The story continues...

Her Audience

Getting ready to go out.....

Why in the world would someone put a total of five different tags on one tiny article of clothing? She sighed under her breath. Price tag, maker's tag, inspection tag, cleaning and care tag, and a size tag too. It just meant more for Blake to remove, and more time spent dressing on a night that she really didn't have the time for.

It was New Year's Eve, and Bobby, Logan and his date, as well as midnight, all waited expectantly for her. She and Bobby had accepted Logan's invitation to a nice quiet dinner party.

At the moment though, she stood in their bedroom, tiny scissors in hand, snipping plastic tag after plastic tag off the bra she intended to wear. The matching panties, what little there was to them, she'd already put on, after having removed only three of the annoying little nuisances. These items were part of her 'after-Christmas-sale' haul, purchased with exactly tonight in mind. Black, lacey underthings to wear for one of the year's most jubilant nights. Somehow, she didn't think Bobby would be too unhappy with her choices.

A few more strategic snips and the last tag finally fell free. She held the brassiere up, smiling as she admired her own good taste, then stepped back in front of the full-length mirror, only to find that she was now sharing the reflection with someone else.

Apparently, Bobby was even more expectant than she'd realized.

"Shouldn't you be getting dressed?" she asked, her smile growing lopsided as she slipped the brassiere on. Her eyes remained on his reflection though, amused to no end by his pose. His arms crossed across his chest, as if holding him back; his legs stood casually apart, and his expression was unreadable, his head, tilted at the slightest of angles. Such an intent stare.

Well yes, he was rather distracted. Fascinated, mesmerized, and already planning their after midnight return to the apartment. Oh yes, he was definitely planning it. How could his brain do anything else, given the scene he'd just walked into?

This holiday season had been an especially close time for the two of them. The holidays had always presented challenges for both of them, with the absence of family, yet this, their first holiday together had been an amazing journey. One truly filled with joy … and hope. He often found himself pulled up short and struck by disbelief at the turn his life had taken. She had drawn so close to him in the last year, almost as much as she had drawn him out. It would have seemed fitting, in his opinion, to see this most momentous year out with a uniquely private celebration for only two.

But the city had its own show to put on, and when Logan invited them to celebrate together, Blake had convinced him that they really shouldn't refuse. Blake had pointed out that they hadn't been the most social couple, and that it was time for them to venture out of the safe haven they had been able to create for themselves.

Midnight – however - midnight would be his. A promise he had made to himself days ago. And afterward. Ohhhh yeah… afterward. In the meantime, until they had to rush off to the streets, he wanted to enjoy her company. Wanted only to be near her.

She'd been dressing. He knew that. He had hoped their last minutes together before leaving for the evening could be spent in a silent embrace. What he had not expected was to find her leaning over a box of fluffy white tissue paper, wearing nothing but a pair of lacy black bikini bottoms. Oh it covered her alright, but just barely; the strap across her hip being literally that nothing more than the most delicate, satin line. Her back sloped up in a creamy curve, ending with the hint of her vertebrae. He had kissed each one only the night before, as well as many other places now so temptingly revealed.

Somehow, someway, he'd managed to still his breath keeping his presence unobtrusive and unnoticed. And when Blake had risen, out of all that tissue had come a black brassiere not unlike the bikinis, and not all that much larger, either. He'd had but seconds to enjoy the view of her bared bosom, his eyes darting back and forth between her reflection in the mirror, and the three-dimensional, flesh and blood side of one curved breast. As provocative a pose as any he'd ever seen made, all the more provocative by the aura of innocence of a woman going through the mundane task of merely getting dressed. Scant seconds later, she was slipping into this delightful little underthing, and finally noticing his arrival.

So yes, he was distracted and it took him a few moments before he managed to swallow, and provide a blatantly obvious answer. "I am dressed, which is more than I can say for you."

She glanced over her shoulder as she reached to fasten the closures. "Shall I take that as a complaint? I'm hurrying as much as I can, these darn things had so many tags on them that I had to cut off…"

"Not at all," he replied, this answer coming much faster. "I had hoped for a few moments alone before we have to leave. I must say that I'm not at all disappointed."

Blake grinned wryly to herself. Yes, he had quite a knack for catching her in the middle of this particular activity. "I picked these out the other day. New underwear for the New Year." Her fingers slid back and forth beneath the shoulder straps, then atop the satin at her side, until finally, along the underwire edge supporting her breasts.

"It's not ..." he paused to catch his breath and to ensure his tone was calm and even. "It's not the New Year yet."

It will be by the time we take them off again."

'We'? Well now, he definitely wasn't leaving.

"It's cold out," he warned, trying for some small talk as he sat down on the bed. The view was even better from that angle. "You'll want to be warm."

"I will be," she assured. "Trousers. Thick wool sweater. And you always make a nice outer layer." Her giggle mingled with his low chuckle, and she cast him a look in the mirror. "Do you need mefor something? Or are you just trying to hurry me along?"

He paused in dumb silence. Did he need her? What a dangerous question for her to ask, while standing there adjusting the soft satin strap at her hip. They had to be going, they had to be going, they had to be going, he reminded himself. "No, merely passing the time."

"Ohhhhh." Her mouth formed the letter perfectly, stretching the syllable for effect. "So watching me is your new pastime? What sport am I replacing?" She turned, noting his casual posture, "Well I see you've at least made yourself comfortable."

He ignored her latter accusation, the comfort of the bed probably not something he should be focusing on right now. "What sport are you replacing?" he repeated.

She had gone back to inspecting the brassiere, sticking her chest out and turning from side to side. She was trying to torture him, wasn't she? Surely it couldn't require this much effort to test that one's clothing fit. If she kept this up much longer, he'd go over there and test it for her.

They had to be going, they had to be going, they had to be going. The mantra repeatedly reminding Bobby that they had to be going.

"It's just an expression," she replied. She motioned her head in his direction. "You think I need an audience, do you?"

Those were bold words for a woman who was inviting the same with her every move. "If you've amassed an audience," Bobby warned, playing along in the hope it would keep him focused, "then I'll have to ask them to show themselves, so that I may show them the proper hospitality." He leaned back on one arm, settling down for the duration.

"An audience of one," Blake corrected, raising her pointer finger as she moved toward him. Her underthings had apparently gained her approval. She'd stopped fidgeting, and now walked so casually towards him. So softly. Such a light, natural sway to her hips.

"Yes, an audience of one, but an avid audience nonetheless," he assured. His words were lost then as she slid one knee onto the bed, balancing herself on her arms. She leaned forward ...

What on earth had he been saying? Focus, Bobby!

His arm reached across her lap, his hand sliding slowly along the outer line of her thigh. Two fingers were soon in stretching distance of that thin, black strap that rode across her hip. He caught himself, then glanced up to find that she had caught him too.

"Yeah. Very appreciative," she repeated, the bashful smile on her lips every bit as tempting as that flesh beneath his fingers. "You're flattering me far too much, Bobby," she demurred.

"Noooooo," he breathed, his disagreement vehemently denied. "No, no, no, on the contrary, those words do not even do you justice. Every praise; every tribute, would rightfully be yours." He could show her, of course, he could always show her. His hand was already slipping around her back, her contours fitting perfectly into the cradle of his palm. He could lower her to the mattress, and show her every captivating curve he longed to touch; every mesmerizing moment he wanted to save of this fast dwindling year.

He reined himself in, releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, finally forcing his hand away. Fingertips traced his retreat down the length of her leg, and then slowly settled to the mattress as he paused to watch her in admiration. He couldn't deny that, no matter how badly he wanted to delay their departure, they had to be going.

Although, in all honesty, she seemed in no rush to go dashing out of the apartment either. No rush to even leave the bed.

Maybe it was the warmth of his touch slowing cooling on her skin. Maybe it was his steady, fascinated gaze, maybe it was the very words themselves. Or maybe it was just ... him. For whatever reason, she crept closer, balancing herself by the gentle grip of her hands to his shoulders, sidling her way against him - chest to chest; hip to hip; face to face.

"Hmm-mmm," she finally hummed, her head shaking slowly. "I don't need any of that. None of it at all." Then the slight catch of her breath when his touch returned to the small of her back. His hand spanned nearly the entire width, his fingers curving gently to her waist.

"None?" he questioned softly. "Not even my own most heartfelt applause? My own most encouraging hurrahs?"

She giggled so faintly, duly flattered. "Well ... maybe just a little. This is what I need most though. This right here."

One slim finger stroked slowly down his cheek, before caressing even more slowly down his body. And she offered the smallest, sweetest smile, her eyelids heavy not with sleep, but with desire.

They had to be going, they had to be going, God almighty, they had to be going. It was by willpower alone that Bobby strengthened the arm that was supporting himself. Dropping back would have been ... so ... so ... easy. Truly, it was by nothing less than the purest exercise of rare willpower. And it was by the greatest of fortune that he was already seated. Nothing could have stopped his knees from buckling had he been standing. The pair would have tumbled right down to the blanket, exactly where fate seemed to want them.

"I love you," she finally whispered, using his hard-earned steadiness to steady herself as well. She swallowed to maintain her composure, her fingers weaving through strands of curly graying hair. And when his head leaned back into her palm, in much the same way she often leaned into him, she too had to call on whatever willpower she could muster.

"Say that again?" he begged, his voice faring little better than hers. "Before the year is gone?"

She laughed, then brushed her nose to his ... her lips to the cheek. "There's a whole new year waiting, Bobby. And so many more after that."

His hand tightened at her back, his fingers splaying across the perfect curve. Holding onto her as if trying to hold onto time itself. "Let's not waste any of this year though? Please? Say it again?"

"I love you," she breathed, the words floating to him to become his air. "I love you. I love you." Each word a perfect, precious gift.

A quick kiss was given, before she pulled back and began to leverage herself back up to her feet.

As he held her in place, once more he made his plea, this time with the single word, "Again?" And she happily granted it. Once, "I love you." Then twice, "I love you."

Her eyes closed and her face rested to his. They really did have to be going soon, if they wanted to spend any of this evening with their friends. Then another kiss before she more forcefully pushed away from him. We have to be going. It was New Year's Eve after all. A night for kisses, a night made for kisses. With a resigned sigh, she encouraged herself that there would be more. She knew, he would make certain that there were more.

His next breath was deep, in full knowledge that time and circumstances pressed on them. He would offer one more protest though, against the inevitable. "I want ... so much," he murmured. "So many things for the upcoming year." His hand returned to life, his fingers massaging firmly into her flesh. "So many things for even tonight."

"Oh I want that too," she smiled. "Patience. Just be patient. We'll be home again soon and then we can celebrate with some real… audience participation." Her smile became a devilish grin.

His chuckle over her quip was low and guttural. Later. Later. Yes, he knew. And that was quickly becoming his new mantra.

He forced his hand away, and with his last ounce of willpower made the unavoidable admission. "I do hate to remind you, since meeting up with Logan was your idea, but we really have to be going."

Blake nodded with regret, taking one more caress of his cheek. "I'll try to be quick," she promised, leveraging herself up. That was the last touch, and now she was gone ... hastening back to the mirror, a skimpy piece of lace and satin reminding him of exactly what he was missing.

Later. Later.

"I'll be nice though," she continued. "And you can stay if you promise to behave." She admonished him.

He nodded in polite agreement, remaining on the bed. Seriously, had she actually expected him to budge?

So a new rush commenced, but now she was self-conscious. A rush to find her sweater, to find her trousers. To actually get into them with some level of grace and allure, given the eyes that followed her with an almost drunken heaviness.

He watched it all. Every single movement, both within the mirror and without. From head to toe. From her difficult wiggle into a pair of short leather boots, to the hairbrush flying through her curls. And then the little things, the dab of perfume just behind her ear.

Finished at last, she turned round again, maybe a little bashful over how closely he'd been following her movements. "Ta-da," she announced playfully, complete with a miniaturized, self-conscious flourish.

Behind the mask he now wore, Bobby smiled in approval. "Beautiful," he pronounced, staring with just as much wonder now, as when he'd first entered the room. "Absolutely beautiful."

Thick layers of clothing may form a temporary barrier, but they made her no less enticing.

Later. Later. She would be his to unwrap. Later.

"Well then I guess we better get going," she coaxed, stifling her amusement over the downright constancy of his gaze. She returned to the stack of boxes and crumpled tissue paper, in search of her now buried purse.

"In a moment," he replied, his tone not only regaining control, but turning faintly mischievous. "I know that it's getting late and we're keeping the others waiting, but your audience has one more thought to share. Wouldn't you like to hear it?"

At that, she glanced over her shoulder, her smile quirking and her eyes narrowing in suspicion. So he was still on that little game, was he? Well he had kept his word and been relatively well-behaved. "Alright. Go on."

He rose. Of course he rose, it was only polite. She should have this, even if she didn't need it; she deserved it, even if she didn't want it. And it would be brief; and it would be hushed, because an audience of one can only accomplish so much.

In a warm, surprisingly soothing sound that Blake would remember for many more years to come, came the refrain, clap clap clap clap clap.

More to come....