Richie has secretly had it bad for Jon for years.
The day he worked up the courage to talk to the young, extremely cute singer of the band playing in the bar was the day that his life changed forever.
His looks were strikingly beautiful. The blue eyes were luminescent underneath all that makeup and sprayed hair. Richie had just itched to snag his fingers into that hair and haul the young man close.
The moment he first looked at Richie properly and smiled, Richie could have sworn the Earth stopped and time stood still. When his slippery-soft looking lips spread into a grin first, then split like an overly ripe fruit to reveal a heartbreaking smile, the curl of want settled in and around Richie's groin and had refused to budge since.
Richie was surprised at his own reaction to this young singer. He liked girls; women, didn't he? Absolutely! With their luscious curves, soft bodies and all manner of secrets to discover; he'd pleasured, and had been pleasured by, a wide variety of females in his later teenage years and young adult life. None had ever left his bed, or the back seat of his car, claiming to be left wanting. His reputation around town preceded him.
But to have that similar reaction to a guy? It left him confused, troubled and most definitely horny when he got home. He let himself into his parent's house late that night, after getting to know everyone over a jam session and a sneaky beer or two, and crept downstairs into his basement bedroom.
He'd moved down there a few years ago so that he didn't disturb his parents if he decided to start playing his guitar if he couldn't sleep. Well, that was the excuse he gave his parents anyway. He used it for his more personal benefit too. He'd snuck numerous girls in and out of the back door and down the stairs, all without his parent's knowledge.
He made it to his room and locked the door after stripping out of his smoky clothes and putting them into the washing machine. His mother hated the smell, so they'd come to the compromise that he'd put them in the wash as soon as he got home.
He turned on his tape player, already loaded with a mixtape that he'd put together full of his favourite chill-out songs. Laying down on his bed in the dark, his thoughts turned to the young blonde man that was now his lead singer, his boss if you will.
Seeing in his mind's eye his slim body in a pair of faded blue jeans, he wondered how soft the denim was. He pictured them both standing in front of each other and Richie's hand reaching out to feel how soft it was over his ass. He sees Jon's eyelids droop as Richie's hand caresses and smoothes over his ass cheek. Jon's tongue wets his bottom lip, his teeth biting one side. Richie imagines taking a step closer to Jon and slipping his other hand around Jon's body to cup his other cheek and draw him close.
His hand snakes down his own body while he's picturing this scene in his head and slips under the waistband of his underwear. He strokes his own penis with feather-light touches, knowing without conscious thought when to encase it and increase the pressure.
As Jon and Richie's bodies move in their own dance, Jon places his hands on top of Richie's and runs them up his arms to his shoulders, then down to his chest, holding them there to feel the racing heartbeat. He scratches his nails over the covered nipples.
Richie's second hand is imitating imaginary Jon's. His heart is beating hard and his leg muscles are tense.
As Jon's hands move down over Richie's belly, he finds the bottom edge of his t-shirt and slips his fingers underneath. Hands are splayed over warm flesh and revel in the heat before slipping to the waistband of his jeans. Richie's hands are still on Jon's ass, slipping into the back pockets holding him close, hips moving against each other.
"Kiss me, Richie," imaginary Jon asks, his fingers unbuttoning Richie's jeans, dragging the zipper down slowly. As Richie leans in and takes his first slow kiss from his lips, imaginary Jon grasps Richie's ready cock in his hand.
The combination of both kiss and firm hand send Richie into full orgasm. Imaginary Jon disappears and Richie is left with a wet hand and stomach and gasping for breath. Groaning in frustration and disappointment, he throws his free arm up and over his face, hiding in embarrassment, his other hand still grasping his own cock, sticky with spent cum.
This is a scenario that will repeat itself over and over for years.
The band's success would mean that there was always a ready and willing supply of women. Richie would date some very beautiful and very successful women, but none would last. They would always accuse him of being distracted towards the end of the relationship, but none would ever discover the reason.
Some days he would catch Jon watching him with an uncertain look in his eyes. They'd both smile a non-committal smile or nod their heads to each other before continuing on as though nothing was wrong.
They'd become best friends over the years and the media loved to do joint interviews, even though Jon did most of the talking. Some would just get Richie for the comic sidekick role. It didn't matter to Richie, though, as long as he was with Jon, he'd play the fool as required. There were a few interviewers, however, who thought they'd try and dig up some dirt and ask if they were more than friends.
Jon would deal with it in one of two ways; he'd either steer the conversation elsewhere after stating that they were like brothers or he'd laugh it off. Those were the days that hurt the most.
Richie's favourite times were the nights on stage where they'd all be riding on a euphoric high from the adrenaline coursing through their veins or a little bit of a helping hand from some pharmaceuticals. Jon would be flirting up a storm. He didn't care if it was with the guys or the fans in the front few rows.
When Jon was on a sexual high, there was no stopping him. In the early years, he'd disappear with the closest groupie, only to reappear minutes later looking for the next. Richie did also, but only for the physical release of the after-show jitters.
He'd then go back to the hotel and wash off all the stench of sweat and stale perfume, lie in bed and think about how close Jon's sexy body was to him that night. That would usually bring him the biggest orgasm of all, and he'd fall asleep immediately with his cock still in hand. If they had to leave straight after the show for the next town, he would sometimes use the onboard bathroom when everyone was sleeping, take a washcloth in with him to bite down on and muffle any cries.
On this latest leg of the tour, his yearning for Jon had become almost unbearable. Maybe it was the fact they were in Europe; they'd always enjoyed their time on the Continent; the food, the wine, the scenery, the shows. This past week Richie was feeling jittery however; he needed to do something.
When they had their day off in Italy to themselves, most of them went sightseeing. Jon was left behind as he had to finish off some paperwork, or interviews; Richie wasn't quite sure, but he needed to get out of the hotel. He was starting to go slightly stir crazy from being cooped up for too long.
After a while, Richie broke away from the group, hair hidden in his hat and sunglasses firmly in place. He wandered around the alleyways totally content with his own company for a while. He stopped and browsed through little shops, picking up trinkets here and there, thoughtful things he knew his parents and the band would like. He spent a bit of time taste-testing local produce in a market area and stopped for a coffee and people watching.
When he had had enough, he started to walk back to the hotel, lost in thought, when he felt an arm hook around his waist from behind. He spun around quickly, not knowing who his assailant was but mentally preparing for anything.
"Hey man, did I scare you?" Jon asked as Richie faced him. His mega-watt smile greeted his friend.
"Shit Jon. Yeah, a bit. I was prepared for fans or a mugging. Not you!" He scrubbed his hand over his face.
"Would you prefer if I was a girl? Or a muscle-bound thug?" Jon asked. He looked at Richie closely, his eyes shielded by his sunglasses.
"Neither actually. Just you is perfect," he replied and gave Jon a bear hug that lasted just a little bit longer than necessary.
Jon was looking mouth-watering in light denim jeans and a simple black t-shirt that fitted his upper body like a second skin. His hair, like Richie's, was mostly hidden under a well-worn baseball cap, large dark glasses hiding his blue eyes. "So how come you're out here alone?" Jon asked when they finally pulled apart.
"I dunno. I just needed some alone time, I guess. David was being a pain in the ass too." Richie shrugged. "I was just about to head back. What are you doing?"
"I was hoping to catch up with you and the guys, but I'll walk back with you. Do you mind?"
"Nah, man, but you sure you don't want to walk around with the others?"
"I'm sure," he said with one of his adorable grins.
Richie felt the butterflies take off in his stomach. "Damn it's hot out here today, isn't it?" Richie swiped at the sweat at the back of his neck.
"It's all that hair, man. You need to tie it up, maybe?"
They'd been walking toward the hotel, through all the back streets that Richie had discovered earlier. He showed Jon a couple of the shops he'd been to as they weaved their way back. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a shop that took his interest and grabbed Jon's wrist and dragged him along with him.
"Where are we going?"
"I got an idea," Richie said, not stopping in case he changed his mind. He dragged Jon into a little barbershop tucked away between two boutiques.
"Si?" said the proprietor when he heard the bell on the door.
"Haircut?" Richie mimed scissors with his fingers to the older man.
"Ahh, si, si. Sit! Leettle Eenglish," he indicated with his fingers.
Richie sat in the proffered chair and the old man placed a towel and cape around his neck.
"Oh Rich, are you sure?" Jon was dubious about this little chop shop. It was old and dark and the barber looked just as old too.
"Yeah absolutely! I've been itching for a change of something all week." Richie couldn't explain the feeling, but he knew that this place was perfect.
"I- ah- I'm not sure if I can watch this," Jon said, pacing circles behind the barber.
"Go back to the hotel. I'll see you back there soon, okay?" Richie held out his hand for Jon to give his hand a reassuring squeeze and surprising him with a kiss to the back of his hand. "It's just a haircut, Jon. It'll grow back."
"Don't fuck it up, okay? We have a show tomorrow. It ain't gonna grow that quick!" Jon threw up his hands in defeat and left the shop.
As Jon walked out the door, Richie watched him leave in the mirror appreciating his rearview and thanking every god imaginable that the barber's cape was hiding his lap.
"Aah, handsome," the barber said to Richie, indicating to Jon then to Richie, "both! You couple?"
"Yes, he's very handsome, but no, not a couple," Richie answered a bit sadly.
"Aaahh, you like, si?"
"Yes, si, I do. I like him a lot."
"You tell! You tell him! Amoré- love! Si?"
Richie just looked at the barber in the mirror, wondering who else could see it so clearly.
"I give haircut. I make irresistible, eh?"
The barber went to work, washing and cutting Richie's hair and with a lot of hand signals and badly spoken Italian and English before Richie walked out of the barbershop a very happy man.
Despite the gentleman's age, he had given Richie the sexiest haircut. It was the shortest his hair had been in decades, but the ends were flicked out and around his face. It made his face look long and lean.
Richie tipped him handsomely and hugged him in gratitude for his time and friendship. Richie felt in top of the world and couldn't wait to show everyone, especially Jon. He reluctantly put his hat back on and set off to the hotel.
He arrived back about an hour after everyone else. David had texted Richie to say that they were in Jon's suite for an impromptu band meeting. When he walked into the suite, they were all there. Tico was enjoying a cigarette, sitting in the sun on the balcony; David had taken the sofa, feet up and reading an American newspaper. Jon was pacing, anxiously waiting for Richie.
Jon was standing near the balcony door talking to Tico when he heard the door open. He hung his head in case the worst had happened. He was dreading the short back and sides he was imagining that Richie had ended up with. He was sure that his friend would be regretting his decision.
But as soon as he heard David whistle, low and long, he started to turn. "Holy fuck, Richie! That looks outstanding!" David exclaimed.
He and Tico both moved to walk around Richie, admiring his hair from all angles.
Tico clapped Richie on the back and with a gravelly, "Well done!" he gave his approval.
Jon turned fully to see his best friend. He was rooted to the spot, taking in the vision before him. Tico had pushed past him and he didn't even register it.
The goofy, loveable Richie that was his Richie was gone, and before him stood a very attractive, very sexy Richie. It was a punch to the gut; the realisation that he was itching to run his fingers through his shorter, flicked hair.
Richie was still waiting to hear anything come out of Jon's mouth; he took his silence as a negative response. Disappointed, he grabbed himself a beer from Jon's mini-bar and flipped the cap off and tossed it bitterly toward the rubbish bin.
"Nothing to say, Boss?" Richie usually reverted to calling Jon "Boss" when he was pissed off at him.
"Yeah, thank god it's not a crew cut!"