HI!

This is my first attempt at a Rob - inspired story. Enjoy ;-).

The Morning After

Stillness of the morning woke her up. Void of a familiar din of the busy street outside her bedroom window sounded hollow, startling. Where was she? Pale cool light seeped through a skylight overhead. Strange large bed beneath her was torn apart, placed all wrong in a big empty room. Damp sheets bound her body and tangled around her limbs. And she was not alone.

Her body hurt. Everything hurt. It was the hardly familiar pain of screwing: hard, repeatedly, and for a really long time. Her raw skin prickled all over. Where was she? What happened? How can she get away without facing what she had done?

Someone was next to her. He smelled of cigarettes. Sweat. Beer. Sex. Naked and apparently in deep sleep he suddenly shifted his position and made her roll down the soft mattress towards him. She froze. He moved in closer; heat came in waves off him binding them together across the small distance left between their bodies. He moved again, this time rolling into her side and draping his arm across her waist. His breath rhythmically brushed her neck. She was trapped, at once frozen and hot, wanting to look at him yet paralyzed with confusion, afraid to even try it lest he caught her staring.

After a long while she felt him turning his head, his sour breath drifting to the side. Now that he was facing the other way she opened her eyes again. His hair was a dark and tangly mess. Long lean body pressed into hers, but his face turned into the pillow kept his identity hidden. Who was he? Where was she? How did they end up here, together?

She was desperately trying to make sense of random scraps of memories from last night. Her thoughts were floating, disjointed. How could she let this happen?

Even the little she started to recall made her shrivel within. A wild party with total strangers. An invitation from an acquaintance she barely knew to go pubbing with his celebrity buddies, mostly actors and musicians. He tried to impress and make a move on her, but she wasn't interested. Did she eventually give in and spent a night that she was going to regret with him, or was it someone else here with her?

A very loud and rowdy group, they went through several pubs attracting a lot of attention. She remembered being sorry that she came along. Most of them knew each other well. She did not so at first she wanted to get away, but after a couple of drinks she did not care and decided to tag along and drown away her blues. Booze as an infrequent remedy for forgetting her separateness was just fine. She was dry for much too long. Only her work. That's all she did, all she ever wanted to do. Men needed too much attention.

They all had a lot of drinks. So many that she did not remember getting to this room at all. Nor the name or face of the guy that brought her here.

There was one in their group that had a really nice voice and elegant slender hands. He asked her for a light and held her hand steady to start his smoke. It was too dark to see his face well, anyway, but he made her laugh. Later he sung and played guitar at the open mike. He was very good. Several girls, total strangers and a few in their party went wild and swarmed around him; he was some kind of celebrity. They called him Edward though he later said it wasn't his real name. He shook them all off, instead turning his attention to her. She vaguely remembered them having a most surreal, intense conversation about death in art, or was it art in death?

She talked to him to kill time till she could find a ride home. Despite turning out to be an engaging, nice guy, he was too pretty and apparently too in demand for her taste. But looking back now, she fervently hoped that given all the raunchy jocks in their rowdy group last night, her accidental bedmate were that one clever man that reached out to her and engaged her wit when everyone else went stupidly drunk. Was it he or someone else passed out by her side??? She was terrified to find out.

Her body felt sore all over. She suddenly remembered their lovemaking. They must have gone at it for hours. She flashed on coming violently with him, together, several times. Crashing down exhausted afterwards trying to catch their breath. Him kissing it out of her again and again. As if he, like her, had gone without sex for months. He was insatiable… and she kept up with him, swept in his many tides, then taking him along on her own.

Which one was he? She recalled losing herself in darkness filled with his urgent sound, whisper, whimper and scream; the touch of his skin on hers; his hands and his lips, tongue and teeth all over her. His body pounding inside hers. Hard and gentle; still and moving; riding her wild, then holding her tender. But not his name nor face. How was she going to look him in the eye, blank and therefore mortally embarrassed? So out of her character; a nameless lay for the first stranger ready to jump in the sack with her …

She was drifting again, tiredness taking hold and breaking her resolve to get away. Did it really happen or was she just having a vivid erotic dream with a make-believe lover? And if it wasn't a dream, did she really have to move on now, while he was asleep, and she still completely exhausted?

"Just a little longer…" She was not ready to break the fantasy – or to face the real shame of their morning after. Drift off to sleep. Delay.

"I have been working too hard for too long…Maybe it will all go away maybe it is all just a wild dream… "

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He opened his eyes. The morning light fell on the girl sleeping next to him. Tangled flood of red hair covering her face revealed only swollen lips and a narrow, almost translucent chin. He remembered her riding him, flashes of her pale face paced by the pounding of his heart and the rapid staccato of their breath; her striking green eyes driving him to keep going; her voice crying out with him. She had a deep scarlet hickey on her neck just below her throat – did he really bite her so hard? Dream or reality? Must be reality, for the girl next to him was very real. Her skin felt warm under his arm draped across her belly. She sighed and shifted turning to face him, disheveled hair softly falling off her face. She slept, full mouth partly open, her closed eyes fluttering, watching something hidden. What was she dreaming about? Him or someone else?

She shifted again. Sleep was slowly, hesitantly sliding off of her. Return to consciousness meant they each had to face the consequences of last night. With a start he realized that he had no idea who this girl was. He remembered partying hard with his buddies. Stu brought her, but seemed to know only that she was some kind of a hot artist that he came across in a gallery he liked. Stu tried to seduce her but she was not interested. After telling him off she absent-mindedly followed their group on a local bar crawl, not engaging with any of them, but not ditching them either.

He noticed her early on. She kept to herself most of the evening, aloof and apparently uninterested in any of the guys trying to hit on her. After discreetly watching her for a while, he started a casual conversation and found himself wildly attracted by her voice and what she said, intense passion, humor, intelligence and strong will coming through her words. She was not really a party type and not a good drinker either. He wished he kept a better track of her through the night. Early in the evening, she had a couple of beers and almost checked out. The only thing that held her attention was his music. She appeared mesmerized by it, yet kept her distance from him until he started their surprisingly intense talk.

That's why he must have decided to take her home with him. When they left their party, she seemed to have drank enough to be oblivious to where they were heading, clearly ready to hit the sack and sleep it off. Yet at his apartment, when he suddenly ignited and had to take her to burn with him, she went willingly, transforming from her detached, comatose state she had been in throughout the evening into a carnal trance, a sensory frenzy with no inhibitions. She made love to him wildly, matching him kiss for kiss, gasp for gasp, thrust for thrust … they came over and over, several times, together. He was amazed at her intensity, her stamina, and both her tenderest gentle touch and her absolute wildness, intertwined inseparably yet each pure to their core.

It has been a long while since he had anyone in his bed, as things usually tend to get complicated the next morning, and anyway -- he has been alone for a while. On a rare occasion he dated, usually they ended up at the girl's place to assure an easy get away for him. He wasn't looking for anything more involved, not now, not soon. His life was already veering out of his control, always on the go, always in a spotlight. And yet she was here and he didn't mind. He wondered how to get through the inescapable awkwardness of admitting that they were nameless strangers that jumped into bed after a random party night, without making them both feel like a total shit. This really wasn't his style. But after their intense lovemaking, he wasn't sure that he wanted her to leave. Not yet.

Light was getting stronger. He was now completely still, looking at the delicate face just inches away from his. Even asleep this girl was intense. Graceful lines of her features contrasted with her wild hair. It made him think of a writhing nest of scarlet silk snakes. Who was she? A Medusa – he thought suddenly. Or Circe. Either one an ultimate seductress. Both lethal witches. Will he have to pay dearly, or will he be forgiven for not knowing her name after nearly screwing her brains out?

He flashed back to their lovemaking; more powerful and passionate than anything he has ever done before. They burned, together, all the way to their fiery crash.

She wasn't a one-night-stand type. Who was she? Will she even want to speak to him after remembering what they did?

He did nothing, just waited for her to come up.

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Feeling his now alert stillness, his shallow breath held short and tight she knew he was awake and waiting for her first move. Not yet. She wasn't ready to face him yet, to step into the light of this unplanned morning-after with all of its consequences. But his hand resting on her waist was no longer still. Very slowly, almost imperceptibly the soft pressure of his fingers massaging her skin was gently moving up to her breast.

His breath was intimately close to her lips. Sour from booze and cigarettes, it was not all bad, spiced with a touch of cinnamon. Without opening her eyes she felt his gaze on her face. His hand kept traveling, tracing a lingering path around her involuntarily hardening nipples up towards her neck. He rested it there for a moment then started down again. This was too distracting. She couldn't keep up this charade much longer. Delay was no good. She had to face him.

Slowly she opened her eyes. The room was filled with bright daylight. His illuminated face rested just a few inches away from hers. It went with the slender hands and playful voice of her witty stranger from last night. "Oh great!" – she thought – "At least it is him. But …why does he look so familiar? Do I know him from somewhere else???"

He was looking back at her, also searching for clues and recognition. Suddenly she knew where she had seen him long before last night. For several months countless shots of this handsome man-boy were plastered on newsstands and billboards all over, everywhere. It was just too dark in the crowded smoky bars they had drunkenly crawled through to make a connection. "Damn. An all-over town celebrity. Just what I didn't need."

Desperately she tried to recall the name that belonged with his elegant chin now covered with day-old stubble. Strong eyebrows framing the disturbingly familiar green eyes met hers with a playful expression. "I still have no clue who is he" – she thought trying to clear her head. "But he seems … an old soul. Looks intelligent… creative … a thinker? And also… a trickster. Is he an actor? A musician??? I know I should know but I can't remember… Was it Edward? No – he said last night it wasn't. Damn. Damn. What have I gotten myself into???""

The curiosity in his eyes gradually gave way to concern. She sensed that he didn't know what to expect from her either, and that the hesitation increasingly visible on his face must reflected her own growing uncertainty. She wondered if they even exchanged names last night, or if she was a nameless stranger to him too. As pathetic as the thought seemed it looked like they didn't given his confused expression.

Breaking the spell, he made the first move slowly raising his hand up to her cheek and gently stroking it once.

" Hi." He smiled. Long pause. "Good morning." He hesitated, waiting for her to respond. "Did you … sleep … well?" his voice sounded casual, but his simple question held hidden meanings that were too freshly intimate to bring out in the open. He knew it well, judging by the mischievous smile that started in his eyes and spread across his face.

Looking at him she suddenly felt herself blushing, furiously, first time in years. Like a schoolgirl. How silly.

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He saw her cheeks go from translucent pink to scarlet, yet she still did not answer. "Amazing" - he thought - "the night must have been something else for her too, or she would not have been so embarrassed."

He held her gaze steady. She was confused, just looking at him and apparently deciding what to do next. Also, clearly flustered by his not so hidden meaning and her sudden blush giving her away. Their silence stretched out.

Maybe something physical would work better to get her to respond, he wondered. Reaching out again he delicately touched her lips, tracing their outline with his finger, then slowly leaned in. Still confused she returned his kiss.

With his accelerating heartbeat his touch grew more demanding. They were starting to get lost in their lust when she abruptly snapped back and pulled away, sudden panic taking hold of her. She checked herself. This was not a dream. He was real. An apparently very public stranger that shared with her the most passionate lovemaking.

A disturbingly familiar face she yet had to place.

"Is everything ok?" he asked her breathlessly, confused. "After last night ….I thought … you … you liked it too?"

Overwhelmed with embarrassment she was unable to answer. Silently she turned away to bury her now scarlet face in a pillow. He sat up next to her nervous, waiting. After a long while he reached out and lightly stroked her hair, not willing to let her hide any longer from the awkwardness that they must get through.

"Hey … are you OK?" He asked her gently. "Can you please say something? Anything?" Another long pause "Please??" He now sounded unsure. Then he changed back to a more playful tone: "Or, in the heat of passion, did we burn your wind pipes away?"

"I don't even know your name " her barely audible voice was muffled by the pillow covering her face. "I should know you because I have seen you before, and we… we… and last night was…" she was whispering now, "I never have done anything like it... " She broke off.

He was serious again. Moving in closer he wanted to comfort her; his hand slid lightly across her tense back, his voice soothing. "Shhh… It is ok… much better than ok…. Shhh…. I haven't done anything like it either…Come on... can you please look at me?"

"It is not ok that I have no clue who you are!" She lifted her head abruptly to face him, self-loathing. "It is not ok for me to screw strangers. I don't do it – well, I didn't do until now." She corrected herself. "I don't want you to think of me this way…" She looked ashamed with herself. "Who are you, anyway?"

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't really know who you are either." He admitted to her, sounding relieved. "And I haven't done it before either. So we are even; both brand new at this anonymous sex thing, right?

He wanted to help her release tension but she didn't take the bait. Instead she turned on him, suddenly furious. "Fuck you, whoever you are. How is it supposed to make me feel better? So you don't know me either? Isn't that what men usually want – anonymous no strings attached sex with anyone with a good ass? It doesn't matter, right?? Anyway, how would you know me? Why should you? My face is not plastered all over town like yours and I can't even remember your name. You …you must be thinking of me now not just as an easy lay but also as a clueless airhead, right?

She was really mad. To make things more complicated, he found it very attractive. He wanted her to trust him. It surprised him. He addressed her quietly ready to dispel her false assumptions.

"No. I don't see you as either an easy lay or a clueless airhead." He sounded sincere. "On the contrary, you are a gift I stumbled across, at the time hardly aware of its true value. When we talked last night you were different, and … you inspired me. I actually LIKE that you don't know who I am, so you can see just me, not what others want me to be."

He stopped, searching her face for a reaction. Now visibly calmer she was listening to him. He continued while he still had the courage to tell her the most important part: "And… and last night was the most amazing … the most incredible I ever had with anyone. Well, the few times I did. Not all men want or get laid with every girl they meet. At least I don't."

He exposed himself. Would she believe him?

He fell silent watching the mixed emotions pass across her face: embarrassment, surprise, release, then a growing wonder so intimate it brought up feelings neither of them was ready for. Unexpectedly lost in each other eyes, they sat quietly bound by a connection that made words obsolete.

Feeling surprisingly lightheaded, she let go of her harsh self-judgment at last seeing herself through his eyes. He saw a smile returning to her face.

They were on a safe ground again and he was ready to play. "OK, so … who would you LIKE me to be?" He asked her, now with a big grin on his face. "I am actually really happy that you don't know who I am because if you did you wouldn't like me.... The truth is I … I..." he was having fun now, pretending not to; "I just … got out of prison. The pictures you saw of me everywhere were the FBI Most Wanted letters."

"Oh, really?" She caught on fast, ready to play along. "That's a new one." She pretended to be anxious. "So what did the FBI put you away for? Should I be afraid of you?" She obviously wasn't buying his line, but they were both enjoying their game.

"Well… ah… I … sexually offended someone very important and they locked me up for a long time."

"It figures." she was now trying hard not to laugh. "Well, judging by last night you ARE an animal." she was blushing. "They should have kept you locked up."

He growled at her, ready to pounce. This WAS going to be fun!

"Stay away from me, you beast!" She scuttled backwards on the bed in mock fear. "No, wait!" She stopped then pressed on with her question: "So if you want me to believe you, then tell me… how long were you in there?"

"Oh, about 20 years" he said smugly. "I am much older and much more experienced than I look. Prison agreed with me. That's where I learned all the tricks. Not much else to do there, right?"

"Yeah, right, and with so many bored buff boys…" she snorted, not bothering to finish her implied thought. Then added, "So, wait, you must have started messing around very young, like – what - in kindergarten?? You look like a baby no matter what's in your driver license. The numbers don't add up. Come on, I need a better story."

She stopped abruptly, an idea forming in her head. She looked around the disheveled bed searching for something then lunged at his jeans tossed over the headboard to fish his wallet out of the back pocket.

"Oh, nooo you don't – that's too easy!" he leaped forward throwing himself on top of her. "You'll have to get my name out of me, not out of my pants!"

He held her pinned over the edge of the bed. She was trying to wiggle out of his grip, only succeeding in making him hold her down harder, his body clearly responding to her thrashing movement. "Pay time for trying to cheat!" He held her hands over her head and forced a deep kiss into her open mouth. After resisting him wildly while trying to escape, her strategy changed and she appeared to be giving in and passionately kissing him back. He congratulated himself on winning this round and relaxed into her body.

"Oww! This hurt!"" suddenly he cried out and pulled away. He tasted blood on his cut lip. "That's not fair. You bit me!"

"Oops, sorry." she sounded suspiciously smug. "… But you asked for it!" Using his brief distraction and her now free hands, she rolled from under him and jumped off the bed.

"No more hanky panky until we properly meet. I am serious. You go first." He tried to grab her but she stood just outside his reach with her now free hands casually resting on her slender hips. It turned him on that she wasn't at all self conscious of her nudity. He wanted more of her. But first he had to get through their introductions.

He sat up and pulled his knees up to his chin. He was serious now. "So… me first. Ok. My name is Robert. My friends call me Rob. What else would you like to now?"

"Why?" she asked.

"Why what?" he asked her back, puzzled.

"So why did these girls last night call you Edward?"

He hesitated before answering. This was his brand new luggage, both a blessing and a curse, now sorely needed out of the way. He swallowed nervously then spoke again. "Because I am an actor. My latest romantic lead has gotten huge, out of control. The fans think I am Edward the vampire lover, and they go after me everywhere, all the time. Within a couple of months I have become a global sex symbol. It is weird. Scary. I have no privacy left."

At last the connection dawned on her. Of course. She finally found the name she was searching for. Not having seen the movie, only some ads and movie trailers a while ago she remembered admiring his face, briefly intrigued. But then she buried herself in her work and forgot all about it. He was a huge celebrity now. This was complicated.

"So who are you Rob, really?" her voice was quiet, hesitant. "I need to know. I am not sure I have any idea how or even want to deal with that movie star side of you – it is so –so -- so alien to all I care about." Her eyes searched his, suddenly vulnerable. "Who do you want to be with me Rob?"

He didn't answer at once, just looked at her for a long while. He was trying to choose the right words, at last knowing that he did not have to put on a show for her. She made love to him unaware of his celebrity. She was not after his fame, his facade; she actually resented it. He could not afford to scare her away. Now he was really interested.

He looked at her, his chin absentmindedly rubbing the top of his arm. "Who am I?" he repeated her question slowly. "Just a guy with a sudden stroke of huge professional luck – or a grand misfortune – not sure of this one yet. An actor. A musician. A reader. A loyal friend to a few, but mostly a loner. And … " he held his breath and very quietly he added: "…Your lover?"

She swallowed hard feeling giddy, not being able to look away from him. He started speaking again, thoughtfully, as if to himself, his chin now cradled on top of his folded knees. " I am just a guy that pretends he is someone else, and gets idolized and screamed at by huge adoring crowds of crazy females. A guy afraid to even try to find the one girl that's just right for him because his life has been so out of control." His voice trailed off, uncertain, but his eyes kept asking.

He paused looking back at her, waiting for her reaction, then softly asked: "And who are you?"

She looked at him steadily, finally answering his long overdue greeting.

"Hi, Rob. Good morning. My friends call me Sam. I am an artist. Visual storyteller." He listened to the music of her voice. She kept talking, trying to match the sequence of his introduction. "Also a reader. But more a listener – of words, music, but mostly … " she hesitated, suddenly shy " mostly of star scales and rain beat. Ah... and also a friend – at least trying to be a good one to the few I have."

She went on: "By choice I too am mostly alone, happiest with my ideas, in my studio or in my head. I had many lovers, but the men I meet usually are too much work, taking my attention away from my art. Or being jealous about it."

She hesitated "Are you … ?" He shook his head no. Work was important to him too. He liked her defining her boundaries, embracing her need for solitude. She kept on talking, now with a slight hesitation in her voice: "I am probably also a little older than you." He shook his head again; it didn't matter. He forgot his own age most of the time. "And … " she looked at him; sudden blush coloring her face, and whispered – "Your secret lover…?"

This time the permission in her eyes pulled him forward. He stood up and walked over to her, his arms wrapping tightly around and pulling her body, all warm, slender and smooth into him, his face buried in her flaming hair.

" Hello" he whispered into her ear. "Nice to meet you Sam. Where were we?"

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