THE SIMPLE NEED
AN – Thank you so much to everyone for all of the love all the support for this story, it makes me giddy with excitement. Here's chapter four of... I don't know how many at the moment. Let's just take the journey together :)
I've googled/YT'd all the guitar stuff, I don't play guitar, I hope it's accurate.
~ *~
THE SIMPLE NEED
Four
If you ask the question
Then it's always yes
Nickelback 'The Simple Need'
~ * ~
Gabriella awoke to a feeling of utter satiation. There was a dull ache in every muscle of every limb of her petite body. It was coupled with a feeling of fulfilment; satiation somewhere deep inside; contentment she couldn't ever remember feeling before. At first it was a little hazy, not understanding why she felt this way, but a moment later memories came flooding back to her and a small smile spread across her lips. She eased herself to be lying on her back and then her right hand reached beside her, as though wanting confirmation of the man who had allowed her to experience the most liberating, ecstasy filled night of her life.
Her hand came to rest upon the mattress; the warm, hard body she'd envisaged not present. For a split second, she questioned whether she'd imagined the whole thing, if she'd had some intense, mind blowing, real dream. But then she registered that she was in fact naked, and as her eyes fluttered open and she was met with the view of a foreign comforter set and thick black out curtains which were open just slightly on the far right, allowing a sliver of light into the studio apartment.
"Troy?" Gabriella called out hesitantly, her voice a bit scratchy.
There came no immediate response, the room was silent with no sounds from the living area or kitchen, she couldn't hear running water or the ventilation fan from the bathroom. Nonetheless she sat upright, clutching the crisp navy sheet to her naked torso, cleared her throat and called out once more.
"Troy?"
Again, there was no response.
Gabriella glanced around, not one item of her clothing in plain sight, and pursed her lips. Regardless of what may have taken place the evening before, she didn't feel particularly comfortable traipsing around in this man's apartment naked. And so she pushed the comforter back and gathered the top sheet to wrap around her body. The bed would need to be stripped anyway – even with protection, sex was messy. Her feet hit the carpet and she padded through the studio apartment, confirming what she already knew – that he wasn't there. She was feeling bleary eyed, a digital clock on the kitchen bench informing her it was 11am. She wasn't sure what time they'd finally succumbed to sleep – round one had been followed by round two, a brief nap, and then round two point five and three. She used his bathroom and then helped herself to a glass of water from the jug in the fridge, her dry scratchy throat grateful for the cool liquid.
It was only when she turned around and looked at the couch – a couch which had been home to the initial stages of their foreplay – that she registered the meaning of his lack of presence.
He'd gathered her articles of clothing, placed them in a neat pile on the couch with her shoes and purse on the floor, and also placed a fresh towel beside them.
It was his silent way of saying, 'thanks, and now you can leave.' He was avoiding the morning after conversation altogether. He didn't want to have to let her down, to make an excuse when she attempted to leave her phone number with him. And as Gabriella came to realise this, she couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment inside. It was her own fault, her own female need to complicate sex by attaching emotion. He could not have made his intentions – or lack of intentions, perhaps – more clear the night before. She was the one who had agreed to his terms.
But nonetheless, here she was, standing alone in his apartment, feeling completely crushed. Feeling cheap, feeling used. She wasn't asking him for forever. But an acknowledgement the morning would have been nice.
She picked up her pile of clothing and the towel and was about to comply with his wishes, when her eye met with his acoustic guitar which was propped up against the wall. She set down her clothing and instead picked up the guitar and the pick which lay on the carpet beside it, and sat down on the couch, sitting right at the edge with the guitar resting on her thighs.
She'd only ever learned to play one song on the guitar. It had been in her freshman year of college when she'd taken a music class 'for fun' and subsequently been mortified upon learning she'd have to learn a song to play and sing in front of her entire class. After sweating and being close to vomiting and fainting, it was the thought of receiving a failing grade which had pushed her to deal with her fear and be pushed out in front of her peers.
Throughout her entire undergraduate and undergraduate career, that class back in freshman year remained firmly ingrained in her memories as being as one of her favourites; and it only took a couple of minutes of strumming with Troy's guitar for the notes to come back to her.
It's like a turning point a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist directs you where to go
She was too engrossed in the song to hear the key turning in the door, but she did hear the sound of him entering and immediately halted her playing.
"I'm so sorry!" she said, quickly placing the guitar onto the ground. "I'm really sorry. I uh... I'll just be out of your way now. Sorry to be bothersome."
Troy was a little bewildered. He kicked the door shut behind him and asked, "What are you talking about?"
She glanced down, seeing that he was carrying a plastic bag and a coffee cup holder with four coffees. "Well obviously you went out to get breakfast for yourself and asked me to get out in the meantime and instead I'm making myself at home playing your guitar instead of taking a shower and leaving as intended," she spoke quickly, as though afraid he was going to interject and kick her out and she wanted to fit in as much of her explanation as possible. "I just saw your guitar and I haven't played in years and I just really felt compelled to play and I know that I shouldn't have and I'm really..."
"Gabriella!" Troy exclaimed, rolling his eyes. He set the coffee holder and plastic bag onto the bench and stepped closer to her. She clutched the sheet a little tighter to her small frame. "I don't care, really. If you'd been on my computer which has like, a thousand dollars worth of software on it, then yeah, I might've been a bit annoyed."
"Oh. Well... I still should leave," she said stiffly.
"Why? Do you have to be somewhere? What is this about me asking you to leave?"
She gestured to her pile of clothing and the towel. "You left. And put these things out. What was I supposed to think?"
He blinked, and scratched the back of his head. "Um... well... I didn't meant it that way. I actually tried to wake you up before I went out, but you were dead to the world and I kinda figured you weren't going to wake up any time soon. I went out to grab breakfast since I don't have anything here, like, at all. You really think I drink four coffees all by myself?"
She shrugged. "Um, no, but that doesn't indicate that you got it for me, it indicates that you were maybe having company over or something."
"I didn't know what you would want," he confessed. "So I got a few choices. There's tea and a caramel latte and a cappuccino. And I stopped to grab some bagels but then didn't know if you even like bagels – since you haven't been in New York that long you might not have transformed to our way of eating – so I also got some muffins."
Gabriella blinked. "You went out to get me breakfast?"
"Yes..."
"Oh."
"If I was going to try to get rid of you quickly it would have been last night," Troy said frankly. "Now, any of these drinks up your alley or do I need to go and get something else?"
"The caramel latte sounds awesome," Gabriella requested shyly, feeling guilty for having overreacted – and feeling a little sigh of relief inside that her assumptions had been wrong. "And for the record, I love both bagels and muffins, although I try to limit their consumption. Carbohydrates and all." She glanced down at the sheet that was wrapped around her and picked up the pile of clothing again. "Um... I might just get dressed."
Troy shook his head. "Don't bother. Here..." he led her by the hand over to his bed and pulled open one of the lower drawers, retrieving a light blue cotton tee. "Just put this on for now. The coffee will get cold."
She glanced at it a little warily. "Just this?"
"It'll come down to your mid thigh, and like I haven't seen you in less," he pointed out with a smirk. "Would it make you feel better if I took my jeans off?" Without waiting for her response, he promptly unbuckled his belt and pushed his grey jeans down his hips, revealing black and white plaid cotton boxers. "Now put the shirt on and come have breakfast."
She was hesitant but decided that since the last day had been filled with spontaneity, why break the trend now, and she merely pulled on her panties from the night before, dressed herself in his t-shirt, left her clothing on the edge of his bed and then returned to the living area where he was now sitting on the couch, two plates each with a muffin and a bagel with cream cheese on the coffee table sitting beside the Starbucks paper cups.
He gestured toward a pile of raw sugar sachets he'd obtained. "Help yourself."
"Think you took enough?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Well they'll do me for my whole week of my crappy cheap black coffee," he said.
"So what are you drinking today?" she asked, gesturing toward his coffee cup, the lid obscuring the contents from her vision.
Troy hesitated. "If I tell you, will you laugh?"
"No laughing. Scouts honour," she said, lifting her fingers.
"It's a white chocolate mocha with a shot of vanilla."
"Why would I laugh at that?"
"Because it sounds girly as fuck. But I force myself to drink cheap black coffee every day and so when I go to Starbucks, I lash out and get something sweet and nice."
She shrugged. "There's hardly any point in going to Starbucks if you're just going to order something plain and simple." She took a sip from her coffee. She didn't like her coffee steaming hot and so it had cooled down to the perfect temperature. "I don't think I've eaten a breakfast this good since I moved here. It's perfect after drinking the night before."
"Are you feeling hung over at all? I have some Advil if you do," Troy offered.
She shook her head. "Nah, I'm fine, a bit tired is all. I uh... we were awake long enough that the alcohol wore off."
"Yeah, I don't even know what time we crashed," Troy said with a slight smirk. "It was pretty late."
"I wasn't exactly clock watching myself," Gabriella confessed, avoiding direct eye contact.
"So tell me, how come you never mentioned that you play guitar and that you have a gorgeous voice?" Troy asked, eyebrows raising.
"I don't know about a gorgeous voice," she said, blushing. "And I don't play guitar. I just know that one song, I took a music class in college as an elective."
"Why that song? I mean... you sounded amazing but it's not really within your range."
"We were given some ideas to pick from and my teacher recommended it because with that song the chords are pretty easy but the picking is harder. And because I have small hands I find some chords hard to reach but I can get in and do intricate picking fairly easily. For that assessment it mattered more about the instrument than about our vocal ability."
"I bet you got an A."
Gabriella blushed. "Maybe."
"Your voice really is amazing," Troy said genuinely. "Like... seriously. I know some guys who do some like, punk rock stuff and are looking for a back up female vocalist for some of their like, Paramore sort of stuff."
"Oh God, absolutely not. I sing in the shower and if I'm really drunk, I might play SingStar."
"And evidently in my apartment when I leave you alone," he pointed out with a smirk.
"I am sorry about that," she apologised once again.
"Sorry? Oh yes, watching a sexy girl wearing my top sheet singing and strumming my guitar was a painful experience," Troy said with a teasing grin. "However will I recover?"
She blushed, her head ducking – a sight which Troy found utterly endearing. "I imagine I looked like a fright, with my hair all crazy and make up smudged." She paused, contemplating the point, glancing down at the blue shirt which adorned her torso and upper thighs. "Not much different to right now, really."
"I happen to think that my shirt has never looked better, personally," Troy said, not even attempting to screen that he was giving her a good look over.
Not sure what she could say in response, she chose that moment to engulf the remaining large bite of muffin into her mouth, requiring her to be silent as she chewed for a while. Troy didn't attempt to fill the silence, he merely lifted his coffee to his lips to take a large gulp from the almost empty container.
"Do you like your muffin?" Troy asked as she finished swallowing.
She nodded. "It's lovely. Thank you, by the way, for breakfast. You really didn't have to."
He shrugged. "No worries," he said nonchalantly. "It would've been a bit rude to have you wake up and have nothing to offer you."
As he'd been standing at the Starbucks counter on 7th Avenue at Sheridan Square, he'd questioned his own motives. He'd been wary of letting her come back to his place, he'd contemplated calling her a cab after they'd finished up with round three, when he'd awoken and his stomach was growling he'd thought about waking her up then. Instead, he'd been buying her breakfast. For a brief moment of time, it occurred to him that the logic was simple – he wanted her to stay. He wanted a reason to keep her around a little longer. However he'd only allowed himself to entertain that thought briefly because on the whole it was a thought that frightened him. She'd served her purpose, satisfied the simple need he'd had for her – she no longer had a function to him. And so he'd wrapped it up in a good faith gesture, since she was becoming friendly with some of his friends, and left it at that, his brain not wanting to contemplate it further.
"You chose well. What are you going to do with the other drinks, by the way?" she asked, eyebrows raising.
"I'll microwave them later." She wrinkled her nose, obviously finding that a little distasteful, so he pointed out, "They'll be better than what I normally live on."
"How long have you lived here?" she asked, glancing around.
"About a year. I just signed for another six months. I lost my mind and asked my mom – who is an accountant – to help me out with my budgets and finances and stuff. And she seems to agree that I've lost my mind but not because I asked her for help, but because I shouldn't be living in Manhattan let alone in the Village."
Gabriella shrugged. "It's your life. For some people lifestyle is about being able to afford to have Starbucks every day. For other people they'd rather locate themselves somewhere amazing and allow their lifestyle to build around that."
"Exactly! Could you call my mom and tell her that?" Troy exclaimed.
Her eyebrows raised and she joked, "Isn't it a bit early to be talking with your mother?"
If Troy Bolton was the blushing type, his cheeks would have flushed. Instead, he shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, realising the insinuation of the topic.
"Troy I'm kidding, relax," Gabriella said softly, reaching over to rub his arm gently. She knew the moment she'd cracked the joke that it wasn't exactly the right thing to say in the interest of maintaining the nice, non-awkward morning after vibe they'd managed to find.
He reached over to grab both of their empty plates that had been placed onto the coffee table and then stood to take them over into the small kitchenette. "Maybe I'll have to get a part time gig at Starbucks, I wonder if they let their employees have free food?"
"For some reason I doubt it. Not many chain, big company type of food outlets do. You might get a discount though," Gabriella said optimistically. "Do you really want another job?"
Troy shrugged. "Not really, I'd rather if the band could do more gigs. But the other guys aren't as serious about it, they don't have as much time to dedicate to practice and stuff."
"Where is your electric guitar, by the way?" Gabriella asked, suddenly realising that when they'd left the night before, he hadn't brought his equipment with him.
"Andy lives in Brooklyn and he has a van, we rehearse out at his place on Sunday afternoons," he explained. "So he picks our stuff up on Fridays before the gig, we pack it up after the show, and then go out there for rehearsal on Sunday afternoon and I bring my guitar back with me. I have my own amps but I just keep them in his garage, it's not like I can play with them here, I'd probably get evicted."
She smiled. "Possibly, although I can't say I'd have any problems with hearing a good musician through my wall, as long as it wasn't at four in the morning. All I hear from my neighbours is arguing."
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Sounds like my neighbours. Since I put up with their shit you'd think they could handle a guy playing his electric guitar once in a while." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter, I prefer my acoustic when I'm just here at home. I only really play electric with the band."
"You're lucky Andy lives in Brooklyn then, it would be hard to find any apartment building which would be tolerant of rock band rehearsals."
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door. Gabriella's eyes widened as she glanced down at her barely clad body. Troy's eyes widened, remembering that he'd called his landlord the day before asking him to come look at the oven. Anyone else would have had to buzz to come up.
"Shit..." Troy mumbled. He grabbed Gabriella's clothes and the towel. "Go shower," he urged. "Use whatever you want. It's just my landlord coming to check out my oven, it's been fucking up. He won't be here long, he'll look at it and we'll arrange for the super to come fix it."
She immediately obeyed his direction, grabbing her things and scurrying toward the bathroom.
"Just a minute," Troy called out to the door and quickly went to his bed to retrieve the jeans he'd removed. He pulled them on as he stumbled back toward the door, doing up the fly and button a moment before unlatching the chain and pulling open the door.
"Hey Marty," Troy greeted the forty something year old with the receding blonde hair line and kind green eyes.
"Hey Troy," Marty returned, his eyebrows raising as he glanced toward the bathroom where he could hear the water running. "Bad time?"
"Just a friend, that's all," Troy said shortly.
"Right," Marty smirked, pretending to not notice the pumps and coat he spotted at the end of the couch. "Show us this oven."
. . .
Gabriella took her time in the bathroom. She wasn't sure if Troy had been protecting her honour or if he was more concerned of his landlord's perception of him if she'd been spotted. Nonetheless, she wanted to avoid any sort of potential discomfort and so was grateful for his quick thinking. When she'd stepped out of the shower she couldn't hear any voices beyond the door but there had been no harm in playing on the safe side. She'd had the sense to grab her purse as she'd been pushed out of sight, so she pulled her comb through her curls, used a tiny amount of the small tube of hand moisturiser she carried to freshen up her face, and applied lip gloss. She pulled on her jeans, but it was when she went to pull on her halter top that she encountered a slight problem – without even having realised, somehow in the process of its removal the evening before one of the straps had broken.
"Shit," she swore. She attempted to do some magic with a bobby pin that was in her purse but it wasn't happening. She wrapped the damp towel around her torso, preparing herself to go out and inform Troy of her predicament – but then her attention was drawn diverted, her worries floating away; with the sound of a guitar beginning to strum just beyond the bathroom door.
We got the afternoon, you got this room for two
One thing I'd love to do, discover me discovering you...
She was mesmerised. There was simply no other word. She'd heard him play and sing as a back up the night before and heard the potential in his voice. He'd sang those lyrics in her ear, those lyrics which by their very nature had rendered her giddy and desperate for his touch.
And yet standing in his bathroom as he was just on the other side of the door, guitar in hand, singing with such purity and sweetness – it was more powerful than all of the band's set from the night before. The man was brilliant. He couldn't just sing, but he could sing. He sang with power and conviction and passion and sex appeal all rolled into one package. Not even thinking about her actions, she pulled the bathroom door open, needing to see him, needing to confirm with her very own eyes that this was in fact Troy.
And there he was, perched on the edge of the couch, eyes closed, dextrous fingers delicately plucking and strumming at the notes; voice of an angel – but a sexy angel, an Adonis like angel.
Coz if you want love, we'll make it
Swim in a deep sea of blankets
Take all your big plans and break 'em
This is bound to be a while
Your body is a...
It was as though he'd forgotten that she was even in the apartment; the moment that he registered her presence in the bathroom door frame staring at him in awe, he stopped playing.
"Oh you uh... you don't have to stop," Gabriella stammered, stepping forward, eyes widening, feeling rude for interrupting him. "You're... shit... you're amazing." There was nothing but pure admiration in her tone.
He didn't respond to her compliment with anything but a tight smile. He'd been aware that she was there, when he'd picked up his guitar and started strumming he hadn't even intended upon being heard. Truthfully he didn't mind her hearing him play or sing – it wasn't anything she hadn't seen already – but there was something in the way that she was staring at him that felt a little disconcerting. She wasn't just looking at him; it was as though she was looking into him. Seeing more than what he wanted her to see, more than what he allowed anyone to see.
"Uh... what's with my towel? Is this the latest look?" he asked, gesturing toward the towel that was wrapped around her.
"Oh! Um... It seems that somehow my halter top got damaged last night." She held it up and gestured toward the missing left tie and where it had ripped out of the top.
He furrowed his brows. "Shit. I... thought I was pretty careful at that point. Unless I'm remembering things wrong. And I didn't notice anything wrong with it this morning."
She shrugged. "It's okay. But do you have a safety pin or something? Then I could pin this part here to my bra or something."
"Um... just wear my blue shirt," Troy said.
"Are you sure?" Gabriella asked.
"Yeah, it's fine," he said dismissively. "You can like, tie it up around your belly button and make it into a fashion statement. It'll be better than that towel, I'm sure."
Gabriella smiled and ducked back into the bathroom, only taking a minute to pull the blue t-shirt over her head, tie it just below her belly button as Troy had suggested – revealing a subtle strip of her tanned, taut abdomen – and rolling up the sleeves slightly.
"See, I said it looks better on you," Troy said with a grin.
She blushed and held up her towel. "Where do you want this?"
"There's a hamper in there, that's fine."
She promptly tossed the towel into the hamper and then came out to stand in front of him. She'd shoved the tattered halter into her purse and was now standing awkwardly before him. She knew that she should make something up – somewhere she had to be, a reason she had to leave – and excuse herself.
But it was simple – she didn't want to leave.
She wanted to stay.
She wanted to be in his presence.
Troy was looking up at her, seeing the hesitation. The silence had lasted a little bit too long to be classed as comfortable silence, it had instead rolled over into being slightly awkward. A part of him was racking his brain trying to think of an excuse to kick her out – this wasn't something he did. He was used to escaping, not to having to politely and yet firmly tell someone to leave.
But he didn't want her to leave.
He wanted her to stay.
He wanted to be in her presence.
And so instead of making an excuse to get rid of her, the complete opposite popped out of his mouth.
"Do you want to learn a new song?" he blurted out.
Her brows furrowed a little in confusion. "Huh?"
"On the guitar," he clarified. "Since you only know one song. Do you want me to teach you another?"
"Oh! Um... oh I don't know," she said, blushing. "I'm really not very good, it took me so much time to learn that Greenday song."
"This song is even easier. There are two chords. It's really just about a strumming pattern."
She swallowed. There was something slightly pleading in his tone. He wasn't asking her out of politeness – it was a genuine offer.
"Um... I guess there's no harm in trying," she said a little hesitantly.
Troy patted the lounge next to him, and Gabriella set down her purse and moved over to sit to his right, the guitar promptly being handed across so she could rest it upon her thigh.
"This song is like, the ultimate beginner song. It's really old and there's a chance you don't know it. It's by a band called America and it's called The Horse With No Name."
"I know it," Gabriella said immediately, smiling slightly. "My dad used to love that song."
He grinned. "Awesome. So you know it. This song has two chords. One is E minor, and the other is... okay for such a simple chord is has a complicated name so for today's purposes let us call us D sixty nine."
Gabriella let out a small giggle and rolled her eyes. "How appropriate that a chord has such a name."
"Well, it's like D add six add nine... I like my name better."
"I'm sure you do."
"So for E minor, we're working with the second fret, second and third string."
Troy's hand wrapped around hers, his fingers ever so lightly guiding hers to the appropriate locations. She shivered lightly, an involuntary reaction to his touch. He smirked slightly, not oblivious to the way that he affected her, but didn't say anything.
"And then the second chord..."
"The sixty nine?"
"That's the one. All we do is move the top finger up, and the bottom finger down."
He had yet to remove his hand from its place over hers, and so he demonstrated, moving her index and middle fingers apart.
"Excellent," he praised.
"So that's it? Those are the two chords?"
Troy nodded. "Yup. And then in the basic form – there's nothing crazy with picking or anything. It's just full strums of every string. You can jazz it up once you've learnt it a bit more but it's just about remembering a stroke pattern – and you strike me as being pretty intelligent so I'm guessing you'll handle recalling the order of things here."
"Okay. Wait hang on... use a pick..." He reached over onto the coffee table where she'd left the pick after she'd been playing with the guitar earlier.
"You weren't using a pick," she pointed out.
"Yeah but my hands are already fucked up from the guitar. And I prefer just my hands for acoustic anyway. So what you're doing is playing one pattern on the E minor, and one pattern on the D sixty nine. So get your pick ready at the top just here..." His hand enclosed over the back of her palm and he then firmly, but gently, demonstrated the stroke pattern. "On the E minor... that's perfect... we have Down, down, down, up-down-up. And on the D sixty nine we have down-up down-up, up, down-up."
The lesson continued, Troy going over the strumming pattern, helping her with the efficiency of her change between the chords, and then finally joining in by adding the vocal.
On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
Gabriella's face was bright with elation as she finally put together the tune of the vocal and the tune of the chords he'd been teaching her, hearing Troy sing along to her playing.
I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
He went to stop after the first chorus but she encouraged him to keep singing. It wasn't exactly the most heartfelt of songs for her personally, other than a recollection from her younger years of her dad singing along in the car in his warbled, off-pitch voice. And nonetheless she was enthralled. With her slightly hesitant strumming; and his confident, smooth and at times playful voice – they had united, together, and were making this song come to life.
The moment they finished, Gabriella turned to smile proudly at Troy – having been staring intently at her fingers the entire time.
"We did it!" she said excitedly. "I know another song now!"
Troy laughed. "That you do."
"That's so cool! Thank you!"
"Not a problem."
"You have such an amazing voice," she found herself blurting out, and immediately blushed at her candour. "I know I must sound like such a fangirl but seriously... you truly have an incredible voice."
Troy smiled. It was something he'd heard many times before but nonetheless a compliment was a compliment and he was appreciative. "Thank you," he said simply.
She wordlessly handed the guitar back over to him, which he promptly nestled on his thigh. Completely naturally, his fingers began to casually pluck at the strings, no particular tune in mind.
"Is that something you've written?" Gabriella asked, her legs tucking up beneath her on the couch.
Troy shrugged. "Nothing official... I fool around with chords and melodies. But I don't touch lyrics."
She was fiddling with the guitar pick, and glanced over to look at him. His eyes were downcast, staring intently at where his left hand was forming chords to strum lightly.
"Why not?" she asked carefully.
"Lyrics are personal," he said shortly, obviously not willing to elaborate without a bit of prodding.
"Too personal for you?"
He shrugged, looking a bit aloof. "I guess."
"I write short stories," Gabriella mused, dragging the pick against her denim clad thigh. "It can be... an emotional outlet. When things happen in life that affect me – like when my uncle died, or when I was upset about breaking up with a boyfriend – I put it down into words and it is like a therapeutic experience or something."
"If I wanted therapy I'd see a shrink," Troy said bluntly, his thumb dragging down the strings a little harder than intended, a harsh sound emitting from the instrument.
Gabriella bit her lip. She was fascinated – the intellectual, probing side of her which had studied psych for one of her minors couldn't help but cock her head and feel the need to search deeper. She shoved the pick into her pocket and shifted on the couch to face him, her hands clasping together.
"Isn't music supposed to be about emotion though?" she asked.
"Yes. But... not my own stuff. That's... that's different."
"But there's songs you love, lyrics that you identify with?"
He hesitated before answering quietly, "Of course."
Reaching across, Gabriella's hand brushed over his strumming hand, pausing it momentarily.
"Play me something real."
"Something real?" he repeated, a little wary.
"Something that tells me about you. Something that you feel."
Her tone was light, inquisitive, and yet at the same time, almost pleading. There was a genuine curiosity and yearning to her tone which Troy almost felt compelled to appease.
Almost.
"Something I feel," he repeated with a small smirk.
Immediately Gabriella knew that he wasn't going to take her seriously and she rolled her eyes as he launched right into the every end of the chorus of a song that she knew very well.
You're so much cuter when you never pull it out
Coz you look so much cuter with something in your mouth
He was smirking as he sang, staring her in the eyes. How he could sing such blatantly crude lyrics and nonetheless succeed in having a stimulating effect upon her was slightly boggling. Gabriella managed to shake herself free of his mesmerising stare and slapped him on the upper arm lightly.
"No!" she admonished.
"Oh okay. What about this..."
You're beside me on the seat, got your head between my knees...
"Troy!" Gabriella exclaimed. "I said something real not something about blow jobs!"
"Blow jobs are real," he said seriously. "And the songs aren't about 'blow jobs' they're about sex and sex is definitely real. And you also told me to sing something that I feel and you know what? Sex is all about feeling."
"Not for you," Gabriella said quietly. "You don't let yourself feel when you have sex. At least that's what you have led me to believe."
He set the guitar down leaning up against the side of the couch, before answering, "Different kind of feeling."
"No, not really."
Troy's body turned to face hers. His face was expressive, his tone a little accusatory.
"You think that I don't feel? Were you there with me last night? Or were you somewhere else altogether? Because believe me, there was feeling."
"Feeling being emotion?" Gabriella asked, knowing very well that there had been no emotion involved.
"Feeling being..." Troy paused, taking a moment to contemplate the right words. His voice softened. "Sensation." His fingertips gently brushed down the length of her slender arm. "Chemistry. Heat. Attraction."
All thought of psychological deconstruction washed away. Gabriella's breath hitched, her chocolate gaze intent upon his bright blue eyes, a shiver running down her spine as his hand lingered on her arm. His tone was low, seductive. It may have been a diversionary tactic but in that moment in time, she didn't particularly care. All that was of concern were the feelings stirring within, the sensation he evoked, the attraction she felt – all that she cared about was the simple need she felt for him.
"Troy?" she murmured softly, a longing urge to her voice.
Her right hand reached over and slightly grazed the side of his face. He returned her gaze, heavy with innuendo just through one intense look. There was no doubting what she was thinking, she was begging without saying the words, silently communicating her desire.
Troy was rarely a guy for seconds. A one night stand was precisely that – a one night stand. And yet so many of his usual rules of women and dating had been violated in the last twenty four hours that he figured to hell with it. When it came to this woman, he was insatiable.
His hand closed over hers, guiding it away from his face, fingers entwining. "Yes," he murmured. "It's always yes."
And without another word being spoken, his lips softly grazed against hers. The first kiss for the day after was gentle and soft; but as they lingered together, it inevitably heated up. They skipped a whole stage of development, instead they were thrown into a desperate, probing, longing kiss. Hands clawed, bodies moulded together. He guided her to be lying back on the couch; he hovered over her, kisses frantic, bodies writhing together. Pieces of clothing were yanked away, denim jeans being shimmied off, t-shirts removed, as they urgently yearned skin on skin contact.
She wasn't even sure how it happened – one moment she was kissing and groping his backside, and the next he'd somehow rolled off the couch, falling to the floor and pulling her along with him.
"Fuck!" she swore. "Are you okay? I'm so..."
Her apology was swallowed with his kiss. "I'm fine," he assured her in between frenzied kisses.
She'd landed awkwardly but her fall was cushioned by Troy's body. The fall and worries that she'd squished him evaporated as his caressing hands and warm lips stimulated every inch of her being. She manoeuvred herself into a better position, digits raking through his chestnut strands, body flush to his, her arousal grinding against his erection. Her lacy strapless bra was unhooked with dextrous ease and flung aside.
"The bed..." she gasped.
"Too far," he grunted. "Right here is perfect."
She was too far gone to argue. "Okay."
. . .
The small Manhattan studio apartment was silent but for the noise of a car alarm going off outside, some loud music playing in the apartment above, and the sound of two sets of heavy, ragged, post orgasmic breathing. Gabriella had collapsed on top of Troy, her head nestling into the crook of his neck. She'd contemplated rolling away but his arms were holding her down – not too tightly, but it was enough to deter her from moving.
"Wow," Gabriella breathed.
"Uh huh." Troy was in complete agreement.
His eyes were closed, his laboured breathing slowly regaining a semblance of normalcy. The petite woman who was moulded so perfectly to his body has succeeded in bringing him to heights of pleasure and ecstasy beyond imagine. He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, what was different about the way they kissed and touched, why he felt a bodily connection to her that he'd never comprehended could exist.
"I've never done it on the floor before," she said softly.
His eyes remained closed but he smirked. His hand gently rubbed at the small of her back.
"The bed was too far," he said plainly. "That was so fucking convenient that you carry a condom with you in your purse that was within reach. I don't think I could've walked all the way to get one."
She giggled lightly at the concept. Troy's bed was merely paces away, the condoms right beneath the bed, and yet they'd done it on the floor in front of the couch. Her coffee coloured eyes fluttered open and she glanced up at him. Lying on top of him, she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and noted that his eyes were closed.
"Don't fall asleep on the floor," she urged. "It's not good for you."
Troy chuckled. "You're seriously warning me against sleeping on the floor? Anyway isn't it supposed to be good for your back?"
"I think it's a matter up for debate," she conceded. "But you need time to accustom yourself to it, if you just fell asleep now you'd wake up feeling like crap."
This was the prompt she needed to move off his body. She reached out to grab the blue t-shirt which she was borrowing and promptly slipped it over her slim frame.
"Haven't you been sleeping on the floor in your apartment?" Troy enquired sleepily. "You said last night you haven't put your bed together."
"On my mattress," she corrected. "And not by choice – I bought a new bed but it came in this flat pack thing and I absolutely despise putting together flat pack furniture."
This caused him to open his eyes, looking at her in confusion, eyebrows raising. "Then why did you buy a new bed in a flat pack?"
She pouted. "I don't know."
Troy laughed. He let out a sigh as he dragged himself up to sit upright and motioned for her to pass his boxers over from where they lay close to her feet. Gabriella was attempting to locate the rest of her clothing which had been tossed aside. Troy had put his boxers on and had collapsed onto the couch, watching her with slight amusement she was in search of her panties.
"Stop looking at my ass and help me find my underwear," Gabriella ordered.
"Look over by my X box."
She looked where he'd directed her and spotted the lace on top of the console – how it had flown that far away she was uncertain. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because I was checking out your ass," he said frankly.
She rolled her eyes as she pulled on her underwear and then her jeans, dressing for the second time that day. "I bet my hair is a disaster now."
"Your hair is perfect," Troy declared.
She rolled her eyes and nonetheless ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to tame her curls. "Um... I should get going," she said regretfully. She wanted to prolong her excuses to remain at his apartment so much, but she did have a life and things she needed to attend to.
Troy bit his lip. He'd known their parting was inevitable but he was getting used to her being around. "Um, yeah. I'm DJing at this party tonight, suppose I should look at my playlist and stuff."
She began to gather the rest of her things, putting her pumps on, making sure she had everything in her purse. Troy found his jeans and pulled them on and followed her as she began to walk toward the door. He overtook her to undo the chain and pull it open for her, allowing her to step through the threshold. He leaned up against the door frame as she stood in the corridor awkwardly. There was so much that she wanted to say and yet she had no idea where or how to begin expressing her thoughts to him.
"Troy..." she said softly, eyes downcast, hands fiddling with the straps of her purse.
He knew what was coming. He could hear it. The very thing that terrified him more than anything, and for some reason with her – it terrified him more than it ever had before.
"Don't," he urged, interrupting her, stopping it before anything further was said.
"Don't what?" she asked, looking up at him, cocking her head.
"You're thinking about leaving me with your phone number."
She didn't want to lie. She had been thinking that, he'd read her mind. She bit her lower lip, averting her eyes from his. Perhaps she'd read things wrong but all things considered with the less than ideal miscommunication at the beginning of the day, they'd had an awesome time together. It hadn't been awkward, and it hadn't just been about morning after sex. They'd talked, they'd laughed, they'd joked, they'd connected – in more ways than physically. At least, so she had thought. And she couldn't help but wonder if there was some reason why the physical connection itself was so incredibly intense. She'd never had sex like she had with him, not ever, not with long term steady boyfriends, and she couldn't help but think that had to mean something.
"Gabriella," Troy said softly, interrupting her thoughts. "You are an amazing woman, you're a woman who deserves the very, very best. Today has been fucking incredible, last night was fucking incredible – every moment, from the moment I saw you to when we finally fell asleep. If you give me your number, you're gonna go home and hope that I'm going to call and the truth is that I'm not going to call. I'm sorry. I don't call. It's not what I do, it's not who I am. And then we're gonna run into each other – which will happen because even in Manhattan it's a small world, and we live really close to each other and you live in the same building as my friends. And I don't want that to be awkward, because it shouldn't have to be. We had an amazing night, we get along great. Can we leave it there?"
It took every morsel of strength she had within to not feel crushed and rejected. She understood what he was saying, she'd known his position – and yet it didn't change the fact that she felt like her heart had been torn out and trampled on.
"Um. Okay," she managed to say. Her cheeks were flushed and this time not from arousal but from embarrassment, embarrassment at being that clingy, needy girl that he'd made clear she couldn't be.
"Hey," Troy said soothingly. He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. He shot her a dazzling smile. "You're awesome. Thank you so much."
"Thank you," Gabriella returned, managing a small smile.
"You know where you're going?" Troy asked. "So if you head out of my building and go left you'll be on Bleecker, and then Grove is two blocks north?"
Gabriella nodded. "Yup, I recognised it all in the cab. The little that I saw anyway."
He laughed. "Cool."
"Okay well... I'll um... I'll see you around?" she tried to appear casual, flippant even, but there was no doubting the hopefulness to her tone.
"Absolutely. Bye beautiful."
She headed down the hallway and walked toward the stairwell. She took one final glance back at where he was standing in his door frame watching after him, threw him a smile, and then disappeared around the corner.
Troy closed his apartment door behind him and turned to face the room.
He'd always loved having his own space, and yet suddenly, it felt rather empty.
He wandered toward the fridge and collected a can of beer before collapsing on the couch, staring at the blank television screen. Even if it had been on, he wouldn't have been able to pay attention. Because all that he could think about right now was her.
Troy frowned as he felt something beneath his leg, and reached below and found himself grasping at her lace strapless bra which she'd somehow managed to leave behind. He smiled, fingers stroking over the delicate material.
. . .
She made it down the first half flight of stairs to the landing before the smile wiped off her face. She leaned back against the wall, tilted her head backwards and closed her eyes.
"Fuck," she muttered.
She should have known she wasn't capable of a one night stand, at least not without some sort of emotional ramification. Her hands slid into her pockets as she attempted to compose herself, needing a moment. She felt something strange in her right pocket and frowned, her eyes opening as she pulled it out.
And there lay his guitar pick in her hand. She stared at it for a moment, before carefully opening her purse and putting it into the small zip up compartment for safe keeping.
It wasn't the greatest consolation prize, but it was something.
And she needed something.
S is for the simple need.
~ * ~
AN – Lyrics, chronologically are from Greenday's 'Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)'; John Mayer's 'Your Body Is A Wonderland'; America's 'A Horse With No Name'; Nickelback's 'Something In Your Mouth'; Nickelback's 'Animals' and as many Nickelback 'S.E.X.' references throughout as I could manage naturally. I am not associated with these bands/artists. I just lost my mind and wrote a song fic which I said I'd never do and borrowed their work.
Please review :)
-Dani xo