A/N: Originally this was meant to be just a short one-off. Almost ten thousand words later... well... yeah. I was inspired to write this by the strange combination of Netflix offerings that I gravitated to over the past month - "Doctor Who", and "Austin to Boston" which is a fantastic music documentary. I've been enjoying the thought of The Doctor and River as two young, ordinary humans coming together in the live music capital of the world. Also... this gets a little (not a lot) dirty towards the end. So be warned.
Songs and Bands mentioned:
"Steady" by The Staves
"Only for You" by The Heartless Bastards
"High and Dry" by Radiohead
"Little April Showers" from Walt Disney's Bambi
Monica Heldal
Milk Drive
Liz Longly
Enjoy
He keyed into the small townhome with the key that had always been hidden above the doorjamb, shaking his head, knowing without even having to ask that she had left it there for him. The door opened with an echo, making his chest ache a little bit with each descending sound. The floors under his feet were scuffed from furniture hastily loaded into a U-Haul van earlier in the week. Moving further into the hall, he closed the door behind him.
The flat was a three level split at the end of a line of attached houses, meant to resemble the old row houses back east. When the three of them had moved here together from England a little over two years ago, they thought it was charming. The truth was, it was just a steal. An old home in disrepair, in a halfway dodgy neighborhood on the outskirts of south Austin.
Jon flipped a switch. Power was off already, then.
His favorite place in the house had been the little room on the ground floor, just off of the kitchen. A large floor-to-ceiling window and glass door looked onto the tiny garden. It was overhung by the bedroom above, but the light that managed to filter in through the trees behind the building made the small space sparkle in the evening with greens and golds. He'd missed it more than he realized over the last few months.
Shutting his eyes against the fading afternoon light, he turned back down the hallway and up the stairs to the main living room – what had been his room while he was in town. There was the odd bit of trash laid about the floor, the candles still melted to the brick bottom of the fireplace, and a half empty growler (probably a pecan porter) near the back balcony. It was probably flat and scummy by now, even resealed as it was. He thought of Amy, probably shouting up the stairs, moving van still running in the little alley, impatient to get out of the way of traffic on the one-way street. Rory double-checking everything was loaded up, and still forgetting a few last details in the face of his wife's good-natured harassment.
As he glanced over the room, he spotted his old, green-handled screwdriver sitting on the mantle. He kicked off his sandals and trudged barefoot across the floor toward the fireplace. As he got closer he spotted a stream of smoke drifting up from the cool bricks of the firebox, before he finally smelled the smoldering cigarette. It was clove. One of hers. Shoving his screwdriver into his jeans pocket, he lightly tripped up the final set of stairs to the bedroom.
There wasn't even a landing. The stairs led right onto the doorway, the door hanging half open on creaky hinges.
"Melody?" he spoke softly as he peaked his head inside. This room was even darker than the rest of the flat, the window covered by a bright purple and orange tapestry that Amy had hung up in lieu of curtains. "Mels?" he asked again, running his hand nervously through his hair.
There came a sniffling sound from the corner near the window where Amy's bureau used to live. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Jon saw that his convertible sofa had been lugged upstairs by one or both of his old flat mates. And, on the far edge of the sofa, staring at the dark patterns on the window tapestry, sat Melody.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice thick with tears and probably a little anger.
"It's my flat," he said quietly, wincing at the creak of the door hinges as he fully entered the room.
"You always lose your keys," she said flatly.
"I know. I should get keyless entry, like on a car. Oh! Or maybe I could rig it to open at a snap of the fingers," he said, trying to lighten the mood. When she didn't answer, he went on in a more subdued manner. "Amy left the key in the usual place. How did you get in?"
"Your back door's got a faulty bolt."
"Okay…"
He knew why she was here, he wouldn't insult her by asking, just… he wasn't sure what to do next. Then…
"You've been smoking again."
"Never quit," she said, her voice rasping pointedly in the back of her throat, like a growl. Like a warning. "Life's more interesting when you break a few rules."
"Yeah. Like trespassing? B and E?" He really didn't mean to always be scolding, but she was just acting so young right now, and anyway, he always started out saying the wrong thing.
"No. I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Come downstairs. Let's start over." Without waiting for her answer, he turned around and retreated to the empty living room.
She followed him only a few moments after, settling herself on the floor next to where he sat. He took his time looking her over. It had been months since he'd seen her. Kissed her hard and then left her to go on the road for an undetermined stretch of time.
She looked thinner, but that could have been the baggy, vintage, red tee shirt she wore. It seemed to swallow her already slender frame. Then there was the hair. Last time he'd seen her at Emo's it'd been in braids. Much darker too. Her style seemed to have shifted from a softer sort of seductive look with lots of skirts, to jeans and combat boots. She was a combat boots girl now. It made him crack a grin.
"Wot?" she asked in her brash, London accent – less polished now she was upset. But her voice would recover as soon as she put her mask back on.
"You've gone blonde," he answered, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.
"Yeah. Well. I know you like cute brunettes, so I thought I'd keep you on your toes."
"Ouch, Mels. That hurts," he scoffed, not sure whether to really be offended, or if this was just her perverse way of flirting.
This was how they had met. Message boards. Online message boards about his music.
'Don't look!' Amy's insisted as he'd sat at the dinner table passing a bottle of Newcastle back and forth with Rory. She was drying the last of the dinner dishes and lecturing him on the evils of google-ing oneself.
'She's probably right, you know,' Rory cautioned.
But it was too late. The laptop was off the counter and open in front of him in under a tick.
'I'm not any kind of famous. What's anybody got bad to say about me, eh?'
There was a lot. He shouldn't have asked. After a half an hour of reading – at least a little of it good – he shoved the computer at Amy and started his climb up the stairs to fold out his hide-a-way bed.
'Oi,' Amy called after him in her harsh Scottish accent. 'Who's River Song?'
'She's nobody. She's from that song I wrote a few years back – The Only Water in The Forest.'
'You never recorded that one, though, yeah? So how'd this girl know that? It's her username…'
'Must be a pretty big fan,' Rory joined in.
'She's left you a message.'
'Yeah? And how'd you know it's for me?' he called back down the stairs as he struggled with the mattress – metal bars stuck and refusing to budge.
'Because she used your name, Jon. Your real name."
Jon Smith played shows and recorded crappy bootlegged quality songs for release via web distribution as Jonathan Traveler. He only went by Jon with his close friends – with Amy and Rory.
Hearing that she was serious, in the tone of her voice, he barreled back down the stairs to see the message for himself. It said:
Hello, Sweetie. I need you. 2906 Fruth St
The date and time were… oh, in an hour!
Amy begged him not to go, at least not alone. 'She could be a crazy, mad, killer woman!' So he agreed to let them tag along and act like a young, in love couple.
'We are a young, in love couple,' Rory reminded him.
When he'd hopped out of Rory's car in the parking lot of the café, he couldn't help rushing in to locate the mysterious 'River Song'.
That's when he'd met Melody. She'd been keen to flit, but equally as keen to tease. And once she'd met Amy, he was done for. She ended up crashing at the flat a few times a month. And it only took a few questions to learn that she had lost her scholarship to the University for failing to adhere to her academic probation. She was effectively homeless, and without an anchor. That was, except for Amy, Rory, and Jon.
"Don't sulk," she sniffed, reaching for the half empty bottle of skunky beer. "My best friends are gone, and teasing you might be the only thing that helps dull the ache."
"Teasing me, and bad beer?"
"No, Jon. You're supposed to say, 'but what about me? Aren't I one of your best friends?' And then I torment you a little while longer, and then we go and have dinner."
"Oh. Okay…" he said, nodding exaggeratedly. "I'll give it a go. What'd you want for dinner?" He smiled at her, daring her to tease him again, though he was pretty sure he'd at least put a crack in her foul mood for the moment.
"I was thinking…" she said, unable to keep the small smile out of her voice. "Uchiko or Sway?"
"Ah. Okay. Now we're getting down to it. Pricy Asian cuisine." He popped off the floor and pulled Melody along with him. "I'll submit. But only if you're paying."
She shot him a withering glare as she shoved him away.
"Oi! I was only joking! But I don't think Uchiko will let you through the door like that," he said, noticing the small holes peppering the front of her shirt for the first time.
"And you?" she shot back, indicating his ripped jeans, sandals, and worn out 'The Band' tee shirt.
"Maybe we get carry out," he suggested.
"Can you just imagine them in New York?" Melody asked as Jon busied himself bagging up the empty food cartons. They had ended up sharing a curry and spring rolls only, since the power would be out for at least another day. There was an empty bottle of plumb wine on the kitchen floor where they'd sat to eat, and Melody'd found the rusty old waiter's corkscrew to facilitate opening the second bottle.
"Yeah. He'll be all stoic, like a roman centurion, ready to bandage your cuts with great care, while she'll be like, 'I have articles to write' and 'what are deadlines?'" Jon giggled a little at his impersonation, realizing he was already rather tipsy.
When he didn't hear her giggling along with him, he turned round to face the empty, dark room.
"Mels?" he called, peering up the staircase to the second level.
"Just getting' some candles going. It's dark as pitch in here, Jon."
He knew what she was doing, he could smell the smoke as he treaded up the steps to the large and newly emptied space. The light flickered a bit eerily from the firebox and he could see a bit of lightning through the open balcony door, heralding a summer storm in.
Sticking his head out into the dampening air, he saw her leaning over the wood railing, flicking ash at one of the alley cats that hung around for the odd bit of food from his neighbors.
"They didn't leave you much, did they?"
"It was all mostly theirs, anyway. Not like I need much. Got my bed, my books. Amps an' peddles are in the van under lock and key most of the time. I'll get the power back on, stock the icebox. Bed and books are already upstairs. Maybe I should keep the living room as a sort of a practice area. Great acoustics in there. Lay some rugs about, couple a stools, maybe a monitor, a computer, make a sort of quick and dirty home recording studio…"
"Darling," Melody interrupted. "Rambling."
"Yeah, sorry." He inhaled deeply to settle his thoughts a bit. That happened when he'd been on the road without company. He'd spend so much of his time spouting thoughts and ideas to himself, it was like he forgot other people weren't completely absorbed in his own thought train sometimes. As he breathed, he took in a lungful of second hand smoke. That, too was something he lived with while on the road – all of the smoky venues.
"Give it here?' he asked, holding his hand out in front of Mels for the cigarette. She shot him a speculative look, then took another long drag, before passing it over to him.
He held it between his knuckles, making a fist and staring for a moment, before dropping it to the floor of the balcony and stubbing it out with his foot.
"I do have more, Darling." She'd been calling him that a lot today.
"Really, Melody. How do you still manage the habit with city ordinances?"
"I'm a rule-breaker," she smirked.
"What would your mother say?" It was an inside joke, really. Since Mels had started crashing with them sometimes, Amy and Rory had been seeing after her, like parents. One day she just started calling Amy 'mother', and the nickname had stuck.
"I don't bloody-well care," she mumbled. "She left me for New York."
"Hey," Jon said softly, pulling her by the arm until she was standing very close to him. "I know you're not really angry."
Not like he had been angry.
'Where are you going?'
'I got put on the list for Monica Heldal's show on the side stage at Emo's. I need to go, say hello to a few people.' He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, glancing up to Amy standing in the doorway to her bedroom at the top of the flat.
'Let me go with you,' she said, jogging down the steps.
'I don't think I can get you in.'
'Sure you can. You're charming,' she said, smiling, reaching, now, for her bag.
'No. I… I need to think.'
He slammed the door behind him as he left. Work was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight, but the day kept moving on and he needed to focus on something. Something other than the thought of his two best mates – his family – leaving him.
It was never what they'd planned – the three of them. Though, to be completely honest, they'd never planned much beyond going to America. His ambition for music had landed them in Austin. It could have easily been Nashville or New York or Seattle or Los Angeles. But it had been Austin. And then the house came available. And Amy was doing a fashion blog, and Rory was re-certifying as a nurse, and they'd all settled. Then there had been the album release and a mini-tour – nothing real, nothing like actual success, but it was his and he loved being on the road for those few months. In truth he didn't think he wanted to stop. He'd've just kept going if it had been a possibility. Then Amy had agreed to go with him for a second trip and blog about it. It was only a few weeks, but it reminded him of how lucky he'd been to find a girl like her. How absolutely brilliant a friend she'd been to him over the years. Then Melody had put herself square in the middle of their world. And as it should have been, she was instantly part of the misfit family.
But now it was all teetering on the edge of a precipice, threatening to crash down around them.
He sulked all the way to the venue. Right up until he ran into Mels on the street.
'Sorry I'm late, honey. Traffic was hell,' he said, in greeting, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
'Mmm,' she hummed. 'So is this line. Not to mention it's freezing out. Maybe you can do something about that?'
He looked down at her outfit – tights, a tiny skater dress, and a bit of a thin Jumper pulled down overtop. Cute, but not practical.
'Well, I don't know. I've never been much of a weather man.'
'Jon, seriously? Sneak me in back.'
'I dunno… Maybe.' He trailed off as he heard his text alert chime in his pocket.
She looked hard at him then. 'What's wrong? Amy piss you off again?'
'You know what, Melody?' he asked, pulling his mobile out as it continued chirping at him. It was a message from Amy: just letting you know that Rory's officially accepted the position in New York.
'Yeah? What's that?' she prodded teasingly.
His hand tightened around his phone and he shut his eyes tightly against the news he had just read. A groan started in the back of his throat that soon turned into an angry, strangled cry.
'No. What's wrong? I know that face,' she began soothingly. 'Jon, you need to calm down.'
'You get yourself into the show,' Jon bit back at her, turning around to head to the back of the building.
'How?' she cried after him.
'Just do it. Get into the show without me.'
The back door to Emo's was down a semi-used alley across from a tattoo parlor. There were a few people milling about as he ducked down the way, towards the door.
'Evening, Jonathan,' greeted a large Hispanic man, his body a canvas.
'Jose,' Jon nodded, plastering on an amiable smile despite his mood. He and Jose had had many a conversation in the shared space between the buildings.
When the door opened and the manager let him in with a familiar hello, he began to relax a bit into the atmosphere of the live show.
'Hi,' called the bartender from behind the counter at the back of the floor.
''Lo," he nodded, nervous that she might recognize him. He wasn't in the mood to be dealing with PR. Not now. He ordered a soda water with lime and sat to wait for his publicity contact.
Monica went on a quarter hour later and the floor of the small bar room began to fill up rather rapidly. Normally he would position himself just nest to one of the stage monitors at the front, better able to see the show with a relatively set place to watch from – few people in crowds like this liked that spot – and he would be somewhat free of the jostling and shoving. Knowing Monica a little, too, he might have gotten the chance to join her on the spare acoustic sat at the back of the stage – an opportunity he wouldn't turn his nose up at. But this night he camped at the bar. He spoke with Jennifer in a bit of an impromptu meeting, and then he sat there. Alone. Waiting for the night to end.
As the girl behind the counter took his glass to dispose of the used rind and refill it for him, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
'Turn round, Smith,' he heard the girlish, Scottish voice order.
'How did you get in?' he asked without complying.
'I'm a journalist. I still know people in this town,' Amy announced, taking a seat next to him at the deserted bar. 'Melody called me.'
'Yeah? So what's my punishment, mum?' he asked, all humor absent from his voice.
'What d'you mean? What punishment? Where's Mels?'
He looked at her sharply, then, realizing she wasn't joking. Melody wasn't just hanging back from the conversation – though he did catch Rory out of the corner of his eye.
'She wasn't soliciting entrance from you when she called?' he asked, still a bit shocked at not seeing her as part of the invasion of the Ponds.
'No. You didn't get her in?' Amy asked in shock. 'Jon!' she shouted in response to his shrug. 'Oi, Stupid Face,' she shouted at her husband, then. 'We've got to go back out and look for Mels. This grumpy bugger didn't let her in!'
Jon glared at them both as they prepared to go back out into the February night to search for their friend.
'Here I am.'
Her shout was barely audible over the noise of the crowd and the music. Jon stood and walked over quickly, an apologetic look on his face. He never should have left her out there alone and he knew it. Despite her bravado, she was just a kid. And with the Ponds leaving soon…
'You got in on your own,' he spoke close to her ear so that she would be able to hear him without shouting.
'Yeah. I did.'
'How did you do it?'
'I'm quite charming too, you know,' she answered smugly.
'She's brilliant,' he said, turning to his other two friends, a large grin painted on his face. 'Isn't she brilliant?'
'Yeah,' Amy said, looking up at Rory skeptically.
'I'm sorry about before,' he whispered, leaning in close between songs so that he'd be heard. 'Let me make it up to you. C'mon, I wanna introduce you to some people.' Jon grabbed her by the hand and began to take off for Jennifer and the small group of musicians in a huddle at the far corner of the bar.
With his first quick movements, he heard Mels cry out in pain, causing him to drop her hand and spin back round in one fluid motion. She stood there, holding her hand to her chest. It looked wet under the dim, red and yellow house lights.
'Melody…'
She turned around and raced to the back hall where the loos were. Amy shot him a look as he stood there, unsure whether to follow. That decided it for him.
Luckily there was no queue for the shared washroom. He didn't see her standing anywhere else in the tight hall either, so he went ahead and tried the door.
'Occupied!' she yelled out as he opened the door that she had neglected to lock behind her.
'Mels…' he said quietly, more easily heard in the secluded space. He reached for a roll of towel when he saw the gash that she was trying, ineffectively, to sop up with toilet tissue. 'What happened? Why did you lie to me?' he asked, as he took her hand in both of his, wiping the blood away.
'Usually better at jimmying a lock,' she said, sulkily.
'And the lying?'
'You were already so upset. I know why,' she added, shaking her head as he opened his mouth to give explanation. 'And I just… couldn't let you see the damage.'
That made him feel like a proper prig. He sighed, turning her hand over in his. 'It must hurt,' he said softly.
'Yes. The hand is pretty bad, too.'
They emerged from the washroom moments later, Mels still holding a paper towel wrapped round her hand. Jon recognized the song being performed as one of the last in Monica's set. Amy and Rory were milling about the back of the crowd, slow dancing out of time with the music. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Melody.
'Mels, I have to go.' She looked up at him, confused. 'I've got booking with a band,' he gestured over his shoulder to where Jennifer stood with the group of four other musicians.
'Jon, that's…'
'I'm leaving tonight. We've got a few shows down near Houston. Then there's some between there and South Carolina. Then I'm heading up to PA with another solo artist from there.' He watched her face fall. 'Melody…'
'Yeah, Jon. I get it,' she interrupted. 'You've got gigs. Good on you.' She turned away a little, pretense of watching the performance on stage.
He shouldn't feel this way. He was going to do a job. A job that he bloody-well loved, by the way. And Melody was just his friend, she wasn't even his flat mate. Sometimes she crashed on a cot in the corner of the room. His real flat mates should be the ones he was telling – the one's who were leaving him anyway. Why should he feel this badly about leaving Melody?
She had drifted closer to the Ponds – he heard her telling Amy not to worry about her gashed hand. Stalking over to the group in frustration, he grabbed her by the shoulder and sharply turned her to face him.
'What…!' she began in surprise.
Without another thought, he cut off her words with his mouth, crashing down on hers, still open in surprise. She tasted like chocolate, and coffee, and a little like whisky over top of the others. In the back of his mind he could hear Amy's shocked gasp, but he didn't care as his jaw, lips, and tongue moved against Melody's.
He'd kissed her until they were both out of breath, and then he'd simply turned and walked out through the back doors. That kiss made the day they were having today… slightly more awkward.
"And how do you know that I'm not really angry?" Mels asked, pulling him free of the memory of three months ago.
"Come inside, Mels," he said, avoiding her question rather blatantly. "You'll be soaked." As he said the words, a flash of lightning lit up their little alley, and thunder could be felt shaking the ground.
Melody glared at him as if he had orchestrated the whole thing. He held his hands up in gesture of surrender as he tried retreating backward into the flat. The threshold played traitor and made him stumble. Mels reached her hand out and grabbed him by the arm, managing to counterbalance him and keep him from falling flat on his arse. In the process she was pulled from the railing and into his arms.
Jon wrapped his arms round her to keep them both standing upright – more out of instinct than anything else, he told himself. And she rested her hands on his chest for a long moment before they felt the first fat drops of Texas rain fall onto their shoulders.
"Inside," Jon croaked, looking up as the sky began to open above them.
He ushered Melody in ahead of him and wrestled with the sliding door, trying to force it to stay on its track long enough to close it.
As Jon turned back to the room, he could hear music struggling to fill the large space. Mels was sat cross-legged caddy-corner to the fireplace, holding what looked like a black brick, and her mobile phone.
"Bluetooth speaker," she offered at his questioning look.
"And you paid for it?"
"My talent paid for it," she said challengingly. "Like your talent pays for this place."
"I won't even begin to point out the glaring differences in our means of employment," he said, taking a seat next to her and finally uncorking the bottle of sake. "We've no cups up here," he added without offering to fetch any.
"Doesn't bother me," she said as she grabbed the bottle and took a swig. "Speaking of work," she skipped the next song on the playlist, stopping on 'High and Dry'. "Tell me about tour."
He sighed, listening to Thom York sing one of his favorite songs. He should work on an acoustic cover; he had time before his next show. "It was lots more sleeping on stranger's couches and in the van, than actual playing shows this time. The engagements were very spread out."
"So, wasted time, then?"
"Well…" he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "I made a lot of good contacts. I worked on new material. Hardly ever have time to do that. Mels," he sighed. "I was a last minute addition to the group. People had planned this around their own schedules. I had to go with it." He leaned back on his elbows and stretched his neck. He would still sleep for days now that he was back home. Even if he hadn't played a show every night, tour was a drain on the body like nothing else he'd experienced. "It was a three day on, five or seven day off schedule for the first month. Then a break when we got to South Carolina. I met the other solo artist, and we worked out a few duets – she was also a pianist, great accompaniment. I wish I had been set up to record some of the shows with her."
"I saw the pictures on your Facebook page," Mels said, taking another large gulp from the bottle, then passing it to him.
"Yeah. Lizley," he said using the nickname he'd given Liz, the singer. "She's been working on a new release so she was pressed for time. We played up through Pennsylvania, then she dropped outta the tour. Milk Drive," he named the original outfit he'd set out with. "Were going on through Ohio, Illinois, and Michigan before heading home, but I had set up a few other shows of my own heading back toward Texas, so I left them after PA."
"I heard you had a bad one," she prodded, with a bitter smile to her voice.
"Piss off," he said, taking a gulp from the bottle before lying all the way back on the floor.
It had been a shitty day for the other two performers as well. The room was set up like crap and his monitor had been rubbish on stage. He'd spent the last two weeks polishing his set so that he could basically headline the next few shows he hit along the way home, and two minutes into it, none of the audience were paying attention. He felt like crap for it. Like the bigger he got (which was still not terribly big), the more people were depending on him to put on a good show – the audience, as well as the other musicians playing on any given show night. Aster about two songs he was over it and had given up for the rest of his time on stage. Which was never a good way to be when you were playing live music.
The girl performing before him had been devastated. She sang and played the standup base, and he caught her after the show, gulping down a glass of whisky, in danger of snapping her bow in frustration. She was near tears when he had taken her aside and talked her down. He remembered being where she was – it hadn't been all that long ago – and he couldn't help feeling responsible for her. He left her with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to work out a show together again if she was ever in the Austin area.
"It was in Tulsa, wasn't it," Mels carried on. "And there was a girl. Your fan sites quite liked her. Pretty, small, brunette. I believe there's a picture of you, the girl, and a standup base. Scandalous."
"There are pictures of me with lots of girls," he waved his hand dismissively.
"Well, the sites say you've really hit it off with this one, Jon."
"Yeah. We'll play together again next she's in Texas. She's called Oswin. You should search her on YouTube."
"They say Jonathan Traveler has a new girlfriend," she said quietly as he lay there, staring up at the room's high ceiling.
The lightning crashed again, brightening the room and throwing all sorts of strange shadows across the empty space.
"I should redecorate," he mused, ignoring her comment, hoping that she would move on more easily now she didn't have Amy backing her. The music had transitioned to something by The Heartless Bastards… 'Only For You', maybe?
"Jon?" She nudged his leg with her booted foot. He popped up into a sitting position and looked at her directly in the eyes.
"They always say I have a new girlfriend, don't they, the fan sites?" He leaned forward, placing his mouth close to her ear. Her new blonde curls tickled his nose. "That's just a fairytale," he whispered. Pulling back slowly, he took a curl and ran it between his thumb and forefinger before lightly tapping her on the nose. He wasn't normally this flirtatious, but… sake and sushi and rain and candles. He was a romantic at heart. Looking up at her then, though, he might have gone too far again.
"How do you know I'm not really angry?" she asked softly, a catch in her voice as she said the words into the darkened room.
"Oh, Melody," Jon sighed. "Because, I know how you loved them. Maybe – probably – as much as I did. And I know that you could only ever want for them to be happy."
Melody swiped hastily at her cheeks, brushing the tears away before they had a chance to streak down her face. Before Jon could register what she was doing, she'd moved to straddle his lap, and was now pulling her worn out, old, red tee shirt over her head, sending her mountain of hair bouncing out round her shoulders.
He was caught staring. After he'd kissed her at the show three months ago, this was one of the images that had assaulted him most nights. Unless he'd been too exhausted, falling into his bed of the night without time to dwell on Mels Zuker.
But now she was here, her lovely skin on display before him. Tentatively, he reached out his hand and placed it over her breastbone, noting the difference of textures where the edge of her lace bra met her skin. That very skin, one of the most tempting things about her right now. Creamy, the color of cafe au latte, soft and achingly warm. He worked hard to drag his eyes from his fingertips resting nervously against her skin, and up toward her face.
"Melody," he groaned out a warning.
"I'm just playing follow up to how we left things last time."
She was reaching down to his jeans, when he grabbed her wrist, perhaps a bit hard.
"Melody!" He barked, suddenly forceful.
"Jon," she shot back teasingly, her free hand taking up where its captured partner had left off.
Jon's left hand leapt to detain that one as well.
"Oh! This could be fun indeed. I have to say, Jon, I never thought of you for the type."
"Do you know how old I am?" He asked, ignoring her teasing, or trying to, rather badly. Exasperated.
"You're twenty-eight, Jon. Any fangirl knows that."
"And you're twenty..."
"Nineteen," she interrupted.
"Argh! Melody! Almost ten years..." He hadn't really had enough time to frame a better objection than that. And he knew it was a weak one, given how he had treated her almost since first they'd met. Yeah, she'd been a kid, and infuriatingly young at times. But then she was also fun, and intelligent, and beautiful, and surprisingly pragmatic at times. And she was always so much fun to flirt with. Then there had been the kiss... Then the running off for three months. Did he really see nine years age difference as a good enough excuse to turn away from this?
"I don't care if it's nine years or nine hundred," she shouted, pulling her hands free. "I just want you, Jon. Or are you really too thick to've noticed?"
He stared dumbly at her, still straddling him on the floor in the darkened living room.
"But…" he began weakly, dizzy with the conflicting feelings flooding his brain. "But you hate me…" he trailed off, somewhat in awe of her confession, even though he'd feared as much for over half a year, now.
"Do I? Do you know what I hate, like you know what makes me angry? Nice to know that's where we are now, Jon." She shifted in his lap and he was afraid she might get up and walk away from him – afraid that he didn't want her to. Wouldn't it be better if she did?
"No! That's not… I just meant," he scrambled, grabbing onto her wrists again. "After what I did."
She looked into his eyes, then down to where his hands were tightly clasped around her. "Is that really what you want?" she asked. It was in the spirit of rhetoric, though, and they both knew he didn't need to answer.
He caught his breath as she ducked her head, bringing it down to brush her mouth across his top lip. Had it not been for his grip on her wrists, keeping her hands from doing devious work elsewhere, he'd've been blustering, his own hands searching for a place of purchase.
"Melody," he whispered, pulling a few inches back from her soft mouth. "We'd better look out."
"Look out for what?"
"I just mean," he began, releasing her hands, resting his on her hips. Oh! That was probably the wrong thing to do, Jon. "Just that… we need to be careful." She shifted against him again, causing his grip on her hips to tighten in order to keep her in place. He didn't want her knowing just exactly what her sitting in his lap had been doing to his body.
"Were you being careful when you kissed me at the show? Leaving… was that being careful?"
Things were getting rather intense, rather quickly. Too much for his sanity. So he used his hold on her to push her back, steadying her as she was forced to stand up a bit awkwardly. When he saw she had her feet, he stood himself, running his hands nervously back through his hair.
"Well?" she asked, her voice louder now. "You say I should hate you for it. And I never said I didn't agree. I never said I wasn't angry, either."
"I was being reckless, Melody! Not careful!" he shouted out. "Okay? See what it's all caused?" Unable to look her in the eye once he'd said it, he swept the empty room again with his eyes, landing on the bottle of sake. Knocked over somehow in the sudden commotion between them, it was pooling liquid on the floor, soaking into Melody's shirt, still crumpled in a limp pile next to the fireplace.
"Oh! You stupid men!" she shouted back. "Are you really so egotistical as to think that that kiss was what started all of this?!"
"No!" he right out yelled this time. "I didn't think that." He couldn't hear the music anymore over their shouting and the thunder and rain.
"This whole time. You never saw me. You never listened. It's like I wasn't even here at all, was I?" She shouted, finally looking about the floor for her shirt. "Lovely."
He stepped forward, reaching out , then pulling his hand back. He needed to do something. Something to make her understand. It wasn't like that.
"Give me your shirt," she ordered. He removed it without even thinking, handing it over.
She shoved it over her head, pulling it down, and he watched her skin disappear beneath his fabric.
"What are you doing?' he breathed out quietly, the rain was slacking, and the song had changed, and now that the yelling had stopped he was starting to notice little things again. Like Melody gathering up her bag, and trying to locate her phone in the dark room.
"I'm leaving," she said coolly.
"It's raining."
"Then I'll get wet."
"It's one in the morning. Melody… you can't just go." Jon moved quickly to pull her up from where she was searching the floor for her mobile. She straightened stiffly, shooting him such a nasty look he physically felt it. Then she raised her arm, palm aimed, and brought her hand down hard to deliver the real blow.
He caught her by the wrist, and she gasped, her breath stuttering. He wasn't sure if she was more surprised by his stopping her, or by the fact that she had been about to hit him in the first place.
"You're always here to me. And I always listen. And I can always… see you." He dropped her hand, moving his fingertips to brush the hair across her forehead, gently, and with an internal groan.
She had known from the beginning that they would end up like this. Had hinted at it time and again with her flirting. And he had played along, all the while hiding from the truth of it – running from it. And he had been able to live with it. Just barely. Until she had accused him of not listening, not seeing her.
"Why didn't you ever do anything?" she asked, barely a whisper mingling with the low vibrations of the music, still playing in the background.
"Because I thought it would hurt too much. But then I kissed you…" he said to the floor. "And I was right. Melody… wanting you hurts."
He lifted his eyes to her face again and she looked so lost. Looked how he felt. His fingers began tangling into the curls framing her face. And he heard the hitch in her breath, so hardly audible that he couldn't be sure it was real. Then he was moving lips and tongue against her own in a slowly, powerful kiss that made him want to sink to his knees.
She shifted against him, so deliberately sensuous that he couldn't be bothered to care about anything else. The feel of her was too…
Her small hands were tugging at his button fly and he was running his beneath the fabric of the tee shirt she'd just stolen from him. They switched tasks a few seconds later, her hands leaving his jeans and moving to her own, him dropping to the ground with his fly open, unbuckling her boots and pulling them from her feet, followed by her jeans, careful not to cause a tumble.
She leaned down, pushing at the waist of his jeans as he leaned up, wrapping his hands around her now naked waist. He rested his cheek against her belly, still covered by the soft fabric of his shirt, at least two sizes too big for her.
"We'll never get anything done this way, Jon," she said, teasingly.
He smiled against her, then, opening his mouth, kissed her through the shirt, breathing hot breath against the damp spot he had just made on the soft skin between her hipbones.
"Oh, you bad boy," she groaned.
"Tell me to stop and I'll stop."
"Don't stop."
"Come here," he ordered, gently, pulling her to his level on the floor. They sank lower together, then, his body covering hers on the hard wood beneath them. He moved his knees further up, pushing her legs apart. The most wicked, dirty grin spread across her face then as she reached out to take his hand in hers. He chuckled softly, banishing the last of his nerves about a situation that was now quite obviously inevitable.
His hand was moving without his consent, down lower, between her legs. She brushed his fingers against her and they both caught their breaths for a moment, before he finally whispered into the small space between them:
"Your knickers are wet."
"Really? How embarrassing!" A beautiful blush marched across the planes of her face, though it had nothing to do with embarrassment.
"You bad, bad girl."
"Yes, but you knew that already," she answered back, pulling her knees up higher and pushing his pants down with her toes to meet his jeans, already on the floor. He helped her kick them free of his ankles, rubbing his knuckles against her damp panties the whole time.
"God," he breathed deeply. "You smell like dust, and rain, and smoke, and sake. And…"
"Jon," she interrupted.
"And I have never wanted to taste anything more…"
"Jon. Stop talking."
"Right." He blushed then, embarrassed, like a teenager realizing late that the girl he fancies is trying to flirt with him.
Gulping down his reawakened reservations, he slipped his thumbs beneath the waist of her nickers and tugged them down. The line of her hipbone jutting up to meet her waist was mesmerizing. He must look like a thick idiot, just staring down at her like that. And of all he could be staring at, her hipbone. His hand found its way there and he memorized the feel of her soft flesh wrapping the sharp bone, leading round to her belly on the one side, and her bum on the other. And there were two of them! One for each hand.
"Melody…" he sighed, reverently.
"If I had my handcuffs with me, I'd be having my way with you by now, Jon!' she moaned breathily as he squeezed her hips hard enough to leave the mark of his fingertips there.
"Some things require finesse," he said, eyes finally leaving her hipbones and traveling lower. She was beautiful. Wet. Waiting for him to touch her.
Moving his hands from their place on her hips, he shoved his shirt further up, uncovering her waist. Her belly fluttered up and down quickly with little shallow breaths. He had to taste her. Imperative.
She let out a tense breath as he finally rested his forearms against the wood either side of her and began lowering his head. But it was just another tease, she realized, as she felt the flat of his tongue trail against the skin of her stomach. "Jon," she sighed, bringing her hands up to wrap fingers into his hair.
"Mm," he moaned, dipping his tongue into her belly button. He wouldn't let her tugging distract him. Moving his hands again, he held onto her hip with his left, while his right moved beneath him and between her legs, dipping into her with his fore and middle fingers.
The noise that escaped her almost broke his resolve, but he wanted to taste the softness of her curves first. Jon licked his way across her belly to her left hip, still unrestrained and lifting away from the floor where he had her pinned. He nudged the sharp edge of its bone with the tip of his nose, scraping his teeth lightly over the warm, salty skin covering it.
"Oh fuck!" she screamed, as lightning flashed through the glass from outside and he crooked his fingers against her front wall.
When she began to moan in earnest, he left a bruising bite on the flesh that he had been teasing and tasting with reservation. She screamed again and he could feel her beginning to orgasm.
Suddenly, his fingers and his mouth were gone from her, and she snapped her eyes open onto the dim room in frustration. He leaned above her, bringing his fingers up to his mouth, finally ready to taste her. She heard him moan again as he sucked his fingers into his mouth, and that finished her.
Reaching for him, she gripped and tugged unrelentingly, pulling a sharp gasp from him.
"You are about to shag me," she told him, matter-of-fact-ly.
"I can do that," he said agreeably, smiling as he took himself back from her. She wrapped her legs round his hips as he positioned himself at her core. When she felt him against her, tentatively teasing her opening, she pulled him in with her legs, taking both of their breaths away. He fell forward onto his forearms again, breathing hotly against her cheek.
Steady, steady, steady, the music seemed to encourage him as he stilled himself to let her adjust to him.
"Okay?" he asked, voice rougher than she'd imagined it would be. It sent a shiver though her, and she squeezed him inside of her reflexively.
"Better now," she whispered, not trusting her own voice yet. That spurred him on.
He ground his hips against hers, testing the friction. She was almost too wet for this to work, no matter how much it turned him on. He wanted to take it slow, make it special, but… well, he didn't think she would be against fast and hard for a bit, anyway. Raising his body away from hers, he pulled all of the way out, causing her to whine in protest before he pushed back in, harder this time. They set a pace like that, dissipating some of her wetness and increasing the friction, until he began to feel her tighten around him again. Her moans were arrhythmic – like a heartbeat, dangerously out of sync with its natural pace.
Slowing down, he lowered himself back to her chest, still covered by his old tee shirt.
"Shh," he crooned in her ear as she whimpered in frustration again. "I've got you. I'll get you there, I promise," he whispered in her ear. He hadn't realized what his voice was doing to her, and, blessedly for Melody, his words had been enough to make her come.
Jon had been so relaxed, off guard, trying to sooth her, that he was taken by force when she shattered around him with a loud cry, sounding almost like a keen alongside the rain that was battering against the glass door. He lasted half a thrust more as her muscles continued to flutter around him.
When his vision cleared – and there had definitely been a few moments when he'd gone blank on the world – he caught a glimpse of the hard line of her jaw, an earlobe, a sprawling of curls over her shoulder, and he let out a ragged sigh. He pulled back from her a bit, scooting down to rest his head against her breastbone – another piece of the rather extraordinary architecture of Melody. Her following sigh was almost a gasp for breath blowing against his hair in a delicious way. He nudged her clavicle with his nose, realizing he'd paid alarmingly little attention to her chest the whole time.
"We can fix that later," she almost purred. Perhaps he'd said that last bit out loud.
"I need a sleep first, darling," he hummed contentedly.
"You can't fall asleep now!" she protested loudly, tugging gently on his hair.
"I have been on the road for eleven hours straight, come home to find an admittedly lovely delinquent having broken into my flat, eaten lots of rich food and drunk far too much alcohol, and finally shagged said delinquent silly. It is going on two o'clock in the morning, and I've been awake since round about four in the afternoon day before yesterday. Be reasonable!"
"Well, you did come a bit quickly…"
"That was your fault!" he yelped, pushing up on his elbows. Melody used his position to squirm out from beneath him and headed for the stairs to the bedroom. "Mels!" he huffed in frustration.
"I'll be right back, sweetie." But by the time she returned with his bedroom comforter, he was already asleep. She slung it round over her shoulders and draped it across him where he'd come to rest on his back as she lay down next to him.
The blue sunlight of early morning came creeping into the room a few hours later, casting a soft light through the drizzle that remained of the storm from the night before. The music had long ago stopped when the battery had run out on the little speaker, and the water hitting the wooden boards of the balcony outside the door reminded Jon of the song from Bambi – what had turned out to be one of the most traumatic films of his childhood.
"Drip, drip, drop little April showers," he hummed quietly to himself as he sat, staring out of the back door at the water falling. "Beating a tune as you fall all around."
"You are so weird." He heard her voice, gruffly muffled from beneath the comforter, still pulled up round her.
"It's from Bambi. Bambi is cool," he insisted as he lay back down next to her, warm beneath the cover.
"I thought you were tired," she said, stretching against him, like a cat in the sunlight.
"Yeah, just… do you know how long it's been since I've actually slept next to another person?" he asked softly, wrapping a single corkscrew curl round his fingertip.
"Well… at least since you finished tour, so – gah! Jon!" she yelped as he started tickling her. "I was teasing, stop!"
He found himself looming over her, holding both of her wrists above her head, as his hand stilled against her ribcage. Despite the levity of the moment, he was all seriousness, speaking firmly as he released her and lay back down. "It's been years. It isn't easy to get used to again…" he trailed off. "Besides, I have a breakfast meeting with a booking agent I met back at a show a few weeks ago."
"Oh, booking agent," she pushed up on her elbows, staring at him with interest.
"He's called Canton Delaware. You'd like him. He's quick."
"I'm just glad he's a he." She smirked so prettily, he couldn't resist leaning up and kissing her lips.
"He's gay," he said then, pushing up and heading for the loo. He couldn't resist a glance back over his shoulder to catch the amused look on her face.
"He fancy you?" she asked, a challenge in her voice.
"Dunno," he shouted back over the sound of running water in the basin. "Not to worry, though, dear. He's happily married."
"Who said I was worried?"
But as he walked back into the living room to retrieve his pants, he noticed how worried she actually did look.
"Hey, what's this?" he asked, pulling on the underwear and reaching for his jeans. He needed to grab the rest of his bags from the van outside so that he could clean up for the meeting.
"Just," she hesitated a beat before continuing. "How long have I got you for this time?"
His heart filled with so much emotion at the worried sound of her voice. She was against him leaving so soon. And to be truthful, he didn't want to leave her either. Not having just lost his two best friends to New York City.
Kneeling beside the pile of blanket and the girl inside of it, he struggled to begin what he had to say.
"Melody… this is my life. It's what I do. I've… you know, got used to tripping around. I've found I love it. And I… Mels, I can't sit still. Some of the places I've been… the opportunities to see what I've seen and to meet the amazing people that I've met. I may never get to go to those places twice. If you've ever done it, you know how it gets into your blood. I need you to understand…"
"But you're important to me," she interrupted.
"And am I more important to you than to everyone else?"
"Yes."
He shook his head in frustration, tensing for the thought this was exactly the kind of thing he'd been worried about with her. "Melody…"
"I can't let you go…"
"Mels!"
"I can't let you go," she continued. "Without letting you know you're so loved. And by no one more than me."
The confession silenced them both for a moment, before Jon repositioned himself above her, over the covers, pinning her beneath them.
"Mels, I have to go. Five or six weeks away still, but I have to. But I will always come back for you. Send me a message, and I'll be by your side."
"Do you promise me?" she whispered carefully, staring up at him.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he said in place of assent.
"Better make it a good one."
"Oh, it will be."
She made him dizzy. Touching her – it still hurt, but in a brilliantly, bright-painful way. And he was ruined by it. He would kiss her as long as it took for the world to fade away around them.
As they broke apart, he breathed in the scent of her. The rain, and the dust, and smoke… and now something more.
"Come with me," he suggested, without a single thought to the implications of what he was asking.
"Anywhere and anytime," she smiled up at him with mischief. "But not all of the time. I have to give you a reason to come home once in a while."
"And how exactly are you going to do that?" he asked cheekily, grinding his hips against her slowly.
She sent shivers down his spine with that signature, wicked smile of hers. "Spoilers," she whispered back.
fin