A/N: In my stories, Deacon and Rayna are happy, healthy, and enjoying the long and rich Happily Ever After that they both deserve.
"Ray? You home, baby?" he asked, walking into their bedroom and dropping his messenger bag on the sofa at the end of the bed.
"In here," she called.
He shrugged off his black pea coat, dropping it on top of his bag, and walked into the large master bathroom in search of his wife.
"Damn, baby," he said, stopping in his tracks. Rayna was standing in front of the large, full length mirror wearing an incredibly sexy, siren red, leather dress. It was strapless and short...unbelievably short...and just barely covered her ass. "Look at you," he said, his voice suddenly husky with desire.
Her eyes met his in the mirror, "You like it?" she asked, her hands smoothing over the fabric.
"Like it?" he asked a little incredulously. "Yeah," he walked up behind her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent and placing a small trail of hot, wet kisses across her bare skin. "I like it a lot," he growled against her naked shoulder. He trailed his hands down her bare arms and twined his fingers with hers. There was a long, gold zipper running down the entire length of the dress, and she had it unzipped a good four inches or so. Not only were the tops of her breasts exposed, but the entirely of her cleavage was on display as well. The shiny fabric hugged her curves tightly and the six inch, red stilettos she wore accentuated her long, toned legs. "You look like every single item on the naughty list all wrapped up in one delicious package," he teased.
"Well, thank you, babe," she grinned, fluffing her hair and shifting her hips in order to view the dress from a different angle.
"So, is this my Christmas present?" he asked, nibbling her earlobe. His right hand moved to the center of her dress, just below her breasts, and lightly fingered the zipper pull. "'Cause I sure wouldn't mind unwrappin' it."
"No," she giggled. "The stylist sent over a few outfits for that Christmas concert we're doing. Most of them were awful, but I think this one might work."
"What?" he asked, his eyes widening in shock as he took a step backwards. "You can't be serious, Ray. You can't wear this on stage."
"Why not?" she asked, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "What's wrong with it?"
"Are you kiddin' me?" he asked again. "Baby, this is way too sexy."
She turned around and raised her eyebrows, "It's supposed to be sexy," she challenged. "You've never had a problem with my stage outfits before."
"'Cause you've never worn something like this before, Ray," he said, his voice incredulous. "Baby, I ain't got no problems with you dressin' sexy," he explained. "You know that. But this? This is inappropriate."
"How is this inappropriate?" she asked defensively, her voice steadily getting louder. "Everything is fully covered."
"Fully covered!? You're 'bout one hiccup away from completely fallin' outta that dress and you know it."
She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly in exasperation. She turned around and walked towards their walk in closet while he followed closely behind. There were several unzipped garment bags hanging off one of the closet rods, and a large pile of discarded clothing crumpled up on the floor.
"You're being ridiculous," she said as she riffled through the garment bags before pulling out a stretchy gold dress and holding it up to her frame. She twisted her body around trying to imagine how the dress would look before quickly dismissing it and placing it back on the hanger. "This concert is really important...for me and for Highway 65. I need to look my best."
CMT was hosting a huge, holiday-themed, benefit concert featuring the biggest and brightest stars in country music. After some impressive negotiating, Bucky had not only secured Rayna a spot on the line up, but he'd also agreed that she'd perform a duet with a relatively new artist in exchange for a second performance slot for The Exes. Having Highway 65 featured so prominently in a two hour, prime time special would be good for the entire label, and Rayna wasn't taking any chances.
"Baby, I know what a big deal this is," he argued. "That don't mean you gotta go out on stage half naked."
"I'm going to be out there performing with a twenty-three year old kid, Deacon," she said, pulling a green, velvet dress off the rack. She eyed the dress for a moment before tossing it towards the reject pile in disgust. "I need to look young. Sexy." She grabbed a long red, sparkly jumpsuit and inspected it with a critical eye. "I can't exactly go out on stage wearing mom jeans and some hideous Christmas sweater."
Landon Tyler was an up-and-coming performer whose first single had been a huge crossover hit. Deacon could barely turn on the radio without hearing his song being played at least once. He knew the writers who had collaborated on the album, and he strongly suspected that they were solely responsible for the catchy single while Landon himself had probably only contributed the ridiculous hip hop style rap that was becoming more and more popular in the country/pop genre these days.
Even though Landon's music wasn't Deacon's cup of tea, he couldn't deny that the kid was popular as hell. The girls had been completely starstruck when they'd found out their mama was performing with him on stage. Daphne had danced around the kitchen squealing, and then both girls had relentlessly begged Rayna to introduce them to the up-and-comer. Bucky had reminded Rayna several times that this performance would help expose her to a younger, broader audience, and Deacon knew she worried about that. The country music industry had changed so drastically over the last few years and, unfortunately, an artist's image was more important than ever.
"You can look sexy without having to wear that ridiculous excuse of an outfit," he said, his voice rising as quickly as his temper. "I don't want my wife runnin' around on stage with her boobs fallin' outta her dress. I won't have it!"
"Excuse me!?" she turned to face him, her eyes blazing with angry indignation. "You want to try that again, babe?" she challenged, the warning in her voice more than evident.
Logically, Deacon knew that he needed to tread carefully. Rayna was stubborn by nature, she always had been, and he knew that directly challenging her would only cause her to dig her heels in deeper. But he was stubborn, too, and he hated the thought of her prancing around on national television in such a provocative outfit. There had been so many performances over the years, so many skimpy outfits that he thought crossed the line, but things were different now. He was her husband. And he didn't want his wife traipsing all over stage and screen with her damn boobs on display for the whole world to see.
"You can't wear that, Rayna," he stated firmly, his jaw clenching tightly and his eyes daring her to argue. "I won't have it."
"Oh, yeah?" she'd challenged, her breathing ragged and angry. "Watch me!" she bit out through gritted teeth, storming past him and slamming the bathroom door behind her.
Rayna stomped towards the vanity and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She turned her body from one side to the other and frowned. Deacon was right. This dress was a little too much. But he should have said that. Calmly. Rationally. She hadn't been sold on this dress. She had still been looking at other options, and she'd even considered calling her stylist and asking her to send another batch of outfits over for her to look at.
But then Deacon had stormed in, all indignant outrage, and started spouting off about what she was allowed and not allowed to wear on stage.
Rayna had never responded well to people telling her what to do, and Deacon knew that better than anyone. He'd been there when she was sixteen years old and her father had threatened to kick her out of his home if she didn't follow his rules. And Deacon had watched her turn right around and walk straight out of that damn house. He'd seen her argue with label executives when they insisted she scrap her own songs and record something more traditionally country. He'd seen her stand her ground against video producers who wanted her to wear skimpy outfits and writhe around in raunchy music videos.
And now, as far as she was concerned, she was stuck wearing this damn dress because Rayna Jaymes did not back down from a fight. Not with anyone.
"Goddamn it," she muttered, kicking off her heels. She walked over to the tub and turned on the water. She made sure it was just the right temperature and then added a generous amount of bubble bath. She pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail and slowly began removing her makeup.
The truth was, Deacon didn't really understand what she was up against. They'd always had very different aspirations for their careers. Deacon had wanted to record a few, well-received albums and have just enough name recognition to land steady gigs. As long as he earned enough money to cover his modest expenses and provide for his family in Natchez, he was content.
She'd always had big dreams, though, and after years and years of hard work, she'd made those dreams a reality. She'd sold millions of records, she'd headlined world tours, she'd started her own record label, and she'd earned a small fortune along the way.
She was a huge, country music superstar. But the industry was changing more and more every day, and she found herself competing against an increasingly young stable of girls. She was a woman in her mid-forties competing against girls barely old enough to drive with their naked midriffs, and their auto-tuned hits, and their millions of Youtube subscribers. If wearing a sexy dress on stage helped her stay relevant and allowed her to keep the career she'd worked so hard for, then so be.
She undressed quickly, tossing the dress carelessly on the bathroom floor, and gingerly stepped into the tub before sinking down into the fragrant bubbles. Deacon's indignant behavior had caught her off guard, but she knew she could've handled things better, as well. She hated fighting with Deacon, especially over something as silly and inconsequential as a dress. She was going to give both of them a little time to cool down, and then she was going to find her husband and make things right.
A little more than twenty four hours later, Deacon was storming through the backstage area of the Bridgestone Arena. To say he was pissed off was an understatement. He was totally, thoroughly, one hundred percent livid.
He and Rayna had made up the night before. After their little spat over the dress, she had disappeared into the bathroom to take a long, calming soak in the tub, and he'd stomped off to the kitchen to start dinner. He was a family man now, and it didn't matter that he was pissed off or that he'd just had a fight with his wife. The girls still needed to eat dinner on time, and the dishwasher still needed to be unloaded.
He'd just been pouring the spaghetti noodles into the strainer when Rayna had walked into the kitchen. She'd stood timidly next to the kitchen island and waited patiently for him to finish. He'd turned towards her, leaning casually against the sink and drying his hands on one of their monogrammed kitchen towels.
"I'm sorry," she'd spoken softly. She'd been wearing a soft, cotton t-shirt, pajama shorts, and a pair of ancient, wool socks that had once belonged to him. Her hair had been a mess, and he'd thought she looked absolutely beautiful. "I shouldn't have stormed off like that."
"I'm sorry, too, baby," he'd said keeping his voice quiet. The girls had been doing their homework in the family room and he hadn't wanted them to know that he and Rayna had been fighting. "I shouldn't have gotten mad. And I definitely shouldn't have spoken to you like that," he'd said, stepping towards her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "Forgive me?" he'd asked.
"Yes," she'd answered with a small smile, draping her hands around his neck and pulling him closer. "Do you forgive me?"
"Of course, baby." He'd placed a sweet kiss on her mouth and had just begun to tease her bottom lip when the oven timer had gone off signaling that the garlic bread was finished. He'd moved to the oven, and she'd started taking plates out of the cabinet. They'd shared a peaceful dinner with the girls and the entire, silly fight had been forgotten.
At least he thought it had. Until he'd walked into her dressing room fifteen minutes earlier and saw her wearing the same goddamn dress that had started the fight to begin with.
Once they'd arrived at the Bridgestone, they had gone their separate ways. He'd gone to make sure that the band was all here and set up for the performance tonight, and she'd headed backstage to get dressed. Once he'd made sure everything was ready to go, he'd made his way back to her dressing room, knocking lightly on the door before letting himself in. She had been standing in the middle of the room while the makeup artist painted something clear and glossy on her lips and the hair dresser fussed over the tight curls falling down her back.
"Hey, babe," she'd spoken as soon as he'd walked in. "Is the band all set to go?"
"The hell are you wearin,' Ray?" he'd asked, his voice incredulous.
Her head had snapped towards him and her eyes had narrowed in defiance. "A dress," she'd answered, tightly. "You should recognize it. It's the same dress I picked out last night."
"I thought we agreed you weren't gonna wear that," he'd bit out, trying to keep from raising his voice.
Rayna's eyes had flashed dangerously, but she'd quickly reeled it in.
"Would y'all give us a minute, please?" she'd asked politely, as her glam squad scurried out of the room.
He'd taken a deep, labored breath as he'd waited for the door to close behind them.
"What the hell, Ray?" he'd asked through gritted teeth once they were alone. "I thought we talked about this."
"We did talk about it. And I told you I was wearing it."
"You apologized," he'd argued, his voice getting steadily louder.
"Yes," she'd shot back angrily. "I apologized for leaving the room and not finishing our discussion. I never agree to wear a different dress."
"No," he'd said, shaking his head furiously. "You can't wear that. Change into something else."
"I am not changing into something else," she'd yelled exasperated. "This is the dress I've chosen, and this is the dress I'm going to wear."
"Ray," he'd started just as a knock sounded on the door. "Not now!" he'd hollered.
"Ray?" Bucky had poked his head around the door and immediately felt the tension in the room. "Oh," he'd faltered, "I'm sorry. Is this a bad time?"
"Yes," Deacon had answered, clenching his jaw tightly.
"No," Rayna had argued. "It's not, Bucky," she'd said, cutting her eyes towards Deacon, "What's going on?"
"I've got the sound tech with me," Bucky had said uncertainly. "He's hear to get you mic'd up. Then, you're on stage in ten."
"Sure," she'd said, smiling at the young man standing behind Bucky. "Come on in."
Deacon had bristled in the corner, and Bucky had done his very best to avoid eye contact with both of them.
"Hi, Miss Jaymes," the sound tech reached out to shake her head. "I just need to...Oh!" the kid had visibly floundered once he'd seen Rayna's outfit. His eyes had run quickly up and down her body before blatantly getting lost in her cleavage. He'd made a valiant effort to move his eyes back up to her face before speaking. "Um," he'd stuttered nervously, "If you'll just turn around for me, please, I'll get you all hooked up."
Rayna had given him a tight smile before turning around and pulling her hair over her shoulder.
Deacon had stared daggers at the kid while he'd fumbled to attach the power pack.
"Your dress is pretty tight back here," he'd said. "Would you mind unzipping it a bit so I can have a little more room."
"Move," Deacon had bitten out, grabbing the power pack out of the kids' hands and stepping behind Rayna. He could just about hold it together while this little twerp ran his eager eyeballs all over his wife's tits, but he'd be damned if he was going to let the little perv touch her, too.
Rayna had used one hand to hold the dress against her chest and the other to slide the zipper down an extra inch to allow Deacon a bit more room to secure the power pack. The sound tech had silently handed him her earphones, and Deacon had plugged them in before draping them over her shoulders.
"Is that secure?" he'd asked quietly while she'd re-adjusted her dress.
"Yeah," she'd answered, her voice tense. "Thanks."
"Okay," Bucky had breathed out awkwardly, "Well...let's start walking.
Which is exactly how Deacon found himself stalking through the backstage area of the Bridgestone Arena, trying to keep up with his very pissed off wife. He was walking as closely behind her as possible, hoping to shield everyone's view of her ass. Not that it mattered. She'd be prancing around on stage...on national television, no less...in a matter of minutes, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it now. If he'd thought the dress looked inappropriate in the privacy of their own closet, he thought it looked down right indecent here with the bright, industrial lights of the arena highlighting all of that smooth, shiny skin Rayna had on display.
Deacon grabbed his guitar from a nearby roadie and made his way onto the stage. There was a house band playing the event, but most artists chose to bring a few of their regular band members on stage with them. Deacon always played lead guitar for Rayna, of course, and she also liked to bring along her own backup singers. She was a perfectionist when it came to her music, and she didn't want to take a chance that the house band would mess up the complicated harmonies that she had chosen for tonight's performance.
Landon Tyler had his own band he toured with, but he had not requested for anyone to join him, and Deacon strongly suspected that Landon didn't take a very active role in the creation of his music. Deacon had learned a long time ago that there was a very big difference between an artist and a performer, and he was confident that Landon fell into the second category.
Deacon plugged in his guitar and counted off the band, playing a few introductory chords to signal the beginning of their performance and get the crowd on their feet. Landon made his way onto the stage and the audience immediately jumped up and started shrieking.
"Hello, Nashville!" Landon screamed into the mic, amid the resounding applause. "Are y'all ready to party!?" he asked the crowd, holding the mic towards the audience. "Tonight, I got a very special, little lady who's gonna come out on stage and help me sing this song. That all right with y'all?" After waiting for more applause, Landon pointed towards stage left. "Everybody...Miss Rayna Jaymes!"
The crowd went wild as Rayna walked out onto the stage. She quickly hugged Landon and then addressed the audience. "Hey, y'all!" she greeted in her sugary, Southern drawl. "Thank you so much for having me on stage, Landon," she said, giving him her very best stage smile. "I'm so excited to be here, tonight, and I'm hoping this next song will help get y'all in the Christmas spirit."
Deacon was still annoyed that Landon had been given precedence over Rayna in tonight's line up. Rayna was a superstar. She'd been a major player in this industry for almost two decades. She had multiple platinum albums and a shelf full of prestigious awards. The network should have given her the respect she deserved by allowing her to be the main performer and designating this future, one-hit-wonder as her guest. But because his single had been at the top of the charts for the last four months, Landon had been given priority. Sometimes, the politics of this business really pissed him off.
Rayna gave Deacon a subtle nod, and he transitioned chords, signaling the band to begin the song. She started belting out the first verse while Landon strutted around the stage in a ridiculous fashion that, for some reason, had all the girls in the first few rows throwing their hands up and squealing. Rayna was giving it her all on stage just like she always did, and Landon was strutting around her spitting a bunch of "yeah, yeah, yeahs" into the microphone like a speech-impaired toddler.
Deacon had suggested they perform Hard Candy Christmas. It was one of their favorite Christmas songs, and he and Rayna had come up with a beautiful arrangement that was not only melancholy but also a little sultry. They'd performed it every night during the November and December dates of her "Little Bits of Heaven" tour back in 2008, and it had been a huge fan favorite. Plus, Dolly had always had a soft spot for the two of them, and he knew she'd get a kick out of them performing one of her songs at such an important event.
Rayna had agreed that it would be a perfect choice for tonight, but when Bucky had reached out to Landon's team, they had rejected the song. Landon had wanted to perform a more upbeat number that he could "infuse with his signature hip hop flavor." Which Deacon had thought was real big talk coming from a "musician" who didn't know how to play a single instrument.
Rayna smoothly finished off the second chorus and then Landon moved into his little white boy rap. He sidled up a little too closely to Rayna and started the bridge:
"I'll slide down your chimney
and bring you lots of joy
what I got for you, mama
it ain't just a toy"
Landon moved closer to Rayna, and Deacon grit his teeth in annoyance. Rayna took a few steps back, but Landon followed right behind, placing a hand on her hip to keep her in place. Rayna looked out into the audience and gave one of her practiced stage laughs, and Deacon could tell she was uncomfortable with Landon's proximity.
"You can play with me, baby
I'll be your santa, too
'cos when the yule time's over
I showed you what to do"
Rayna subtly brushed off Landon's hand and started walking across the stage, playing out towards the crowd as she sang the last chorus. She held the high notes a little longer and dipped her voice slightly on the last line before moving into the final verse. The crowd was completely in sync with her, and she knew it.
Landon come up behind Rayna and draped his arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer to him as he began his final rap:
"It ain't just a toy
that I've got for you
so much joy
lots of cheer for you"
Rayna was rocking her hips subtly with the music, and Deacon felt a blinding flash of rage as Landon started grinding his hips behind her. Rayna placed her hand on Landon's chest and began walking backwards away from him, putting a little sway in her hips so that it looked like part of their performance.
"I'll be your santa baby
playing lots and lots of games
when I've toyed with you baby
things won't be the same"
Landon followed Rayna across the stage, once again pulling her close so they could share his microphone while they both sang the tag:
"I'll be your santa, baby," he sang, holding his hands out, pretending to rub them over Rayna's curves.
"Oh, you can be my Santa," Rayna harmonized.
"Yeah, I'll be your santa, baby," Landon grunted into the mic, "and when I've toyed with you things just won't be the same."
The music swelled and finally the song was over. Rayna stepped away from Landon and raised her hand towards the crowd, thanking them graciously before walking offstage. Landon took his turn thanking the audience and then finally exited the stage, allowing Deacon to unplug his guitar and walk off stage, as well.
He hurried down the steps and handed his guitar off to a roadie while his eyes sought out Rayna. She was standing just off stage accepting congratulations from a small group of people. He quickly walked in her direction but before he could reach her, Landon sauntered over and pulled her into an over-enthusiastic hug.
"Oh my god, baby, you killed it up there!" Deacon overheard him saying. Landon started moving his hands all over Rayna's lower back, and Deacon clenched his fists in anger.
"Thank you," Rayna said nervously, carefully extracting herself from the hug and subtly taking a few steps backwards. "It was a lot of fun," her eyes caught Deacon's and she called out a tight, "Hey, babe!" in his direction. He knew her signals. She was uncomfortable and wanted him to rescue her. He quickly stepped past Landon and wound his arm possessively around Rayna's waist.
"Landon," he said, gritting his teeth.
"Freakin' Deacon!" Landon greeted loudly. "You were awesome up there," he continued in his smarmy voice, "thanks for helping us out tonight."
"No problem," Deacon nodded tightly.
"And this one!?" he eyes raked lecherously over Rayna's curves. "That was one hell of a performance," Landon said, not even trying to hide the fact that he was imagining her without that damn dress on. "You were smokin' hot up there, baby."
Deacon drew in a deep, angry breath and his hand tightened on Rayna's waist.
"Anytime you feel like sharing her," Landon winked lewdly in Deacon's direction, "you just let me know." He grabbed Rayna's hand and pulled it towards his lips, "I will gladly perform with you anytime you want."
Rayna pulled her hand back and forced out a smile that was more grimace than anything.
"You're a lucky man, Deacon Claybourne," Landon held his hand out for some sort of weird, high five/bro handshake combination, and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "If I were you, I wouldn't let her out of my sight."
Rayna shot Deacon an anxious look, silently begging him to keep his cool.
"Yeah," Deacon bit out, ignoring Landon's outstretched hand and quickly steering Rayna towards the backstage area. He could feel Landon watching them and knew exactly where his eyes were located so he nudged Rayna in front of him and fell in step behind her.
They walked purposefully through the back of the arena, and Rayna said nothing when Deacon grabbed her elbow and pulled her down an empty, dimly lit hallway. He tried the first door they came across but it was locked, so he quickly moved to the second door which opened to a small, dark closet. He ushered her in first and then closed and locked the door behind them.
"Deacon," she started, her voice tense and nervous.
"Rayna," he warned, stepping towards her and pushing her up against the wall. "I'm done arguing about this damn dress." He wound his hands into her hair and pulled her towards him for an intense, aching kiss.
Lyrics are from: "I'll Be Your Santa, Baby" by Rufus Thomas
I do not own Nashville. Or this song.
