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Disclaimer: Not mine
Rating:     NC-17 for m/m relationship
Category:   Slash;  Langly/other:  Langly pov
Spoilers:   None
Archive:    Ephemeral, Gossamer, Unusual Suspects, Basement, 
anywhere else just ask
Summary:    Langly makes a mistake and pays for it.

Note:  The title's from the Simon & Garfunkel song, of course.



I've only got myself to blame.

If I'd decided to fly to Tallahassee like John wanted me to . . 
. if I'd kept on driving when the rain came on  . . if I'd 
stopped anywhere else except this little motel-and-diner near 
Charlotte, North Carolina . . . if I'd had the sense to lead 
with my brain instead of my balls when I see a cute ass waggled 
in front of my face . . . then I wouldn't be in this mess, 
sitting here feeling like shit and scared about how I'm going to 
face John.

How it started was like this.  An old college friend of mine got 
back in touch, a guy I hadn't seen for fifteen years, he'd heard 
about us and what we were doing, and called to see if I was the 
same R Langly he'd known in college?  He was working in 
Tallahassee, Florida and wanted me to go see him.  He'd got 
interested in political conspiracies after what happened during 
the election down there and thought he might be able to help us. 
So I went down there, and god knows why but I decided to drive 
instead of flying.  I've always liked driving, the open road and 
all that crap.  Put it down to reading too much Jack Kerouac at 
an impressionable age.

So anyway I went down there and ended up staying longer than I'd 
intended, once I'd got over the shock of seeing Phil.  He'd 
moved on, moved up and sold out.  Come a pretty long way from 
the Harley-riding hellraiser with the endless capacity for beer 
and the bottomless stash in the back pocket.  He was teaching 
economics at the local college for godsake, with a cute little 
wife and a nice little house just off the college campus with a 
pool in the backyard.  Made me uneasy to see him I guess.  He 
was still recognisably the same guy, same old Phil, but so 
different. Older.  The same age as me . . . I realised how much 
time had passed.  He made *me* feel old.  Made me think about 
what I might have had, if I'd gone down the same road.  

Anyway I made some useful contacts and spread the word among 
some of Phil's friends, but it was also something like the first 
vacation I'd had for a pretty long time.  Warm sun down there 
while it was still snowing in Washington, and we spent a lot of 
time just hanging out by his pool and chewing over old times, 
and it would have been perfect if John had been there too.  Phil 
asked me one time, late one evening over a few beers when his 
lady had gone to bed, why I wasn't married, if there was a chick 
back in Washington - and I gave him my usual standard answer 
about not wanting to be tied down in this line of work.  But 
later that night I lay awake a long time trying to work out why 
I felt so bad about having to lie like that.  Why I didn't tell 
him about me and John.

John and me talked on the phone every night, but it was the 
longest we'd ever been apart and I missed him more than I'd 
thought possible.  Missed just having him around during the day, 
the way he'll look up and smile at me across the room for no 
reason, the way he'll touch me, just a brush of the hand across 
my shoulder or my arm whenever I come within reach.  The quick 
affectionate kisses in passing whenever there's no-one else 
around.

So after a week I told Phil I had to get back, and left early 
yesterday.  I figured maybe if I drove all day and all through 
the night with just a couple of short rest stops I could be home 
and back with John not too late the next day. I've done that 
sort of drive before, and by then I was aching to see him again. 
 Being with Phil and his wife, seeing them together had made me 
realise how lonely I would be without John.  How much he has 
become a part of me, and me of him.

Driving north from Florida the weather got worse, colder with 
every hour and overcast.  Mid afternoon it started to rain, and 
the further I went the heavier it got.  It got darker and 
darker, rain lashing against the windshield,  and I was getting 
tired trying to concentrate just keeping the car on the road.  
So I started to look for a motel, and checked into a place just 
over the North Carolina state line. It looked okay and the room 
was clean, and there was a diner right next door, so I had a 
shower and cleaned up and went to get some dinner.

I really only noticed the kid when we were the only two people 
left in the diner.  He was sitting across the aisle, with just a 
large cup of Coke in front of him.  Twentysomething, slim, 
shorter than me, short black hair and brown eyes. Kinda cute, 
yes, and a couple years ago I might have made the first move 
myself.  And every time I looked in his direction those eyes 
were looking at me.

It's been a long time since I picked anyone up, or got picked up 
myself, so I guess I was kinda slow on the uptake.  At first I 
just figured him for a hitchhiker, one more hungry kid on the 
road, maybe hoping for a ride or a free handout, until the next 
time I glanced over and he met my eyes again over the cup of 
coke, smiled and his tongue came out to moisten his lower lip.  
Next thing I knew he was on his feet, coming towards me, hands 
in his pockets and tightening his jeans just where it did most 
good.  This time he *did't* look at me, loping past me towards 
the cash desk and I heard him ask the girl for change for the 
phone.  I sensed more than heard him coming back towards me, 
past me again, then, so casually, two paces past me he dropped 
his change all over the floor and bent to pick it up.  And that 
nice, tight little backside was almost in my face, and his 
teeshirt riding up exposing his tanned back and I could see 
halfway down his ass.

I watched him saunter across to the payphone and make his call, 
his back to me, shifting his weight from hip to hip.  Then he 
turned his head and caught me looking at him and he grinned 
again over his shoulder.  Turned fully round, leaning against 
the wall, staring straight at me and I couldn't drag my eyes 
away, especially when he pushed his hand in his jeans pocket and 
began to rub his groin.

So okay, this is where *new* Ringo, sensible, loyal committed 
Ringo of the last two years with his lover back in Washington, 
should have paid the check and got out, gone back down the road 
the the motel alone.  Did I?  Did I hell.

He straightened up and started towards me, his eyes never 
leaving mine and a faint smirk on his face.  I know that 
expression so well;  I've used it enough times myself.  It could 
only have been a few seconds, a few paces at most, but it felt 
like that tired old TV cliche, everything happening in slow 
motion except the speeded up tempo of my heart and breathing.  
My cock was straining against my zipper and it felt like it was 
hot wired to my face;  I must have been as red as a beet.  He 
stopped close enough to touch.  That tongue came out again, 
running across his top lip.  He broke eye contact, looked 
hesitant for the first time;  then looked back at me.

He slipped into the seat across the table from me.  "Mind if I 
sit down?"  With all the other empty seats to choose from . . . 
well I already knew he was nothing if not direct.  He put his 
hands on the table inches from mine.  "I have a problem."

You and me both, kid, and if it wasn't for the table between us 
you could see the extent of mine.  "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah . . . I'm on my way to Florida -"

"Sorry, I just came from there."  My last feeble attempt at 
getting out of this before I was in too deep.  

"No, no, I don't need a ride  . . I need a place to stay for the 
night.  I was wondering, I saw you come from the motel down the 
street and I thought, maybe . . . uh, I haven't got enough cash 
for a room, but if you'd let me sleep on the floor  . . . or . . 
.."

Okay kid, we both know you don't want to sleep on the floor.  
But what do *I* want?  Little Ringo down there is making it 
quite clear what *he* wants, and he's rapidly winning out over 
the few brain cells I have still operating.  In the back of my 
mind logic and sense is screaming that this would be a really 
bad idea, what about John, can't you wait another 24 hours, how 
could you do this to him;  but my body has different ideas.  The 
dull ache that has been growing for the last few days without 
John is rapidly becoming un-ignorable;  John is 500 miles away 
in Washington and I want him, need him, need him, need 
*something* now.   

"Yeah."  It doesn't sound like my voice;  it doesn't feel like 
I'm in control of my body anymore as I get up and go to pay my 
check.  My legs don't seem to belong to me and my head feels 
like it's floating.  He's right behind me, silent, as I walk 
across the parking lot and down the walkway to my room.

**************************************

I swear I was still trying to think of an excuse to back out, 
right up to the point when I closed the door of the room behind 
us.  But before I could even switch on the light he was 
plastered up against me, pushing me back against the door, his 
hot body pressed to mine.  I opened my mouth to say something, 
to tell him this wasn't gonna work, but before I could take a 
breath his mouth was on mine, tongue flicking into the corner of 
my mouth, giving my a tiny unexpected little jolt which went 
straight to my cock and my last vestige of self control went out 
the window.

He was all over me like a snake, licking my neck, biting my ear 
at the same time as his hands roved up under my tee shirt and 
rubbed over my nipples.  I yelped and jerked and he laughed 
softly, pulling me towards the bed and down beside him.  He 
tugged my teeshirt over my head as I squirmed out of my jeans 
and boxers and then did the same to him.  He was smaller than 
me, smaller than John, slim but hard, tanned with a smooth bare 
chest with dark brown nipples. I ran my hands over his chest and 
he grunted, rolling on top of me and grinding his hips over my 
cock.  I grabbed his ass and pulled him tighter against me, 
rolling us over so I was back on top.  He didn't feel like John; 
didn't taste or smell like him;  somehow that made the whole act 
bearable.

He pulled my head down and breathed hot against my neck. "Gonna 
fuck me?"  I pulled myself off him for a moment and reached for 
my jeans, fumbling in the pocket for the lube and a condom.  He 
ripped the packet open and hunkered down again over my hips, 
giving me a quick stroke that made me grunt and twitch before he 
quickly unrolled the condom over my cock.  I was ready, 
throbbing, hot and hard, and I needed to be inside him. 
Instinctively I made the decision that I wasn't going to fuck 
him face to face;  I rolled him over and tugged him onto his 
knees, and he spread his legs wide for me.  

Somewhere in the back of my head my conscience was still 
screaming that this was wrong, but it was too late to stop even 
if I had wanted to.  He was hot and ready, wide open for me and 
panting "Yes . . .".  I shut my eyes and shoved inside.  Pushed 
into him hard and smooth and deep, wrapping one arm round him to 
stroke his cock in time with my thrusts.  He was tight and hot, 
and as I found my rhythm and the pressure began to build, he
reached out a hand and braced himself against the headboard, 
pushing back into my thrusts and driving me deeper and deeper 
inside him.  He was muttering "oh yeah, oh man, oh fuck. . . 
more, man, oh fuck, harder  . . .  I was losing control, 
thrusting into him fiercely, savagely, angrily taking everying I 
could.  Anger at him;  at myself and even, crazily, for John for 
*not* being him.

I felt him tense under me, his head coming back and his whole 
body stiffening and he clenched tight round me, screaming once, 
short and high, as he came and his semen spurted over my hands, 
over the sheets and the bedhead, his body spasming back against 
me one final time so hard that I felt I was buried right in his 
guts.  I pulled out nearly all the way and then rammed back in 
harder than ever, spending the last of my anger and my need in 
one final hard thrust till at last the blinding white heat of 
orgasm overcame me.

Some time later I was aware of him again, shifting slightly from 
out under me to get more comfortable and then subsiding again, 
still partly pinned down by my body. I put my arm over him but 
he wasn't going anywhere;  I guess he had earned his bed for the 
night.  Sleepily I told myself that I ought to buy him breakfast 
in the morning and see he was okay.  The last thing I thought 
before I went to sleep was that I didn't even know his name.

***********************************

And of course I never did find out his name.  

I guess you're way ahead of me by now.  Yeah, when I woke up 
this morning he was gone.  And so was my watch.  And my wallet. 
 

I knew almost before I opened my eyes, the way you can tell if 
you're alone or not.  A few seconds passed before I realised 
where I was and remembered what had happened;  I even called out 
something just in case he was in the bathroom, before it hit me 
that he had gone.  Even so it took a couple of minutes longer 
before I realised he'd taken my stuff and the sick panic started 
gnawing at my stomach.  I grabbed my clothes and got into them 
in record time, teeshirt on back to front, and ran out leaving 
the door open.  The car was still there, thankyouJesus . . . 
keys, keys . . . yes, the car keys were still there in the 
pocket of my jeans, along with my set of keys to the HQ.  
Godalmighty, if I'd lost those the guys would have had my ass.

I sprinted across the car park, heart thumping until I saw it 
was okay.  Opened the trunk of the car, hands clumsy with the 
keys.  The laptop was still there, and my jacket with the 
cellphone and credit cards in the pocket.  One piece of luck, if 
you could call it that, that I left them all in the car last 
night.

The boy was long gone of course.  No-one in the diner had seen 
him, but one of the waitresses said there was an early 
southbound Greyhound bus that stopped right outside at 6 am.  So 
I guess my cash and all the other stuff is half way to Miami by 
now.

So I come back here to the motel room, sit down on the bed and 
tip everything out of my overnight bag, and count up what I've 
lost.  It looks like he just grabbed what he could see and took 
off, but that's bad enough.

One Italian black leather wallet . . . John gave it to me, the 
Christmas before we got together, when that old green nylon one 
that I'd had for years, finally fell apart.  I've often wished, 
since, that I'd kept it - I had it the day I met him.

So, one Italian black leather wallet containing:

- one hundred and seventy dollars cash;

- one photograph of my lover . . . that one I took just before 
we got together, of John at the top of the Washington Monument, 
the sun on his face, his hair all blown about by the wind, 
smiling into the camera and looking for once so young, so free, 
relaxed . . . the John I've only since then come to know shining 
out of the picture, innocent, trusting, so beautiful that I 
don't know how I kept my hands off him that day.  After we were 
together, with no secrets any more, and I told him how I had 
felt about him for so long, he signed that picture for me on the 
back and I've kept it with me always.  "Ringo - you'll never be 
lonely again.  Love, John."

- one match book cover from the Atlantic Beach Hotel, Ocean 
City.  Kinda weird souvenir, okay, but that was where we went 
the first time we went away together as a couple, just a long 
weekend by the sea, and of course we hardly left the hotel room 
even to eat, and whenever I take it out and look at it I'm back 
in that room with John curled against me, lying late in the 
night with him sleeping in my arms, hearing the noise of the 
long Atlantic surf on the beach and smelling the salt sea breeze 
blowing in the window and mingling with the scent of sex.

My watch has gone as well.  And John gave me that too, to 
celebate our first anniversary.  "R forever J" is inscribed on 
the back.  I was surprised, and I must have shown it, but he 
just said quietly that he liked giving me things, that he wanted 
to.  And later he put his arms round me and said that he thought 
it was a long time since anyone took care of me and gave me 
presents, and he was going to make sure things changed from then 
on.  I couldn't speak, I was so amazed that he could understand 
me the way no-one had for so long. I just clung to him, shaking 
with emotion and with love for him.  He seemed to understand 
even that, and just held me and stroked me until I calmed down, 
and then took me to bed and made love to me until it seemed like 
we weren't two people any more, but only one.

And thinking about that . . . about John  . . . I'm only now 
beginning to realise what else I've lost.

Not the money or the wallet or the watch or even the photo. It's 
what they represent.  John and me.  What we have.  What we 
*had*.  What I've lost.  Something more valuable that any amount 
of money or possessions.  My self respect is only part of it.  

I've realised I can never feel the same again about John and me. 
 It can never be perfect as it was before, at least not for me.
I'll always remember that I betrayed him. Betrayed myself as 
well.

The only person who's been hurt in all this is me.  And I did it 
to myself.  I can't ever tell John, it would only hurt him.  I 
have to carry this alone.  

Things can be replaced, but trust once broken can never be quite 
the same again.  Even if I never tell John, *I* will always 
remember.  Remember that I forgot him, forgot that I love him 
and that he loves me, all for a quick fuck in a motel room with 
a boy off the street.  

It's something I'll have to come to terms with, on the lonely 
road home.


END