, taking the skin in between his sharp teeth. The younger sighed, reaching behind him to put a hand into the brunet’s hair, pulling ever so slightly. They each craved each other’s lips and Jaren spun around, smashing their faces together unceremoniously.
John pressed Jaren up against the wall and they kissed like they had been away from each other for weeks, even though it had only been maybe an hour or so since they’d last felt each other’s lips. The thrilling feeling of being in a hotel, somewhere new and exciting, made them go feral. It was almost like they had been transported back in time to that night in Boston, although everything was much different now.
They kissed for a few minutes, alternating between soft open-mouths and passionate tongues. They must’ve shared hundreds of kisses by now but somehow it never seemed to grow old. It also never failed to excite the both of them.
Smitty piped up “I had an idea,”, his eyes wide and bright. He casually walked them over to the bed, forcing the American to sit on the edge. John looked up at him, a bit puzzled, and went to stand up. But a firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back and told him to stay, and the Canadian in front of him graciously took his chin with his fingers, aiming their lips together tenderly. John immediately melted into the man and his touch, the gentle yet firm grip of his hand and soft, luscious lips. The younger pulled away much too soon and John opened his eyes, meeting with Jaren’s crotch. He (not so subtly) licked his lips in anticipation and looked up into the man’s face excitedly. However, he was blindsided by the brunet dropping to his knees on the grey carpeted floor.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned through gritted teeth. His best friend on his knees in front of him was possibly the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Immediately all the blood in his body rushed downwards. Smitty looked up at him from his seat on the floor, slowly moving his hand up one of the American’s thighs. Annoyingly they were still fully clothed. “Is this alright?” he asked while palming John’s half-hard cock through his jeans. “F-fuck. Of course it’s fucking alright Smit,” the brunet stuttered, shooting the man a look like he couldn’t believe he even needed to ask that question. “Been thinking about this since the car,” Smitty spoke with a low tone, his voice laced with a smirk. “Thought about getting in the room and just bending you over right there. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” John moaned and nodded his head desperately, his erection painfully straining against the denim of his pants. “But then I thought about playing with you first,” he flicked the button of John’s jeans open, delving into his boxers to delicately touch the man’s hot flesh with just his fingers.
“Fuck J,” the American whined, balling the sheets underneath him in his fists, “don’t…say shit like that,”. His cheeks were already flushed and his breathing was laboured. Smitty relished in making him feel this way. It made him feel powerful. The elder was like putty in his hands, waiting to be touched and moulded.
“What? I can’t say I wanna play with your pretty lil cock?” Smitty purred, gliding over the sensitive head of the man’s cock with the pads of his fingers. John moaned loudly in response, unsure if the younger’s dirty words or his actions were more to blame. Suddenly his hands were gone and the elder nearly cried at the loss of sensation. He opened his eyes to see the Canadian dragging his jeans and boxers down together. Jaren couldn’t help the noise he made when the other man’s hard cock sprung out of the fabric, ready and waiting for more. He never got tired of seeing him naked. It was just so beautiful, a master class in human perfection.
He reached out a curious hand, absolutely mesmerised. His grip was so gentle as he wrapped one hand around the base while lightly dancing up and down the solid member with his fingers. John whined and he couldn’t help twitching in both pleasure and desire for more. “God, I need you baby,”
“I wanna blow you,” the younger murmured, mimicking John’s words back in Boston. Everything seemed to go back to that one night. That was the moment that had forever altered the two men’s lives.
The American eyes widened in surprise but, like Jaren did back then, gave in immediately, moaning and nodding desperately. He couldn’t even manage a single coherent syllable, he just needed the other man.
Smitty delicately took John into his hand, admiring the hot, hard member. This was the first time he’d truly been up close and very personal like this. He had a penis staring right at him. His best friend’s nonetheless. For a few moments, he just sat and admired it. Pink, slender, and pretty, just like John. He held him in his hand for what felt like forever, trying to muster up the courage to move his mouth downwards.
The American had his eyes closed, focused on the hand gripping the base of his cock, but there was no other movement. He was confused, until he remembered that Smitty had never given a guy head before. He was probably shit-scared, not knowing what to do or where to start. “Hey, you don’t have to- ah!” he began but his sentence was cut off as the brunet at his feet suddenly lurched forward and shoved the head of his cock in his mouth. The wet, warm heaven that met him sucked all the air out of his lungs, leaving him gasping as the Canadian tentatively suckled and licked around the sensitive skin. John’s hand instinctively came to cradle the side of Smitty’s head. This made the brunet look up into the man’s face, intense and determined. He maintained eye contact as he hesitantly slid further down, stopping around halfway as a gag ripped through his body. It was heavenly to watch. John thought he might not last another second with Jaren looking at him, his eyes brimming with tears, and his tongue working his head.
The whole situation was rather…bizarre for the Canadian. The feeling of hard, hot flesh in his mouth was so foreign, yet, it was quite moreish. He’d wrapped one hand around the base of John’s member, while he paid more attention to the sensitive tip. He could only manage to slide halfway down before gagging, so he kept those moves to a minimum. He was desperately trying to remember all the little tricks that he enjoyed while receiving head and attempted to copy them. Tracing the thick veins, teasing the slit, lapping his tongue underneath the head. Whatever he was doing, John seemed to be enjoying it. His mouth was seemingly stuck partially open, moaning and panting “fuck,” every other breath.
“‘s good,” the elder managed to squeeze past his vocal cords, “you’re so good,”. That spurred the Canadian on, and he began to twist the hand gripping the rest of the man while his mouth and tongue were focused on the tip. He looked down and noticed the sinful combination of the green of his nails against the pink flesh. Sliding his hand up and down while his tongue played with the head of John’s cock was difficult, but god was it hot seeing the man above him fall apart. And John was doing exactly that. The ecstasy flowing through him was so intense that he had to comb his fingers through the brunet’s hair and hold on for dear life, almost as if his soul was trying to leap out of his body and ascend straight to heaven, and he needed to hold on to something to stay on the ground.
“I’m close baby, jus…keep going,” John panted, his hips slightly bucking up into the other man in excitement. Stars were beginning to cross his vision and his mind was blank, every fibre of his being concentrated wholly on the feeling of Jaren. The warmth of his mouth, the softness of his tongue against his flesh. It was intoxicating. He was convinced nothing felt better than this. Except maybe when Smitty ran his fingertips down his spine when they kissed. Or when he tugged at his hair when he’s railing him from behind. Or when they fall asleep tangled in one another. He was starting to see the common denominator here.
Smitty’s right hand began to pick up a quicker pace, desperate to fulfil his duty of getting the elder off. It was so strange to feel this way while he had someone else’s dick in his hand. And mouth. He felt an intense and overwhelming need to please the man above him, no matter what. He diligently sucked and stroked John, gazing up into his eyes.
There was only a few more seconds of movement before everything came to a standstill, and Smitty felt the odd sensation of warm liquid across his tongue and down his throat. He quickly swallowed his best friend’s load, making sure to lick every drop from around the head. The taste definitely wasn’t Michelin star quality or anything, but he felt like it was the polite thing to do. John let out a series of low moans as Smitty continued to lap at his sensitive flesh. When the Canadian finally stopped tongue fucking his cock, John pulled him up by his hair into a sloppy kiss, the salty taste of himself driving him even more crazy.
“You are amazing,” the American complimented while holding the brunet’s face in his hands, his voice low and soft while he took in the perfection in front of him. He couldn’t believe this was his life now. Spending each day loving and being loved by his best friend of however many years. The one he’s been a tiny bit secretly in love with. The one who is so annoying, beautiful, funny. His fantasies were truly coming to life, and in fact, this was better than anything he ever could’ve dreamed up.
The rest of the day consisted of regular touristy bullshit, walking around and ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the random pretty buildings, statues, or plants that they encountered. Smitty took tons of pictures of anything that was slightly interesting or nice looking, a secret little hobby of his. So yes, that meant a lot of his camera roll now consisted of John. John walking, John sitting, John laughing. The man was just so intriguing and pretty. He embodied a certain sense of beauty and uniqueness that made him a very good subject for his photos. It was a raw sense of being that seemed to brew underneath the American’s skin. He didn’t need to try very hard, or at all, really. He just was.
As they walked down a random street a particular storefront met John’s eye. The black exterior stuck out against the pale white brick that hugged it, and the large window was filled with plants and artsy, industrial lights. A classic tattoo shop. Smitty saw the way stars were dancing in John’s eyes, his mind racing at the thought of stepping inside. Reading his mind, “should we?” John grinned with an air of mischief as he had already started to pull them towards the shop. “What would you even get? You already have literally everything pierced!…the younger protested, flinging his arms up exasperated, “except your dick,” he joked. Not that he objected to the piercings. In fact he fucking loved them on the other man. They didn’t even feel foreign anymore, just an extension of him. You could tell him that the American was born with them and he wouldn’t disagree. But the fact remained that he had almost everything possible.
John only smirked at his comment. “No…no! No! You’re not piercing your dick. Please. No. I can’t deal with that. You’re not showing your penis to some random girl or…guy in there,” Smitty pleaded. He knew John was joking. But was he? A surprise cock piercing was so completely within the realm of insane that this crazy bastard inhabited. “Oooo someone’s jealous!” the brunet tutted in a stupid sing song voice, reaching for the door handle, “it’s not like it’s your dick,”.
And Smitty famously had a knack for perfect timing because before he knew it he was blurting out “but I love your dick so much,” just as John opened the door to the tattoo shop, much to the confusion of the receptionist. His face must’ve looked like he’d been in a major beet juice related accident, as he flushed bright red from head to toe, hanging his head in shame and embarrassment. The American was trying so hard to stifle his laughter as he approached the bewildered receptionist. “Hi there! I was just wondering if you had any walk-in piercing appointments available?” his smile radiated through his warm voice.
“…yep, we do, what were you looking to get today?” the receptionist smiled back, snapping back to the most professional manner possible after hearing such a shocking comment. Smitty wanted to die. “Well, the only place I really have any free real estate is my belly button,” John laughed, gesturing to his fully pierced face and ears. “Amazing,” the purple-haired woman replied, “our piercer Adam should be able to do that for ya today,”. The American grinned, thanking her and taking a seat while she gathered the paperwork. Smitty was still standing, fascinated by the walls of jewellery on display. There were so, so many, lining the wall in almost floor to ceiling clear cases. There was everything from earrings to nipple bars. Some were flashy with big, sparkling stones and others were rather plain, small and delicate.
“Are you looking to get a piercing today too?” the kind-eyed receptionist, Lilly, asked while handing John his forms to fill in. “Oh me? oh no no. No, I’m.. I’m okay, thank you,” he sputtered, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Could he be any more awkward?
He sauntered back to the blue plush couch where John was concentrating on the paperwork in front of him. “It would look good on you,” the elder spoke matter of factly to a question that hadn’t even been asked out loud. But Smitty should’ve known that he was reading his mind. “I don’t know…” he anxiously nibbled at his bottom lip. He would have never in a million years even considered getting piercing, until he met John. John had made him reconsider a lot of things.
“You’d look like Auston Mathews,” the American smirked, knowing that that was Smitty’s soft spot. He remembered once during their late night conversations the younger admitting that maybe ice hockey dudes could be slightly attractive. With their lean but muscular builds, broad shoulders, and violent tendencies. And John couldn’t argue against it. He could definitely see where the Canadian was coming from.
Smitty’s eyes lit up at that, picturing one of his favourite Leafs who sported a sleek dangly earring when he wasn’t on the ice. John could physically see the gears turning in the younger’s head, debating whether he should take the plunge or not. Obviously John thought he should. Piercings automatically made people at least 20% hotter, so Lord knows how attractive that would make the hottest man in the world.
“Would it be possible to do an ear piercing as well?” Smitty tentatively asked the receptionist, who smiled and nodded enthusiastically, fetching him the same paperwork to fill in. “I think that’ll look great on ya,” she added. The man shyly thanked her, not used to compliments from strangers, let alone cool tattoo shop receptionists.
Only a few minutes passed by before they were both called back into a room with a black massage bench in the middle. “Who’s up first?” the burly, bearded man, Adam, smiled. Smitty volunteered, figuring it would give him less time to overthink and back out. After double, triple, quadruple checking which was the ‘gay’ ear, he hopped up onto the chair and held his breath as the piercer prepared his tools. The clanking of metal and plastic being ripped was so loud, it felt like his brain was buzzing. Looking around, the room started spinning, and his body was fuzzy. Oh. That’s not great.
His mouth felt drier than the hottest desert while his armpits felt like a tsunami had washed over him. Cool, this was absolutely the best time and place to be having an anxious episode. He couldn’t help the way his eyes began darting around the room, frantically trying to focus on something, anything. They landed on the tall brunet sitting on the spare seat beside him and, for a moment, his mind relaxed. John was too busy talking with the piercer to notice the way Smitty was struggling to breathe normally, or the fact that his leg had started to bounce so viciously that he thought it might take off on its own. He tries to telepathically scream for help, which, by some miracle, his call is answered when John turns to look at him. Immediately filled with concern, the American reaches out a hand and grips Jaren’s thigh. The contact immediately serves to soothe him, further convincing Smitty of the magical properties John possesses. “You good?” John speaks lowly and calmly, careful to not overstimulate the poor guy anymore than he already was. Smitty nods, smiling weakly. “Can we get this over with please?” he begs, trying to be sarcastic but the tremble in his voice gave him away.
The piercing itself was fine. More painful than he expected, but bearable. Just. He was glad he was only doing one. It was the build up that made his heart rate spike and the feeling of sickness rush over him. The anxiety crept up his spine, making his limbs feel heavy and immovable. He didn’t remember when exactly he’d began to feel this way. Sometimes his anxiety was so horribly intense that he threw up. He’s glad he managed to get through this without chucking his breakfast up all over the place.
They switched places, John hopping up onto the plush black leather while Jaren sat down to collect himself. Adam then lowered the upper portion so that the brunet could lay down, hiking his baggy shirt up to expose his stomach. Smitty couldn’t look too closely or else he’d start noticing the faint hints of purple and pink splashed across his hips. The piercer then calmly clamped the skin above John’s belly button, expertly aligning the needle with the small purple dot of sharpie where he’d marked the perfect spot. Deep breath in, and it was done. John was casually talking and laughing without a care in the world while Jaren tried his best not to throw up. Thank god that was over.
After finishing up John’s piercing and beginning to clear down his workspace, Adam unknowingly and nonchalantly dropped a nuke in the form of an innocent question: “So how long have you two been together?”
“We’re not together,”
“About a year,”
Oh. Wow. That is extremely awkward.
Suddenly all the air was sucked out of the room. Poor Adam tried to move on, stuttering through the proper care regimes for each of the boys’ new piercings. Not that it mattered much, neither of them were listening anyway. Everything was shattered. There were a few beats of uncomfortable silence before the two men hurriedly thanked Adam for his work and left the room. They were both left to silently pay, a layer of thick tension hanging in the air, leaving Lilly very confused as to what happened while they were back there.
They both left a gracious tip and scurried out of the shop, hoping to run away from the awkwardness that hung over them like a angry storm cloud. But being outside didn’t help. Smitty’s ear stung when the cold Canadian air brushed against his fresh piercing. John looked like a puppy who’d just been kicked. “What the fuck was that…” the American breathed, mainly just to say something out loud.
How could a day change in a split second like that? A few hours ago, hell, a few minutes ago they were happy, blinded by love for each other, at least that’s what John wanted it to be, maybe it had just been lust this entire time. He didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that Smitty didn’t love him back or the fact that he’d just been using him for sex.
“I…We…” Jaren was lost for words, his brain working overtime to come up with something, anything to explain why he had said what he did. This was not a part of his plan. “This,” he waggled his finger between them to emphasise his point, “isn’t ‘together’, right?”. John’s face turned to thunder, brows furrowed and mouth agape. “Well, what the fuck would you call it?” his voice was a dagger, sharp and serious. He stared at the younger, seriously interested in what the fuck he had to say. How could even say that to his face?
“I don’t fucking know!” he exploded, his usual desire to avoid conflict at all cost abandoned. “You’re my best friend, and I’m not gay,” he couldn’t even look him in the eye, “so I don’t know what that means,” Smitty’s voice trailed off towards the end, shame seeping back into every word. “I…I can’t do this,” he felt so small. So weak. Why was this happening right now? He buried his face in his hands, looking for any way to escape the situation. His head hurt, his feet were about to give way, and his chest felt like it was on fire.
“…I wish you were a girl,”
He doesn’t really mean to say it. But he does. And God, the look on John’s face shatters every bone in his body. “Fuck. You.” Venom laces the words that John spits out at him, and with a turn of his heel, the brunet walked away, leaving the other stood right where his heart had been ripped out.
Smitty turns with a sigh, his head hung in disgust. At John, for being a man with perfection sewn into every fibre of his being. And at himself, for being so damn attracted to it.
If John were a girl, everything would be so much easier. He wouldn’t have to feel the stabbing sting of shame every time their fingers touched in public, or feel eyes looking at them like they were zoo animals. He could tell his parents he was madly, deeply in love with his soulmate and not stay up worrying about them inevitably meeting.
His chest felt unimaginably heavy as he trudged through the cold city streets. He doesn’t pay much attention to where he is or where he’s going. It doesn’t really matter. His brain is racing, and he can’t quite keep up. The pained look on John’s face has burned itself behind his eyelids, leaving him ashamed every time he blinks.
He spots an old favourite bar of his across the street and makes a beeline for it. Maybe he could drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle.
The interior is just how he remembered it; gaudy yet charming. It was the type of bar that still had one of those jukebox machines tucked away in the corner, along with a rusted dartboard and tacky cowboy decor. He slumped over the bar, immediately gaining the attention of the bartender. “Hey sugar,” she winked, bouncy ginger hair cascading onto her shoulders. “You look absolutely drained darlin’, what can I do to make that frown turn upside down,” she was obnoxiously chewing on a piece of gum while she looked at him with a mixture of pity and thinly veiled contempt. Could this bar get any more corny?
Not particularly in a sociable mood, Smitty ordered two vodka shots and a beer, whatever cheap bottle they had. A diabolical purchase for a Monday afternoon. He downed the two shots, shaking his head at the burn they left behind. Halfway through his beer, he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear and brushed against the small piece of metal he’d forgot was put there earlier that day.
Everything came rushing back. It took everything he had not to let out the sob that threatened to escape from his lungs.
John.
Perfect, incredible, unique John. The guy who’d say anything to make you laugh. The guy who was artistic, passionate, and made him feel alive. More alive and carefree than he’d ever felt before.
Fuck.
After downing another shot, he practically sprinted out the bar, heading to where he hoped the messy haired brunet would be. Along the way, he anxiously thought of his best friend wandering around a big foreign city, not knowing where to go and getting lost. How could he forgive himself if something horrible happened because he exploded like that?
Making it to the hotel, he dashed into the elevator, his foot tapping madly as it decided to purposefully take forever to close. He could’ve been halfway up the stairs by now. Sighing, he looked in the mirror behind him. His new jewellery was bright against his dark hair, the silver complimenting his eyes (or so John had said). His sage green nails stared at him, the smooth surface reminding him of John’s perfectly manicured nails. Everything traced back to him. He couldn’t deny that he had been moulded but the other man, and had been for many years. He wore things because John might think they were cool. He said things because John might laugh at them. His life was John.
He burst into the shared hotel room, his desperate look soothing for a moment as he saw the American curled up on the lone bed. There were empty food packets around him, suggesting he’d found comfort in his old friend. He looked up to see the Canadian stood there, lost. His face was slightly red, and Smitty could see the faint tear marks burned into his cheeks. Oh, god. What had he done?
Jaren stood there, stuck, his mind on a rampage. He wanted to scream at him, wanted to cry, wanted to beg for forgiveness. He couldn’t decide which. His mouth moved to speak multiple times, but he couldn’t figure out what to say or how to say it. John got up from the messy bed, coming and standing in front of the panicky man.
Smitty took a shaky breath, trying his best to gather his scattered thoughts. “You’ve ruined me John,” his face scrunched up, almost as if in physical pain. His chest heaved up and down with the intensity of his emotions. “How can I ever go back to my life, to myself, knowing I feel this way about a guy, about you?” he gestured meekly towards the man standing in front of him. “My best friend who I’ve known for like half my life at this point,” he looked away sheepishly, wringing his hands together. He was overflowing with anxiety.
“…I love you. I love you and it’s destroying me,”
He wanted to fall to his knees. What felt like a tsunami inside of him thrashed against his body, making his head numb and legs weak. He didn’t know if this degree of emotion was normal, but god, he did not want to be feeling it. Maybe years of locking his feelings in metaphorical boxes and throwing away the keys were taking it’s toll on him.
“I need you,” it came out as a whisper, his voice broken and desperate. It was strange to feel this pathetic. To be so deeply and madly in love that he felt like his life depended on the other man.
“I understand, I really really do, but I can’t do this,” John sighed, turning away slightly and bringing his fingers up to run over the crease in his forehead.
Smitty’s heart fell and shattered. He didn’t know how he was going to move on from this. They couldn’t just pretend this never happened. Maybe if they had just left it at a drunken kiss in Boston they could’ve forgotten about it, maybe they could have even joked about it once enough time had passed.
A terrifying future flashed before his eyes, of John slowly being phased out of his life. They called less and less, forced more laughs, and John’s voice painfully disappeared from his videos. His stomach churned at the mere thought of the shit-storm he’d have to deal with on videos, streams, and socials. Of course it paled in comparison to the thought of actually losing his best friend.
“I can’t do this if you won’t acknowledge me and this relationship. I’m not going to be your little fuck toy that you can come back to whenever you feel like it,” there was no malice in his voice, just calm, firmly establishing boundaries. He’s been through this shit countless times. ‘Straight’ boys had a thing for him (or did he have a thing for straight boys?).
“I’m not asking you to come out to the whole world or anything, and I completely get the pressure and stress you must be under, but you at least have to acknowledge to yourself that you like men,” John reached out to place his hand on Jaren’s face, cupping his cheek so gently. The Canadian melted into the touch, forgetting for a moment the less than lovely context of this little act of intimacy.
He wished it could be that easy. To accept this newly uncovered part of him. How do you do that? How do you admit that something you’ve been told is wrong your whole life is now suddenly something you are?
He desperately wanted to run away. To forget John exists, forget the nights they’ve spent in each others arms, ignore the times he’s been inside the other man and how good it felt. His mind latches onto the idea of finding a nice girl, getting married, having kids. A ‘normal’ life his parents would be proud of. But could he live with himself? Could he live with knowing he had been with another man, a man he had known for years, a man so integral to his life and his career and his success?
He opened his eyes, which he didn’t even remember closing in the first place, and was met with the face that was causing all of this turmoil. Looking into the dark blue eyes that he’d come to loving staring into late at night. He hung his head low, whispering, “I don’t know if I can accept this,” he looked up again, tears brimming in his eyes and a sad smile on his face “but…I would like to try?”
John’s heart sank a little. Both for realising that Jaren wasn’t in a position to accept himself and that their relationship might not last past this trip. He covered it up with a smile and raked his fingers through the man’s hair, whispering a short, “proud of you,” before kissing his forehead gently. If this was going to end he at least wanted to squeeze every last touch and kiss out of it. Selfishly he thought showering the other with affection might be the thing to change his mind. He doubted it, but a boy could dream.
They ended the confusing, painful night in bed, their bodies unusually distant. They talked about aliens, their friends, and their old selves. Smiling and laughing felt a bit different now, each trying not to let the other know that they’d felt the change in atmosphere. They both hoped it would work out, whatever way it was supposed to. John knew what he hoped would happen. Jaren wasn’t so sure.