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Jon never liked the cold. It was an awful sensation that enveloped him from head to toe, making him shiver, seeking a source of warmth. He felt like an aspen leaf that was about to fall off a branch. That's what Jon called himself when October came around. Jon could put on warm clothes, wrap himself in a warm blanket, turn on the heater eventually. Well, that's what Jon has been doing lately during their tour. In some countries the weather was too warm, but in some Jon felt a chill creeping through his skin to the bone, making him shiver. The movements on stage save him, and the cheers of the fans, as well as the faces of his bandmates who performed with him. All this will remain in his memories, which always warmed his soul, despite the deadly cold, unpleasant to Jon.
However, now Jon wasn't saved from the cold, neither the thought of their future concert, where everything would be repeated, nor the thought of the previous one, where Jon forgot about this cold, where he thought about their fans and about the guys from the group. Even a large, cozy blanket in wich Jon was wrapped in up to his chin didn't save his body from the cold that he felt. When they checked in, they were given a few warm blankets, due to the fact that the hotel does not have heating, which was not enough. With the onset of darkness it became even colder, Jon seemed to be in a cold winter cave. Although, this is not the physical cold that Jon didn’t like. This is the cold that he experienced in his lonely but large and welcoming soul, which sometimes went out like a lamp in which there was no lighter. He didn't care about these disgusting sensations that he was experiencing now, not looking for another blanket in the closet, or putting on warmer clothes.
He was too tired of everything, and that was okay. Well, that's what the guys would say, but not Jon, who never felt sorry for himself. He would not, knowing what brings the group popularity, knowing that he is trying as well as the rest of the guys in the group. But that was nothing, especially for the critics, who judged them by their appearance right and left. Jon knew it was unimportant, but he couldn't get the thought out of his head. The young man closed his eyes, clutching the blanket to himself, trying to find contact in the hope of warmth. He couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried. His thoughts consumed him, as did the cold he felt now, on his skin and in his soul.
He knew what he was missing, but he could not ask for it. Richie was tired too, very much. This tour was really exhausting to the point of numbness, and John saw the fatigue in his lover's eyes that Richie was trying to hide. John knew that his lover would never ask for help, because Sambora always copes alone with his cockroaches in his head, unlike Jon, who finds solace in conversations with him, away from the guys, fans and the whole world, in hotel rooms or in a house where they were alone, where they enjoyed each other's company, where no one could see them, where no one could forbid them their love, which was always not enough.
At the thought of guitarist, singer smiled, not as brightly as he did, but something in his smile lit up, something warm and lively when he thought about Richie now, when he was alone in their hotel room, when he absorbed this cold alone. The crystal iceberg in his soul began to melt when Jon thought of Richie, when he wanted to feel the warmth of his body next to him, and not the hotel blanket, the material of which was significantly degraded, given the persistence of customers here. Suddenly the silence is broken by unhurried steps outside the door. Jon hears the jingle of keys, and after the realization that the door is open, there is a slight creak, and steps are heard in the room, slow, neat.
The guest closed the door behind him, this time locked. Jon has never locked himself up lately, what's the point? None, when he knew he wouldn't sleep alone. The steps slowly approached him, and soon stopped. The newcomer stood over Jon, and singer couldn't keep his eyes closed. Jon lifted his head up, looking at whoever he was waiting for. In the dark, Richie looked much more mysterious than he was on stage and in life, when he wore a black leather jacket, with leather black boots and trousers, emphasizing everything with a black hat, in which he confirms his status as a cowboy. In fact, Jon always thought of Richie as a cowboy, but not himself. In the dark, Richie seemed like a shadow that came to Jon's soul, and singer didn't mind surrendering into his hands.
"Are you still awake?" Richie asked quietly, hoarse and low, leaning towards Jon.
"The mess in my head does not allow me to do this." Jon chuckled softly, turning on the lamp on the nearby bedside table, illuminating the face of his lover.
A warm smile played on Richie's lips, and Jon forgets about the cold he felt lately, from which he wanted to get rid of, but even having all the means, he couldn't do it. With Richie, who was next to him, it worked better. Jon lies back on the pillow and Richie approaches his face. Sambora's eyes study Jon's features in the light of the lamp, and Jon cannot take his eyes off him, feeling the warmth returning to him. Richie presses his forehead against Jon's, looking into his eyes, and the warmth that he needs spreads through Jon's body, as if he were a rare flower that will disappear from the face of the earth. Richie slowly touches his lips with his own, pulling him into a gentle kiss, and Jon feels alive, for the first time in a long time he had such a feeling that someone needs him. It wasn't the heat that Richie gave him in kisses that were passionate, wild, leaving scars and bites. It was that warmth that made him want to live. Jon responds by caressing Richie's lips with his own, and the ice that overgrown his heart began to melt. Richie slowly pulled back, straightening up.
"Then let me undress and wash, and then I will put your thoughts in order." Richie went to the closet with their clothes and things.
“They’re just getting confused with you, Richie.” Jon chuckled softly as he watched him, smiling so sincerely that his cheeks ached.
"But you like it, baby." Richie winked at him, undressing.
"I didn't say that, but you like it more." Jon hugged the pillow under him, watching Richie in one shirt and panties.
Richie doesn't answer, just teases Jon by sticking out his tongue and hiding behind the bathroom door. Jon chuckled, rolling his eyes. Sometimes Sambora behaved like a child, in front of everyone, in front of him, even when he wasn't drunk, he just was himself, and this is what Jon loved in him first of all. The blanket on his body felt so hot and so unnecessary, and Jon freed himself from it, pulling it down to his shoulders. His body needed air, his body needed the warmth that was growing in him now, as soon as Jon thought about his lover more. He always thought of him, more than anything else in his life. Nothing else mattered now, it never mattered. Only not when Richie was around, then everything seemed distant, not worthy of attention. Jon loved it when Richie was in a mess in his head, it was good to think about it. It was pleasant to think of him. Jon liked that despite the cold in the room, he was warm as soon as Richie lit his extinguished spark of life burning in his soul. The bathroom door opened and Richie approached the bed, a tired but warm smile playing on his lips. God, Jon could admire his smile for hours. Richie has always loved Jon's smile, but Jon loved Richie's smile more than anything.
"I'm so tired." Richie got under the covers, moving closer to Jon. "Today's concert has exhausted me more than all the previous ones."
"You always say that, Richie." Jon turned off the light, and the darkness fell again in the room. "But I'm more tired."
"I don't argue." Richie said it quietly, his big warm hands were fire for his icy back, and Jon sighed softly when Richie pressed his body to him, and how warm Richie was revived Jon. "I would never said you were trying in vain. This is not true at all, Jonny."
"You speak as if you are grandfather." Jon quietly laughed, snuggling up to Richie, gently kissing him on the neck, burning his lips with warmth. "But I am pleased to hear that."
"I can see right through you, Jonny." Richie made a low voice, making him look like his grandfather, this voice was different from the one he always did when he was making fun of the guys and Jon. "You definitely can't hide, cowboy."
Jon couldn't help laughing, lightly hitting Richie in the chest. This was completely different from what it was a couple of minutes ago. The ice melted, and a fire burned in Jon's soul. No, he didn’t burn, he warmed both him and Richie. Jon liked it much more than turning into a dead, icy body, whose soul felt nothing but pain and worries. Now it was just him and Richie, and the warmth they created together that warmed the two of them more than these blankets and padded clothes.
“Richie.” Jon called softly, catching his eyes in the darkness.
"Yes?" Richie's voice sounded relaxed and sleepy, Jon admitted that when his voice gets low and hoarse, it really drives warmth through his body.
“You're warm.” Jon stroked his chin with the pads of his fingers, moving up the neck to the back of his head, massaging the scalp, which made Richie pleasantly hum.
“You wanted to say I'm hot, baby.” Richie chuckled softly, kissing the top of Jon’s head.
"I know this for a long time, Sambora." Jon put his leg between Richie's legs, and Jon realized that Richie is hot on his own, and this cannot be changed. "But for me you are warm."
"If it wasn't me, you would be so cold without heating under these cold blankets, but you are warmer, Jonny, I would have wrapped myself in you than in this blanket." Richie buried his chin in Joh's hair.
“You warm me more than I warm you, Richie.” Jon yawned tiredly, his eyelids drooping.
“That's because I'm hot.” Richie couldn't help laughing, pulling Jon closer to him.
"How unbearable you are, Sambora." Jon chuckled softly. "Let's sleep. Sweet dreams, Richie."
"Sweet dreams, Jonny."
There was a silence in the room, and this silence was not deadly or lonely, which was usually for Jon sometimes. It was a peaceful and pleasant silence, in which could be heard the quiet breathing, the chalked but lively beating of two hearts, which received oxygen from each other. On such nights, sleeping for Jon was not some kind of necessity, in which he forgot all the worries he experienced during the day. It was pleasant for him to fall asleep in arms of his beloved, it was pleasant for him to feel this revitalizing warmth that Richie always gave him, in the cold season, melting the ice in Jon's soul, and warming gently, without burning. Jon knew that he was not the only one craving this warmth. Richie, no matter how hard he tried to hide himself, was still visible. Jon always wanted to give him that warm affection and love when Richie couldn't get it. Jon has always thought that Richie is his fire, igniting his life. He'll give Richie the same.
"Richie?" Jon called softly.
"Mmm?" Richie almost fell asleep.
"Your love is warm."
"Your love is warmer, Jonny."