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That first time in America had been a combination of scary yet eye-opening. Roger and John, along with the others in the band, had been visiting city after city, town after town on this tour. Seen decadence along with the seedy underbellies of the world, sometimes one and the same, side by side. America was somehow vastly different and yet still the same from home.
Regardless of the stresses, John and Roger couldn’t help but to be joyful. It was their first time in a new place, their first real American tour, and they got to be around each other without as much guilt as they would have suffered at home. It felt like sometimes, that they were free.
Most importantly, they were happy. Together, succeeding, and utterly in love with each other.
They were of course ever careful about how they presented themselves in public where anyone could see them, only holding hands in the dark of night, running from one room to the other to share a bed for the night. Whispering and giggling in each other’s ear between cigarettes on motel and hotel balconies, breathing in hot western air and young lust between them.
But in private, when they were lucky enough to not have to share a room with anyone else, or if they were in a location where they knew everyone around was aware of what they were for each other…well, then they were certainly able to be more authentic.
John being able to tuck Roger’s smaller frame into his own skinny one, holding him close and not letting go. Their body heat keeping them toasty even when it was simply too hot for such contact. Sometimes it was better if they were naked, and sometimes they were. Naked in bed, Roger tucked into John with a thin sheet over them as the pale light of the TV illuminated them from across the room.
“I wish you could stay right here forever, you know?” John will say, pulling Roger impossibly closer as his hand wanders to squeeze the drummer’s ass. “You fit perfect here, Rog.”
Roger would laugh, full body shaking as he hides his face against John’s neck, and it’d take a moment before he’d respond:
“Well, you’re just right for me, but I think you know I also fit perfect elsewhere.”
That was always a line that would rile John up, and Roger would happily top John until the nights grew to daylights.
In public, while they weren’t able to be as open as Simon and Andy were with their girls, they did do their best to show each other small tokens of affection whenever possible.
Going sightseeing together, touching the other’s arm tenderly when they were sure no one would see or suspect. Leaning into shoulders and laughing with each other when something funny happened or was said. People who didn’t know better would just assume they were good friends, but others would certainly know that they were lovers, and madly in love with each other.
They’re coming back to the bus from a McDonald's one late morning, carrying copious amounts of hot fast food in arm for everyone on the bus, and Roger pauses for a moment in the parking lot, waiting for John to catch up to him. When the bassist does, he nudges his arm gently with his own.
“Love you, John.” Roger says aloud, and even with the risk letting that out raised, something in his chest blooms with warmth when John steadies himself from the nudge, beaming at him with that brilliant smile that had swept him off his feet every time he’d flashed it.
“Love you too, Froggie!” John cheerfully replies, and puckers his lips with a kissing sound, and Roger understands right away.
When they got back on that bus, they’d tuck themselves away somewhere private, and really show each other how much love they had to go around.
Being on the road in America, strangers in a mostly strange land, John and Roger were the happiest they’d ever been.
END.