John stared at the glass in his hand that was filled with golden-brown liquid, like it held all the answers to his future. Sighing heavily, he lifted the glass to his lips and drowned its content. It wasn't his first drink tonight and it sure as hell wouldn't be his last one.
He glanced at his watch – 11:15 p.m. – and then out of the window. The first people were starting to prepare the street, putting fireworks in every possible form to every free spot. Kids were running around, already throwing snap'n pops and waving sparklers. Too much good mood out there for his taste.
Turning around his eyes searched for the bottle of Whiskey he'd left somewhere in the living room. He found it on the sideboard beside the phone, right were he left it when his mom had called. Padding over, he grabbed it and refilled the glass.
His mother had called to make sure he was okay. Well, he was okay, as far as possible under the circumstances. Not that he'd told her what was "wrong". She asked if he was okay, he'd told her that, yes, he was okay, only to be told that she didn't believe it, because he in fact was drunk and alone and not willed to be with his family on New Year's Eve. He explained that he just needed some time for himself because of some "issues" and she made him promise to stay at home tonight – safe.
Oh, he was drunk. Drunk like a sailor. The bottle was almost empty and its content already busy in his blood stream to make him, well, happy. And the next bottle was already waiting to be opened. He needed some happy time. Really. No matter how bad the hangover would be. Tomorrow would be his third hangover in… John narrowed his eyes, trying to remember… yup, four days and since he was alone with his "issues" and it was New Year's Eve, he planned on shooting himself into oblivion… to forget.
Back to his happy time. Nodding to himself he emptied his glass and hissed as the Whiskey burned its way down. He probably should have eaten something, but he lacked of appetite lately. The reason why his dinner was still sitting untouched on the kitchen table.
John looked around absentmindedly. His living room was a mess, he realized even through his drunken haze. But there was nobody around who would worry about it anyway and he would have enough time to clean up tomorrow. Or the day after, depending on how bad the hangover would be. His gaze drifted over to the small table by the door that carried his wallet, keys and a small picture, framed by a simple but nice black frame.
Cursing himself he tried to ignore that his eyes began to burn suspiciously and that he felt his stomach turn – he should have put the picture out of view, at least until he would have come to terms with himself. Should have, but didn't. It still was there, an innocent little picture that now sent a wave of agonizing pain through him.
Turning away, John tried to choke back a sob. He didn't want to cry again, he'd done that enough in the last few weeks when he was on his own and especially in the last three days. It was no use, he needed to put the picture aside. Slowly he walked over and picked it up, sadly taking in the image it showed.
It showed Randy and him. A picture taken by Sam during their adventurous attempt to build a swimming pool for Sam and Alanna. She'd taken it without them noticing it, while he and Randy were arguing about how the parts of the pool should be put together, with him waving the construction plan around and Randy rolling his eyes and feigning to hit him with a screwdriver, pieces and parts of the pool scattered around everywhere. They looked like an old married couple on this picture. John couldn't help it, but the picture was perfect. It was… them.
Pressing his lips together tightly he tried to fight down the pain that flared up every time he thought about Randy. It wasn't Randys fault, never had been.
Randy was handsome, well-built, intelligent, funny, caring, loyal, honest and no one else knew John as good as Randy did and over the years of their friendship he'd somehow developed a little crush on his best friend. It had been okay, nothing serious. Okay until… well, until John simply overestimated himself. Too many drinks after a House-Show that had made them both too light-headed…
He found Randy in the hotel bar, sitting in a dimmed corner of the room at a small table, two beers in front and an empty chair beside him. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, small lines of worry showing on his handsome face. John walked over to sit down on the empty chair and grabbed one of the beers. Randy looked up and the lines of worry morphed to a dazzling smile.
"You're late, Cena. You hopped into the shower right after me. What took you so long?"
"Guess the hot water. It felt so damn good that I took my time. Didn't know I'm that late," he answered, smiling back.
They talked about random stuff that night, one beer following the next, accompanied by some shots of Whiskey. Nothing special. Then they fell silent, the sounds around them faded into the background and John found himself unable to look away from those eyes he'd seen uncountable times before. There was something in them he'd never seen before, something he couldn't name as Randy stared right back at him, his gaze not once flicking away and John felt himself drawn in… felt his heart begin to pound heavily in his chest…
A voice made them snap back to reality. It was Morrison, cheering for Evan who was dancing on a table. John willed himself to keep his eyes on the kid while he tried to figure out what had happened a few seconds ago. He failed, not able to think straight anymore, and decided to take it as a really weird moment. He was drunk and tired. He should go to bed.
"I'm gonna go up to catch some sleep," he said, turning around only to find Randy already standing, ready to go.
"Me too. Was a long night. Let's go."
Their way back to their shared room was accompanied by silence. Waiting for the elevator to stop on the right level John side-gazed his friend. Randy was leaning in the corner of the small room, eyes closed and arms crossed. His fingers dug into his biceps's and a finger scratched nervously over the tattooed skin. The small lines of worry were back, John noticed and he was about to ask if everything was alright, when the elevator stopped and opened its doors.
After finally reaching their room, John excused himself and went for the bath room, leaving the door open instead of switching on the light. He peeled out of his shirt and braced himself on the bath room counter, staring into the mirror, before he opened the tap, leaning down to splash some water on his face. Reaching blindly for a towel he straightened up… and bumped into a body. His eyes shot open.
"What…?" he began but fell silent when he saw Randy standing right behind him.
The younger man just stood there, straightened up to his full height. The heavily inked arms were hanging at his sides and his bare torso was pressed up against Johns back. His friends skin felt hot on his own, too hot, John noticed. The semi-darkness guarded Randys eyes and features and his whole presence would have been intimidating if John hadn't known him so well. But John felt his heart rate speed up nevertheless, feeling suddenly extremely self-conscious under his friends stare.
"You..." John rasped, finally finding his voice, but Randy hushed him with a slight shake of his head.
Slowly the younger man leaned down, close to his ear and his breath brushed over the skin of Johns neck, making him shudder involuntary.
"I want you," Randy whispered huskily.
He thought that he'd probably misheard Randy, but then the younger man rolled his hips against Johns backside, pressing his obviously hard dick in the small of Johns back, making his heart stumble and his breath hitch. His friend leaned even closer to bury his nose in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath.
"You smell so good, Johnny," came another whisper.
A sudden touch on his sides made the older men gasp. Randys fingers brushed over his sides but stopped immediately when he felt John tense up under his touch. Randy took his hands away, straightened up and stepped back a bit, giving John some space. Enough space to leave and John got the hint. To his own surprise he didn't try to back out but reached behind his back and guided Randys hands back to his body, which moved to rest on his stomach, right above the waistline of his jeans. Those well known hands that felt so hot right now and somehow alien at the same time, causing goose bumps to flare. The younger man stepped forward again, pressing his whole body against Johns.
John watched in the mirror as a predatory gleam flashed through the stormy-blue eyes.
"Your clothes… Off," Randy commanded, voice low and demanding.
John obeyed, slipping out of his jeans and boxers slowly and watched as his friend did the same and a blink later he was pushed forwards roughly, his thighs hitting the counter painfully. The feeling of Randys hard dick pressing against his ass made him moan and his friend growled lowly in response, rolling his hips. He felt his friends hands sneak back, nails scraping lightly over his sides to his abs and then down.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed through John as a hand closed around his dick and he leaned heavily on the counter. He felt himself grow hard under the touch and a strangled groan escaped his lips, as Randy began to move his hand up and down expertly, drawing little moans and whimpers from him.
"Randy," he whispered breathlessly.
"You like that, Johnny, don't you?" Randy chuckled lowly and all John could do was nod.
After a few more fast jerks, the hand on his cock vanished and from the corner of his eyes he saw Randy grab the body lotion. Closing his eyes he tried to wrap his mind around the thought that his best friend was going to fuck him, that he allowed him do this. Randy was going to fuck him. Randy was going to…
A sharp gasp of pain escaped his mouth as a finger was pushed against his entrance and into his body.
"Relax, Johnny. Trust me."
And then he felt Randys hand back on his dick, his movements matching the thrusts of his finger and the pain morphed to pleasure, the pained gasps becoming moans as a second finger was added, then a third and his sweet spot was stroked with every thrust. Through his haze he felt the fingers vanish and something bigger push against his entrance.
John reached back, wanting to feel Randys hot skin under his fingers, but his hand was slapped away.
"Put your hand back on the counter," the younger man growled.
"But..." John protested weakly, but Randy cut him off.
"Put. It. Back."
He did as he was told, just in time to feel Randys free hand grip his waist. Holding him in place, his friend buried himself to the hilt in Johns tight heat with one mighty thrust that made John cry out in pain. A stifled sob tore from his throat. The younger man kept still, giving Johns body the time to relax and become accustomed to him.
Finally the pain subsided and John dared to nod ever so slightly, giving Randy his okay to move. Continuing his movements on Johns cock Randy began to thrust, slowly first then picking up the pace, sliding in and out his new lovers body.
The room was filled with only their heavy breathing and low moans and occasional grunts. John willed his mind to focus on the hand working on his member, but the pain he felt with every single thrust was too much to ignore it. He closed his eyes tightly and hung his head, trying to concentrate on the good feelings.
It was when he felt Randy slow down a moment and change the angle of his thrusts, that a strangled moan escaped his lips, as his lover found his sweet spot again. A low chuckle and a tighter grip on his hip was the only warning he got, before Randy started a violent rhythm, pounding into his sweet spot with every stroke, over and over again, until John found himself arch back to meet his lover.
John looked up, his dazed mind taking in their image in the mirror. Those intense, mind-numbing feelings spiked as he watched Randy dominating him, driving forcefully inside him and he felt them grow to an earth-shattering pleasure, drawing mewls and whimpers and moans from him that accompanied Randys.
For a second their eyes locked, before Randy leaned forward, his lips hovering over the spot were Johns should met his neck for a moment, before he sunk his teeth in the thick muscle, growling as John rewarded him with a small cry of pain… and then John felt himself fall apart. His whole body tightened as a wave of liquid fire surged through him and he came, the overwhelming feeling of a mind-blowing orgasm drawing out a long, low, needy moan. He felt Randy ease out and plunge in deeply a few times more, so hard that his balls slapped against Johns ass, before he followed, shooting his cum deep inside his lovers body.
Randy sunk forward, still buried deep inside his lovers body and resting his head on Johns shoulder. John tried to brace himself on shaky arms and legs and he felt one arm being wrapped around his waist, while one large hand settled beside his on the counter, holding him up, holding him tight. He was trying to breathe, his pants coming in sharp gasps. For a few moments they stayed like this. Then the arm around his waist vanished and Randy pulled away. The older man didn't have to look up to know that Randy had left the room.
Still bracing himself on the counter, head bowed, John found himself unable to move. His head spun as his mind tried to process what had happened and he tried to calm down his breathing. He could still feel Randys hands on his skin, his breath brushing his neck. Something between a mirthless laugh and a sob escaped Johns throat as he admitted to himself that this had been the best sex in his whole life and he now found himself torn between embarrassment, sadness and savouring the aftermath of their encounter.
Slowly he straightened up, noticing a dull pain where his thighs had hit the counter and Randys hand had gripped his hip. There would be bruises tomorrow… His eyes flicked to his image in the mirror, finding the bite mark that would last at least the next three days. He reached up to touch the tender skin… and then suddenly a pang of guilt rang through him. What he saw was a man who had slept with his best, male, married friend. This was so poor…
John grimaced as he felt something sticky on his stomach and on his thigh and shook himself out of his thoughts. He cleaned himself up and, after a few more moments of hesitation, finally found the guts to follow Randy. Their room was dark except for a small lamp on the nightstand by Johns bed, its light barely reaching Randy who was lying on his side, face turned towards Johns bed. His eyes were closed and the older man wondered if his friend was already fast asleep but decided not to bother him. Carefully he sat down on the edge of his bed. His ass was already giving him an idea of how funny he would walk the next day. Sighing silently he hung his head.
"You okay, Johnny?"
The low voice sounded worried and unnaturally loud in the silence of their room. Startled the older man looked up into eyes that were filled with the same worry.
"You're married, Randy. You have a daughter. We shouldn't have done it," John answered quietly, suddenly feeling almost unbearably guilty.
"We probably shouldn't. But… I… I can't explain it. All I know is that it has nothing to do with Sam," his friend murmured. "It's just sex. I wanted you. Still want you. Just sex, John. Nothing more, nothing less."
There were so many things wrong with Randys last statement.
"Are there… others?"
John needed to ask this.
"No others. Just you."
He knew Randy long enough to know that this was the truth and somehow it made him feel special. John tried his best to shove the growing guilt aside. It would be hard enough to go on like nothing happened. He hung his head again.
"If you tell me you don't want it to happen again, it's okay. We're friends and nothing's gonna change that. Not even sex," Randy said reassuringly. "Hey, Johnny… look at me."
This was so wrong. Still he looked up again.
"Just sex?" he asked and Randy nodded.
"Just sex."
They fell silent and John climbed under his blanket, switching off the light. His brain still refused to work properly, half clouded by the amount of alcohol, half dazed by their… encounter. It would have been a lie to say the sex hadn't been incredible and he wouldn't want it again, but Sam and Alanna…This all was so damn wrong. And he was scared that tomorrow morning, when they both were sober again, this one night would destroy everything…
A soft snore told him that Randy had fallen asleep. He turned over, pressing his face into his pillow as he tried to fight down a wave of sadness, fear and guilt…
A sharp, burning pain in his hand brought him back to reality. A few disorientated seconds later he realized that he was at home and that his left hand was bleeding badly. His glass was broken, shards of glass were fallen onto the floor, some bits of broken glass stuck in his hand and he was bleeding from a few cuts on his palm.
"Shit!" he swore loudly, picking the shards out of his hand.
Making his way to the kitchen, he grabbed the remaining Whiskey. He held his hand over the sink, rinsing the cuts with it and swore again loudly as the alcohol burned in the wounds. After a few deep breaths he grabbed a kitchen towel and wrapped it around his hand. He needed some fresh air.
Wandering back into the living room he grabbed a new bottle and made his way to the front door to sit down on the stairs. The air was cold, much too cold to sit here without a jacket, but he didn't care.
More and more people came to chat on the street, waiting for the new years to come. John hoped that it would be a better year than the past one…
He caught himself thinking back again, but he couldn't help it. John had stopped to count how often they did it a while ago and their first time was something he would always remember. Every single moment. Their friendship didn't change a bit… well, okay, it changed to best friends with benefits, but it was like it was said – just sex. Their encounters were always rough and only few words were spoken. No tender touches. No kisses.
Yeah, he had a crush on his best friend, but he didn't love him. This was no love. This was just sex. It had nothing to do with love, he could do it, keep it just sex, John had told himself countless times after that night and he managed to convince himself of it. It had worked for weeks and months – until John realized that something was missing. Even when they just hung out. Something was missing.
He noticed this feeling the first time a few weeks ago and it grew and grew. He couldn't name it but it was there. Sometimes it takes little gestures to make you understand, right? Four days ago he finally understood.
It was the last House-Show this year and they shared rooms, like always. And they fucked. Like always. He caught himself as he tried to kiss Randy, who turned his head away, avoiding the kiss. It was then that it hit him. Don't make such agreements when you have a crush on that very person. He should have known that it was only a matter of time until he would want more. Falling in love with your married best friend wasn't a good idea.
Randy didn't mention that almost kiss, acting like it had never happened. John closed his eyes tightly to hold back the tears that stung in his eyes. He somehow managed to open the Whiskey and took a hearty gulp. The sounds around him became louder as more and more people came out. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to midnight. Leaning back on his elbows he let his eyes roam the dark sky.
The night was crystal clear and the night sky was dotted with shining, blinking stars. A living picture that spoke of the past, the presence and the future, being all of it in this very moment. A picture that makes you feel small and unimportant. It was beautiful. But it didn't help to ease or drown Johns pain.
His plan had been to have some time for himself to get things straight, to remind himself of what was important – their friendship. The way it had been before all this. He'd probably never failed that much in his entire life. Everything in him screamed for his friend, every single memory giving his tortured mind a badly needed fix and unbearable pain at the same time.
John knew that it wasn't okay, that he had no right to want it, but... god knew he'd give anything if he could have Randy… or to forget his damn feelings for his friend.
A movement caught his attention. A falling star. Make your wish. That's what you should do if you see one, right?
I wished Randy could love me back.
