05 July 2010

Fly By Night (3)

Jon stretched out behind January. She’d fallen asleep, leaving the room silent for the rain that had died down to a patter. The room was a ghostly grey and again, it showed little of her personality. White sheets and an oversized down comforter curled around them on a mattress low to the ground. One of those platform beds that reminded him of his time in Japan.

More dark wood behind his head as the dark slats rose up along the wall as a sort of simplified headboard. Shelves held a few knicknacks and one picture frame that he couldn’t see without waking her.

Content after a bone dissolving orgasm, he longed for one of the cigarettes he’d given up. She shifted restlessly against him, her curvy bottom sliding against his dick. It should be too tired to think about a second round, but he laughed lightly as he hardened anyway. The sheet pulled away from them and he finally noticed that her cotton tank hadn’t made it off in the quick rush of hormones.

It had ridden up her back and more of the distinctive purple of her tattoo came into view. Deep green leaves were outlined in a graphic purple, but underneath the tattoo there was a distinctive puckering to her skin along her hip. Without thought, he traced his hand over the obvious scar tissue with an inward wince. He didn’t have many scars, but those he did always seemed to hurt more when he got too much sun, he couldn’t imagine the stinging needle of a tattoo gun over one.

She moaned in her sleep, murmuring a semi-coherent, “no,” into the half light. Stroking her hair automatically, he tried to soothe her. She jerked awake, her golden eyes blind as she twisted and thrashed.

“January!” He said her name sharply and ducked as she threw an automatic punch. She glanced off his jaw and he caught her tight. “Hey!”

She tensed, the shudder as all consuming as the passion she’d shown him just a few moments ago.

Seamus barked, the dog’s nose about three inches from his. Where the fuck had he come from? She murmured something lilting in an otherworldly language and the dog settled, leaning heavily against the bed until he could slide down to a prone position. He gave a small woof of dismay, but put his head down on his paws.

He could feel her relax by degrees in his arms, almost as if it was an exercise she did often. The only outward reaction was the grip she still had on his arm as she took measured breaths. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He pressed her cheek to his chest and stroked her hair at the nape of her neck. It was as soft as goose down, light and whispy around his wrist. “It’s okay, shhh.”

She rolled her forehead against the center of his chest. “Man, talk about sexy, right?” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and looked up at him.

He traced his thumb down her cheek. “We all have demons.”

She blinked away the tears from her dream and looked down at the two of them, very naked, and very intimate. Then back up at him. “Um...I--”

Sensing that she was about to head into uncomfortable post-afterglow territory he grinned at her, settling her more comfortably around him. “Hey, I like to play the big strong guy. It doesn’t happen very often.”

That smile returned to her oddly golden eyes, but her pretty face was still deadpan. Damn if that didn’t amuse the hell out of him. “That’s because you’re too busy being a pampered rock star.”

He hooked an arm behind his head, gathering one of the scattered pillows to get more comfortable. “Oh really? How would you know I’m pampered?”

She tunneled her fingers through the hair on his chest, following the lines of  his body. Suddenly rather glad that he’d kicked it up in the gym, he relaxed under her touch. “Your hands were just all over my body. They’re softer than mine.”

He lifted her ink smudged fingers. “Well, I don’t play in finger paints like some people.” When she tugged on his chest hair he winced. “Hey, I write songs, my hands look just as smudged when I’m in the studio.”

“Or when you color with your kids?” she asked with a tap on his ring.

He looked right into her eyes. Guilt stabbed at him, but he swallowed it down.  Unconventional life or not, he rarely cheated on his wife these days, but it did happen. “I’m not an angel, January.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re in my bed.” She leveraged up until she straddled his thighs. The tank rode up and she tugged it down. “I know you’re going to leave in the morning. And I know you’re taken. You’re about as safe as I can get without using my vibrator.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Well, that’s one way to look at it.” Relief and an ache he didn’t want to think about hit him square in the solar plexus. He cupped her face, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as she sucked it into her mouth. He felt himself harden immediately. Christ, there was just something about a woman’s mouth with a little suction that never ceased to entice him.

She found him, her fingers gripping the base of his shaft as she loomed over him. He pushed at her tank, wanting all of her skin to skin as she rode him. She pushed it down again, even as his hands fished underneath.

She shook her head, her hips undulating against his shaft, trying to take him inside her body. And he wanted it. Wanted to lose himself again inside her welcoming heat and peace, but the peace was gone.

He could feel it in each desperate grasping pull of her fingers. She already knew just what button to push, and the secrets of a woman’s knowledge dragged him under as she fit herself around him. He arched up under her, his fingers digging into her hips as she rode him hard and fast.

Her head was thrown back. She pushed him to the brink with a roll of hips, the way her body tightened and welcomed him. But distantly he knew manipulation was a large part of the quick trip up. She was hiding with only half her body on display, only half of herself open to him.

She didn’t look down at him as she sought her release. He was just a tool this time, just a way to escape. He reared up, seeking some sort of connection again. But biology took over and he came, hard and deep inside her--even if it was one of the emptiest orgasms he’d ever had.

Breathing heavy, he clamped a hand around her wrist before she could get off him. His system was still on overdrive, but something was off. “Where’d you go?”

“What are you talking about?” She swiped her forehead with her free arm and smiled down at him, but it certainly didn’t reach her eyes.

He sat up, throwing her balance off until she fell against him. “Hey, I’m all for a mindless orgasm, but I really didn’t need to be here for that one. I could have been anyone.”

She rolled off him, her back to him as she sat on the side of the bed away from him. “Let’s not get this complicated here.”

Christ, he felt like a girl, but he scooted up onto his knees behind her, the sheet tightening across his hip as he tried to get closer to her. “I don’t want complicated. What this is, doesn’t have anything to do with complicated. It’s just that you’re hurting--and sometimes it’s easier to tell a stranger.”

She looked over her shoulder, he ultra-fine hair curving against her chin. “You just don’t know how to be an asshole guy today now do you?”

“Oh, I can be an asshole.” He sat back on his feet. He drew a knuckle across her back from one shoulder blade to the other. “But this little interlude wasn’t about that, right?”

She sighed, her head lowered. “Even anonymous sex can’t truly be anonymous.”

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m just a good listener. Just putting that on the table, that’s all.”

She leaned back on him and he curled his arm around her waist, dragging her back into his arms.  He spooned around the back of her, their legs tangling as they settled against the pillows. For awhile she didn’t say anything. Then finally, she took his hand, pushing her shirt up.

Delicately, he traced her belly, finding more raised ridges of scars. “I don’t want to go into it, but I was hurt.” Her voice was softer than air. “Hurt so bad, that it took seven surgeries and countless grafts to try and put me back together.”

He eased back until he could look down at her.  He looked into her eyes as he traced each scar and overlapping purple edged leaf that peaked from the top of her neckline with his tongue. He tugged at her shirt, drawing it up so he could see all of her. Her breathing stuttered and her arms raised to help him. She was beautiful, no scar could hide that beauty. So he reinforced that with reverent touches until she eased. He wanted her to show him everything--to be as naked as two people could be. He finally looked away from her eyes and outlined each leaf and curling bell of the flowers that bloomed on her skin.

She shuddered under his hand, her skin sensitive to his touch as he lowered his mouth to her breast and traced the ink that climbed there. He could see silvery lines under the art and he ached. What kind of monster could have hurt her like this?

He gently rolled her over, following the scars and the purple lines that created a forest of flowers that told a story. And in the center of her back, right along her spine he found a Celtic symbol among the vines. He flicked the tip of his tongue over the knots. “Strength,” he said softly.

She rose on her elbows, lifting to his mouth and the pleasure he sought to give her. He pushed the cornsilk curtain of her hair over her shoulder and found her neck. Slowly and gently he drew on her ear, tasted the salt of their combined sweat, and trapped her legs between his.

“Will you let me inside you again?”

She nodded mutely as her hips lifted just a little. He didn’t pity her for the pain she’d suffered, but could only marvel in the strength she showed by using her scars to make something beautiful. He buried himself deep, the angle tightening every part of her around him as he watched himself slide in and out of her. The pure white skin and the unrelieved graphic texture of her art left a stark honesty that touched him.

And instead of two people looking to lose each other in a mindless bounce, it became about giving. He didn’t have much to give these days. Too many people wanted something from him, but here in this moment he couldn’t think of anything but giving to this woman that had lost so much.

His hand slid under her until he could find where they joined. Slick with intimacy and the slow build of excitement, he could feel each glide of his cock inside her. He could feel the light quiver of her body’s reaction to the angle. It would be good for her this time.

It would be good for him.

As the sweat pooled at the base of her spine, he couldn’t hold on any longer. He lifted her off the bed and slid deeper, his arm holding her up as she cried out for him to drive harder. And the mindless took hold until all that filled the room was the slick slaps of skin and rain, until all that mattered was following her off the edge into a tangle of limbs.


“God,” she curled up her knees into her chest and held on as her body still spasmed in the aftermath. “God,” she muttered once again as his soft lips kissed the nape of her neck with a low, satisfied laugh.

Utterly wrecked, she let him hold onto her lulled by the rain and an orgasm that defied her plane of existence. She’d never felt more beautiful and wanted in her life. She didn’t think she’d ever feel either of them after what happened to her.

But here, in the kindness of a stranger’s arms, she couldn’t begin to thank him. He’d seen all of her and had still wanted her. He’d wanted her more if that was even possible. She blinked away a quick rush of tears. Damaged goods--that’s how she’d seen herself for far too long.

The only damage that had been done this afternoon was the sexually liberating kind. She turned in his arms, her lips brushing his chin, then his neck, then finally his lips as she settled into him.

A few hours later she woke to a dark room and the soft chuff of Seamus at the side of her bed. She detangled herself from Jon’s arms and reached for the robe on a chair in the corner. He moaned, curling into the pillow, his face away from her. Absently, she stroked down his back where all those muscles bunched and moved. Mercy, he was beautiful. Stepping back, she looked down at her oh so patient companion.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she said on a low, toneless voice. The poor dog was probably ready to cross his own huge legs. She padded down the stairs, her body ached in the most amazing ways.

She’d been invaded in the best possible ways that day. She flicked open the peephole and looked around. Only her truck and Jon’s ridiculous sports car sat in her driveway.

She hated to let Seamus out of her sight, even long enough to go to the bathroom, but he needed to run. Well, as much as an Irish Wolfhound could run. Intimidation and stature were his strengths, but it left her feeling naked when he was gone.

Rubbing her arms against the slashing rain, she jumped when Jon came up behind her. “Christ,” she said between clenched teeth. “Don’t do that!” The rush of fear was absolute and blinding. She bore down on the doorjamb, forcing herself to relax.

He ran his hand down her hair. “Sorry.” He shook his keys, stopping as he noticed her grip. “Are you okay?”

She forced her voice to sound natural, even though the adrenaline coursed through her like fire. “Yeah, you just startled me.”

He frowned, but took a step down.  “I’m going to grab something out of the car, okay?”

She nodded. Almost there. Focusing on her breathing, she forced her system to ease. She was safe. Pasting on a nonchalant smirk, she leaned on the jamb. He truly didn’t need to know just how nuts she was. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” He ran outside, his jeans still unsnapped, and no shirt on, and her body went haywire for a totally different reason. He really was the most beautiful specimen of male. Turning her back on the door, she wandered to her kitchen.

She was totally safe.

After only a minor archaelogical dig into her freezer, she found a Tupperware bowl labeled, veal and peppers, and shoved it into the microwave.

Getting the initial frost off the edges, she plopped it into a pan and turned it to simmer. Every few months, she drove out to Edmonton for supplies and part of that run was an Italian place that made nice, big portions.

The door shut, and the flap of Seamus’ wet fur and floppy ears as he shook himself off, immediately eased her. An oddly tuneful whistling started in the living room, making her grin as she filled a pot of water for the pasta, leaving it turned off. The sauce would take a bit.

“I hope you like veal and peppers,” she said as she walked back into her living room. He was settled on her couch, a guitar on his lap, his chest bare and dotted with rain.

“What’s not to like there?”

She swallowed her tongue and curled into her favorite chair. Indeed, there wasn’t much not to like at all. A scattered sheaf of papers littered her coffee table. She picked one up, realizing it was a setlist. Jon’s bold print was on a few of them, and some were blocky type from a computer printout.

A lot of the songs were the same, but a few different songs were peppered in. She didn’t have a lot of knowledge when it came to live music. She enjoyed music, but her concert going days had...she swallowed and put the paper down. Best not to think about how long it had been.

“Are you studying your own setlists?”

He sighed, sitting back on the couch. A battered black guitar settled against his belly. The natural curves of his body seemed to follow the guitar and it only highlighted how different he could be. Jon the man was blurring into Jon the musician here.

Fascinated, she saw the entire conversation in his mind before he sat up. She knew and valued privacy, so she just waited, a smile curving her mouth.

Jon sat up again, his fingers automatically curling around the neck of the guitar as his other arm hung low off the body. Muscles shifted and flexed as he got himself more comfortable. Her fingers suddenly itched. She’d already known his blue eyes would follow into her work. Would her editor freak out, or crow with delight when black and purple got a dash of blue in the mix?

Finally, he spoke. “Setlists are my own personal hell, right now.”

“Why?” She snagged her notebook off the table and a shard of graphite as she crossed her legs and settled.

He looked down at his strings, strumming absently as the words swished around in his mouth like hard candy. She made a few slashing gestures to the page, capturing the high cheekbones and unruly hair until his face popped from the page.

“I’ve been taking the easy way, and I know it. I hate being called on it.”

She could see the frustration, and the disgust on his face and it translated into her drawing. Making a brief outline of his guitar, she started a new study in the corner of the notebook. His fingers around the neck, the quick and graceful as he picked out random notes.  Random to her, no less beautiful in their randomness, but she didn’t know the tune.

Instead of answering him, she just let him talk it out. Sometimes all you needed was an outsider to dump on. She was pretty sure he didn’t really have that with anyone. She could physically see him stiffen up, winding up in his head with a frustration that she understood. The Jon that had first come to her door was emerging again.

She set her notebook on the chair, stepped over a snoring Seamus and climbed behind him to sit on the headrest of her hugely oversized couch. He laughed, but leaned back against her thighs as she hugged his ribs with her knees. Digging her fingers into his shoulders he hissed, then groaned his appreciation.

“So, you’re the boss right?” He stiffened, but she dug in again until he relaxed. “C’mon, Jon, you radiate boss. I’m sorry, it’s true.”

He sighed, disgust and ascent in the shake of his head. “It sucks sometimes.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his scruffy cheek. “It’s supposed to suck. Being a leader is three parts stress and one part pleasure, no matter what anyone thinks.”

He rubbed his cheek against her jaw as she dropped behind him, her feet splayed. “Yeah, and that’s what this little drive was about. It’s been four parts stress and no pleasure for way too long.”

She scraped her teeth over the freckles dotting his shoulder. “Play for me. Play something you love--play something for you and let it be for me as a side benefit.”

He strummed for a few minutes, then a rough and smoky voice buzzed along her chest and resonated through her thighs. She didn’t know the song at first, but then smiled and tucked her chin in his shoulder.

His fingers picked over the strings, strumming softly as his voice strengthened with each line as if he needed to warm up. As the song came to a close, she laid her cheek on his shoulder. “The Rolling Stones never sounded so good.”

He laughed and trapped her back against the couch. “Right, the Stones are the Stones, darlin’. I just like to pretend I can do a good impression.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers teasing the line of hair that trailed into his jeans. “I’ll never hear Wild Horses quite the same way again.” She flicked a tongue over his freckles. “Sing one of yours.”

“All I do is sing mine.”

Undeterred, she pushed him forward. “Sing one that you love. Don’t play for the crowd, just the audience of one.”

He sighed, but she could feel the build inside him. Songwriting was his art, singing others was for fun, but his own soul was in his songs, just like her art was a looking glass into her mind.

His voice instantly changed, whisper soft and resonate at the same time. Her whole body shivered in reaction. He sung of loneliness, of endless nights, and losing yourself in a strangers arms. Of holding onto someone for just one night. As the last strains told her there was a helluva lot of lonely out there.

She moved his guitar, setting it into the opposite corner of the couch and climbed on top of him. Her lips on his before she could stop herself. “You sing what you want,” she said against his mouth. His fingers dug into her hair, holding her there as the kiss deepend.

The man had no idea just how emotion could come out of him when he let it go. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she could feel it. As she lost herself in his distinctive flavor, she held onto her lonely stranger, and hoped they could both keep it at bay for one night.


rutpop said...

Oh no what was done to her? Whatever is was seems so horrible that I'm sure it's affected her deeply. I sure hope she can trust him enough and tell him about it before he leaves, perhaps if she were to unburden herself she could move past it. It seems as though right now she is existing but not living.

Super_Kiwi said...

Wow, so beautiful, sensual and heart-breaking all at the same time.

The nightmare, and then the empty sex.. just wow---you tell show much just by showing it. The amazing thing about this, is even though this was in his POV, I could still feel what she was feeling, from the empty sex, and the way she let him explore her body this time... that was wonderfully sensual but so very personal. And I felt she needed to let someone see, someone soothe her... just for a little while.

The visuals again, all her body work, the celtic knot--just amazing words.

The next round of sex was just beautiful. I feel like she healed a little, and I feel like she's filling a little empty space inside him as well. It's not forever but it's enough.

And the scene moving into his music and she got to soothe him into it, so raw and delicious. Beautiful chapter.

I still will feel sad, when they part. I really will LOL

Judith said...

I don't know how you do it, but this was just beautiful. And I can't imagine this will be a shorty? I feel already sad to know it's almost over.
Any chance to bring them back????

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