Title: Three Months Worth
Fandom: Tour of Duty
Summary: Written for the TOD Notes from the Underground "Anniversary Challenge"
Johnny McKay walked slowly up the block in the New York suburb he called home. He'd been there for the last three years. After repeated attempts to get a job as a pilot out west had failed, and other options proved intolerable, he'd come back east looking for a change of scenery. As far as he knew, New York was the biggest goddamned city in the country, and it was as good a place as any for a guy to lose himself and forget about everything for a while.
The only problem, of course, was that forgetting was pretty hard to do no matter where you were. Especially when you had a lot of time on your hands for thinking. Johnny had a lot of time on his hands. The bartending gig he had paid pretty well, but left his mind far too free when he wasn't there. He would wake up mid-morning and lie in bed remembering the horrors of the war and the friends he'd been forced to leave behind. That inevitably led to thinking about the one friend in particular it had been hardest to leave behind.
He missed Myron like hell, and the few letters they exchanged each year were a poor substitute for the intense relationship they'd had in 'Nam. At least...that was where they were headed before he'd taken a bullet and gotten shipped home. If he was lucky, he occasionally got to relive those hot nights in his dreams.
Taking a deep breath, Johnny stopped in front of the stone steps of his apartment building and sat down, setting his bag of groceries on the step next to him. The afternoon was warm and sunny. The first sun they'd seen in a week. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his elbows, trying to soak up as much of it as he could, hoping it would dispel his mental gloom.
He'd been in the city for almost a year before he finally worked up the courage to reply to Myron's last letter. Myron was living in New York and teaching English at some community college Johnny had never heard of. He sounded about as strung out on paper as Johnny felt, but it still made him nervous to let on that he was living so close.
That had been three months ago and still no reply to his letter. He wondered what the hell that meant. Myron was always such a fucking contradiction in terms. Johnny never could figure him out, but he sure liked trying. It didn't look good this time, though.
Johnny groaned and climbed back onto his feet, grabbing the paper bag in one hand and pushing through the door with his other. He stopped to check his mail. There was nothing of interest, and no letter from Myron. He stuffed the envelopes in the bag and climbed up three flights of stairs to his floor. Mrs. Kroger passed him in the hallway, scolding, "You left your radio on again, young man. I don't like to hear that boom boom boom through my walls all afternoon, you know."
"Sorry about that," said Johnny, wincing. "I forget to turn my alarm off sometimes and the radio comes on when I'm not there. I'll hang up a note or something."
He turned away from her and stuck the key in the lock of his front door. Sure enough, he could hear the radio blaring a Steppenwolf tune through the apartment. When he opened the door, two things happened. A blue cloud of cigar smoke assaulted him, and his world turned on it's ear.
"Hiya, McKay," beamed a familiar face. "Come on in. And ah....close the door..."
The grocery bag fell out of Johnny's limp hand and two oranges rolled out onto the floor. He staggered sideways a couple of steps and flailed behind himself to get the door swung shut. His gaze was riveted to the scene in the corner of the room. Myron Goldman was sitting in his armchair with his feet propped up on the coffee table. He was wearing a pair of faded boxer shorts and shit-eating grin. That was it. Johnny felt his face go warm.
Myron smirked and flipped a page of the magazine that lay across his lap. Johnny caught the brief flash of a topless woman as it went, then his attention was back on Myron, watching him take a long drag off the cigar and blow a stream of smoke into the air.
"Goldman..." he said weakly, still reeling from the shock of finding the object of his musings sitting nearly naked in his living room. "What....?"
Myron was impossibly smug as he got up and walked a few feet to the fridge in the kitchenette. He pulled it open and snagged something off the top. "I bet you're surprised to see me," he said, fussing around inside. When he came back, he held two green bottles. "Have yourself a beer, McKay."
Johnny took the bottle absently and stared dumbfounded as Myron took another puff of the cigar. Finally, he managed to shake his tongue loose. "Hell yeah, I'm surprised to see you here," he blurted. "I haven't heard from you in months. I thought you'd finally had enough of me."
Myron shook his head, grinning warmly. "Nope, I guess not." He took a sip of beer. "I'll be honest, though...it took some thinking when I saw the return address."
"Three months worth," Johnny said.
"Not really," Myron told him. "Only a couple, but then I figured if I'd waited that long, one more wouldn't hurt."
Johnny furrowed his brow, making Myron chuckle. "Why one more?"
Myron stepped up to stand face to face with Johnny, a wicked gleam in his eye. He tapped Johnny on the chest with the neck of his beer bottle. "Five years ago today, you moved yourself right into my life, with your cigars and your music and your smug fucking attitude...."
Johnny met Myron's gaze with a mischievous one of his own, and took a swig of beer, never taking his eyes off him. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he grinned slowly. "You were counting...that's sweet. So what's this? Our anniversary?"
"Something like that," shrugged Myron. "Five years of you driving me absolutely fucking crazy..."
Johnny smirked. "I drove you crazy long before that."
"Yeah," agreed Myron, "but at least you did it from the comfort of your own hootch."
"And yet...here you are...." Johnny reached up to brush the backs of his fingers along Myron's collar bone. There could only be one possible reason for Myron to be standing in his apartment in nothing but his underwear.
"Here I am," Myron echoed, eyes blazing.
They stood there for several moments, letting the tension hang in the air, until Johnny couldn't stand it anymore. He slipped his hand up into Myron's hair and pulled him close for a hungry kiss. Myron's arms came around him, pressing the cold beer bottle against his back as he met Johnny with equal passion, necking until they were both breathless.
The last of Johnny's shock had worn off, and all that remained was need and desire. He shoved Myron toward the bedroom, stumbling along with him because neither one of them was inclined to let go. Myron faltered when the backs of the knees hit the bed and Johnny grabbed the beer out of his hand just before he went down. Sparing only half a second to set both beers on the dresser, Johnny peeled off his t-shirt and climbed on top of Myron, sprawling out over his body and kissing him desperately the moment he could reach. Myron was writhing under him instantly, moaning and reaching between to fumble at the buttons of Johnny's jeans.
"Wait....wait...." Johnny panted, clasping Myron's shoulders with the palms of his hands and bracing his forehead against Myron's temple. "Not like this. We don't have to rush anymore. I always wanted to go slow..."
"Next time," Myron said, cutting him off. He peeled open Johnny's jeans and shoved them down over his hips, sliding his hands over the curves of Johnny's ass. "We can go slow next time. There's no way I'm going to manage slow right now."
The promise inherent in the words 'next time' was enough to make Johnny groan and claim Myron's mouth in another heated kiss. Then he said, "I suppose we could have one more reckless tumble for old time's sake."
"Right," Myron moaned absently, thrusting up against him hard and fast.
Johnny gasped at the feel of naked flesh beneath him and realized that Myron had gotten his shorts out of the way as well, and was effectively starting without him. "Hell..." he moaned.
They clung together, bodies desperately shoving against each other as they had done years ago in the dark shadows of their hootch. Hot kisses and hard breathing and slick skin were the only sounds in the room as they both concentrated on their desperate need. Everything else came second.
It wasn't long before Myron was shaking beneath him, fingers clutching at him awkwardly. Johnny put a hand on his hip to steady him and focused his thrusts to bring Myron over the edge with choked moan, jaw clenched tight and face flushed. That was more than enough to bring Johnny off, and he drove himself hard against Myron's body until the last of his climax shuddered through him.
Johnny hovered there for a few moments catching his breath, Myron's hands still tight on his back. When they finally loosened, he dipped his head and kissed Myron slowly, savoring it now that the urgency was gone. Myron was threading his fingers through Johnny's hair lazily and nearly purred with contentment. Finally, Johnny shifted off to the side and settled on the bed next to Myron, rolling onto his back.
He heard Myron take a deep breath next to him and then say, "Why did you move to New York?"
"Big city...more work," Johnny answered carefully.
"I'd already used up my options out west."
"What?" Johnny grinned at the ceiling. "You want me to say that I moved out here to be where you are?"
Johnny turned to look at him and found Myron gazing back with a hopeful look on his face. "What do you think, Goldman?"
Myron grinned, "I think you just couldn't live without me, and it took you damned long enough to come to your senses."
"I...? Took me?!" Johnny sat up and turned to stare incredulously at Myron. "It's not like you rushed to my side the moment you knew I was here."
"I know. I just...wanted to be sure." Myron said quietly and sat up to meet him. "But I'm here now, and we don't have anyone looking over our shoulders anymore."
"That's true." Johnny smiled and kissed Myron. "Can I buy you dinner?"
"I thought you'd never ask."