Written for SM_Monthly May 2009 Challenge: Photograph
The lights wouldn't go on, and Jason didn't know why.
Swearing and hitting the breaker box didn't work, and if his roommate had been around, he probably would have tried swearing and hitting him, too, just for good measure. But they were all paid up on utilities, as far as he knew, and flipping all the circuit breakers was basically the endpoint of his knowledge of electrical systems.
Fuck the world.
Raye was sitting patiently on the couch in the living room, still wearing her coat, her arms wrapped around her body. The apartment was freezing, since the heat had gone out hours before, along with the power. Thankfully, they didn't have any pets that would have been inadvertently killed; in fact, maybe this incident would actually help with their slightly persistent mouse "problem". In actuality, a thorough cleaning would probably be much more effective in solving said "problem", as would securing open cereal boxes, but they hadn't been that motivated yet, and the mice didn't eat that much, really. The real issue was the amount that they shit, and where. Makoto had been around long enough to get used to the clutter, and even pitched in and cleaned the bathroom when the layer of soap scum in the shower got too much for her to bear. Once, she even changed the towels.
Raye, well, she had been to their place before, but never in this capacity. Or alone.
So much for "coming over to watch a movie." He was even going to let her pick, too, since he wasn't planning on paying a lick of attention to it in the first place. He would have gladly suffered through soul-crushing, sparkly vampire porn or three hours of Oliver Stone conspiracy tripe if it meant being curled up on the couch next to her.
Shit. He had even slipped Noah some cash to disappear for the night, and the lucky asshole was probably enjoying it very much at Makoto's place, which probably had such niceties as electricity and heat.
"I don't think there's anything you can do," Raye said, as she watched him unearth a variety of dusty candles from under piles of computer printouts and stuffed cabinets. "It looks like it's the whole block."
"Really?" He shook an almost-tapped Bic lighter and flicked it on. "How can you tell?"
She nodded her head towards the front window. "The streetlights are out." In the candlelight, she glowed.
"Oh." No shit. He probably would have noticed that coming in, if he hadn't been so focused on his dick. "Sorry."
She smiled at him, and for that moment, he couldn't feel the cold. "Don't apologize. You didn't do it."
"So," she started when he brought her the comforter off of his bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Looks like our plan got shot down. What do you want to do now?"
Jason inwardly groaned; this was probably the worst question ever posed in the history of humanity. Hours of his life had been wasted debating with girls, friends, roommates, and family members as to what they wanted to do. Usually it was followed with the inevitable: "I don't know, what do you want to do?" and then that part was repeated over again in an endless cycle of circular hell until one party cracked and started shouting. He broke the pattern before it got started; his mouth speaking the words before his brain had a chance to assess the potential consequences.
"I want to be with you."
If the lights had been on, she would have seen him blush.
He would have instantly set himself on fire with the Bic if she had any other reaction than what she did, which was to settle in a nest on the couch and smile primly. "Well, you're already with me. Now what else should we do?"
Touch. Kiss. Grope. Take off clothes. Stay warm using nothing but their bodies and friction. Didn't they have Twister somewhere? He remembered buying Twister for some party that they threw, but the floor part got so filthy with spilled beer and tracked dirt that they either washed it or threw it away…or maybe neither. That would be perfect right now. "Uh…"
She stopped the eighteen-wheeler of horny musings by pointing across the room. "Hey I know. Why don't you play something?"
Aw, yeah. Oh wait, she was pointing to his guitar case. "Uh."
"Come on." She slid off the couch and pulled the case over to him. "Play me something."
Jason had horrendously attempted solos in public that had cost the fingers of musicians infinitely more talented than him more than once without hesitation, but this simple request made by the girl of his dreams was making his insides squirm with nerves. He would almost take the bar full of drunk townies screaming for "Free Bird" over this. "Uh…"
Her smile was challenging, this time. Her eyes glittered like dark jewels in the flickering light. "What's the problem?"
"Nothing," he said, crossing the room to sit next to her. "I'm just not prepared. I might suck."
She was giving him a look that made him think she could see right through his bullshit; if that was truly the case, maybe he hadn't been ahead of the game this entire time. "Jason, I've seen you play before. The first time I met you, Mina dragged me to that frat house that your band was playing at and you almost kicked your lead singer's ass for smashing your guitar."
"Oh yeah," he said, reaching down to open the snaps on the case. Mina had come to visit him at his college, and brought her roommate, the incomparable Raye Hino, with her. Too bad the first impression she got of him was tackling the pretentious lead singer after the jackass had ripped his guitar out of his hands and smashed it, Townshend-style, at the end of "Live Forever".
"Stop acting, I've seen you play before. You act like we're not friends."
That horrible f-word had no place here. His heart was hammering underneath his rib cage as his fingers started numbly fiddling with the tuning keys. "Are we friends?"
Now it was her turn to look embarrassed. "Of course we are. But we're also, um—" Her eyes fell to the floor as she waved it off, nearly extinguishing the candle that balanced on a stack of magazines. "Play something. Play something that reminds you of me."
As much as he wished to honor her request, Jason didn't think that she was ready to hear any of the songs that he had written about her; too soon, and the few that he had let Noah or Mina hear in private had been given the grade of "sucks". He entertained the comedy option, which would mean busting out with Tenacious D or something equally asinine, but the thought fluttered away when she looked at him again with those hypnotic eyes of hers, framed with dark lashes, her skin smooth and pale and her lips slightly parted. He wanted to taste her like heroin and die.
Instead, he tuned up and started strumming. "Are you sure you don't want to do something else?"
Those enchanting eyes took a turn in their sockets. "Jason, shut up and play already."
He did.
She probably didn't recognize the song; her musical tastes were unashamedly mainstream. He and Noah had accompanied her and Makoto to see some shitastic alternative band where every member had officially sanctioned Emo Hair and enough eyeliner to barely still qualify as heterosexual. It sounded different when played acoustic, especially the opening riff.
The candlelight flickering in the dark apartment made it look like the only place in the world. Jason bungled the first verse, but recovered quickly.
So wild so free so far from me, you're all I want, you're my fantasy…
A glimmer of recognition spread across her face; she started mouthing the words along with him.
Look what you've done…I've got to have you…I don't want your…I don't need your…all I've got is your photograph…
He finished, "It's not enough."
She slid off the couch and edged closer to him when he came to the second verse, wearing a half-smile an expression that could almost be described as "rapt". He continued.
I'd be your lover, if you were there, put your hurt on me, if you dare.
Such a woman, you got style, you make every man feel like a child…
Now she was grinning outright, and it made him regret that this song was only four minutes long.
Photograph…I don't want your…I don't need your…All I've got is your photograph…you've gone straight to my head.
Amazingly, he hit the high note without his voice cracking.
She crept closer during the bridge; his pulse started picking up, he could feel it thrumming against the sides of his neck. Somehow he kept enough brain function to keep singing.
Oh, look what you've done, I want to touch you…
At that last word, she leaned forward over his guitar and pressed her lips against his open mouth.
The music stopped as his fingers stopped and his heart leapt out of his body and landed across the room somewhere. She reached up and cupped his face with her hands, and the taste of her, the smell of her hair, the warmth of her skin was the only thing that existed in this moment, in this world. He slid the guitar around to his back as he pulled her closer and pressed her body against his, keeping enough control not to give in and throw her down on her back on the couch.
She made a low groan in the back of her throat, and he was gone.
He had her coat off, and was unzipping the side of her blouse, which for some insane reason was positioned under her arm instead of in a normal place, when they were interrupted by a shout from the hallway. "Hey! Music stopped!"
Jason jerked his head up; another delightful feature of this building, along with the mice, was the incredibly thin walls. Raye craned her neck. "What the—?"
"Come on!" the voice continued. It sounded like Elliott, the UPS worker and ex-serviceman who lived next door. "I've been sitting in the dark all night listening to my hair grow. Keep playing!"
"Yeah!" a female voice followed. Jason estimated that it was one of the three women that shared an apartment down the hall; all he knew about them that one worked for the newspaper and all three had shut down any attempt at flirting at the mailbox. "Is that 2C?"
"Yep!" Elliott's shouting was louder; he must have opened the door. "It's that blond kid with the frat-boy haircut and stupid t-shirts. Justin? James? Ah, hell, whatever your name is, how about some Jimmy Buffett?"
"No, Jack Johnson! Do you know 'Banana Pancakes'?"
More doors were opening in the hallway. "What about some Dead, man?" That must be Manny, the dreadlocked white kid from Jersey who smoked about an ounce of kind a week.
"FREE BIRD!" came the shout from the apartment above them.
Jason let his head drop to Raye's shoulder. "I don't believe this. Usually they're all yelling at me to shut up."
A tentative knock. "My daughter wants to know if you know any Jonas Brothers? Please?"
One hour, four Dead covers, two Jack Johnsons, one Nirvana, one Jason Mraz, three Buffetts that he couldn't avoid, and various other requests (minus "Free Bird") later, the lights came back on.
Jason cracked on his sore fingers as Raye held her frozen hands over the ancient radiator to thaw them out. "Can I ask you something?"
He began thinking of an apology for such a sucky date, one that began in the dark and ended with a horrific Jonas Brothers cover. "Sure."
Her eyes were smiling. "I want to know what it is about me that makes you think of eighties butt metal."
He could have easily gone into a litany of why Def Leppard quantified as a legitimate, influential pioneer of new wave hard rock/heavy metal, but instead he smirked and said, "At least it wasn't their stripper anthem." He strummed the opening chord. "Step inside, walk this way, you and me babe—"
He barely dodged the mousetrap thrown at his head, but had his senses back, thankfully, as she climbed into his lap and enveloped him in a kiss.