Sunday Mornings

Richie

Richie

Richie woke after a solid twelve hours of undisturbed sleep feeling refreshed and less foggy-headed than what he'd been over the past couple of days.

He rolled over to look at the other bed, but David seemed to have gone already. Richie groaned, stretched, lit a cigarette and moved to sit on the side of the bed as he woke fully.

He smiled and flopped backwards again when he remembered his phone call to Jon and the resulting orgasm and dirty shirt. He guessed he'd have to wash his clothes today before they headed out to set up for the gig. He scratched at his balls as a tingle of remembered sensation coursed through them. He needed to pee anyway so he got up and took care of that before he started the shower.

As the tingles only increased instead of dissipated so he took advantage of the solitude and the warm water. Richie reached for the shower gel and coated his hand and brought his most treasured memories of Jon to the fore.

The night of Jon's birthday when Jon stood before him on the dance floor and kissed him for the first time then later that night, naked and needy beneath him; when he woke from his coma and seeing Jon's baby blue eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and then the night he'd proposed, all combined to bring him to orgasm swiftly.

"Two weeks, baby," Richie groaned softly, "Two more fucking weeks."

He couldn't wait to be back in Jon's arms again. He missed his warmth and humour, his quick smiles that told Richie exactly what kind of mood Jon was in at that moment, but most of all he missed Jon's tight little body that responded to his touch eagerly. He could never get enough of it.

Richie was coming out of the bathroom as David came into their room. "Ah Sleeping Beauty arises at last," he said, "Simon wants us outta here in an hour and a half to go set up early."

Richie grunted in acknowledgement as he found some clean clothes, grimacing when he came across the soiled shirt from last night. He set it aside, along with a few other items.

"Yeah, okay," he said finally, "That'll give me time to wash these."

"Mr Domesticity," David snorted, "Why not just wear them as is?"

"Well Mr Gimme-Half-An-Hour," Richie replied and balled up his shirt and threw it at him, "you figure it out."

The shirt hit David in the face giving Richie his first laugh for the day with David's look of abject horror when he picked the stuck-together shirt from his head.

"Oh fuck, no!" he yelled and threw it back before racing past Richie to the bathroom to wash his hands and face and Richie fell back onto the bed holding his belly from laughter.

A moment later David emerged, towelling off his face, pinning Richie with a glare. "So you two had phone sex in the hotel lobby?! Gross, man," he said still scrubbing at his face, "You suck, you know that?"

"Well, ya see, that's the problem," Richie said.  He had the devil on his shoulder at the moment so he decided to bait David further, "It's usually Jonny that does the sucking..."

"Okay! Okay!" David fell on his bed and buried his head in the pillows, "I love you guys but I don't want to have to hear about who sucks who."

"It's 'who sucks whom', man, didn't you learn that at school?"

"Fuck off!" The muffled curse came from deep within the pillows and Richie could help but laugh at his discomfort.  He only just managed to duck when a pillow came hurtling his way.

*~*

A few hours later, Richie, David and the rest of his band had hefted their equipment into the bar they were playing and set it all up, sound checked and had gone to a nearby diner to have a quick meal, getting rowdier the closer it got to showtime.