Five – Kenny and Sam.

-x-

The Blonde threw herself back on the hotel bed, and waited for the room to come back into focus.

'Kenneth Phillips,' she panted harshly, 'you are one filthy Son Of A Bitch!'

'You love it,' croaked Kenny from the other end of the bed. 'Besides, Samantha, you started it this time. What kind of girl slips a warm pair of French Knickers into a guy's pocket at a Wake? One that needs Sorting Out, that's what kind.'

'Couldn't help myself,' she smiled, watching a bead of sweat roll from her thigh and onto his. 'Seeing you there with Lynda and Spike and the others… it just reminded me of those old days.' She began to crawl over to face him. 'You have no idea how bad I wanted you back then.'

'I think I have,' Kenny replied, 'I worked it out when you chased me round the Far East.'

'You were being so nice today,' continued Sam. 'I love it when you're nice.'

'I'm nice a lot of the time.'

'…which is why I love you.' Sam leaned over and kissed him, playing with his hair a little. 'I knew, just knew, that there was this… this Beast under all that politeness. And when you're being polite to Lynda Day… well, that really brings out the animal.'

Kenny frowned. 'What are you trying to say?'

'You're always extra aggressive after you've been talking to Lynda,' explained Sam, 'I love it.'

'That's not true,' Kenny protested.

'That time you tied me up and did unspeakable things to me for three hours,' Sam reminded him, 'who was it you'd just come off the phone to?'

'Well… all right,' conceded Kenny, 'but that was just a…'

'It was the same after we'd met up with her when you were playing London,' Sam continued, 'it was a good thing I didn't have any shoots for that week, I'd have had trouble camouflaging those friction burns. And Cairo – remember Cairo, when she wouldn't stop texting? I couldn't sit down for days.'

Kenny laughed. 'Yes, sorry about that…'

'Don't apologise!' She traced a fingertip over his chest. 'Think maybe we could do it again?'

'What – now?'

Sam nodded.

'I don't know,' sighed Kenny, 'we should get some sleep. We need to fly back tomorrow.'

'No,' Sam protested, 'can't we stay here for a while? It's nice. It's… nostalgic.'

'I've got to start work on the next album with the guys.'

Sam wrinkled her nose. 'You mean, you've got to start doing all the work while the others just bum about?'

'It's a collaborative process…'

'I know. You do the writing, Lyndon does the drugs. And then gets all the credit.'

Kenny rubbed his eyes. 'Don't start this again…'

'He's a loser, Kenny. You're better off going solo.'

'Maybe I do put in more work than him, but he's the Front Man. He's the Charisma…'

'You're more famous than he is!' Exclaimed Sam.

'Thanks to you…'

'No, Kenny. Thanks to you. You're the talented one, and everyone knows it, especially Lyndon. Why do you think he's keeping such a close reign on you? He's terrified you'll leave!'

'Now, Sam, that's not fair…'

'Just stop and think for a minute would you, Kenny? The man's name is Lyndon Dear!'

'So?'

'So you don't think that maybe, just maybe, your life might be in some sort of repetitive cycle at all?'

Kenny blinked, shaking his head. 'I don't know what you're talking about, Sam.'

Sam slouched next to him, pouting. He pulled the covers up over the both of them.

'Let's just get some sleep, eh?'

Sam continued to sulk at the ceiling.

'Sam?' Kenny opened an eye and peered sideways at the Blonde. 'I do love you, you know.'

'I love you too,' she conceded, huffily.

'Night, then.'

Sam closed her eyes as the breathing next to her slowed and deepened. And then came the talking – the subconscious mutterings that she still hadn't found the heart to tell him about. It was the same every night – every single night.

'Yes, Lynda… Of course, Lynda…. Sorry, Lynda… Sorry.'