Again, prompt via JadaPattinson and StickyBuns.
This one
goo . gl/1axVm
And this one (via Catamine - my Rose)
youtu . be/RGr10hTkqks
Holding my handbag between my teeth, a folder of work documents in one hand, dinner in the other, and my laptop under my arm, I scramble up the hallway, almost losing a shoe in the process.
"Ehward!" I yell around a mouthful of Italian leather as I slam the door shut with my foot.
"What?" he yells back.
I dump everything onto the kitchen bench, too excited to care when it all tumbles off the edge and onto the floor.
"Edward!"
"WHAT?"
He stomps out of the second bedroom; the one that was once mine, now, a little home office.
"Guess what, guess what, guess what?"
I'm jumping up and down on the spot, my hands whipping around.
"What?" he repeats in a high-pitched voice, copying my stupid dance. Smartass.
"Guess who's coming to town?"
"SANTA?"
"No! Guess again. Think hot lead singer...um...oh, oh! And that time we wanted to go to the Headspace Festival, but I couldn't get the time off work, and we were totally bummed because we didn't get to see them, so we had a mini-concert here and..."
"No fucking way!" Edwards's eyes pop open with excitement.
Pulling two tickets from my back pocket, I hold them in front of my face showing Edward. His responding expression is the kind of thing that makes my whole day brighter. It makes me want to laugh, cry, scream and jump him all at once.
"Are you kidding me?" He's so excited that now we're both jumping up and down.
That night we cook dinner listening to music; each of us picking our favorite songs, singing into wooden spoons and spatulas, and playing the air-guitar. It doesn't even faze us when we burn dinner, we just eat around the burned bits, playing our music loudly, smiling like goons.
"You're so cute in your band tee," I tease, smacking Edward's ass as we line up, waiting to pay an exorbitant amount for crappy concert beer.
"I had this before they were cool," says Edward flippantly, rolling his eyes.
I roll mine back at him. "O-kay."
"I did. Stupid Shia La-whatshisname ruined a good shirt with that stupid Transformers movie."
We buy our beers and slowly make our way through the crowds, trying to edge as close as we can to the front of the stage.
"Are you going flash your boobs for him?" Edward asks, referring to the lead singer.
"No way!"
I totally would. That man is fine. Although, not as fine as Edward. I was only joking around when I teased him about his t-shirt. He looks really goddamn cute in his black jeans and band tee. His hair is stupidly long, it actually needs a cut; it's poking out of his black knit-cap, curling around the nape of his neck. I'm kind of looking forward to being squashed against him all night. He's tapping his fingers against his plastic beer cup, watching everyone around us chatter excitedly, his finger hooked around my pinkie, keeping me close.
Little things like this make me proud to be his girl. It's strange, I know. It's sort of a weird form of possessiveness, knowing that all the girls around us are probably checking him out, yet he's mine. Sometimes I want to grab him and kiss him, rub myself all over him to show those bitches I'm his girl. But I don't; we don't need huge romantic gestures and saliva-filled PDA's to show our affection for each other. It's in the way he looks at me across a crowded room, or the way he tucks his little finger under the waistband of my jeans when his hand is on my lower back. Of course, when we're both really drunk it's a different matter all together. He gets mushy and sweet, full of little kisses and googly-eyes, and I get horny as a motherfucker. It's a win-win situation.
I'm busy checking out my fine-ass boyfriend when someone bumps into me from behind, sending beer sloshing over the side of my cup and onto my jeans.
"Hey, watch it," snaps Edward to the guy, pulling me closer. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I reply, brushing the beer off my pants. "It's all good."
The support band is okay, although really, the crowd is a little noisy to appreciate them. As soon as they finish their last song, it's like the place doubles in capacity. The small amount of breathing space we had is gone, and now we're packed in like sardines. Edward keeps his arms around me, holding me upright as people start to push and jostle, trying to get closer.
My biggest pet peeve at concerts is people who try to push in right at the last minute. Bitch, I did my time; I've been standing here for over an hour, don't fucking 'excuse me' and give me those doe-eyes. Go to the back where you belong. A few people get the full force of my stink-eye, but Edward is a great shepherd, helping us stand our ground.
The crowd shifts as the lights go down, and all around me the stadium erupts into an explosion of noise. People clap, chant, scream, and stamp their feet. It seems like it can't get any louder, until the band appears, and it does.
My heartbeat explodes in my chest as the lead singer saunters to the mic; long fingers wrapped around the stand, long, skinny legs wrapped in dark denim. Ugh. He's like sex, and rock and roll, and debauchery. Greasy, chin-length hair, black nail polish, and a voice that makes your reproductive organs melt. Intensely nonchalant, he works the crowd into a frenzy faster than a two-dollar hooker.
Halfway through the first song, my view gets blocked by a rather wide-assed dude, his limp, smelly hair whipping me in the face. Before I get the chance to move out of the way though, Edward drops to his knees and pops his head between my legs, and in a move that makes me scream bloody murder, stands back up with me perched on his shoulders. My hands instinctively grip his head; I think I even poke him in the eye accidentally.
But holy shit; the view is amazing.
I must be heavy on Edward's shoulders, but if I am, he doesn't say so. He just tucks my feet under his arms, securing me to him, and continues to enjoy the concert. My new position affords me a birds-eye view of the general admission area. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of heads bob up and down, like a rolling sea, waves of people awash with bright lights and crazy green lasers. With my hands in the air, I clap along with the fans, screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs.
When the opening bass line to my favorite song rumbles from the speakers, I scream so loud I can feel Edward shaking with laughter beneath me. I scream louder than I ever thought possible, like I'm being chased by a fucking chainsaw wielding murderer.
And then, time stops; and for one moment, a single second in time, Julian is looking at me. He's looking at ME. Well, he's looking near me, but it feels like he's looking right at me. With his mic in hand, the words spit from his lips, grinding between his teeth, each one slamming into me like wave after wave of raw, sexual energy.
So what do I do?
The only thing I can do.
I lift my top and flash my tits.
Just for a second. A heartbeat, really.
With my top back down, the crowd around me cheers, and I swear, I fucking swear, he winks at me.
"Oh my god!" I scream, wobbling a little as I flail around like the crazed fangirl I am. I guess this is what it's like for Justin Beaver fans.
I'm lit like an electric wire; pulsating with excitement. Leaning over forwards, I drop my face in front of Edward's, grab him by the jaw, and kiss the ever-loving shit out of him. He does well, trying to keep us steady and kiss me at the same time. I can feel him laughing into our kiss; feel the smile break across his lips.
"Did you just flash your boobs?" he asks, looking at me upside down.
"Yes!" I screetch.
He kisses me once more. "You're insane. I love you, but you're insane."
After a few songs, I hop down, happy to be pushed and pulled in every direction as the crowd surges around us. A few times, I'm sure my feet aren't actually on the ground, I'm wedged so tightly between people that I'm hovering mid-air instead. My feet get trampled, and I think Edward accidentally gives me an elbow in the head at some point, but I fucking love this. I feel invincible, the way the adrenaline pumps through my body, the heat swirling through me as the music washes over me.
But all too soon it's over. My ears are ringing, the toe on my left foot is sore from being squashed, and I have sweat all over me; some mine, some not. But if there's one person who looks happier than me, it can only be Edward.
He talks incessantly all the way home, his hands gesticulating wildly, eyes shiny and excited.
"I can't believe you flashed your tits!" he laughs.
I blush instantly, embarrassed but also a little proud of myself for doing it. "I know, me either!"
Our excitement carries us all the way home, via a McDonalds drive-thru of course.
I'm fishing through my handbag, looking for my house keys, when Edward presses me into our front door, my boobs squished up against the hard wood.
"Mmm," he moans, his nose trailing across my shoulder. "You smell like sweat and French fries."
"The scent of love," I joke, trying to get the key in the lock.
My fingers fumble with the keys as he pushes harder against me, his lips following the curve of my neck. I swallow hard as he brushes my hair over one shoulder, continuing his path upwards, and then back down again.
"Jesus," I groan, as his teeth grip the skin where my shoulder and neck meet, hard, but not hard enough to hurt me.
"Remember the first time we did this?" he whispers, his hand gripping my hip, his fingers splayed wide over my hipbone.
Dizzy and wobbly-kneed, I nod.
Pushing his hand between me and the door, his fingers rub me through the denim of my jeans, making my knees weak and my eyes roll back in my head.
"Here?" I gasp.
"Right the fuck here."
I want to protest. There are cameras, and Mr. Ateara from next door has already complained about our late night noises. But – oh-my-god-right-the-fuck-there – the way Edward has me pinned to the door, his hand sliding over my pants – I don't give a fuck.
He smiles against the skin of my neck as I slip my hand down my front, undoing the button on my pants.
"You want me to make you come right here? In the hallway?"
Fuck. Dirty-talking Edward normally only comes out once he's had a few drinks, but something's got him riled up and, fuck me sideways, the things he's whispering in my ear are pornographic. And not the vanilla kind of porn, the kind you find way in the back, behind the black curtain.
With one hand up the front of my shirt, the other slips down the front of my jeans and under my underwear.
"Oh, fuck."
"You like that?" he asks, knowing full well that since I'm practically riding his hand in the hallway, that yes, I do like it.
His hips push against my ass, rocking me forward onto his hand. I'm like his marionette as he pulls my strings, pushing me forwards, backwards, rocking me until I'm a groaning, whimpering mess in his hands.
All it takes is a minute shift of his hand, two fingers slipping inside me; once, twice, a third time – and I'm pounding against the front door, trying to stay on my feet as my orgasm rips through me.
Panting, I press my head to the door.
"Fucking A."
With a flick of his wrist, Edward turns the door handle, and we stumble forward into the apartment. We don't make it any further than the entrance, falling to the carpet just inside the door.
Stupid skinny jeans. They look great, but man, are they a pain in the ass to get off quickly. In the end, Edward doesn't even bother taking them all the way off, instead, letting them dangle from one leg as he pulls his pants down over his ass.
It's frantic, and we're both trying to be quiet since Edward's legs are sticking out of the open front door into the hallway. But it's just so, so, so good. The feel of his hips between my legs; his hipbones against my thighs, the way he knows how to hit that spot, that spot; the one that makes my toes curl and my back arch.
When his rhythm becomes uneven, his breaths ragged and labored – I know he's close.
My legs wrap around his waist higher, my heels digging into his lower back, my hips meeting every one of his erratic, powerful thrusts. His brows scrunch together, and suddenly his eyes pop open, bright green and shiny. I smile up at him, so completely enraptured and in love at that moment, and he stills, cursing loudly as goose bumps explode over his arms and back.
Spent, he lies atop me, his head on my chest as I brush the sweaty hair from his forehead. With a wriggle and a kick of his long leg, he slams the door shut, leaving us in the dark, the light from the moon shining in the front window.
I could lie here all night with him. It's been over six months and I still revel in his every touch, every single little moment of us.
"I wasn't joking about the sweat and fries smell," he says, sniffing me, ruining my little romantic inner monologue.
Rolling my eyes, I push him off me. "You smell like armpit and stale beer, too, you know."
Standing up, he kicks his jeans off and pulls his shirt up over his head, leaving them beside the front door. I give him a look as I bundle up my own clothes, both of us standing naked in the dark.
"You gonna pick them up?"
"Tomorrow," he says, strolling into the kitchen, his perky ass shining in the refrigerator light.
Sighing, I pick up his discarded clothes. "You coming for a shower?"
He smirks around a bottle of water. "Round two?"
"Two?" I balk. "You mean three."
He smiles proudly.
"I don't think I have anything left," I say honestly, as we turn the lights on in the bathroom. "Shower head instead?"
I smile as Edward gives me a high-five. He rubs his hands together, tugging me into the shower after him.
"That's my favorite kind!"
Hey guys!
Big thank you thank yous to Meg and Tiff for being my cheerleaders.
This chapter references The Strokes, Julian Casablancas - their lead singer and one of the hottest men around (although the drummer Fab is also HOT!), and their song 'Reptilia'. I learned my lesson with Passion Pit.
Thanks for reading, and for all the lovely reviews.
