A/N: This is an idea I had a million years ago while I was writing my 4th season AU Stay With Me, but which I was never really equipped to execute at the time. You probably do need to have read Stay With Me for this to make sense.
Also, when I say explicit, I mean it this time. I don't normally write anything this explicitly sexual, but this time it felt like what the story demanded. So consider yourself warned I guess? Ha.
"It's really really good, Jame," Jude is saying into the cell phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she unlocks the door to the rehearsal space. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to work on it with you." It feels like she's spent practically every day of the past several weeks either rehearsing or performing or doing interviews. "I promise this week is the last of the G Major stuff."
"No, no, I get it. Please, don't feel bad for doing justice to your own album. It's not about G Major, it's about My Turn and all the incredible work you did on that. I'm glad you've still got all of this going on. If the stuff with Blue… If D had taken it out on you instead of with Paegan I'd never have forgiven myself. You know I never want to compromise your career. I feel bad enough making you give up the opportunity to tour."
"Don't start that again, Jamie," Jude scolds gently as she sits down on the couch. "You're not compromising anything, and you definitely didn't make me give up a tour. Stepping back from my own stuff is what I want, we agreed." When Spied showed up on Nana's doorstep with his guitar case in hand, Jude, Jamie, and Zeppelin had multiple days' worth of long circular conversations about whether they had the resources to record albums for both Jude and Spiederman at the same time. Eventually, Jude, who was still in the thick of her album release with very little time and energy and barely any new songs, finally declared she'd step back from her own music, that Spied could be their priority. The two of them would record and release a duet or two, for the sake of bringing more publicity to the label, but NBR's first album would be his, and Jude would focus her energy on producing. "Better not to antagonize Darius any more than we already have, anyway. I wish I was doing more of it with you, honestly, instead of all this. I want to be with you, with NBR, 100%, I really do."
"I know," Jamie says gently. "And we will." He pauses, then sighs. "I just wish I felt like I knew what I was doing."
"Okay, but that's what I'm saying, Jame, you do. 'What You Need' is sounding freaking awesome. Honestly, I'm so impressed. So hey, maybe I'm not sorry I haven't been behind the board much, because it's giving you and Spied the opportunity to do some really cool stuff. I'd just hold you back"
Jamie laughs. "I highly doubt that."
"Come on," she jokes, "between the two of us, you've always been the true musical authority." The door behind her opens as she says it, and her head whips around to see Tommy walk in. He starts to smile as he sees her and opens his mouth to say something, but she quickly puts a finger to her lips and shakes her head, pointing to her phone. She thinks she sees his expression darken, a flash of a scowl crossing his face for half a second, but he turns away to close the door quietly behind him, and she looks away before he turns back. She hears him lock the door, sliding the chain lock on, too, so if one of her bandmates decides to show up unexpectedly for some reason, they can't barge in without warning.
"Do endless wells of obscure music trivia really translate to production skills?" Jamie is asking, laughing. "Because if so, we're headed straight for the top of the charts. But somehow I doubt that."
"No, that's what I'm saying, apparently it does translate, based on what I'm hearing in this song," Jude says with a smile. "And hey, seriously, you know you've always had a great ear and an even better mind for this kind of stuff, even if you haven't done much hands-on until now. My musical Gandalf, remember? Spied is damn lucky to have you, I mean it."
"To have us," Jamie corrects her warmly.
"Yes, us. Absolutely." Her smile is for Jamie, the little squeeze of her heart is for the word us and for her decade and a half of love for her sweet, smart, funny, loyal best friend. But she can feel Tommy's gaze on her back, raising goosebumps on the back of her neck. His presence, as always, is practically a physical force, a magnetic pull. She swallows and says, "Hey, sorry Jamie, I have to go."
"Oh. Okay. But hey, will you come over tonight?" He lowers his voice a little on the last part. He sounds hopeful. The implication is gentle, but clear. It's been several days since they've had sex, even longer since they've spent a full night together, despite the fact that they live so close together.
She hesitates, a sudden flood of something complex and confusing twisting in her gut. Without her meaning them to, her eyes flicker over to where Tommy is standing, leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's gazing steadily at her with an expression she can't decipher. She looks away again before his eyes on her can make her lose her train of thought, and clears her throat. "I, uh, I don't think so, babe. I don't know how long until I'm done here, and I have my last TV thing in the morning. I'm… tired. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon in the studio?"
"Okay, no problem." He doesn't sound upset with her, though she can hear a little echo of disappointment, and the guilt burns in her stomach. "Let me know if you change your mind. And we can just sleep, if you're too tired. I just miss you, it's been a while since you stayed over."
"I know, I…" she trails off as she hears Tommy shift. When she meets his eyes, he raises his eyebrows at her, signaling his impatience. She nods at him, holding up a finger to signal "one second," and turns away again. "Later this week," she says to Jamie. "Promise."
"Okay," he agrees. "Sorry, I'll let you go. I love you."
"Love you too." She smiles, but she feels a nauseous wave of embarrassment at knowing Tommy is hearing her say it, along with another huge spike of guilt. "Bye." She hangs up, and has to take a deep breath to steady herself before tossing her phone onto the couch and turning around to look at Tommy. "Hi," she says, "sorry."
He's frowning when she first turns around, but he rearranges his features quickly. "Hi," he says simply, and Jude's stomach clenches at the sound of his voice. He pushes off the wall and gives her a slow smile as he walks toward her. When he closes the distance between them, he wastes no time before reaching out, threading his fingers through her hair and kissing her deeply. She melts into him almost instantly, sliding her hands around his waist under his leather jacket. She actually lets out an involuntary sigh of pleasure into his mouth, as his warmth and his smell envelop her and his arm around her waist pulls her body against his. She feels him smile at the sound, and he gives a low hum in response.
After a long moment, Jude breaks the kiss and pulls away far enough to unbutton and remove her jacket. Tommy pulls off his own jacket and tosses it away before pulling her to him and kissing her again, running his fingers gently down her spine and making her shiver. She can feel that his breath has quickened, and his lips are more urgent as they move against hers. His belt buckle digs into her stomach, but she presses herself tighter against him anyway, even as her hands are pulling at the back of his shirt, trying to untuck it.
Nothing and no one else in her 19 years of life has ever made her feel this way, this desperate dizzy swirl of sensation and need, nearly wiping out her capacity for conscious thought, obliterating anything and everything else but the feel of Tommy's body against hers. It might scare her—how badly she always wants him, how instantly she loses herself when he's touching her—if she were capable of thinking about that with his hands burning into her skin.
Finally Tommy pulls back to help her out, pulling his shirt over his head. She reaches a hand up to touch his bare chest, but his face catches her attention and holds it. He's smiling at her—or, at least, the corner of his mouth is pulled upwards—but there's something in his eyes, something dark and complicated, some fierceness in his expression that's more than just desire. She tilts her head in confusion and surprise, opening her mouth, starting to say, "Tommy w–" but he leans in again and kisses her to cut her off, then presses his lips to her jaw, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.
"You," he practically purrs, "look so unbelievably gorgeous tonight." His breath tickles her cheek, his lips brushing lightly against her ear, and her knees actually give out for a second. Jesus, she thinks, fighting to remember how to breathe. He doesn't miss it, the brief moment where her weight gives and his arm around her waist is holding her up. He chuckles softly next to her ear, and she doesn't have to be able to see his face to detect the self-satisfied smirk. She can't bring herself to be irritated by his smugness at knowing how he affects her, though, not when she can feel the way her fingers on his back raise goosebumps on his skin, the way his breath hitches and his body tightens in response to her touch. He wants, needs, is intoxicated by her, too, and that knowledge sends a jolt of electricity through her that makes her breath catch and leaves her fingertips tingling.
She reaches up to tug gently on his hair, pulling his face back to kiss him fiercely for another moment before finally pushing him over to the bed, climbing on top of him and straddling his lap as he sits on the edge of the mattress. He breaks the kiss to unbutton her shirt, pressing his lips to her neck, her collarbone, her sternum, as he opens the fabric to reveal more of her skin. After freeing her arms from the shirt, her fingers go to his belt, fumbling to undo the buckle. He stops her as she unbuttons his jeans, though, saying, "wait, hold on, you first." Jude looks at him, a little surprised. The dark intensity, that roiling storm of something—she still can't name exactly what—is back in his eyes. "Let me look at you," he murmurs, and she complies as he pushes her gently off his lap so she's standing in front of him. She kicks off her shoes and he reaches out to unbutton her jeans with deliberate slowness, easing them over her hips and down her legs until the fabric pools at her feet and she steps out of them. His eyes follow his fingers down the skin of her ribs and her stomach, tracing the curve of her hip. "These are new," he says in that same soft murmur, tracing one finger lightly along the edge of the dark blue lace panties, from her hip to her inner thigh. The sensation is maddening, and she gives a little gasp, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He doesn't seem to notice, bringing his eyes up to her chest, fingering the strap of the matching bra, then trailing his fingers over the curve of her breast. "This too." He looks up to meet her eyes. "Yes?"
It takes her a second to understand the question, but then she nods. "Oh, uh, yeah, I guess, I got them like… a week ago. You like?"
"Mmm," he hums, his eyes roaming over her skin. "Beautiful." But he's frowning slightly as he says it, a familiar crease between his brows.
She's confused, starts to ask again, "Tommy, what's–" and again, he cuts her off with a kiss, standing up quickly and capturing her lips with his. This time he reaches a hand back to unfasten her bra, removing it and reaching up to cup her right breast, rubbing a thumb over her nipple. He gives an appreciative hum into her mouth, squeezing gently before turning her so her back is to the bed. He eases her back onto the mattress before breaking the kiss and standing up again to quickly remove his own jeans and shoes. She climbs fully into the bed, laying back as he climbs up, settling himself between her legs and kissing her again. She angles her hips so she can feel him, pressing against his erection through the fabric of both their underwear. He moves with her, rocking his hips slowly back and forth, and she moans softly into his mouth as the ache between her legs builds, her hands tightening in his hair. Their tongues dance together, his arms around her pulling her close and her legs wrapping around his waist to press even tighter against him.
He moves his lips to her neck, his tongue tracing against the sensitive skin, and she lets out a sigh that's almost a whimper, moving her hips against his more urgently, the fabric between them quickly becoming frustrating. She reaches down, tugging at the waistband of Tommy's boxers, letting out a grunt of complaint. He complies with her wishes, pulling back to slide the underwear down over his hips, his erection springing free of the waistband. She starts to move a hand to reach for him, but he moves back away from her, leaning down to place a kiss between her breasts, then trailing a line of kisses down until he reaches the lace of her panties. She closes her eyes and arches her back, expecting him to pull the underwear down. Her flesh is throbbing with the anticipation of feeling his mouth on her, of his tongue flicking out against her swollen clit. But the fabric, unexpectedly, remains in place. She feels the barest brush of his nose for a second, then the heat of his breath disappears from between her legs.
She opens her eyes in surprise to see him push himself into a seated position next to her, supporting his weight on one arm and leaning over her, looking down at her face. The intensity in his expression is still at least partly desire, but whatever's beneath it is definitely bordering on anger, now. She can see the tension around his mouth, in the set of his jaw, in the crease between his eyebrows that's deeper now than before. But before she can ask what's wrong, what the hell is going on, he speaks. He's not looking at her face, but down at her body. "Did you wear these for him?" he asks, his voice is soft, but she can hear the edge in it. As he speaks, he trails his fingers gently up from between her legs, stroking her lightly through the thin layer of damp fabric.
"What?" she breathes, genuinely baffled, unable to figure out what he's asking her.
He strokes her again, still infuriatingly feather-light, still not looking at her face. "This pretty little lace nothing you're wearing," he presses ever so slightly harder, tracing small circles. She wants to grab his hand, either to make him stop or to press it harder against her, but the intensity of his expression is starting to scare her, and she still can't figure out what the hell he's asking. "The matching bra, too. Lovely, expensive, sexy lingerie." He slips his middle finger in around the side of the panties and between the folds of her labia. She lets out a little whimper, and he pulls his hand away, finally looking at her face. His eyes are dark, molten with intensity. "Did you. Wear these. For him?" he asks slowly, pointedly. His voice is slightly harsher now, ragged at the edges.
Her eyes widen when she realizes what he's asking. This is a line they don't ever cross, or at least haven't crossed since that very first time in Tommy's office when she admitted to thinking about him while she was with Jamie. She sits up, pushing herself up with shaky arms. Their faces are inches apart now. "Tommy," she breathes. She's way too far gone to make it into the reprimand it should be. It's a warning, a plea.
"Jude, did you?"
His eyes are burning into hers, and she answers, breathless. "No. He hasn't– he hasn't even seen them. Just– Only you."
There's a flash of triumph in his eyes and he reaches his free hand back up, slipping his fingers into her panties again. This time his calloused finger tip finds her clit, rubbing in little circles. The sensation draws a breathless moan from her lips, and she leans on Tommy as her arms nearly refuse to continue holding her, her head lolling against his shoulder. "You wore them for me," he murmurs low in her ear, "but who did you buy them for?"
She gives another whimpering moan, panting. She needs desperately for him to quicken his pace, and she can tell he knows it as she tries to rub faster against his fingers, but his ministrations remain infuriatingly slow and steady. "Tommy, please," she whispers, begging, "Tommy, I need– Tom, Jesus." He quickens for a moment, then reaches his fingers down to slip them inside her. But when she moans in pleasure, her thighs tightening involuntarily around his wrist, he stills. She whimpers in protest, high and pleading.
"Jude," he murmurs, his tone gently scolding. It's a warning, a delicate threat. His fingers remain still.
She tries to focus on what he asked, conjuring the memory of looking at herself in the dressing room mirror, admiring the dark blue against her skin, the way the panties fit and flattered the curves of her ass, how the bra pushed up and accentuated her breasts. The truth is that there was really only ever one pair of eyes she imagined on her as she examined her body in what was, indeed, unusually expensive lingerie for her. "I thought of you," she breathes. She lifts her head to meet his eyes, which are shining now with triumph. "Only you, Tommy. For you. I always–" he cuts her off by kissing her fiercely, letting out his own low moan, practically a growl. His hand slips out of her underwear as she collapses back against the pillows, and she almost protests, but then he's sliding down her body again, his lips delicately brushing the skin of her stomach on the way down. This time he does remove the little strip of soaked lace, and finally finally he puts his mouth on her, his expert tongue and lips and fingers moving with just the right rhythm. She's close already from all the torture, and her first orgasm comes fast, her fingers tangled in Tommy's hair as she cries out.
He sits up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and smiling down at her. His eyes still hold that same level of intensity, that fierce triumph mixed in with the desire and the need. And there's something else, too something deep and soft and burning that she often glimpses and never lets herself really notice, except in times like this when sensation has broken her open, left her defenses in ruins.
As he comes up to kiss her, the well of emotion that opens in her at the sight of him—his dark blue eyes, his expression, the ordinarily perfectly-coiffed hair that her fingers have made wild—is too much, and she's suddenly terrified to keep looking. She kisses him back for a brief second before pushing him back down to the bed and climbing on top of him, kissing his neck, his chest, his stomach. She wraps a hand around the base of his cock, stroking its length up and down before wrapping her lips around the tip. "Jude w– ohh" Tommy groans, the word turning into a wordless moan of pleasure as she slides him into her mouth. "No, no, wait," he says breathlessly after another minute, "Jude, stop." She stops, incredulous, looking up into his eyes again. Still burning, though they look a bit more glazed than before. He pulls her face up to his, kissing her and then murmuring, close to her ear, "Not like that. I want… I need… You… Jesus." Jude feels a frisson of pleasure at having been able to render Tommy Quincy speechless, incoherent. He shakes his head a little to clear it, makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and tries again, breathing, "I want to fuck you, I want to come inside you." He pulls back to look her in the eyes as he says it, and the pulse of fire through her blood stream makes her dizzy.
She doesn't reply, just presses her lips to his again and straddles his lap with a moan, but he shakes his head. "Whoa, condom," he says urgently, "condom, Jude."
"Shit," she groans. "Right, I know." Reckless, she chastises herself, irresponsible. She gets off him and stands up.
"There's one in my jacket pocket if you–" Tommy says, but Jude is already reaching into the outside pocket of her guitar case. He laughs when he sees it. "In case of groupies?"
She shakes her head as she walks back over to the bed, tearing open the condom packet. His eyes roam over her naked body and she sees his breath quicken, sees his tongue flick out quickly to wet his lips. She moves more slowly, enjoying his gaze on her. "No groupies," she says as she reaches the bed. "I keep them in there case of spare time between gigs." She rolls the condom down over his erection and looks back up to meet his eyes. "Spare time to meet you." She climbs up on the bed. He lays back and she straddles him again, reaching down a hand to guide him inside her. "All for you," she says as she slides slowly down, feeling him fill her, her voice going thin and breathless.
He reaches one hand up to cup her breast as she rides him with her hands on his knees behind her to steady herself, the two of them moving faster together as they find their rhythm. His other hand goes up to work between her legs. She moans, her head falling back. His voice comes from beneath her, breathless. "God, fuck, you're so beautiful." She smiles but keeps her eyes closed, concentrating on the sensations and on the rhythm of her movements. "Jude," he pants after a moment, "Jude, look at me, I need to see your eyes." She opens them in surprise, and he sits up, holding her closer and pulling her face in for a kiss, weaving his fingers through her hair and holding her tight against him for a moment before flipping her over onto her back and picking back up the rhythm, thrusting into her.
She meets his eyes as he holds himself above her, and she's surprised at raw emotion in his face. It's something way more vulnerable, she suspects, than he ever normally lets her see. Her look, times a thousand. But she doesn't name the feeling, can't let herself name it, not even when she knows something very like it must be reflected in her own eyes, too. They're on the edge of a precipice, and the feelings are a chasm she's about to fall into. She forgets to breathe for a moment, drowning in it.
His eyelids half-shut as he continues moving in and out of her, and he reaches a hand up to cup her face. He strokes her cheek gently with his thumb and leans his forehead against her temple, burying his face in her hair. She can feel that his eyebrows are knitted together, and his breath is coming fast and ragged. "Jude," he breathes her name, and then again, "Jude, I…"
At least she thinks that's what he says, or starts to say. The "I" is just a panting breath, and it could mean no more than that, no more than a sound, a little grunt. But before she can figure it out, something changes, his body tightening and tensing above her. His thrusts become more urgent and more aggressive. His hand no longer rests delicately on her cheek. Instead, he knots his fingers in her hair, pulling hard enough to be just on the edge of painful. She opens her eyes and meets his again in surprise, and she sees that the intense, desperate anger is back.
"Tommy…" she starts, but she doesn't know what she's trying to say, and he's still thrusting in and out of her and she can't quite hold a train of thought beyond holy shit.
"Does he fuck you like this?" Tommy practically growls in her ear.
Holy shit, what? "I… I don't… I guess we…" She almost can't believe it's really happening, that he's really daring to say this to her. She finds she can't picture Jamie's face.
"Do you want him, need him like you need me?" he pants. "Can he make you beg, Jude?"
It's beyond crossing the line, way past too far. She should get angry, she should shove him off, she should…
His eyes are burning and she's burning with them, and they're way past should, anyway.
"No," she breathes. "No, no, no one else, no one ever…" He gives a deep groan of pleasure, his eyes sliding shut again, and he quickens his pace, thrusting deeper, letting out little panting moans each time, his face pressed into her neck. She can't stop, keeps whispering, "Not like this, not like you." Her words become a garbled chant, "Not like you, not like, Tommy, you, only, no one…" finally she cuts her words off on a long wordless sigh.
He says her name into her neck as he comes, a choked cry, his breath hot into her hair as he goes still and collapses with his full weight on top of her for a second. She groans as he pulls out and rolls onto his side next to her. "Sorry," he says, apologizing for crushing her. "Did you–" She shakes her head with a hum of frustration, and he quickly pulls her to him, pressing her sweat-slick back against his front. "I've got you," he murmurs in her ear, soothing. He puts his arm over her and slips his hand down between her legs. He kisses her neck as he begins to stroke and rub. As the sensation begins to build in her again, as she sighs and moans and writhes in his arms, he speaks low in her ear, his words coming fast and breathless. "I think about you, when I'm with her. I try not to, Jude, I try so goddamn hard, but there's always a moment when I see your face, feel your body. She disappears and it's just you and me. You're everywhere, Jude, you're in my head, you're in my songs, you're in my bed. You do things to me I never thought– It's always you, baby, only you."
The world spins and shatters and she cries out, her inner muscles convulsing around his fingers. She feels him smile against her shoulder, and he pulls her closer, nuzzling her hair. Her limbs are leaden, tingling electric aftershocks of sensation dancing across her skin. Her body relaxes into his, and for a moment she lets herself drift. She wants to rest here forever, basking in the glow of how good it feels to be held by him, how perfectly they fit together. They stay suspended in their own little bubble for a long minute, until Tommy finally kisses her cheek and pulls away carefully, standing up to dispose of the condom. Cold air rushes in in his absence.
He can't flush the condom because of the pipes in the old building, but he can't just leave it out on the top of the trash, or Jamie could potentially see it and wonder. (There's always plausible deniability, of course. She could say Kyle or Wally brought a girl over here, or that maybe Karma and Spied needed a break from their camera-ridden reality TV hellscape. Jamie would probably even assume that's the case.) (The excuses constantly write themselves in her brain, even though she's never needed them, because he's never been anything other than completely trusting.) He'll wrap it in something, tissue or toilet paper or other trash, and he'll shove it down in the bathroom trash can. She hopes he remembered to grab the wrapper, too, though she can't remember what exactly she did with it. She thinks of saying something, but she's paralyzed with shame. The way all those thoughts just automatically unfolded themselves in her mind makes her feel sick. The mental calculation required to uphold their deception is always so relentless, crashing back down as soon as his skin leaves hers, and the sick guilt is right there on the heels of it.
Now Jude can see Jamie clearly again, can picture his warm smile and his floppy brown hair and the kindness in his eyes, and she's horrified and disgusted at this newest way she's just compounded the ongoing betrayal of her best friend. Every horrible thing she has ever done—done to Jamie, for that matter—in the past, none of them will ever hold a candle to the horrible betrayal that is cheating on him. She knows that, has known it for a long time, that's she's past redeeming. But somehow everything that she just said to Tommy makes her feel so much worse, like she's twisting the knife. Now not only is she cheating on Jamie, she's also spitting in his face. She feels tears pricking at her nose and a sob building its way up in her chest, and she almost lets herself lose it, the way she did after her second transgression with Tommy. Instead, she lets out one pained sigh, not allowing it to become a sob, and sits up. She sits with her eyes closed and her legs over the side of the bed for a long minute, breathing deeply, and manages to fight the tears back down.
When she feels Tommy's weight shift the mattress behind her, she doesn't look up. He comes to sit next to her, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder and letting his lips linger there. She sighs and leans into him, reaching back to stroke his hair for a moment before dropping her hand and saying, "Tommy, that was…" She feels him smile against her skin and her stomach turns, her shoulders tensing. His head leaves her shoulder as he finally clocks her tone. She turns to look at him, and he looks surprised. "God, Tommy," she starts again, "that was so far out of line."
He looks incredulous for a brief moment before a look of understanding, then shame crosses his face and he sighs, looking down and shifting away from her. "Right."
"I'm serious, you can't just… You can't bring him up like that. You can't ask me to– to compare, to… It's not fair. That's not what we agreed to. Jamie is my–"
"I know," he cuts her off, his voice harsh enough that she flinches. "I know," he says again, softer. "I know, Jude, I'm sorry. I just got…" He takes a deep breath and lets it out in another sigh. "I got caught up, and I got carried away. It was just…" he shakes his head. He's not still looking at her, but she can see him wince before he can control his face. "I didn't mean anything by it." He looks back up at her. "It didn't mean anything." His face betrays his words again, and he looks so desperately sad for a moment. Her chest aches in response.
"Tommy," she says softly, reaching out to put a hand on the side of his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "You know that I…" Her defenses slip, she lets herself think love you, and suddenly it feels like her throat is closing up, the tears welling in her eyes again. His eyes search her face and she sees that he does know, that he can read the words she isn't saying. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out except a sigh. She swallows hard and switches directions, dropping her hand and saying, "You know that I can't leave Jamie." She keeps her voice gentle, but the flash of pain and anger in his face show her the comment landed more harshly than she meant it. He looks away.
"I'm not asking you to," he says after a moment, his voice tight. "I have never asked you to."
"I know," she agrees.
Tommy lets out a groan of frustration and stands up, picking his underwear up from the floor and pulling it on. When she looks up at him, his eyes are hard. "It's not a big deal, okay? Don't be dramatic, don't make this into something it's not. I just… I don't know, thought it might be kinda hot, the… jealousy angle, the whole possessiveness thing or whatever, you know? To be fair, you seemed like you were pretty into it." His voice is sarcastic. He's clearly aiming for a joking tone, but there's too much anger underneath, and Jude cringes. He softens. "But I get that it crossed a line. I didn't mean anything by it, I just got carried away. It was a mistake. It won't happen again."
She thinks of his eyes in that moment of broken-open honesty, of the gentle reverence with which he touched her face, thinks of you're everywhere, Jude, it's always you, only you. She looks at his calm, condescending, closed-down face, and she nods. "Okay, yeah, totally. I understand. No harm no foul."
He turns away to pick up more of their discarded clothing. He grabs her bra and holds it up with a wry smile. "It is some nice lingerie," he says, tossing it to her. "I'm sure your boyfriend's gonna love it." He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
It's a low blow, and she feels a surge of anger. "I'm sure you're right," she snaps. Even though he started it, she sees him flinch.
They both get dressed in tense silence, but when she's got her gig bag slung over her shoulder and her hand on the door, her stomach sinks and she realizes she can't bring herself to leave on this sour note. She turns to see him standing a few steps behind her, hands in his pockets, watching her. It's her look on his face again, and her anger instantly thaws, then melts away completely as he gives her a small, sad smile. "Come here," she says with a sigh, setting the guitar down. He obliges, closing the distance. He kisses her softly, then pulls her into a hug, pressing his lips to her hair. She slips her hands into his jacket and wraps her arms around his waist, relaxing into him.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, close to her ear. "I am."
"I know," she sighs, squeezing him tighter for a second. "Me too." She lifts her face to look at him. "Tommy, I wish…" she trails off because there's just too much that belongs at the end of that sentence, too many tangled strings of passion and pain and shame and longing.
He leans his forehead against hers and sighs, reaching up to stroke her cheek. "I know. Me too."
They stand there like that for a long moment before Jude pulls back with another sigh. "I should go, it's getting late."
"Okay." He nods, kissing her again. He slips his fingers through hers as they leave the building together.
As they walk out, Jude gets a flash of memory. Just barely more than 13 months ago, in this same rehearsal space with candles and chocolate-covered strawberries and a song he wrote just for her. This, now—her hand allowed to be in his only because they know no one is around, as she prepares to head home where she'll immediately have to scrub the smell of him from of her skin—is a twisted mockery of those four and a half days of hopeful, giddy romance. Watching his fingers on the piano, his voice, grab on to something real and never let it get away. That vision she'd once glimpsed through rose-colored glasses of all their future love, it lies in ruins now. It was probably always out of reach, she knows. It had always been hopelessly naïve to think she and Tommy could ever work in any real way. But now it feels like they've sullied even the thought of it, twisted and corrupted the memory. Her barely 18-year-old self feels like yet another person she's betraying. Her chest aches so hard for a second that she feels like crying out, but she doesn't. She holds her breathing steady and her expression calm. She opens the door and walks out in front of him as an excuse to drop his hand.
When they get to Tommy's car, Jude asks, "When will I see you again?" because the only thing worse than the thought of continuing to meet in secret like this is the thought of stopping.
"Next week?" He asks. "Lorena's out of town Tuesday through Thursday. You could come to my place."
Jude smiles. "Okay, yeah, I have time Wednesday afternoon."
"Perfect." Tommy returns her smile, and they exchange one more kiss before he says, "Goodnight, girl," and turns away to open the car door. As she's walking away, Tommy wraps what she fears is yet another deep, blazing truth in his lightly joking tone, rolling down the window and calling, "I'll be counting the moments, Harrison."
Her stomach flips, but her smile doesn't falter, and she laughs. "Whatever, Quincy."