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NOTE: Told from Chris's POV.
The blanket of darkness doesn't dissipate immediately when I open my eyes. There's a faint red glow coming from the nightstand, and I glance over. 3:36 am. I feel completely disoriented. I wriggle a little and hear a moan, and I'm about to move again when I remember Jonny's in the bed with me.
But he's not just *in* the bed... He's got his arms wrapped around my waist. I blink and slowly move my hand down under the covers, and am surprised to find he's clutching me like a stuffed animal.
"Jon," I whisper, propping myself up on my elbow. "Jonny."
He doesn't even stir.
"Jonathan!"
This time he shifts a little - but closer to me. Now I can't lie back down without lying ON him. I sigh at my misfortune, then gently set to the task of prying his hands off my waist.
Well, he's certainly got quite a death grip.
After several minutes of poking and prodding, I'm no closer to freedom, and Jonny's still sleeping peacefully with his head on MY pillow. My shoulder is aching from holding me up, and I'm not quite sure what to do. Knock him off the bed? Wake him up? Just... lie on him?
I blink, suddenly hearing the shivery echoes of a guitar in my head. A song? At 4 am? Unfortunately, I can't deny it, and I certainly can't get back to sleep.
So I begin to hum, softly, careful to keep it low. I try to commit the notes to memory - a dip there... I can imagine the flush of piano right in the second measure, and the guitar fades in and out... My body begins to feel alive, my mind races. I tap a beat on my thigh, still humming. It doesn't quite work, so I cautiously sing a few words. Jonny stirs and I try to stop, but I can't - the words keep coming and music is forming like a painting in my head.
I'm a little grateful and a little stumped by this sudden wash of creativity - I had been completely dry of any ideas for a song since we had begun touring two months ago. It didn't take long before I felt nervous and twitchy - the way I do when I haven't had release for a while. You know. I needed to get a song out. I needed to hear my piano; I needed to pick out a new, fabulous tune on my guitar. I needed to let words out. But nothing would come.
I close my eyes, still balanced on my elbow over the peacefully sleeping Jonny, and let the last few notes out in a breathy moan. My voice breaks dramatically at the end, and I decide I like it.
I hear a tiny chuckle and glance down. Jonny's awake. Oh, mercy.
"Um... Hi." I blink.
He smiles but doesn't say anything.
"Did you hear all of that?" I wonder briefly how he woke so quietly. Why didn't I notice? I wasn't *that* lost in the song. Or maybe I was.
Jonny shakes his tousled head a little, frowning. "Unfortunately, no."
I shrug with one shoulder. "Can you move a little?"
He glances at the other pillow - his pillow - and at the pillow he's lying on - formerly my pillow. Then he glances at me. I look at him expectantly.
He shakes his head again. "Don't wanna."
"I don't bloody care if you don't want to!" I laugh, hitting his shoulder with a loose fist. "I need some sleep and my back hurts."
He arches a fair eyebrow. "Your back hurts?"
"Yeah, 'cause I've been sitting like this for the last ten minutes, you pillock."
Jonny grins discreetly and I hear the covers rustle, and then - I don't even notice his arm moving - there's a hand kneading at my back. He's reached through the crook between my elbow and my shoulder and he's sliding his hand up and down my lower back, the little sneak. And with him being a guitarist and all, he has marvelously deft and strong hands. I'm nothing but a puddle of moaning, sighing goo in a matter of seconds, my cheek above his heart and my arms curled above my head. I think I felt him kiss my knuckles but I'm not sure, because everything was centered on the lovely sensations his amazingly talented hands were providing. The knots in my shoulders melted away. The tenseness in my back disappeared under his touch. I was floating in a dreamy half-sleep when suddenly I felt his hand slide *under* my shirt.
I didn't say anything for a second and neither did he, and his smooth fingertips worked at my back in all the right places. He trailed up and down my spine, making me shiver; over the curve of my ribs, the angle of my shoulder blades, and he softly stroked the nape of my neck with his free hand. I was nearly purring with satisfaction. The sensation of his strong hand on my bare back was disconcerting and a little unwelcome, but quite pleasurable. I didn't object. He didn't look as if to stop.
My heart jumped a little when his fingertips - accidentally? - slid beneath the waist of my boxers. Just slightly: a quick brush of skin and then he's back to rubbing my shoulders as if it never happened. My face heats as I sigh softly. It feels dirty, since it's my best friend. It feels a little frightening. But nothing about it feels *wrong.* I've never been attracted to men before in my life, but there's that familiar light-headed, giddy feeling building that I get whenever I fool around with a girl.
But essentially, Jonny's no different, right? He's just got some things a girl doesn't. So there can't be anything wrong with being turned on by him - he's doing something a girl would never do for me. It's flirty, and it's a little dangerous, but it's just fun.
'Then again,' I say to myself, 'why am I rationalizing it? I shouldn't let him do this if I don't want it.'
But how can I be so sure it ISN'T innocent, and I'm just imagining things? I'd feel pretty stupid if I sat up suddenly and told him to bugger off when he's only doing me a bit of a favor.
'Favor my arse,' I think suddenly as his hands move up my back, pushing my shirt over my shoulders, then down again where they stop cautiously at my waist. The massage has stopped. This is a gentle lover's caress. Try as I might, though, I can't raise my head and tell him to stop.
Most likely because I really don't want him to.
He takes the bottom of my shirt and tugs it up over my head. I sit up and pull it off, attempting to convince myself that there's something wrong with the fact that my male best friend is probably itching to shag me. Jonny knows I can tell what he's thinking. We're both ashamed, shy: I can feel it. But I meet his eyes anyway, trying to find something - is this why he's been so shady lately?
He nods at me with a tiny wistful smile as if he can see the question in my eyes.
My best friend's in love with me.
He takes my chin in hand softly, stroking my jaw with his thumb. I can't look away, I can't say anything. His eyes travel to my lips, and I know what he's doing, and I don't want to stop him - now all I can do is wait for him to do it.
Jonny leans in slow, awkwardly, and we keep our eyes together until we nearly bump noses. He brushes lips with me quickly, as if to test the grounds, and I let my eyes close. This is more romantic than anything I've ever done with any girl - and yet it's just the two of us in a little bland room with ugly wallpaper and an itchy comforter. No candles. No roses. No soft, romantic music or gourmet expensive dinner or coy seduction.
And then our lips meet for real, both of us opening our mouths at the same time and leaning in together. It's a wet, all-over-the-place kiss, and the exact type of kiss that I imagined Jonny would give. The smoothness of the inside of his mouth makes instinct kick in, and I slip my arms around his shoulders - he's sat up now - and he takes my waist and pulls me closer to him.
I'm straddling his lap, and he's running his hands over my back like a starved man. He takes my bottom lip in his mouth and sucks lightly, and suddenly I'm trying to recall every tongue trick I ever learned.
No chance to use them, though. His lips are gone from mine in an instant, and I take in a deep shaky breath and wonder where he's gone. I'm about to open my eyes when I discover exactly where he's gone.
Down.
I nearly squeak in surprise when he pushes me backward on the bed. I land on my back and he's over me in an instant, his mouth traveling down my chest and over my sweet spots as if he's done this before a hundred times and memorized them all. His hands are still on me, exploring and curious, touching me everywhere and making me moan helplessly.
He lifts my legs and hooks them around his waist, and that's when I realize the romance from this is gone - it's all unstoppable passion and a little bit carnal. Jonny intends to shag me. Here in this bed, right now, with Guy and Will sleeping obliviously next door.
I can't help it. I push him away and skitter backward until I'm pushed up against the foot of the bed. And he's looking at me with wounded, confused eyes.
"Jonny--"
The song is coming back. I can hear it in my head, but I don't want it. I close my eyes, shaking.
"Oh, Christ..." That was him, I think. "I'm sorry, Chris, I'm sorry..."
I shake my head vehemently, holding up a hand. I stare at him helplessly. "I'm not sorry."
He furrows his brow. "Then why...?"
"Because... I... I can't..." I struggle to get words out. The feeling I had a second ago, it's still burning in me. The mindless want. I'd do anything for Jonny, I knew as much, but...
Jonny makes a disgusted face and rubs his forehead. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry... Really I am. It was wrong and I shouldn't have."
I lower my eyes. I don't know what to say.
"I should have just kept my hands to myself. I really couldn't help it." His voice turns bitter.
I'm still silent. I stagger off the bed and into the bathroom, but when I turn on the light it looks different somehow. I don't know. I splash water on my face and take a few deep breaths. I raise my head and wipe water from my chin. My reflection, pale and distant and muted, stares back with lost eyes. I search for something in my own eyes and find nothing.
The reflection blurs. The water slowly dripping from my chin isn't the tap water anymore. I don't want Jonny to see me crying. It's pathetic.
But it's too late: he's already behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He's a comforting presence. I laugh shortly, bitterly, and wipe away my tears with a rough hand.
Jonny turns my face toward him, looking as if he's on the verge of tears himself. "Don't cry, Chris," he soothes, kissing me gently on the forehead.
I turn my face away for an instant, and then I turn back without thinking and kiss him full on the lips. It's his turn to be surprised now, but then he's got me pinned up against the cold tile wall and he's kissing me again and the tears are coming back, but Jonny's not looking. He can't hear me crying over my moans.
Then we're back on the bed again - how did we get here? I wonder - and nothing seems quite right. It's moving around me like a jerky silent movie, only I'm in the audience instead of on the screen. I look at Jonny's face and that doesn't seem quite right either.
Suddenly something's shaking me, hard, and light washes away the movie and I open my eyes.
"Wake up," Jonny chuckles, kneeling on the bed beside me. "We're gonna get lunch, and then we've got to get to a sound check a few hours away."
I stare at him bleakly, the dream still floating behind my eyes.
Holy Christ... It was a dream. A *dream.*
"Chris?" He raises an eyebrow. "You okay?"
People seem to be asking me that question a lot lately. I nod my head mutely. "Weird dream," I murmur, letting my head fall back on the pillow.
"Yeah, you were kicking a lot last night and you were kinda making sounds. A nightmare?"
I sat back up quickly. "What? Sounds?"
"Yeah." Jonny looked embarrassed.
Oh good lord, I thought. Please don't let this be what I think it is. "What... kind of sounds?" I ask timidly.
"Er..." Jonny scratched the back of his neck. "Well, um..."
Guy saved him at that moment by bursting in through the door. He grinned and waved at me. "Phil just rang. Said he talked to some American show that wants us to play for them."
"A television gig?" Jonny asked.
"Yeah, but live, not taped." Guy leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.
Jonny shrugged and glanced at me.
I threw up my hands. "I don't bloody know! I just woke up!"
Guy laughed and turned away, closing the door behind him. Jonny swung his legs off the bed and tugged on the comforter. "C'mon, Chris, get up."
Then he left too, and I was alone. I trudged into the bathroom, turned on the light and inspected the place. It looked right. I was relieved for a second, and then I laughed at myself for being so paranoid. It was just a dream. Jonny was straight - straighter than I was too, I guess, considering the dream I had.
I brushed my teeth and washed my face while carefully keeping my mind blank of all thoughts of my towheaded best friend. That worked quite well, until he suddenly reappeared and poked his head into the bathroom. I glared at his reflection in the mirror, and he glared back playfully.
"Come on, you diva," he teased, coming up behind me and poking me in the side. "Everyone else is ready to go. You're holding up the circus."
"Bugger off," I mumbled, washing my toothbrush and sticking it back in my little bag of stuff.
He giggled in a rather un-Jonny-like way, then surprised me by leaning forward and planting a peck on my cheek. Then he turned and scampered out, and I stood and stared into the mirror in shock.
It was a bloody dream. I swear.
A dream.
I repeated that to myself like a mantra as I pulled on my jeans, buttoned my shirt, stuffed everything into my duffel, jogged outside as Guy honked the horn and squeezed into the van next to Will and sat down sullenly.
Dream or no, I couldn't resist glancing up into the rearview mirror at Jonny. He was reading a book peacefully. But his sixth sense must have kicked in, because his eyes flickered up to the mirror as well. There was something in his eyes... A knowing smirk...
I looked away. He went back to his book.
We didn't talk for the rest of the day.