Direct companion to "Escalation" and part of the "Our Lives After" Universe.

~Tawnya

You've been watching him since he came in. Most of the time, he's not around while you're messing around with your turntables (Naturally. You're home. It's kinda what you do.), working out whatever your head decided to produce that day. Even if he is around, he tends to leave you be unless it's the third time he's had to call you for dinner. He settles quietly on that ratty college couch you still own for some stupid reason (oh yeah, it's fucking comfortable as all hell) with the book you've seen him sighing drearily over for the last week in his hand. Must be one of Lalonde's recommendations. He gives you his usual adorkable smile and gets ready for his mental flogging by stretching out. You keep telling him to stop trying to play book club with her, but he's never been one with a strong self-preservation instinct.

It must be one of her better choices for reading material because soon, he's not really paying a lot of attention to the world around him. You go back to your messing. A lot of the time, it's hours spent getting nothing productive done, just hashing out bits and pieces that sound good, that are technically sound, yet fail to serve a greater purpose at this point in time. You've got a whole hard drive dedicated to those little spin-offs and will soon have to upgrade to a larger size. Today, though, what started off as a sound byte has actually bloomed into something useable. In fact, this piece is almost done. It should mix in well with a couple more you put together a few days ago. You're just not sure if it will really send them staggering home from the club.

Good thing you've got the perfect test subject sitting not four feet from you.

You don't actually focus on him as you switch gears and start getting everything loaded up. He'd notice all that attention and it'd make him nervous if he knew you were using him for something like this. He tends to think too much about, well, everything, if he knows it's a serious request. It's why he's reading that damn book in the first place. The programs switch over while the speakers get turned up just that little bit extra. You should probably feel bad about abusing his spaced-out attentiveness, but he's so damned perfect for this. Especially when he's otherwise occupied.

This set is meant to be a slow build, something you'd use to get a club started. You try to be patient as things fall into place. It's hard; you adjust a couple things, trying to help the process along. Soften this edge, amp this signal up. A full minute passes. Shit. He's not responding. You start second guessing yourself, ready to scrap everything even as you try to figure out what could have gone so terribly wrong so early. Maybe the beat's too…never mind, there he goes. A toe's started tapping. Not in time with the music yet, and it's subtle, but the movement is there.

With a silent sigh of relief, you take it to the next level. In go the next couple of elements, not breaking the beat, but adding to it, emphasizing without diminishing the core of what's already there. Now his foot is tapping in time. Some more adjustments as you glance at the timer on your computer screen for reference. Soon, both feet are involved, tapping in counter rhythm to each other. This is where you really need to pay attention, which is hard without actually staring at him, but watching him go through all the stages will tell you if the music has the right energy.

First, it's that off tempo toe tap. That means he's got the beat even if he's not connected to it yet. The whole foot means it got his attention, however unconscious that attention might be. That's why both feet are critical—he only moves them both when his awareness of the music is still passive. He's still reading, so you know it hasn't fully grabbed him yet. It's starting to, though. His concentration on the book is faltering. He just had to reread that paragraph a couple of times to move on, where he's otherwise been pretty steady the rest of this time. You smile slightly. It shouldn't make you so proud to disrupt his brain like that.

It builds, steady, surely. The basic beat has never quit, so there's no disruption as the sound starts to pile up on itself. Two different melody lines start a fight for dominance, and neither one quite wins out for more than a few seconds. A digital symphony plays both counter melody to them and provides stability, becoming another constant that changes without ever really quitting. You slip into the music for just a little bit, almost out of relax. It's almost scary how easy this is to do sometimes. It pulls you in, demands your full attention, even when you don't really need to do much. You let it pull even though you refuse to give in completely, because there's a part of you that needs this connection with the sound, and yet, you still almost miss the next stage you were looking for, the head drop.

Still in time with the music, his head just shifts from a resting position to slightly dip forward, then back. That quickly develops into a full head bob, which means you're almost there. This is the most critical of stages. If the sound is only so-so, or if he's truly occupied, or if he's simply just not in the mood, it never moves beyond this point, this action. The goal is to get a set going so compelling, it'll break him from what he's doing and move him on to the next and final stage. The head bob goes on for a few minutes and you're still in the sound, trying to work and watch and adjust all at the same time. You're starting to get nervous again. This piece was a more experimental sound, even for you. You have no doubt that it would work at some of the usual haunts, but now that you're here, you realize it may work better broken back apart and mixed into another set…

There! You've got him! Your smile is full on now and you stare unabashedly. After all, you don't have to hide it anymore—he can't see it. His eyes have closed and his head's tilted back against the pillow he's been resting against this whole time. His head is still bobbing slightly, but most of the movement back in his feet again. The book falls to the side as his fingers start to tap out the melody line on his tights. There's a beautifully soft smile on his face.

This is the final stage, the ultimate goal. You have him in a form of ecstasy.

For someone like you, slipping into this stage is easy. Music is everything for you, your blood and heartbeat. He appreciates that in you, but doesn't fall into it as easily himself, mostly because of the aforementioned over thinking. He's told you it feels like he's exposed and vulnerable (aka, he's just embarrassed), and so he'll will fight it. Sets have to be compiled just right, with solid beats, good melodies, and enough complexity to be engaging without being distracting. You play a lot of places, and most of the people you play for are like you, but not everyone is like you. He isn't. He likes music, but doesn't live it. It makes him the perfect person to try something new with. Of course, that isn't your only reason for getting him to this stage.

He has no way of knowing what watching him like this does to you. There really isn't a point in telling him either. It'd just fluster him more than he's already going to be and might make him self-conscious enough he'll stop entirely. But he's hot. Holy fucking hell, he's so hot when he's caught up like this. His head's tilted back, showing off the outlines of his jaw and neck, the bump of his adam's apple and the sweep of his collar bone. That soft smile keeps twitching at the corners of his stupidly kissable mouth. His body is relaxed with only his fingers and feet moving. At this stage, they're barely moving at all anymore, which just shows how far into the music he's gone. He's breathing just a little heavier than usual, accented by that soft sighing sound you only otherwise hear when you're moaning into his ear. His heartbeat's quickening, not a lot, just enough to catch up with the beat. You can see it thumping under his ribs, up through his throat. And his fingers keep playing on his thighs, close enough to his hips to make you sweat a little and your own heart thump.

You drag yourself out of your reflection. The set is almost over and the last thing you want is for it to end suddenly. You've been pulled unexpectedly out of this kind of rapture before. It can be almost painful. No, it is painful. You won't do that to him, never him. Especially not after he's unwittingly put all this trust into you. The ending's slower and softer than you originally planned for. You make it linger, let the intensity fade like a parting kiss, until it just feels cruel to let it go on anymore.

By the time he's registered that the music has ended and lets out a final sigh, you've made it across the room and are hovering over him, one arm resting on the couch over his head. He blushes hotly when you smile at him, curling up reflexively. You can't help yourself and kiss him hotly, breaking that protective impulse. Because he should never be embarrassed by this.

Just as he's starting to melt, you pull back with wicked smile. "Liked it then?"

"Jerk." Well, that return kiss certainly answers the question.

Owari