Idioteque - Radiohead
Christian's hand on my back was sending distracting tingles up my spine. Shaking my head, I tried to steady myself, reminding myself harshly that he was a target. Except this time, I had to be slightly less aloof. I tried to focus on something stationary, something beyond the flashing lights and the warmth of his hand. Thankfully, I felt him gently apply more pressure to the small of my back, guiding me along the carpet and to the stairs draped in red. An escape.
Once again, as soon as we entered the lobby, all eyes were on us. It was nerving and I felt my heart begin to beat a little faster. That same feeling in the center of my back manifested into a chill- I felt like someone watching was dangerous. But I didn't know who. I took a shaky deep breath trying to calm my rapidly growing paranoia.
I noticed Christian scan the crowd and subtly nod at a man in a black suit and ear piece. I didn't recognize him.
"Mr. Grey?" I was shaken out of my observations by a very cultured and smooth voice.
"Mr. Hyde! It's a pleasure," Christian stated, accepting the proffered handshake. I smiled tightly, arching a brow at this Mr. Hyde's so obvious perusal of my body. I casually slipped my arm into the crook of Christian's left arm. Mr. Hyde's eyes tightened slightly as he saw the brace on my wrist.
"This is Anastasia," Christian stated with a level of finality that made no mention to elaborate on our relationship or who I was.
"Jack Hyde," the man said, offering his hand. I unlinked from Christian and let my hand relax into the best imitation of a dead fish that I could manage.
"Anastasia," I said cooly. He raised his eyebrows in confusion as he released my hand.
As he made some excuse to Christian to get away after the highly public and watched interaction, I noticed the people on the edges of the room. These were the people I was used to being- wall flowers. Drowning their discomfort in champagne; forgettable. And I had a hunch one of them was triggering the sense of concern.
Before Christian and I could discuss what had just transpired between us and Mr. Hyde, a polite chime rang through the glass lobby.
"Come, we have to get to the box," Christian said, sliding his hand into mine. For someone who rarely went out in public with female company, he knew exactly how to be an attentive date.
"Not a fan of the fans?" I turned and grinned cheekily, trying to lighten the mood again, but getting trapped in his steely, intense gaze. "I'm a fan of one fan; myself."
He laughed, and pulled open the door to the private hallway leading to the exclusive boxes. As we strolled towards a box in the middle of the hallway, I felt the hairs on my arms begin to rise. I was certain now that someone, somewhere meant harm. Where are you watching me from?
Christian settled in next to me. He had locked the door of the box, a polite signal to the butlers that we, or rather, he did not want to be disturbed. Thankfully there was a small mini bar full of refreshments. A locked door was thankfully another inch between a bullet and the back of my head. Not that it would make that much difference.
It was the first lesson my father ever taught me. Guns and bullets weren't like what I could remember from movies. They were much deadlier. You could like four people up in a row, shoot once, from a distance, and the bullet would travel cleanly through every single head.
"Don't ever get lulled into a false sense of security, Annie."
Christian was watching me. "You seem far away."
I smiled softly. "Sometimes, randomly, I think of my father. I don't like to think about him. He's gone now, but I don't want to completely forget him either."
He nodded in understanding, his fingers lacing with my own, resting on his thigh. "I watched my birth mother die when I was four."
I glanced up at him, knowing the story. It was easy to piece together after linking the police reports to his demeanor and philanthropic work with children. His eyes met mine and he looked slightly embarrassed. I brought our hands to my mouth, kissing the back of his softly, and leaning my head against his arm.
"I'm so sorry, Christian."
He cleared his throat and was about to speak when the opening notes from the orchestra pit drifted up into the full theatre. Shaking his head as though trying rid himself of dark thoughts, he handed me a pair of opera glasses.
"Thank you," I whispered, letting my lips graze the outer shell of his ear. I couldn't resist. Fuck, he smells divine.
He turned, catching my chin with a crooked finger, capturing my lips in a gentle, yet sinfully arousing kiss. Before I could respond, he pulled away, smirking triumphantly. Before I could get caught up in the lover's game, I felt a shiver race down my spine again.
Completely distracted, I pulled away, plastering on a smirk before raising my traditional glorified binoculars to my eyes. I missed my scope more than ever. Nothing was out of the ordinary as I scanned the occupants of the boxes directly across from us. Everyone's attention was on the woman currently mourning her love in Italian. I glanced at the seats below us, recognizing that the angle would make it nearly impossible for a stealthy shot to be taken. But it was an option for a less than subtle attack. The balcony was too low and our box was angled away from it. I quickly discounted it as an option. It was impossible to check and measure the angles throughly without moving my hand.
As the story began to unfold in song on the stage, the music grew. I glanced at Christian, watching as he took note of the pianist in the orchestra pit. Bingo. The proximity was decent and the angle was almost perfect. I casually held up the binoculars again, scanning the orchestra pit for anything out of the ordinary.
Christian was starting to slide into my personal space, and from a quick glance I could tell he was painfully aroused. Closing my eyes and cursing my profession once more, I let my free hand rest on his thigh again, hoping to appease his slow attempts at engaging with me.
When I opened my eyes, I caught a flash of green light, something that was not supposed to be in the orchestra pit. I glanced at Christian, squeezing his thigh to gain his attention. There was no laser pointed directly at him, and he didn't seem to notice one of my face. Swallowing thickly, I smirked, letting my hand slip higher up his thigh. I heard his breathing hitch, but made no attempt to move my hand any closer or any higher to where his body desired it to be.
Frantically, systematically checking every musician, I realized that one of the violinists wasn't actually playing. The bow was not meeting the strings, and his wrist moved too freely for there to be any tension. I spotted him holding something in his hand, the one holding the bow. He was setting the angle.
I felt Christian's hand close over mine once more, and he slowly began to slide it even further up his leg. I felt the tension of his tuxedo pants as they were pulled away from his body by his extremely prominent bulge. I shifted, clenching my legs together and taking deep breath as I ended his torture and lightly grasped his length through his pants.
I began tracing it with my fingers, admiring the heat and size of his erection. Letting myself tease him, I turned my attention back to the pit, drawing a line from the violinist who was facing out box and coincidentally holding a laser back to an angle I would have liked to have shot from. I spotted the barrel of the rifle. But I still had no idea who it was aimed at.
Christian's low moan in my ear, brought me back to my current predicament. My panties were soaked and as much as I wanted to continue, I needed to take care of this very real threat.
"How long until intermission,?" I whispered, stroking him with more fervor.
"We still have another act to go," he said, his voice tight. I set down the glasses and glanced at the boxes opposite us, thankful that the barrier was intact up to our chests. Pulling on his belt, I quickly unbuckled it, raising an eyebrow when he quickly unbuttoned the waistband of his pants. I batted them away lightly, leaning my head on his shoulder, but making it look like we were wrapped up in an embrace instead his erection being wrapped up by my hand.
Slowly I began to slide my hand up and down, grazing the head of his aroused member. All I knew was the gun was not pointed towards Christian and I was relieved. In time to the music I caressed him, letting his hot, breathy moans in my ear direct the amount of pressure I was applying.
I heard the telltale "fuck" under his breath and his hips began surging forward, pressing him into my hand, I ducked down and as he felt my tongue make contact with his shaft, he released into my mouth. I swallowed it all, taking care to catch any stray drops on my hand so not to ruin his pants or give away what we had been up to.
I straightened, painfully aware of my soaked underwear and straining nipples. Focused on the music and the rapidly building crescendo, I watched the violinist pause slightly as the woman on stage reached her final note. Above it, very faintly, I could hear the screams begin.
"Someone got shot," I whispered to Christian. The music stopped a second after and the audience below us was in full panic mode. I looked back at the orchestra and watched the violist make their exit in the chaos below.
I'm back! Sorry it's been like three years or something, but I ran out of steam. Freshly inspired, I want to finish this story. Let me know if you have any questions and thank you for your patience!
