d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

Cloudy Skies and Ruthless Thoughts | Chapter 6 | Finale |

Rated M for Depressive Themes Trigger Warnings: Depression

Featuring David Bowie at one of the lower draughts of his life, swallowed up in a mental abyss. All he needs is an anchor, will someone throw it?

—————————–

When David returned he came holstering both drinks in either hand safely, balancing two plates on his forearms daringly, smiling slightly as he came stepping in slowly, coming to sit down next to her, placing the plates down with the mugs.

“I’m not sure what you prefer on toast so..”

He had a tray with a selection of toppings, jams, pate, spreads.

Amaris looked and picked up a jar of strawberry jam, taking up a knife and starting to spread it upon the toast generously, before taking a big bite and sipping her coffee. He opted for a sweeter breakfast himself, going for his favourite, porridge oats with honey, and other syrups, topped with blueberries and raspberries. He was quick to tuck into the meal, which he had made himself for once. His whole aura had shifted since yesterday, he had shaved, dressed up in more than just his over-worn and under-washed bathrobe. His cleaner was silently, and quietly shocked as she swept round them and cleaned up the place. It was mostly maintenance work after the first few weeks of working for him. He had areas he didn’t let her touch, purely for the layout he had.

“Sarah?”

He called after her and she popped her head round as she’d just disappeared into the hall to continue sweeping.

“Yes, David?”

She looked worried for a moment, his polite tone rattled her because he was usually quite gruff and sometimes he plain ignored her presence as he walked around with his eyes against the ground. It was how he’d been since she started working here. There were odd moments when she got a conversation out of him, but mostly, he only called upon her to fret about something she’d done that she shouldn’t have, or generally, she expected something negative.

“Could you clean out the other rooms too, all of them, please.”

David asked softly, smiling to her, to which she smiled back and nodded.

“I won’t move anything you don’t watch touching.”

He placed his empty bowl down and shook his head.

“I want everything organised, if you would? I don’t mind, it needs doing, I’m going to be using the office space later, so if it’s too much, then at least do the office first, and the studio space. I’ll pay you extra for that, I want it maintained too.”

He said confidently, it was a big step for him, he hadn’t been in there in probably, well, admitting it to himself as it seemed an awfully short time, a year or more already. He’d declined and remained down for that time. There had been so little going on. He’d been so down he’d pushed everyone away, no company, no work, no purpose.

Sarah seemed really surprised but she nodded eagerly and took in everything he said, going back to her sweeping, at a faster pace, now she knew that she didn’t have to draw out her tasks just to justify the generous wage he paid her. He was fair on the people that came round to do little tasks. Very fair considering the minimum wage he was required to pay them. He almost tripled that. It had been a right task flicking through the endless amounts of applications. He had to find somebody that was good enough, but also unassuming, and not there purely because it was him, to be nosey, or do something else. He didn’t need anyone coming to thieve his possessions, like he’d once had to fire one of his staff for doing. Being so high profile meant the vetting process was rough, and picked them apart quite heavily. So he paid them off for their discretion, their respect of his need for privacy.

Amaris finished her breakfast and her coffee whilst David was upstairs instructing the cleaner around the rooms he wanted cleaning, even stepping in there for the first time after so long felt good. He was already showing a change in colour, just after this encounter, all he needed was a friend, or somebody to talk to. But most of the friends he already had were in showbiz. He didn’t want the fuss or the gossip from them. He needed normal people, so he could be a normal person, and have none of the other fuss with it.

“I’m going to head home and change and stuff. What time are we meeting?”

Amaris asked as she collected her coat, slipping on her shoes.

“As soon as you’re ready, here, call me when you’re ready.”

He produced a little business card, blank with his number scribbled across it. She took it and tucked it into her pocket, smiling and feeling surprised when he suddenly came to hug her, kissing her cheek and opening up the door for her, holding it.

“Thank you, for what you did, and for putting up with me.”

He said in short, for what he felt, he was more than thankful but he couldn’t quite put it into words. He was still wondering how he was still here today, but then, he had her to thank for that. Though he still had progress to make, towards stabilising, he was putting his foot down today, a complete switch of attitude from everything else he’d grown used to over the year. Clearing out his office and studio for use, going out in public, shaving away his matted beard, dressing up. He was making a step towards finding himself again, all was not lost.

-

Hours passed and just after lunchtime, they met up outside of the gallery, as arranged. David had changed into a flashy suit, especially tailored for him by one of his favourite designers, Alexander McQueen. He was late, by twenty minutes. After speaking to her on the phone and arranging for two thirty, he’d ended up there just before three, swiftly approaching her and apologising immediately.

“I’m so sorry, I lost track of time and I… to be quite honest, I couldn’t decide which tie to wear.”

He smiled nervously, he was out in public, wearing shades and a hat to hide his identity somewhat. But people knew him regardless, he’d already been pointed at, and had heads turn on his way down. David rushed Amaris in the door because he didn’t want to be spotted, he’d rather do without the hassle. Especially if the paps showed up. It’d be a big headline for them considering they hadn’t spotted him in a year, he never went out.

Inside the gallery, it was huge, open spaces plastered in both local, and famous works. His eyes lit up, darting left right and center, he didn’t know quite where to begin but he took Amaris’ hand confidently and guided her towards each piece.

“Ah. Monet. No wonder the price tag looked enormous.”

He smiled, and lead her round the works one by one, talking enthusiastically about each and every one. Was there a single artist in here he didn’t know? He was explaining his take on the pieces, his favourites, and really getting into it too. Amaris was fascinated, just nodding and occasionally humming in agreement. She only knew some, and even then, she would hardly be able to get a word in, as he rambled away about it all, like he’d been waiting for the opportunity to share it for years.

“You really know you’re stuff, I mean wow, I’m just.. I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet, I don’t even know what to say, you know so much, I feel small in comparison.”

Amaris laughed when he finally paused, and she got a word in. He beamed at her and shook his head.

“Nonsense, you’ve got a good eye for art. I’m just in my element here, I love the galleries.”

They had made their way round each and every piece in the entire place, David had been tempted to purchase a few but they were all hefty prices. This was a particularly high profile gallery which is why she’d never been in. Even the tickets to visit it were too dire for her average wage. She’d have to justify it somehow, because otherwise, she’d just been tempted but never found the chance to courage up to going in.

-

Months passed. Their friendship only blossomed, David called her everyday, for the days when he didn’t see her. Telling her all the details, inviting her round to listen to his new project, an album in it’s early stages. He was back to work, and still on track to remain that way. He still had a few moments in between, but he wasn’t going back on a bridge’s edge again.

“I have a date tonight.”

He sat down in front of her, they had arranged to meet in a local cafe, to have coffee and cake and chat as they usually did. They had their favourite spots, and they were in between galleries, museums and cafes.

The first thing he said made her grin.

“Wow.. really?”

She beamed, and he nodded, smirking proudly, his first date in a long time. He thought he was too old to date, but just recently, he’d regained his confidence enough to step back out there and search again. He had decided to try online dating, after Amaris’ recommendation, she sat with him and set him up a profile and everything, helping him find his way around it.

Looks like her handiwork had paid off.

“Yes, at eight, in a rather posh restaurant, oh, I must say..”

David put on a posh accent with a quirked brow, making her giggle.

“Good. You deserve it.”

“I guess so. She’s really nice, and ugh.. Gorgeous.”

He gushed, smiling to himself, he was clearly very fond of whomever he’d gotten talking to. Which would end up being his wife, of twenty four years. And the true love of his life.

Amaris didn’t see as much of him after that, occasional meetups, but mostly letters, or phone calls. Which lasted hours, they chattered away like best mates, about anything and everything. He kept her informed on his goings, but only in brief terms, privacy and all. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself but...

It had only been about six months since he had started dating, and one morning when she went to fetch her mail, she couldn’t help but notice a particularly fancy looking envelope. She took it to her coffee table and kicked back, ripping it open delicately, and slipping a card out, an invitation.

To a wedding. His wedding...

- Finished -

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We’re The Jones’ | Chapter 65 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: Death Mention.

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

Sun blaring, clouds parting to reveal a blissful array of blue skies above. Only the occasional cloud dotted about, otherwise clear and bright weather marked the beginning of the day for them, and for many of the New Yorkers around. It made way for plenty of plans to go ahead, and brought more people outside together. No immediate need presented for them to drag the curtains closed and ignore the gloom, it was a day to relax, and enjoy, the weather did so much to determine the behaviour of the surrounding populous. Not many could be bothered to brave the storms, the snow, the gales of hounding winds, or simply the rain itself. Something about grey clouds and darker skies, made most frown and hide in a blanket. Some unfortunate workers didn’t have much of a choice however, clogging through, despite the bitter chills, in rain macs and wellington boots alike. Umbrellas. Oh how many umbrellas ended up deserted in these such times, ditched in a hedge, or simply, taken away by the wind itself, as mighty as it could become.

Today, it would become a true rush hour. Every creed and colour of society unveiled in such spree to get their daily shopping lists checked before the grey gloom returned. It would be bedlam down in the streets below but lucky for them, it was a perfect distance, out of reach and only to be glowered on from above if they stepped out onto the balcony. Most of the city’s ambience was just out of ear stretch in David’s cosy penthouse suite. But they had been thinking about moving into a more suitable place for the two of them. And an optimistic place for their future which included their hopeful agreement on children. It was particularly, a dream of David’s to have more children. Partially because he wanted a second chance at fatherhood, parenthood alike. His first marriage had ended a fiasco, and caught his poor son up in the loose ends. Somehow, in a miracle turn, David had gained custody of him as Angie claimed, the child’s birth was for his benefit anyway, despite it being theirs. Duncan ended up with David and one of the main reasons he was now a sober, happier man today. It had been a driving force of motivation for him to get clean so he could properly look at his son and not rely on Marrion or Coco to pick up the pieces any longer.

A new apartment was definitely close on the horizon. With the way David liked to live, it wouldn’t be too much hassle to get there either. He lived fairly minimally, with most of his furnishings, and such able to remain here for the next buyer. He had everything he needed sorted, there’d not be an endless back and forth journey to make when they did decide to move. Or not for his sake, he chuckled away when Iman mentioned it, adding cheekily, “We might need a separate van for your shoes alone.” Which was probably a fair point to make. She had mostly clothes and fashion wears to budge herself, whilst David, had most of it in storage by this point. All of his collected items, outfits that remained precious to him, artwork, everything important was stored away safely so he didn’t have to drag it around with him. The idea of this apartment had been purely somewhere to rest when he finished touring, because he was often out and about, meeting people, going places, down the studio. His home space was simple, and filled with only the essential items he’d need to survive and relax back once the work was done and there was some time to fill. It was his place of sanctum when he needed to shy away from the limelight for a bit but he didn’t stay in it often with all his moving about, and his other homes. It was one of the many locations he could find himself in. All until he met Iman of course, shortly after they met, he had decided to sell his tuck-away apartment in Australia and look to find a bigger place here, in New York.

It was somewhere he’d always wanted to settle, and now the city meant something to him truly, it’s where he’d met his wife, his true love. It was definite in him, since the moment they met, and he’d certainly pursued it with all his heart and desire on show. He also thought of it in a long-term perspective, unlike many things he did, this was permanent for him, he was getting on in life and he needed to settle down and make a family with someone before the chance passed him by and he was too senile and slow to hope to.

Shortly after the sun had risen fully, and the clouds had parted, the two started to stir from their deep sleep and fidget around the bed as they slowly landed back on Earth and started to regain their consciousness. Iman was always the first one to actually wake up, unless David had trouble sleeping, in which, she would wake just to find him and bring him back to bed. He often sleepwalked around the house without even realising it and ended up asleep on the carpet, so she was aware of his activeness and kept a close eye on him. Not that he seemed to mind the carpet at all, but the absence of his warmth, his face against her chest, or neck. Iman had gotten used to him wrapping himself around her whilst they slept. He started out comfortably laid next to her, and ended up waking up almost on top of her.

Her eyes had opened but she was too cosy, and sleepy to want to move just yet. She checked the bedside clock for the time, it wasn’t even 6am yet but a normal, bog standard time for them. Early risers when they had something planned, a good early start to the day. Except, David had to neck about four cups of coffee before he even left the house. He would otherwise, rather lay back down and snooze until midday, happily so in fact. He was a heavily motivated person, but he did love his sleep, especially with a beautiful woman to cuddle. What sane man wouldn’t just love that?

“Iman?”

His voice came softly, making her aware that he was actually awake, because he’d barely lifted a finger, not a sign out of him until the mumbling against her neck told her otherwise. He then budged slightly, only to move his head so he could look up at her with his sleepy squint and smirk at her, such a cheeky look he had and used to his advantage often. It was a cocky, confident kind of cheeky, but not in your face. It shouldn’t work so well on her, but it really did, it always did. Just one look and she was at his mercy, and he got away with it too. His swells of confidence were rather attractive to her, because he was usually rather mellow, the cheeky side was just an underlying feature, but it made it’s occasional appearances.

“Yes, darling?”

She replied, stroking his hair from his face with her eyes now upon his. She felt his hand searching for hers under the quilt and grasped it gently, entwining fingers. Last night was still fresh on their minds. It was a very interesting turn of events. From weeping upon her shoulder, to a gentle harmony, hours of raw affection and long-winded sex. But it certainly cheered him up, and gave his mind something else to feast upon rather than spending the day festering upon the other event it shared. His father’s death had affected him heavily in his teen years. He was closer to his father than his mother by a long shot, so losing him was very rough on him, and it had always been a very sensitive point for David. He never spoke about his family, particularly, not his father. Maybe in the odd moment he would reminisce to her and talk of the better times they did have. Which were few and far between, the way his home dynamics had worked as a kid, growing up in a poor household. So much money stress it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

David whispered with a glint in his eyes, pulling her hand up to kiss at it gently, a smug smile upon his face. Iman smiled back with raised brows, she couldn’t tell whether he was still asleep or not. She had been expecting a strange, out of the blue question, or something else, not a simple gesture of love. Perhaps he was still half asleep, maybe he thought he was still dreaming. Not that she’d complain, it made her perk up, and reach down to kiss him, naturally she responded with equal affection.

“I love you too.”

She whispered to him, still wondering where it’d came from. But then, after last night, maybe this was their first spoken words since. There had been no conversation, only action and physical affection.

“I was just dreaming about you…”

He smirked, he was squinting at her in such a funny way, like he was trying to suss something out. Yep. Definitely still waking up. Maybe this was what he thought, the tail end of his dream, becoming vivid before he’d finally, actually wake up to a gloomy sky, cold breeze, sleeping fiancee.

“It was… almost like a nightmare.. I, imagined you were marrying somebody else and I was invited…”

He frowned with a jealous pout, he would definitely feel very envious of another man getting to marry his wife-to-be. Even if they’d never met properly, he’d known of her, and always been attracted to her, ever since the first time he laid eyes upon her, back in the theatre.

“Then I woke up..”

He snorted, grinning like a cheshire cat, to which she giggled too and stroked his hair affectionately.

“I’m marrying you, nobody else.”

Iman said simply with a matching grin, a strange dream indeed, but then maybe it was just a manifest of his anxiety. The anxiety of him not having this fate, of marrying her, and never meeting her but having to watch her marry away to another man from a distance.

“Are we going home-viewing again today or?”

David asked after their moment was over, and he had shifted off of her, to sit up next to her, grabbing his watch and sliding it onto his bare wrist. His eyes shifting over to the bright skies outside, making him squint again. He wore sunglasses often, his eyes were particularly sensitive to the light. Especially on days like this, as any normal person, but also on some of the grey days too. Some days were better, some worse. The weather didn’t really seem to factor into his need to shield his eyes away, they were just tender sometimes, more than other times.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. But I need to go into work this morning and sort some stuff out there before we do. I thought you were going to the studio?”

Iman replied, watching him shift about.

“I am but I was thinking, we could meet for lunch, and go after that. I’m not that busy, just need to see Tony and sort a few things out before anything else. The soundtracks I did are due out soon but we thought we may as well compile it into an album too. Also, working on a new project for the wedding, so I’ll have to talk to him about that.”

David explained, thinking about the day and how it’d work out depending on their schedules. Sometimes they didn’t see each other until the evening because they were out doing other things. Iman was retired from modelling now, thankfully, but she still did some photoshoots and had a business to keep in check.

“Of course. I’ll have to go in a little earlier today then, I think there’s a meeting at nine and then after that I’ll be able to sort everything else out and meet you.”

Iman nodded, thinking about her day too, which was usually less booked up than his. He hadn’t reached full workaholic mode yet since they met. Or not to the extent she’d been told of. But he was quite involved in his music. There were days when he was in his office for the majority just playing various instruments, working out melodies and writing various lyrics down when they came to him. He was always preparing for a new album, the content didn’t stop flowing from him, it was part of him really. He carried a pen with him everywhere, and more recently, a small pocket sized notepad too because Iman always told him off for scribbling all over his hands and arms. Once a lyric came to him he had to write it down in case he forgot it so he would usually just resort to jotting it down on his hands and arms. But she was right, getting him a notepad was a good idea.

“Where shall we say? I can come and meet you outside the offices if you’d like.”

David offered and she nodded his way.

“Yes I’m not sure what time i’ll be out so just come in and ask for me. I’m sure they know you by now.”

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

A continuation of "were the Jones" up until David's death. Or if you don't want to write about his death, up until that point. A point with that could be him touring and balancing his personal life, and his heart attacks. I know you must be getting a little bored, but your the best writer on this topic that I could find, and you have no idea how much joy and closure it brings me. Thank you! PS. How do I know when you start writing another story, or a continuation of one?

That's the idea. To split it into two parts in order to include everything. In the time the first half is complete and finished, I'll be able to finish the second half before it's posted so I can schedule a time of day for anyone to expect it. It'll run smoothly that way, and give me more peace with the pressure of updating. I can't keep up with writing everyday, I'm far too busy at the moment. In between cities dealing with business. Writing David's death would be a very difficult subject for anyone to take on really, and while the thought of it really sets me on edge, it's a challenge I'll consider. I will have to come back to you on that. I'm not sure if that'll end up becoming a focal point for disgruntled fans and others to attack me for writing that out. Nevertheless, with due regards to you and your request, I'm going to think on it and yes, it'd be good closure, if not for anyone else, for me at least because of course I've had an idea of the exact moments and how it happened ever since I found out. Getting it down on paper, even if I don't post it, will be a huge weight off the mind because even now, it's constantly on my mind, David is a daily thought. I appreciate your enthusiasm and thank you, it means a lot and really keeps the fire going. To be regularly updated on any progress or updates to any stories of mine, it'll be as simple as turning on the notifications for this blog specifically. It's where I put all the writing, it goes here and Archiveofourown at the same time. But on here it will notify you of any activity. Thank you again, send me another ask in a couple days or whenever and I'll let you know if I'm getting anywhere with the plans and such.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

David and Iman walking on the beach

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 64 |

Rated M for Smut Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

Less talking, more action. That was always David’s way, and it was what made him, him. Otherwise, we’d have three or four albums to celebrate, not over twenty.

David didn’t like to dwell on things usually, once it was done, it was done. Having his moment to reflect and both mourn, but also celebrate his father. Iman was glad to see his uplifting after being able to get some stuff off his chest, which is what she always encouraged, that he had his outlet too, not just a smoke screen of happiness, when really, life was full of bumps.

How did this even happen? Leave them both in a room together for five minutes and…

David was laying on his back, splayed across the floor, luckily it was carpet and not hard tiles, either way, that was the least of his focuses right now. He had pulled Iman onto him and they were in between laughing as they tickled one another and kissing, which was heating up rather quickly, inevitably it would with them. There was no end to their honeymoon phase.

“Oh no you don’t.”

They rolled around the floor after one another, Iman was trying to crawl from his grasp as he tickled her knees, so he firmly grabbed her arm and threw her down under him instead, meeting lips again, the intensity and length of their pauses growing. Slowly but surely, they were making their way to the door, with their riving and rolling.

“Are you sure?”

Iman took a pause, checking in with him because his hands had tucked underneath her robe and rested against the inners of her thighs.

David looked back down at her, a brief flicker of thought, but he grinned and came nose to nose with her again. His hands sliding out from under the robe and coming to easily undo the loosely tied strap, exposing her body. He did the same with his own, looking at her again, almost pointedly, playfully.

“Does this look sure to you.”

He grasped her lips again, rolled down onto his back in seconds, Iman wrestled him down, but unlike their bodily expression which was more aggressive and excitable, their kiss slowed and grew deeper rather than continuing on its fiery, aggressive path. The tickling ceased, the smiles dampened, as the mood was set, their steamy passion gentle but clear. It went on and on, hands exploring, tongues entwining, thighs rubbing ever so subtly.

It was always about variety with them, and always about glorious sex. Never enough sex. Voracious appetites, greedy libidos alike. Their relationship was strong, deep, built upon pure attraction, to both person and body. They had the perfect balance of both, with two attractive icons, finding deeper underlying emotions for one another. It was important to them to share plenty of pillow time, to share the sheets for them was to invite a long lasting, evermore loving relationship. It continued their flame for them, lots of soppy words and evenings out, presents, flower, gestures in general. But even more physical, active symbolism.

One minute they could be talking deeply about the way an artist had carefully portrayed their art with certain brushstrokes, or delving enthusiastically into breaking down an episode of a series they liked. The next it could be straddling, touching, kissing, it was all the same to them, a very communicative relationship, with a variety of methods.

It wasn’t unique in the slightest, plenty were back and forth to the bedroom like jack rabbits. But to understand it, was to also experience it.

It went silent, nothing but the gentle serenity of the room, the little creaks and snaps that reminded us the building was still alive. And the gentle sounds of lips meeting, legs fidgeting, hairs brushing against the carpet making the ends of each fibre split and fluff with the static energy. Their chests catching friction, every little movement they made, entranced by another entirely.

The whole world stopped, lights flickering, ambience fading, just David, Iman and everything else faded to grey. They kissed, like nothing before, the sparks flew, their breaths shared, moans swallowed, it was bliss in all it’s entirety. Exactly how they always were, and always would be. Connected, so deeply in love. It ran trickling through the cracks between rocks, the canvas of fallen leaves, the fluid streams of fresh, untouched, and unreachable summits. All it needed was one drop, that drop found it’s way into the deep, crystal springs.

It grew to be the point of unhurried, deliberate thrusts, skin upon skin. Grinding, ever continuing friction. They spent what felt like an eternity, just laid there, gracefully joined upon the carpet of his office, before they pulled away finally, and remained there for minutes more, speaking in hushed tones.

The grinding of metal, clunking of realigning, click and pop, as the door snapped shut behind them. Thudding footsteps, the slight groan of the bed as their weight pressed down upon it. Outside, the twittering birds and rustle of motors down below, collective and aligning clatter of shoe soles, slams of car doors, droning of traffic lights.

It was but a distant breeze to them, robes shrugged off and tossed aside in a crumpled pile on the floor. Duvet slipping to one side, pillows rearranged, only a little mess.

The same ambience collected again, the soft smacking of lips, brushing of their skin against the thin, silky sheets, and the skin upon skin as their legs wrapped and moved. David laid flat on his back, with Iman the one ultimately ending up elevated above for the time being. There was a moisture gathering, not only upon another’s lips, face, necks. But between their hips, which only added to the current, subtle ambience of the room they had settled in.

David was completely and utterly relaxed, his shoulders rested back, hands at his sides, eyes closed, breathing deeply and occasionally panting out softly as Iman went from lips, to neck, chest, stomach, lips again. Legs, ankles, feet. Ears, hands. Not a margin of his skin was going untouched by her hands and lips. All while he just laid there dazed, moaning ever so softly every so often, being seduced in the most sensual manner.

David only moved when she met his lips again, melting against them, he was in heaven, ecstasy, she knew just what had him gasping. Just what had his nails marking at the sheets. Each and every last second, spent gripped by her movements.

He was an experienced lover so he’d grown used to taking charge, and seducing the girl - or boy - and giving them a night to remember. Never had any complaints. But Iman was slick, sensual, magical with her fingers and lips alone. Enough to make him drizzle with precum, again and again, his wet, throbbing length goading her further. “Yes…”

He breathed out in his daze, Iman was kissing and massaging his feet, even suckling on toes, she knew he liked it, his guilty pleasure. It was a peculiar fetish to have, one he seemed a little more timid about, but wasn’t hiding it when she knelt by his sensitive feet and caressed them until he was moaning again.

She could feel him shivering with pleasure every time she ran her hands along them, his back almost arching at this point. She smiled to herself, he was going to reach orgasm here alone. Knowing that she could attentively caress his lips and do that to him, was a powerful buzz.

More skin on skin, she could feel his hard, hot length digging against her as their lips enveloped another’s. His hips moved in reaction to her hand reaching down to stroke at his erection, fingers lacing up and down, around, exploring, feeling him moan hotly against her swollen lips was enough.

Iman barely lifted, as they broke away breathlessly, her hands upon his shoulders now, noses inclined, eyes half closed as their lips flirted another, and another heated encounter, quivering, brushing, while she pushed back and let him penetrate her ever so slowly. Every movement was poignant, emphasised and slowed to allow their bodies to feel each and every last bit.

David’s eyes rolled back and his lips parted with every inch, his impatient hips staying put to allow her to tease him the whole duration. He couldn’t resist, nibbling upon her lower lip, tasting her tongue, brushing his hands along her generously sizable behind. His sultry gaze upon hers entirely, never leaving it as the motion began, her hips thrusting him deeper, making them both gasp.

David’s silky deep tone echoed around the room, sending shivers down her spine, every rasp and pant, he was turned on beyond belief. His hands dropped to allow her to continue, slowly rocking against him at first, drawing out each motion, making him yearn for more, his eyes pleading, length pulsating wildly.

Iman slid her hands down in front of her, pressed against his chest as she straightened her back and started to really get him groaning. He gazed up at her as she gazed down at him, sharing facial expressions, her movements growing and growing until he was cussing and panting too.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 63 |

Rated M for Sexual Reference Trigger Warnings: Depression, Mourning, Death Mention

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

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In some ways Winter held a certain level of dismay in people’s’ minds. But in other ways, it also held many qualities that could cloud the bitter, miserable weather and bitey chills.

When was there a better time to gorge on Hot Chocolate and excuse staying at home or even tucked up in bed. It was a season of togetherness, families, couples, flocks of seagulls. Everybody and everything was moving quickly, shuffling through ankle deep slush, wading through powdery layers of snow. It was a time that definitely brought us all closer together, with the nature parks & swimming pools out of the question. It meant indoors stoking the fireplace or tediously notching up the boiler dial was the place to be.

Lucky for them, David’s apartment was particularly well insulated and fitted with sufficient heating. Even the towel racks and tiled floors heated to keep them warm. It meant nothing really changed for them. Still able to skip about in the nudey freely as they wished.

Iman found it an amusing clash. David Bowie. Creator of Ziggy Stardust. Fashion Icon in the music world. Known widely for pushing the boundaries with clothing, dresses, kimonos, platform boots…

It turned out that he actually revelled in the glorious freedom of his home, freedom of clothes. He was pretty relieved to be free of itchy labels and any form of restriction. It was a rare occasion he might pull on a pair of boxers if the mailman came or a friend was due. But otherwise it was nothing out of the ordinary in his household, now, their household.

Currently David remained almost completely still as he squinted from the window, cuddled up against Iman’s front. Legs either side of hers, allowing Iman to continue running her fingers through his hair.

“It’s going to be a home day today.”

David mumbled against her, turning his head to look her way again.

“Well I don’t have anything to do today, luckily..”

Iman replied with a relieved sigh, feeling just as lazy and lethargic as David looked slumped against her with a pout of sorts. Home day didn’t mean bed all day, but simply spending time together whatever they got up to. Housebound was no chore to them. It was nice to take days off from the outside world, a steady recharge before stepping out in front of judging eyes and dishonest cameras.

It could get frustrating sometimes, when they went out together intending a discrete day out or quiet meal together. Wherever they went the nosey paps tagged along. But it was nowhere near as bad as David’s hometown where the Artists were tagteamed the moment they woke up to when they went to bed.

Which is why he unfortunately, couldn’t go back to stay. He wouldn’t settle in England with his familiarity there. He had no idea how to remain anonymous there so he wouldn’t even try. New York had always been an interesting location for him. He’d always wanted to live here and now he did, and had been in and out a few times.

The culture and locals were a whole new wonderful bunch. Around Soho & Manhattan. It was littered with unique and interesting shops, bookstores, record stores, it was a musicians galore. And not quite as in your face as other places he had been to in the past. Possibly one of the more settled places of all, Berlin being another, Switzerland probably one of the quietest. He still owned his retreat there, so him and Iman could go skiing. But living there, it could get lonely in the little remote villages.

“Come on hun, I’ll make you some breakfast.”

Iman eventually found herself fidgeting to get up and start the day, but she was stuck under the big warm trancing lump, David. He was delayed in response, but he lifted up and let her scooch out and pad around. While faceplanting into her pillow himself, still too out of it to face the day. But he rolled out of bed after her a couple of minutes later, despite his lazy, tired form. Slouching around, grabbing his gown and tugging it on as he walked through to the kitchen space.

Iman already had the pan on the stove, milk carefully measured, and stirred consistently so it didn’t curdle. The kettle sitting waiting, steaming. She worked efficiently and quickly in the kitchen, it was almost a hidden passion, her time spent cooking. Obviously, David hadn’t been quite as interested but then she understood the way he would get by, less cleaning and waiting when going out to restaurants or heating pre made meals.

But she was determined to keep him healthy, those meals were packed full of carbohydrates and not good enough to sustain him. Occasionally, but not daily. He didn’t need those though. Iman made larger portions of things to stow away so when he came wandering in he’d have options but also well prepared home cooked food.

Freezing pasta sauces and stews. Iman made him breakfast every morning, and he ate leftovers for lunch most days. Goodness knows what he’d do without her. When she left for work, he needn’t sit and ponder. She knew that the other side of his unhealthy diet before their meeting was forgetting to eat or not doing so to avoid cooking.

David sleepily leaned against the wall, quickly greeted with a hot steaming mug of coffee and his cigarettes, a lighter. She was more than used to his unchanging routine by now, and she realised how important it was for him not to tamper with it. He didn’t like change, he was a creature of habit. It made everything simpler, minimal effort required from his brain so he could function until he finished his first cup of coffee.

“Thank you darling.”

He muttered before gratefully taking his first sip, testing the temperature before gulping instead. He could drink it almost straight from the kettle. And the sooner he got his caffeine, the sooner he could start his day.

It followed the usual hum of content as he drank the coffee pretty quickly while Iman was shifting around the kitchen preparing their breakfast. She regularly bought in fresh products to make meals with, fruits and vegetables, specialised breads. Though David tried to get away with just syrup in his porridge, she littered the top with berries and fruits to keep him healthy.

Iman was the more assertive one of the pair, once she had stepped into his life, he had taken quite a backseat and always followed along with her because she was usually right, looking out for him. It was quite the change for the usually assertive, confident and cocky London boy in him. But he actually found comfort in being the observer.

It didn’t mean his cheeky confidence wasn’t there. He just knew Iman had certain tasks she had to do herself too. Sharing control and responsibility between them. It took some of the pressure off.

“It’s hot, be careful.”

Iman warned him with a raise of her brow as she grabbed their bowls and handed him his, following after him padding through to the lounge space to slump down on the sofa. He switched the TV on and idly flicked through the channels to the news before taking his first mouthful.

He had looked at her with a raise of his own brows, he drank his coffee scalding hot. But he was puffing and waving his hands in seconds, struggling to swallow his food. Iman snorted and shrugged, it had been boiled and cooked through at a high temperature, higher than he was expecting.

She was carefully blowing upon her own spoon, and he was quick to sit up and make more effort to cool his own. His gaze upon the television as he was soon enjoying his porridge after burning the roof of his mouth. It was the same old political nonsense really, false promises, or pumping negativity into the populous.

He was soon to change the channel, and finish his breakfast, laying back into the sofa and sighing softly, eyes half closed. Iman looked over at him quizzically, he was easy to read, there was something on his mind. But before she opened a can of worms, she took care of their bowls and let them rest to soak in the sink.

When she returned David had disappeared, and she had to make a decision. Follow after him or let him have some space. She knew he was quite inward sometimes, letting thoughts gather or rather unreleased feelings. He could get clammed up and when he used to live alone, he’d just sit upon it until there was a release. He didn’t have to hold it all in anymore, and that was something he was still getting used to because he didn’t like to offload in fear of affecting his confidant. In this case, Iman.

She noticed his office door was open and decided to peer in quietly. He was sat in front of the window, trancing out upon the skyline aimlessly, wearing a slight frown and folding his arms. He was definitely not right, he was too busy, too impatient, it was rare he ever sat down and did so little. He always needed to have something to do and would work copiously or fill his time with whatever he could to not let himself sit dormant. Otherwise, this is how he ended up, lost in thought, facing everything his work and hobbies had been tucking away.

Even on his days off, if he didn’t have anything else planned, he ended up working again just to fill the void.

“David.”

Iman slipped into the room and approached him, settling herself down right next to him and taking up one of his hands to rest between both of hers. He was hesitant to look her way, she could see the mask slipping, he always tried to put on a brave face. Even when he was convincingly smiling and goofing about, deep down, he may not feel that way at all. But around Iman, he let his guard down. There were only a handful of people in his entire life that got that close to him, intimately, it was very intimate for him to share his thoughts and feelings.

“Talk to me.”

She spoke quietly, encouraging him, as he looked down at his feet and his whole expression diminished quite quickly. There was a glaze upon his eyes, a sadness in his drooped head and almost inaudible sighs.

It remained silent for some minutes, but she didn’t push him to open up, or talk. It was his choice, but she had made it very clear that she was there by his side and there to stay, as long as he needed.

He did look her way, there were small glistening streaks down his cheeks, little droplets clinging onto his chin. You’d think, how could somebody with so much going for him, so much success and luxury, comfort…

How could he feel depressed? How could he get down when his life was so high, everything was going for him. Well. There’s a very simple answer to that. He is only human. As the rest of us. It would be freakish of anyone to never get down, never feel blue.

Iman held his gaze, seeing him leaning forward and coming to catch him in her arms, kissing his forehead softly, letting his face rest against her neck. She could feel the fresh tears seeping and dripping upon her skin, gulping and trying to remain strong for him. But something had really broken him. Even in his lower moods, she never saw him cry, it was such a rare occasion.

She held him close and rubbed his back, he was almost starting to hyperventilate when she did lift his head and touch noses with him, forcing him to look at her this time.

“David, look at me, look, what’s wrong, did something happen?”

She held his chin, her tone and look sincere, this wasn’t just him feeling low, what had she missed?

“It’s n- I… I don’t usually get like this.”

He grimaced and wiped at his tears, stumbling upon his words and gulping audibly to try and gather himself.

“I uh.. It’s um, my father’s birthday to-today.. I’m sorry… It’s nothing serious.. I don’t know why it got to me.. He’s been dead twenty years now, I don’t usually get like this..”

David stuttered, confused, letting Iman wipe fresh tears away with her thumbs delicately, he drew a sad smile, but his lips trembled as he broke down again.

Iman held him tightly again, kissing just behind his ear as he trembled in her arms. He was quite collected and calm usually, so this was a moment that, without it coming across as strange or sadistic; she cherished seeing his emotional side because she knew he never gave anyone else even a hint. It reminded her of how special she was to him, to have that bonded trust, and the fact that he wasn’t just scrambling to hold it all in. Because it was unhealthy, and against the nature of a human being.

It was cherished for his sake, the more he got off his chest, the better, in her eyes. Even she wasn’t always sure just how much emotion he kept pent up inside. But she’d soon realised that he was an ever so emotional man. So emotional that he constantly moved between rooms, going into the office to throw it all down on paper rather than shout, or throw his weight, or show any such unpleasant behaviour. Which he had never done, she’d seen him annoyed, and frustrated, but never angry.

“You have nothing to be sorry about hun, it’s hard, I know you were closer to him than your mother. I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner.”

Iman told him, as he lifted his head again and started to smile instead. He was focusing on the memories of him, the good times.

“I remember once, I had just got home from school and I was sitting in the living room. He came stomping through the door with a big old dusty crate and threw it down in front of me and Terry. We both looked at each other, because he just left the room without saying anything, and obviously, we wanted to know what was in the crate. Turns out he’d spent almost all of his cash on record for us, we fought over a few of em’, me and Terry.. That’s the sort of man he was.. I’d like to think I took after him in some way.”

David shared his anecdote with a change of moods, becoming animated as he explained, a big smile growing. Iman smiled sweetly, an arm around him, pouting and eyeing him when he showed a little doubt.

“David, Robert, Jones. You are the most beautiful. Interesting. Generous. Loving. But also frustrating man, I’ve ever met. Look, come on, look.”

Iman planted kisses on his jaw to punctuate her sentence, cheering him up as he formed a tiny blush and smiled when she did so. She took up his left hand with hers and held it up in front of them both.

“Look. Do you really think we’d be wearing these if you weren’t all those things.”

David gazed upon their rings with such bliss, his toothy grin shining, looking to her with a cheeky glower.

“Probably not..”

He muttered cutely, his eyes rolling up and down, between her lips and eyes, before he leant straight for her and engaged in a ceremonious kiss, where they leant upon another heavily, starting out innocent, but this is Iman and David we’re talking about here.

David gasped against her lips, smiling, both of them giggling a little bit when their eyes caught another’s again, noses still pressed; they weren’t finished yet…

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 62 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

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It is strange.

Strange what a huge difference the right choice makes. It’s effects rippling, the influence spreading. It’s impact a permanent marker point in one’s life. It could be small, tiny, inconsequential to anyone else’s eyes. Or a complete overhaul, a huge leap forward and probably into the unknown.

Iman laid there peacefully, collected and thoughtful as she had cast her mind back to Spencer, her ex husband. And to Zulekha, her distant daughter. All the while she thought about the past and flicked through the memories, David was laying right by her side. Still fast asleep, a gentle curve in his lips, his arm draped around her front, face near enough to feel the little breeze of his deep, gentle breaths.

Iman looked over him and over everything. Change was rewarding her for once, she needn’t worry for a second about her present situation and even her future. She knew David was here to stay, that fact was inevitable. He was maybe almost even more passionate and sure of his direction in life than he had ever been. Her workload was less since she had retired from super modelling recently before their first encounter. And David was a workaholic but easily persuaded, and the job he had was more of an optional front than a must. It’s not as though they’d run out of money anytime soon. Maintaining a job was purely to retain order & if they weren’t out seeing friends, their jobs were the little pockets of time they would have to themselves. Not that they ever seemed to tire of the more homebased life they had settled into.

Iman looked over David with care, and love, partnership and guardianship equally. Regarding him while he slept with her eyes slowly inspecting him. How much different he was from what she used to have, in many ways. And in a good way too, a very positive, prosperous way that filled her with motivation for the future and hope rather than a bitterness that had ended what she used to have.

It was different with David. So different. So good. Their connection and relationship was so strong, nobody could break that. Even their short lived arguments ended in laughter and a strong hug. They had found each other at the right time in their lives, where they were both actively seeking a partner for life, no longer promiscuous teens, and mature enough to resolve issues quickly and maintain a transparent honesty.

“Nnnnnnh..”

David budged slightly, the stirring brought her out of her thoughtful trance as she wore a very gentle smile, he was waking up in his normal fashion, she found his nature quite endearing; even herself as an icon in public sight, knowing that deep down they were all just human, with the way David held himself so immaculately, she was too left wondering what he was actually like - no longer, the ring she wore made her swell with pride whenever she caught glimpse of it.

“Nnnnnh..”

David groaned against her chest, where his face had ended up after stirring slightly. Iman ran her fingertips through his hair, combing it through her fingers and trailing them down his back.

“Honey..”

He was quite a deep sleeper, recovering that took some time and majesty. She just laid there allowing him to get his first full thought through, helping him wake up. It was almost midday by this point, so she knew he’d gripe if he didn’t get up now.

David lifted his head slightly as he found his bearings, squinting up at her, a cheshire grin growing on his face. Iman looked down and stroked his rosy cheek. He moved his other arm to drape around her and she rubbed his back softly, which always made him feel better but also kept him awake while he was trying not to roll over and sleep more.

“Good Morning Sleepy.”

Iman almost giggled, he was trancing, so she pulled him closer and laid a gentle kiss upon his lips. That usually worked, he couldn’t resist the affection.

“Hello you.”

He mumbled in his deep morning tone, reciprocating the gesture, brushing his hands against her shoulders where they landed.

“I feel very achy today.”

David laughed slightly, his body was still reeling from last night. He didn’t feel like moving, but he also didn’t usually like to sit dormant. He reserved that time for when he was particularly ill or hungover, something he wouldn’t have to feel again if he continued on the straight and narrow. Which he was determined and confident to maintain. His life was so much better now, he was forming solid memories again, not just blurs of before he had drank or taken too much drugs. For once, he didn’t have to rely on the newspapers and magazines to fill him in on the blanks.

And besides, his life had only climbed and climbed satisfaction wise. He started every morning and ended every day feeling a newfound satisfaction, even if he hadn’t been working, life itself was providing him with a buzz. It was so intoxicating to be high on life, he didn’t even need anything else.

After how him and Angie had ended up. And his relationship with Duncan and even the people around him. It was definitely best this way, he could get nasty drunk, Iman deserved so much better and that he would provide. He’d be a madman to even consider returning to anything from his unhealthy past that’d possibly result in losing Iman. That. That he would never do. He was far too in love, and cared for her far too much.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 61 |

Rated M for Smut Trigger Warnings: Mild Language, Anxiety

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

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In any household, there was bound to be something that people were challenged to cope with in another person; whether that be mental health related or simply, clashing personalities. It is all part of living with another person or multiple. It isn’t always going to be a harmonious fairytale time. It’s seeing people that closely, and studying them that often that makes you notice the smaller things in them. It’s coming to love another, that helps you move past them. Because if you’re sharing a house, and in relationship terms, a bed with another person, day in, day out, there’s bound to be ups and downs. It’s all a natural, and healthy part of life.

It would be more insane of a person, to never once crack in the comfort of their own home, than to have a few moments of downtime, or maybe quite a few. Some experienced more low moods than others. David experienced low moods often, he had become better at coping with them over the years, and masking them, but not necessarily experiencing it any less. It was harder for him to expect to get better, when he had to shovel it all away for later, in the fear of breaking down in front of a crowd, an audience. But he had realised, that although he didn’t at all, like the feeling, of breaking down in front of someone else, anyone else, he was in good hands when he had someone as close, as Iman. Without her, he’d probably still be struggling with his alcoholism, still giving up, still letting it consume him. He was convinced that was going to be the end of him, drinking himself to death. It had been completely, coincidentally, perfect timing, when they met.

Even at happiest, which he definitely was currently, feeling far more upbeat and motivated than ever with a newly acquired love life. He could still get low, and still have occasional anxiety, and paranoia attacks. It was something he wouldn’t share with others and it wouldn’t ever come into conversation, even if it did, he’d be reluctant to ever share that with anyone. It just wasn’t something you’d want to talk about. Or ever really know how to talk about. See. They taught us a lot of ‘useful’ things in early life education, but how to face real problems, and actually live among society, was not one of those lessons. It was a matter of learning from mistakes, and making a journey of your own first. Learning that it was not conventionally acceptable to act a certain way, or share certain things with people.

But it’s something society was definitely lacking, especially in this day and age, progressing to the new millennium, and still, everyone seemed to repulse at the thought of discussing, or acknowledging the very real problem, that was mental health, and what that entailed exactly.

With the bath ran, and just enough bubbles for David to tolerate, he laid there, with Iman between his legs, laid back, eyes almost closed, enjoying his gentle, and silent affection. Brushing her hair back between his fingers, reaching up for the hair products of hers, and applying them as he went, washing her hair for her. Gently massaging his fingers through, relaxed back, taking his sweet time with each strand, enjoying the quiet, gentle moment between them. Intimacy. It came in all forms, whether it meant holding hands, or something more lust-driven. Either way, it was intimacy, and it bonded two beings closer. Any form of touching, was a very special intimacy of it’s own really.

David gently rinsed her hair off, making sure it didn’t run into her eyes. It made her smile softly, it reminded her quite fondly, of her childhood. That was the last time she could happily remember, having her hair washed so carefully, and caringly. But of course, not quite like this. The man she loved more than any other in the world, holding her, and performing such a gentle act, no prompt, other than kindness, which he never seemed to run dry of. He scooched up and lifted up from behind her, letting her rest back, coming to sit further down the tub, hoisting one of her legs up, and grabbing a razor and gently bringing it to her leg, shaving the short hair away gently. This was what she had always wanted. When she thought of marriage, when she thought of relationships, she didn’t necessarily expect someone to be there to kiss her ass - or well - but she thought of someone that she could share such moments with, as simple, and meaningless as they may seem to anyone else. That was the point. It was their moment. He looked towards her, with his soft, butter-wouldn’t-melt eyes, kissing at the tip of her toe, a smile growing as he did so, warm, it was cherry on top.

Whenever people asked her. What are you doing with a man like him? Or whenever someone had the audacity, to ask David, how he had managed to pull her, while clearly gesturing to her, and then him, as though they weren’t both attractive people, she kept a cool composure, but on the inside, she was laughing hysterically. Nobody knew her David, David Jones. Not like she did. It made her feel special, and honoured, to have him all to herself, truly, she had a man, all to herself. Whatever anyone else knew, or fell in love with, was an image, a persona, him all the same, but not the version she was gifted. He was a very handsome man, but a whole new level of attractive, as a person. Such a beautiful person. Oh they didn’t even know, and what was better, they had the inside joke, of equally, finding amusement in what others said. They truly, knew nothing, the comments were fruitless to them.

In the same manner, he sat there and carefully, gently shaved her legs for her, sharing a glowering gaze, and matching smiles. It was loving, but of course, it had that touch, where the eyes did linger, and roll up and down one another suggestively. Patience. By time they would finish washing, and get out, the pizza would be due to arrive. So once he had finished shaving her legs, he washed himself off and finished the job, washing her body, and stepping out of the bath first, wrapping a towel around his waist loosely, before he held one out, arms wide stretched, stood there, awaiting her stepping out, coming to wrap it around her, and end up cuddling her up in the process, stood there with his check against her warm chest, padded by the towel, as she wrapped her arms around him and started to rub him dry while he blissfully cuddled into her, eyes closed, breathing deeply, letting her rub him dry.

“Ooh..” David was brought of his bliss when he heard the door rasp loudly, pulling the towel tighter, and rushing off to collect the pizzas, slipping and sliding across the laminate floor, grasping his wallet off the side and padding towards the door at once. He opened it only halfway, smiling towards the pizza delivery man, mostly hidden behind the door, but it was clear to see, he’d just gotten out of the shower, with his still sopping hair, and reddened skin.

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars sir.”

“Here you go, keep the change, thank you, have a good night.” David gave him a fifty and took the pizzas indoors, smiling and offering the delivery man a polite farewell, hoping the tip, and lightheartedness would do some kind towards him too. He was generally generous towards people like that, they were usually doing it purely for the desperation, needing to keep the job to afford the rent, but barely paying it, and finding themselves miserable in the process. All the shitty, tipless customers they had to deal with on a night-to-night basis. He always tried to cheer them up, and he always tipped nicely, he could afford to, why not give back?

Iman had dried herself off and leapt straight back into bed after pampering her legs with cream and letting the bath water out, laying there, the towel still wrapped loosely around her waist, snuggled up in the duvets awaiting him, when he came padding back in, balancing the pizzas in one hand, and holding at his towel with the other. He let go of it and huddled over to the bed, kicking the towel aside, and placing pizzas on her lap, jump into bed, getting comfortable under the covers with her.

“God it smells amazing, this is just what I wanted..” Iman sighed, smiling, taking her pizza from the top, smartly, they had labelled the pizzas, so they could tell which one was which, without having to open them up, one idea at a time..

“Mmm..” David agreed, this was definitely much better than being stood in the kitchen, still, like he would’ve been if he’d decided to give cooking another shot. He much preferred this plan B, to his original idea. Relaxing back in bed, snuggled up close, eating pizza. What would go well with this? Well for them anyway, keeping up with the soaps of course. He was still very much British in that way, no matter where he had lived, been to, over these years, he kept up with his British Soaps. Eastenders. It was a tradition, to sit down at seven thirty on an evening, with tea, and cakes, kicked up on the sofa, or cosied up in bed, watching the latest installment of Eastenders. Coronation Street. And perhaps Emmerdale, if you were to go as far as that.

He reached for the remote, holding his pizza slice in the other hand, taking a big bite as he switched the TV on and flicked through the channels, finding the channel airing Eastenders, which was due to come on soon. The only downside was, watching the episodes a day late in America, due to time differences and such, they aired yesterday’s episode, a day later, at seven-thirty instead. But as long as he got up to date with it, he didn’t mind seeing them a day late, he still kept up with the soaps.

David scoffed his pizza down rather quickly, ending up with hiccups, giggling mid-hiccup when he sat up and sat forwards and Iman pat his back, trying to coax it out of him. But he got up and placed the box aside, going for a quick cigarette, pulling on his boxers and standing out on the balcony, the glass was frosted, so he was pretty much protected from unwanted eyes, if they did look up this far anyway. But just to be sure. Plus, it was pretty chilly, he probably could’ve down with a gown, but he liked the rush of cool air, it reminded him of England. The fresh, cool air hitting his face. That was a pretty bog-standard morning in England, always frosty cold and windy, even indoors.

He smoked his cigarette at leisurely pace, while Iman remained in bed, enjoying her pizza, glancing at him stood out there, seemingly smirking to himself, about god knows what. Probably being soppy, or making up something comical in his head. He had a tendency of doing that, he was always good humoured, he just usually didn’t have anyone to share it with, not until he met her at least. When he had finished his cigarette, he came back indoors and lit a few candles before he slipped back into bed, a little chilly, he giggled when Iman squealed and cursed at him for placing his cold fingertips right against her thigh, almost spitting her pizza out.

“David.” Iman frowned at him as he laughed, laying back, cuddling up to her, for warmth, his cheek against her shoulder, gazing over at the television, one of his hands starting to gently explore. It ran against her tummy, stroking softly, sub-consciously really, he was getting engrossed in the episode. Iman soon finished her pizza, placing the box aside, watching the television, pretending to pay little note to David’s wondering hand, stroking up and down her body, across her thighs, over her tummy, and up against her chest.

They spent the entire hour, deeply ingrained in the programme, both of them were fans of the show, Iman newly introduced to it after becoming used to David watching it religiously, ended up getting into it herself and learning the characters and plots. Now it was a ritual of theirs, settle down in the evening and watch the soaps. She loved the little British quirks in him, maybe he didn’t drink tea like expected, but he did do other things. She did have the guilty secret of loving to lay in bed and watch food, or sit on the sofa and eat, whilst watching television. But it’s not what she’d been brought up on. Her family had been rather strict mannered, sitting at the dining table, no exceptions. But David made her realise that lounging about and eating food was acceptable, or at least, in England it definitely was. Some families liked to come together and eat together, but a lot of the time, especially more Northern families, simply sat around the television.

His hand snaked up to her chest, massaging it gently, grasping her attention, just as the credits came on, and the famous theme tune began, thudding along. Turning her head towards him, a half lidded, sultry gaze upon him. He had been sensually teasing her for almost an hour now, she hadn’t realised quite how worked up she had become, when she was all engrained in the show. The towel was definitely ruined, that was for sure. He gazed upon her in the same manner, suggesting, coaxing, leaning closer, as she tilted her head down towards him, and they caught in an embrace, his hand still stroking down her front.

“Mm..” Came their hums, as it grew steamy, open mouthed, he found himself being pushed onto his back, and held down, as Iman pressed her palm against his chest and suddenly shuffled, rolling over, mounting his thighs, coming to straddle him, still making out, not breaking away once. They panted against another lips desperately, his hands coming to firmly grasp at her backside, massaging it between his slender fingers, a few of them slipping down further to tease at her slit gently. “Mmh..” David grunted against her lips breathlessly, groaning when she bucked her hips once, aligning with his settled, prodding length, rubbing up against it.

Iman grasped at his hair, as she fiercely, passionately kissed him, to which he slapped at her ass in response, before breaking away and suddenly throwing her down under him, reversing their positions smoothly, coming to straddle her instead, clambering up, pinning her down and resuming their heated kissing once more. “Mmmm..” Iman moaned into mouth as he ground his hips firmly, causing a much wanted, much needed, much sought after friction, making him gasp against her. He slipped his hands down to her hips, taking a grasp of them, kissing her deeply still, grinding harder, groaning into her mouth again.

Iman held her hands at his ass, encouraging him, to which he broke free of her lips, leaving them both panting furiously already, eyeing each other lustfully, as he moved his hips and suddenly pushed into her, grunting as he started to enter, and groaning once he had settled in. His thrusts were strong, and desperate, growing in speed rapidly, rocking against her, trying to contain his moans, breathlessly unable to do so, panting out his pleasure as she moaned his name and grasped at him strongly, assisting his thrusts.

“David.. ohh..” Iman’s eyes rolled closed, as he pressed hot, wet, open mouthed kisses against her exposed neck, his own groans muffled against her skin, steadily thrusting harder and harder until the flesh against flesh was undeniable. Undeniably pleasurable. He lifted his head back, panting out, gasping for air, slowing down suddenly, pulling out only to turn her over onto her front, slapping at her ass, a cue for her to curl up onto her knees for him, as he grasped her by the hips and thrust back in strongly, continuing his merciless thrusting once more.

“Ah yesss..” David slapped her ass roughly again, making her moan louder, and jerk against him, bowing her head, leaning against her forearms, keeping her hips held high for him. He kept going and going, gasping for breath, only surrendering when he felt her suddenly buck harshly against him, slowing his thrust as he moaned out in the epic height of their climax; the sweetest sound of all, even in bed, the most elegant, and erotic tone.. And that face he pulled. Iman tugged him down onto his back and straddled him instead, slipping down onto him as he recovered, still wearing that face as he panted and tried to collect himself, barely managing to before she caught his lips and started roll her hips against him again…

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 60 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

“I was going to suggest the same but you always cook for me so I did want to return the favour.” David smirked slightly, he really hadn’t wanted to cook but he had been willing to if she was needing to be cared for after a long day at work. His confidence in the kitchen was zero to none, and the mess that he made was an armageddon they would rather avoid. His cooking was occasional and more of a romantic gesture than anything, to cheer her up or simply as a nice surprise when she returned home. Iman had the reigns in the kitchen really.

Iman smiled softly and shook her head at him. He didn’t need to return any favours. It wasn’t something she expected him to do. But the gesture was sweet and she appreciated it all the same. He did doubt himself far too much when it came to his cooking. He had a wide taste when it came to cuisine. To say he was a fairly narrowly built man with a very lean muscular structure, he had a good taste in foods. “Don’t be silly, I don’t fancy cooking anyway,” She muttered to him as she undressed slowly and slipped into bed, taking the bobble out of her hair and letting it fall loose upon her shoulders, “Besides, when was the last time we had takeaway…” She reasoned with him as he seemed worried about it. He was just careful about her diet and such, he knew she liked to eat a balanced diet but a one off wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t so fussed though because he seemed to just lack the ability to put on many pounds after binging out fattening meals and sugary foods, he didn’t need to worry so much about putting on any pounds at all, he could use a little more tummy to tuck.

David nodded and came wandering over, landing down on the bed beside her with a thump, face first, sighing against the pillow before he rolled over and handed the menu to her to flick through first. Meanwhile he got cosy under the covers, after kicking off his clothes, scooching up next to her, almost sharing her pillow, resting his cheek against her shoulder gently. He reached for his reading glasses and slotted them on, resting upon his nose, glancing at the menu with her. “I want something with lots of meat.” He decided and pointed to the meat pizzas, eyeing the calzone particularly.

“I think I’ll go for the seafood pizza.” Iman tapped her finger against her choice, as David read the description and nodded. He wasn’t a massive fan of shellfish, or particularly on a pizza but he knew she did love her shellfish. After their experience in France he had quickly came to understand that she loved fish of all meats. It was one of the few they could eat without needing to go to the halal butchers. But it was no big deal really, he couldn’t be fussed in the slightest that they ate halal meat instead. It was actually a more satisfying thought, to be eating an animal that had a quick and painless death, and free life before that moment. Not caged and choked like supermarkets packaged their meat. There was no difference apart from the way it was killed and prepared. Exactly the same meat, different, more gentle method upon the animals. He didn’t know what all the fuss about stores selling halal was.

“Hmm. Calzone.. I think I want Calzone.” David looked between two choices for a moment and then made his mind up quickly, or they’d be there all day, with what loopty loops his mind could do when making such decisions. Kid in a candy store cliche, in every situation when he had more than one option, when it came to choosing shoes, or clothes, food, books. He sometimes ended up buying nothing, and sometimes multiple things just to settle his inner whirling over which to choose. But that nature out of work completely contradicted David’s surefire ways of deciding what he wanted to do with his work next, what direction he wanted to take, what genre, what haircut, style, instruments. He could figure all of that out easily. But it had taken him some time to get used to that systematic way of handling things.

He picked up the phone from his nightstand, pulling at the cord slightly, and dialing the number, ordering their food quickly, before he hung up and laid back and relaxed properly. It would take at least an hour on delivery, which was a pretty good estimation to be given on a chaotically busy Saturday night in New York. The man on the phone said. So they had time to take a bath and relax before the food would arrive.

David raised his head and lifted from the bed, getting up and stretching his arms with a loud yawn. It was amazing just how much spending a day being creative could drain an individual. He felt satisfied with his workload today, he had slowly begun to ease himself back into it and learn to juggle his personal and work life effectively at the same time. He didn’t want to rush into anything. After all, he knew himself better than anyone. And he knew, that he couldn’t do something without throwing himself right into it. Meaning he’d probably end up spending very little time with Iman in the process. Something he didn’t want to do. But there was a good balance he was managing to maintain currently. He wanted to bond with her, and keep her happy, all the same. She said she was fine with him working, but she had yet to experience the full extent of his workaholic side. His serious, levelheaded, Bowie facade. She hadn’t met Bowie yet, in his full glory, and fall.

He humbly shuffled along into the bathroom and made to get the bath running, he could do with one himself anyway, and Iman definitely insisted upon a nice hot bubble bath. He hadn’t really interfered with her work life all too much, he had heard bits and pieces when she’d been on the phone, sometimes entirely in another language so he was left to just sit there and wonder what she was frustrated about, or laughing about. But he knew she worked very hard, and was very successful as a result. Her charitable works were remarkable, she constantly supported those in need, something David always did when he had the chance. It was definitely a level they bonded on. Generous souls, looking out for others. Possibly, sometimes more than themselves.

Iman eventually lifted herself up after him, swanning into the bathroom up behind him, watching him carefully adding the bubble bath. Very precise amounts. His face of concentration on. Oh the little things. The little, strange, quirky things they found in one another. He had his routines. His apt measurements for bubble bath being one of them, one of the more, miscellaneous, but amusing ones. But whatever made him comfortable right? He seemed to have cracked the method to a perfect bubble bath, he always ran it just the right temperature, and just enough bubbles for her, so who would she be to complain? She hardly could when she got a glimpse at that face.

“Is that enough?” She asked him softly, which made him notice her presence, turning with a quirked brow, melting into a guilty smirk very quickly.

“Yes..” He chuckled, “I uh- it’s- I don’t like too much in there.” He tried to explain himself and she just brush her hand through his hair and kissed his forehead, as he blushed to himself. How long had she been there? He had been so focused upon getting it right, he lost all track of the outside world, it’s how his attention span worked. Functioning very well in keeping on top of one area, but losing track of anything else. One at a time. No multi-tasking. That’s where it got extremely tricky for him. He did try to multi-task, again and again, he never gave up trying. But he was no good at it. Rather than one piece of lightly toasted bread, there’d be a loaf’s worth of burnt toast in the trash.

“I like it when you concentrate, such a handsome face.” Iman sounded as though she was teasing him, but no kidding, it was rather attractive. It brought out his jawline perfectly, that unrelenting expression. David pouted and she held her fingers to his chin, lifting his head and pecking his lips, drifting by towards the mirror to remove her makeup before their bath.

“I know it’s weird.. but I always do it. It makes the perfect bubble bath.” David mumbled eventually, after some frowning, and thinking on it. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, it was one of those home habits, that nobody would ever know about, unless they knew him as intimately as this, as Iman was coming to know him. Which is something they were both still getting used to, as a couple, after years of stagnating as far as relationships were concerned. Being at home alone all that time, they had to open back up, and loosen their shoulders. Remember they lived with another person. But there was nothing wrong with having habits, and different ways of doing things, even if it was a matter of pouring ample amounts of bubble bath into the cap before adding it to the water. Quirky, but to love, not pick upon. It was nothing negative.

“David..” Iman sighed as she recognised his flustered look, the one she knew all too well by now. She turned towards him, wiping off the last of her makeup, and dropping the flannel on the sink, looking at him sincerely, he seemed to think he’d done wrong, by the look on his face, she could see the cogs working on overdrive, behind all that, driving him mad. She could only imagine what his mind did to him, she had come to understand, and grow used to his bouts of paranoia, something the papers hadn’t yet exposed him for, and never would, he kept it well under wraps nowadays. But it was still an existing part of him, anxiousness, a whole heaped tablespoon too much of it, mixed into the recipe of his creation.

“If you didn’t do things, the way you do, you wouldn’t be you.” She told him, “And I love you. Darling, stop worrying, I doubt I could think any less of you for anything you did really, you’re such a gentle, lovely man.” She knelt down next to him and spoke to him, ceasing his worrying, she knew he was trying too hard, he naturally did so, because he was rather insecure, he was in an unkind position where, he felt as though he had built his title up too far, and he wasn’t living up this imaginary expectation. Part of being famous he supposed, famous for one thing, doing another. “I love you just the way you are, or else, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” She brought him in for a kiss, it was a rare occasion, that he hadn’t already beat her to it.

He relaxed instantly, slowly smiling against her lips, as she pulled back and gazed at him a moment longer, making sure he was settled. He needed a lot of affection, a lot of reassuring to feel secure. She completely empathised with him on that. She was exactly the same sometimes, but it flared in different ways, and he seemed to be so experienced in that himself, that he complimented her and made her feel comfortable before it even really showed. Iman really enjoyed taking care of him, and being given the room to show him how much she did care, back. A lot of relationships ended up being top heavy, which is where they began to crumble. One partner doing a lot more work than the other. Or one dominating it too much. Nothing wrong with a leader, but the shared power, and shared action, was part of what made a perfect relationship, being able to consult one another, and then,make a move, together.

People didn’t see that side of David. The rest of the public. The people that adored him. Or loved his work. Didn’t get very much insight on the man himself. He managed to keep that private enough, which is how he wanted it, being able to craft and form his own barrier between them, so he could cope. Which is something that had definitely made him crumble at the beginning, it all happened so fast, he was so inexperienced. Suddenly, the papers were slandering his name, he had to deal with all this talk, hearing of himself in so many different perspectives, having to rush in and out of buildings with assistance. Not being able to live as freely, as he had before fame struck. He was thrown into the deep end. He hadn’t really considered all of those aspects beforehand. Or had a chance to before, bang, he was everywhere, and a superstar in the world’s eyes. It wasn’t too late though. Slowly but surely, he managed to wedge a gap between him and the media, what went on the front cover, and what remained his, as his own world, not everyone else’s, or what they saw of him. Of course image mattered to him. It was his career. And while he didn’t believe the utter nonsense they slapped on paper and sold to people, as a cheap idea to make their business, well, not so cheap. Others bought into it, and some were rather led by hearsay. He had to be careful.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

David Bowie - Buddha Of Suburbia (1993)

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 59 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

One sock. Two pairs of boxers. One half eaten sandwich. Glancing at half open books laid lone on each surface she walked past. Iman simply shook her head in sighed but a smile managed to creep onto her face, the corners of her lips turning slightly, she couldn’t be stubborn with that big teddy bear. David did get an earful for his scatty habits but she ended up being the one forgetting what she walked in a room for when he either had her giggling or pulling him by his tie. He was naturally very good at protecting himself from getting to the point. Protecting? Well in a different, more decentered point.

He didn’t like to dwell on negative little nags unless they really needed to be addressed. But the things that bothered other people like not shutting a door behind them, or forgetting to close the toilet seat, were the least of his concerns. In that way he was completely carefree. He didn’t like to take life all too seriously, at least not to that degree. He had figured that was how he’d end up even more depressed. Because those little pestering annoyances laid right around the corner always, when you let them get to you every time. Iman did get through to him. He understood the frustration, he did frown when he walked in beauty products littering the sink when all he wanted was a simple shave, a razor, shaving cream, simple stuff really. But clouded by the clutter upon his workspace. Instead of rising to that frustration by blaming the other, he did the simpler, easier thing; moved it out of the way. Sometimes trying to instill a lesson in someone was simply a lost cause. Habits were something everyone had, whether good or bad, they remained, they lingered, they were subconscious and usually inconsequential anyway.

The more time she had spent pent up in her dreamworld, the more she realised how much she wanted to remain basking that glorious second world they had created. That was still blossoming. David was the absolute center of her world. Returning home from a what felt, even more so than usual, long day, was an absolute pleasure, a damned relief. When she came in she hung her long coat next to his and leant against the wall as she immediately soothed herself by becoming a few inches shorter, removing the uncomfortable heels she had wore for an important meeting earlier in the day. She found her reputation hard to keep up with sometimes. Although she effortlessly carried out most looks, she simply had this itching in the back of her mind. What would people think if she were to strut out in joggers. Rather than become headline for such a petty thing, she did usually go out and dress to impress. But at least to impress David. Although their whole relationship wasn’t really built upon that kind of nature. Of competition. Of pride for the world around them. But rather for themselves, and them alone. It was just about the two of them; and to that note, whomever they were to be graced with when the time did come, for them to get to that predestine desire to share a child. To procreate, and spread their love to another being, raise it as their legacy, that was their pride right there, what they had, in something irreplaceable

To come into the sound of her sweet, loving husband doing what he loved, was something that’d definitely lift her spirits already. The gentle strumming of a guitar in the other room and the occasional low vibrations of his kind, familiar voice. It felt good to be home. Good to come home to him. To everything that they had created. Although it had hardly hit it’s peak yet. There wasn’t really a pinnacle or a plummet for them. Just a fairytale romance really, fairytale almost, it felt like that ninety percent of the time. The bliss of love really, quite simply. It’s essence. Their very essence as what they stood for as a beautiful couple, was an essence powerful enough to bring joy, and harmony in many other hearts around. It would live on. Even after their time.

“Mm..mm..” David was concentrating particularly hard, focusing on his strumming, and pausing only briefly to jot little bits and bobs down. See he was good at that part. Remembering to write things down to remember. His brain may be able to lose parts of the information in the chaos that was his mind, but the paper would not, only by the tragedy of a flame, or the sudden strike of waterdrops. He didn’t count on that happening. He had a safe place. He was organised enough to have a place where he stored all his jottings, all his lyrics, melodies, the products that came out of a good night’s work. Productive night’s work at least. He was pleased with this evening. He had managed to master the basics of a few more songs which would probably end up drafted bonus tracks on his release for the BBC documentary, but the nevertheless, he was satisfied.

“Darling?” David’s gentle tone came as he turned his head to the door just as she was entering, smiling at him already, those expecting eyes, lighting up as they laid upon her figure, her form, her familiar face. Goodness knows when that novelty would die down. Never. Never in a million years. He had been finishing up anyway, just strumming his guitar for fun now. Kidding himself really. He had finished working for now, he was just passing time now, waiting for her to come home. He had already looked through the cupboards and the fridge, he was tempted to start on dinner, but he liked their idea of open communication much better. As they did discuss everything, and work it out together. It was the first team, David had really managed to not try to squeeze an I into. He admitted that to himself. Him and Iman were a very strong team, and he found himself enjoying this co-leadership between them. It worked for him.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Iman entered quietly, creeping over to him, draping her arms around his front and pecking his cheek softly. He could give her two minutes of him time, she knew he would anyway, he had became quickly, predictable in that way. He ate from her palm, and she did his quite some too, but both of them, in their more playful ways, did not forget that fact about one another. It was one beautiful syncopathy of it’s own.

“I was just waiting for you to get home actually.” He smiled softly, leaning up to peck her lips back, making that familiar, comforting sound when she rubbed his cheek with her fingertips briefly. Always so affectionate. Something she definitely did fall for massively, a lot to give, in return for a lot to receive. Balanced out between them. Both very affectionate, and showing it proudly, freely to one another.”Busy?”

“Pretty much. Lots of boring meetings.” Iman rolled her eyes and giggled slightly when he took hold of her hand and lifted from the chair, coming to wrap his arms around her waist and bring her close, his eyes glowering in their mischievous, and warm fashion before he kissed her properly. It was a familiar, but not unwelcome greeting by now.

“Oh and you have to come home to boring old me now huh?” David sighed and shrugged his shoulder slightly, being dramatic, just to tease her. Like he was fishing for a compliment, but he was just teasing, he knew she didn’t really think that. She in fact, seemed rather delighted to see him. Naturally, he thought snidely, in contradiction to his comment.

“David.. You are far from it, you silly man.” Iman scolded him softly and gave him the reaction he wanted, as he smirked and snorted slightly, kissing her again softly. He was definitely happy to see her. It had only been hours. God what was he like. He was growing ever so dependent. But he kept reminding himself, a team, communicate. She may’ve had plans for dinner, she may’ve wanted to do something. She did usually like to do dinner after all, unless he was being all romantic, then she’d leave him to it, she’d never turn a good romantic gesture down.

“Are you hungry darling?” He asked curiously, as a cue, “I was going to make some pasta but I wasn’t sure what you fancied.” It was honest enough. Last thing he wanted to do was make something, then find out she was feeling an entirely different dish.

“Mm, very.” Iman nodded but left the question undecided, she knew it meant, make a suggestion for dinner. He was more than prepared to get his hands dirty and make something for them both, but he wanted to know what she wanted.

“Pasta?” David asked softly, “Spaghetti?”

“Hmm.” She detached from him gently as he turned to start packing up his stuff and tucking it away for the evening. His notes and such. The guitar tucked neatly back in the corner with the other instruments laying around. He had plenty to play about with.

“Actually.” She started and he dusted his hands off and came towards her again, quirking his head.

“What?”

“I just want to get these clothes off, take a nice, long hot bath and snuggle up in bed.” Iman told him, “Can we order in?”

“Of course, but what do you fancy?” David wondered as he went to find a menu through his draw, searching carefully, picking through plenty of fliers and other miscellaneous pamphlets all neatly piled in one section of his drawers.

“Pizza.” Iman smiled softly, going towards the door, waiting for him.

He found the menu and slipped it out from near the middle of the pile, shutting the draw and following her out of the room, towards the bedroom.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 58 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

Back in his office, David relaxed back in his recliner behind his moderately organised desk space, holding his hand to his mug as he chattered away on the phone to a friend. His record players distinct crackling becoming a sound of ambience to the giggling, and waffling of David. Once he started talking to Reeves he didn’t stop, they had the kind of relationship where just looking at one another was sometimes enough to have them both laughing and grinning. Silly boys, with a lot of silly in-jokes. David was glad to still be on good terms with Reeves after the end of the band had came. The Sales brothers were not quite as easy as that, and hadn’t taken it as well as expected. But then Reeves had a similar position to David, he had contacts, he had a mind to get places and become something. He was confident in his skill and that’s what drove him. He knew even with the end of the band, he was not being entirely fucked over by that decision. Plus, he rationalised David’s reasoning for that abrupt ending and defined it for himself. He knew this was just something they’d had to expect all along. It wasn’t the first time David did such a thing. Except this time, he wasn’t as high as a kite, so he could be a tad more gentle about it and give the breaking some forethought.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t warned them. Or that their band proposal had ever been based upon a plan built to last. It was a short lived thing. It worked in some ways and in others it was catastrophic. For different reasons in each of the beholder’s eyes. David enjoyed the experience nonetheless. The chance for change, and a new taste to open him back up to the idea of exploration once more. Something that, by the end of the eighties, and by time the chance to start this band came, he thought he had hopelessly dropped into unforgiven depths that he would never be destined to find his musical originality ever again. He felt as though he had shrunk into the mould of each and every other artist around him and now he was doomed to remain there until he couldn’t bare another step. But this had provided exactly what he wanted, the aims were met. He needed a new kick, a new flame to ignite. And he had found just that in their explorative musical direction over the past four years.

It had already all been settled and put to rest in their minds. Reeves and David giggled like always, making the silliest of jokes, things others may not define as joke or exactly crease in the same way as them. They shared a common ground in humour, the beauty of the random. He was regularly on the phone to Reeves, reaching out, showing that he did care. Righting his wrongs, he didn’t want to relive the past, especially not sober. It was bad enough back then, he had felt guilt, and all other hazardous emotions that could’ve led him to his end. But now he’d actually have to face it head on. No numbing effects of the drugs there to cradle him. Not that he relied on them to do that. He hadn’t even been aware of his ruthlessness and tact in getting his own way, he had become a braindead zombie, in his own mind. He couldn’t even remember large portions of that time period. But oh the glory of being in the spotlight, something he could actually appreciate the press for. They kept a diary of his life at it’s key moments back then, so he could always research just what exactly he had been up to then, he didn’t need to be left in the dark forever. Or on everything.

“Ah. Okay, I’ll speak to you tomorrow Reeves.” David rubbed the corners of his eyes of the drying tears of laughter, still wearing a big grin. That man. Always cheered him right up. He knew he could talk to Reeves when he was frustrated, or feeling as though he was about to sink. He trusted him to find a way to get him past that. With humour. The best cure for David. Someone that could make him tickle, could solve everything, because he did love a good humoured individual.

“Definitely, yes, okay, ta’ra for now.” He wished him farewell and let the phone slide back onto the receiver, immediately taking up his mug and taking a large satisfying gulp of the lukewarm liquid inside. It wasn’t the lava hot coffee he usually liked, but he’d drink a coffee in any form, never waste a good coffee. If he were that insistent on it’s state, he’d just warm it up in a pan.

He also reached over and began to finish his salad. It was a fairly healthy lunch for him. But it was definitely the sort of salad he could agree with. Because Iman had a way of making all his detested foods fabulous once more. Probably just her what most of his commons would call ‘innovative’ seasoning usage. He ended up letting her cook for them both. After failing to properly boil his egg twice. But not because he was simply that terrible, he emphasised that far too much, his cooking skills were so-so. Because he ended up getting distracted both times. The first time he got lost in a book that had been conveniently been laying on the side nearby when he had started to fidget and grow impatient just stood there waiting. The second time he had to answer the door to the postman and bam, he managed to completely screw up his egg again. He wasn’t going to give up though. He was just about to start up some fresh water for a third, when Iman came strutting in, and took over after realising he had managed to screw it up twice. She said she’d make lunch anyway, he was just too hungry to wait. All that brainstorming, he worked up quite an appetite, even more so now that he was actually acknowledging it.

Caesar Salad. Nothing too fancy, just well cooked and seasoned chicken, some pine nuts and seeds, lots of greenery, avocados, and a few slices of grilled halloumi. But it was perfection. Never had he met someone capable of making him groan into every bite of his meal. He did adore her cooking, she was a far, far better cook than him that was for sure. He didn’t try to take on the helpless, flapping husband role. He just belonged there. He did try not to be such a helpless, sorry sucker. But he failed many a times. With cooking right, with organising the things right. Iman had a specific way, and she was happy doing it, knowing that it’d be her way. So as his laidback self, he let her do what she wished, but she wasn’t allowed to touch anything in his office. He did that himself, arranged his own vinyls, piled his own paperwork.

“Honey, I’m just nipping out for a while.” Iman popped her head in the door and he turned in place to look at her, finishing off his salad. “Is there anything you need while I’m out?” She asked him as she strutted in and offered to take his bowl out. She knew his habits, he held onto a few of his teenage habits that had never quite slipped. But only because of his foggy brain and click short attention span. Leaving his mugs and bowls on his desk was one of the things he did without thinking about it. It just didn’t occur to him when he padded out of the room eventually, that he had anything else to do other than escape before he was roped into four more hours of sitting there steaming rolling through his music.

“I’m going down to the studio to meet Tony shortly, I’ll grab anything I need then.” He assured her softly, kissing her farewell, brushing her hand, letting it go hesitantly. Everytime. He wanted to grasp it and convince her to stay. But she was a busy woman, it was either business related trips or social calls. Iman loved to sit on the phone for hours and chatter to her friends. In all languages! It seemed. He would just sit there blank faced and try to work out the odd word. But Iman spoke multiple languages, it baffled him, but also impressed him a lot. He did shiver when she spoke to him in Italian, just small phrases, that he could just about understand, that was usually something rather naughty, or affectionate - typical of him to know what that meant but get all raised brow at a simple hello. He knew how to ask for cigarettes, and a beer in most languages. Because of his touring, that was all he was equipped with when he visited another country.

This was definitely the first time in his life he’d been completely and utterly besotted with someone. Head over heels to the very definition. He had to be glad she’d hadn’t met him ten years previous. That he hadn’t ran into her while he was still wedged in the deep end of his addictions. Cigarettes were still a terrible habit of his but one terrible habit he didn’t even wish to change. But Iman did. She made it clear that she didn’t appreciate his smoking all too much but she’d didn’t push him nor extenuate that at all. She did give him little talks every now and then and gently probe him into answering whether he’d ever give up, if he’d even consider it, for his own health. The damage was already done really, but continuing wouldn’t do him any favours. It was just the old walk of life. Every individual had some sort of escapism, coping method. Whether that be addiction, or leisurely activities. Something to ease their stress, or push it to the back of their mind. It was an individuals choice what became their method, but it was whatever worked best for them. When David wasn’t coping too well with the plunge into stardom, he turned to drugs, mistakingly, for a number of years. Got past that, but he couldn’t let go of everything, it’d be foolish of him to think he could get completely clean just like that. Not from cigarettes, way too much hassle.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 57 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

“Oh you’re pretty good..” David was stood behind Iman, leaning over her as she sat before the piano and played back to him. First he had displayed a simple tune and then along with her basic knowledge of music reading, she had only played one wrong note back. Sometimes she liked to sneak in while he was busy magicking up melodies and lighten him up. She found that his work process was flattening at points, whether it be the long hours he submerged himself into it for, or simply the frustration it could cause for him sometimes. He would sit there and perfect it for hours and hours. He didn’t find the basic melodies hard, but he always had more to add, that was his problem. He couldn’t leave it alone once he’d started, little tweaks, fiddling about with the notes and ending up winding himself up with going back and forth between copies. He did appreciate it when she came in and sat with him, he enjoyed the company, she kept him smiling, and helped aid his musical process massively.

Of course. He did work massively off of emotion in his songs, which is why he touched so many. It all came from the heart, and the things he thought loosely, the things he felt for certain situations, or ideas. Right now, his life was revolving massively around the newfound love in his life, so of course, having the her sat right there, he was gushing with ideas. Like an artist hiding behind a canvas, with a palette of paint on their lap, brush swiping away, peeking from behind it towards the live model. Reference point. Plus, he felt as though doing it together, he could have a second opinion on what worked and what didn’t. He could also include her and not feel guilty for disappearing away for hours and hours. He was still adjusting to that. He’d sit down to get started and then just feel obliged to be with her instead. He couldn’t fully get past that in his mind. He was trying to right his wrongs. One of which was neglecting his partner for his music in a sense. Angie hadn’t been overly fussed all the time, she had given him a lot of freedom, as she had kept herself busy anyway. But he was never there it seemed, everywhere but home. Settling into his elder years, he had became more and more a homebody anyway, he had everything he needed here. It was almost a studio of his own in his large office space, bigger than all the other rooms combined.

David slid down on the seat next to her and took over, smiling as he settled down and began to play, wearing his reading glasses loosely upon the end of his nose as he glanced towards the sheet of music he’d gotten through so far. Even when he wasn’t writing for a cause, or working towards anything for the public eye, he was still creating. Iman draped her arms around him and rested her cheek against his shoulder, watching him as he got to work, singing softly under his breath, figuring out lyrics. It wouldn’t be unusual for him to slide in bonus songs for his latest album. Which would be the soundtrack he had been working on for the BBC Documentary, Buddha of Suburbia. His mind was always ticking, aligning new sets of notes and forming more melodies. It had been such a strange click in his mind. He had spent years and years trying to crack the formula. He had some budding ideas and an edge to him that struck but he was still in formation of what his predecessors streamed into his brain not what he wanted to express. One morning, it had been just like that, click, he was sat there scribbling away incessantly, for hours and hours, melodies, lyrics, flying down onto the page. But once it had begun, he had been stuck a jukebox ever since, not that he minded. Music was his greatest love, but it came to second to Iman, now that he had settled into basking in the warmth of love once again.

One could call the tweaking and fiddling not a perfectionist’s touch. But rather an artist’s. True artists knew the uncontrollable urge to change their art slightly once someone was satisfied with it. They’d nod and encourage, and then there’d be another slashing action of the brush, and a sloshed paint line over the top of what they had been told to accomplish. It’s how they wanted it. Their art was not to be satisfactory, it was to express what they wanted.

David knew this far too well. He had the mind and inner core of an introvert. His mind worked in such a way. His ideas could be expressed and communicated to an extent but when it came to building, and actually acting upon the ideas and plans. He had to have control. The introvert would compose, and conduct their ideas. Because their way of working is particular. They have a particular image in mind and they’ve already sat there awake at night staring at the ceiling, buzzing and wired when they’re supposed to be sleeping for an early morning rise, thinking through that plan, analysing it, ironing out the creases, thinking over exactly what it’ll be comprised of, making sure it’ll go smoothly. They come in fully mentally prepared, and with the right mind to get the job done. Knowing what tools and materials are needed. Introverts are control freaks by nature, but endearingly, to the full effect of having a polished product at the end, polished in their eyes, to becoming exactly what they wanted, no matter how many lengths they have to go to. Their mind works upon pictures, and in a more linear fashion, so to waiver the lines in that is to frustrate, and possibly enrage that individual. Moral to the story, double edged, let the introvert have their control, do not mess with their plans and trust they’ll get the job done.

It takes a particularly keen eye to notice what lengths one individual will go to for their masterplan. What they’ll notice and what’ll go left unseen, unheard, untouched in every sense. David loves that untouched corner. He thrives off the success of being a constant surprise artist, of speaking in cryptic, in every way other than words or gestures, he is defined artist through and through. Even when you think you know it all. When you think you’ve just about cracked it. That the last cobweb has been scathed away and dusted off. There’s another in the corner of your eye. Enigmatic composure, it keeps it interesting, keeps the hunger burning, unsettled for more.

Every day is a different day. But today, in the Jones residence, is just another day really, in their eyes. David happily holed up in his office cuddling his instruments, and Iman swanning about, following the trails of socks and boxers that the naughty boy has left lying around. Don’t think he won’t get an earful for it, he always does, but her raised or italicized tone doesn’t last long around David, not for something so petty, he always ends up making her grin somehow. Home wouldn’t be home without those simple monotonous tasks of the day. Like finding the toilet seat left up, or the jam jar left out on the side. Nothing serious, or to ever seriously argue over. But she pleads her point to hope to someday get through to him, although it is hardly likely, it is just in nature to do such simple things automatically, or without much realisation, especially if one has had it in such a way for such a long time with no control, no rule over it otherwise. Their arguments are always short-lived and silly, never anything belligerent or worrying, their relationship is very healthy, and running smoothly. There is no bother in either of their minds for any tension between them.

Iman reaches over to kiss his cheek and waits to feel the muscles of his cheeks expand as he pulls a lazy smile and nuzzles his nose towards her, half closing his eyes in that silently appreciative, and affectionate fashion of his, before she slips her arms away and ruffles his hair when she swaggers off to tend to her own duties. David is in a world of his own anyway, he has been pulled into his musical element now, on another plain of existence, zoned in on his piano keys, and letting the rhythm take him. She’ll probably have to pop back in soon and make sure he has a drink, and something to eat, check he hasn’t forgotten any scheduled meetings or anything important. Usually he’s more scatty with unimportant events, and usually it’s when he’s got too much going on already, and perhaps that plan has been made last minute. Otherwise, it’ll not leave his mind until it is over. If he has to go to the studio for important talks, or anything of the likes, he’s bound to be there sharpish. But he pins everything on his calendar anyway, so if he does forget some things, he can go check his day plan out just to make sure he won’t miss it.

But things like eating, sleeping and drinking are not things he can put on a calendar. Perhaps a timetable devised to keep him in routine but even if he leaves that within reach and in view he’ll forget about it once he’s off into his zoned out music world. He can’t seem to find a balance. Because his ambition takes front lead to any other desire of his. Thirst and hunger are hardly apparent in the midst of desperate writing flurry, he isn’t quite capable of looking after himself in that way. He does admittedly need that helping hand, even if it’s a little nudge to say, go gets a sandwich, or grab a glass of water. But that’s manageable, he doesn’t do it purposefully, he is aware of the problem and not in delusion to it’s importance. His weight has always been a downfall in his hardworking, he can get a tonne of work done happily, but forget to look after himself. And there’s no inbetween for him. His attention span can’t quite juggle both, not every day, he has some days that are more difficult than others. Some days where he is off with the fairies entirely, and others where he can focus somewhat, or for longer, which is usually when he sits down to get to work.

An hours passes and with a quiet, frustrated sigh David sits back and looks at his watch. He has gotten through another two songs in that time, wrote the basic melodies for the instruments and some of lyrics, even though they are not required, they can become bonus’ tracks for when he decidedly releases the album. He can hear the gentle whirring of the vacuum in another room, and he waits a moment, stretching his arms and legs, yawning and standing up from his piano stool. He is on top of it today, need to eat something, and drink something, so he pads off to the kitchen to make himself another brew and possibly some lunch.

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

[d-a-v-i-d-j-o-n-e-s]

We're The Jones' | Chapter 56 |

Rated T for Fluff Trigger Warnings: N/A

Featuring David Jones and his domestic life. Meeting the lady of his life and building a home and family with her…

—————–

“I’ll need to go out and get some groceries in then..”

“Let me clean you up first.” Iman broke into another matching grin and touched at his lightly stubbled chin, he had been so deliriously relaxed this morning he hadn’t even thought about shaving. Usually it was part of his daily routine to get up, clean himself up for the day ahead and neaten up his smooth face. He had to shave daily to keep on top of the smoothened skin in place for a beard. But even then, he had found he wasn’t capable of growing a full blown beard, probably because he always shortened his growing hairs. He had never been too fond of hair being anywhere but the top of his head, he had grown more lenient towards his armpits but even then, while he was touring he tended to crop that back because the scorching light of the spotlights up on stage had him sweating profusely by the end and keeping those hairs would just be unhygienic and he’d smell like a compost bin otherwise.

Iman swung her arms back and let him peck her lips once more, sliding off of his lap and tugging him up by his hands, grasping one of his sweaty palms and leading him out of the office, he lazily followed her to the bathroom. “I’ve got some errands to run later.” Iman told him softly, “But it shouldn’t take long.”

“I’m planning on nipping over to the studio after lunch anyway, Tony needs to discuss some other plans we’ve made.” David responded as he folded his robe aside and followed her into the shower, padding into the flowing water and standing underneath the streams with her, holding his hands loosely at her waist as he up turned his head and closed his eyes, letting the steaming water cover him.

“Are you taking lunch with you?” Iman pondered quietly, she always kept tabs on his eating habits. It had became quickly apparent to her that he often became too busy or engrossed in what he was doing, to remember to eat and drink in between. He found it difficult to take a break, or rather, to remember that he needed one. She had made a mission of it to care for him in that way, she knew it wasn’t something he did entirely intentionally, and that he needed somebody there to look out for him in that way. He had a great mind for certain things, and a super focus for his work and all that needed tackling. But in the depths of his involvement with mentally challenging, intense tasks, he naturally forgot to cover the basics. The most important parts could be easily lost in the world that he entered each and every time he was inspired and swallowed up by his fantastical world where his imagination engulfed his being.

People with intensely creative minds and strong imaginations were often like that. Falling down to the same issues no matter how hard they tried not to. It was more of a decision for that individual. Coming to a crossroad, two paths, imagination, and daily life. They had to choose one in that moment, there was no option to go straight down the middle and juggle both worlds. Particularly imaginative minds seemed to be the same people with terribly temperamental attention spans. Or rather, what one would notice, superfocus. Like a hawk above its target, zoning in on the moving figure, honing like a rocket, making a trajectory straight for that solely. That person could focus on that target, not multiple. Throw more than one target in there and ask them to get all of them at once. They’d get none. Ask them to capture one. They’d execute that plan effectively, and dust their hands, a job well done, and easily by their methods of working.  

“I’ll get something while I’m there.” David replied gently, but she knew he was just fibbing to keep her from worrying. He’d forget all about lunch once he was in his element. Iman made a mental note to pop in at lunch and drop something in for him if he ended up staying longer than he had originally planned, which was usually the case. She wondered how such a workaholic was managing to refrain from it’s normal lifestyle of heavy duty production. David had been sitting back and focusing on their relationship, spending the majority of his time with her as he had promised he would. But she didn’t expect him to do that and from where she watched, it looked more like he was sitting on his hands to stop himself from urging. She would give him his freedom, whether he realised how badly he wanted to run back into his work or not.

*

New York’s weather was actually pretty similar to England’s. In the sense of being up and down like nobody’s business and from one extreme to another in the space of two days. This morning it was mild enough, there had been gusts of colder wind out on the balcony so he wrapped up in his coat and wore a flat cap to keep his ears and head warm, and gloves just in case. Rather than going through the annoyance of riding the public transport just to get to the bigger stores, he decided to go to the local businesses and see what he could get there. Each store had at least one of the things he was looking for. He was swift going through each shop, ducking his head and keeping himself to himself. It was still pretty early in the morning, but he always had to keep a low profile once he had stepped outside of the front door. Nevertheless, he went through three stores and managed to pick up all the ingredients he needed for a good breakfast. Of course, he was going to cook her the same breakfast he always settled for when they were out and about. Nothing came close to a full english for him. He was aware that Americans seemed to prefer a sweeter breakfast, like pancakes, or waffles, pop tarts, something toasted with lots more sugar. Though there were savoury options, it wasn’t quite as primely favoured here as it was in England.

David headed home hastily, getting indoors and kicking off his shoes at once. He pushed them to the side lazily, with the other pairs he kept handy nearby, shrugged off his coat and slung it onto a random peg along with his cap, and stowed his gloves into his coat pocket before he scurried into the kitchen with his shopping bags and got to work. Iman had taken up a cosy camp in the lounge, rather they had swapped roles this morning, for once. Not that she would have it any other way, usually. She actually rather enjoyed cooking breakfast, making his coffee and ironing his clothes. The little airands of the morning were part of her routine, and she took great pride in preening her cub; David, of course. He did relax into a more childlike, incapable mode when she was around sweeping him off his feet and promising to do everything. He could hardly argue with her. He’d do some things himself, but even then, if he didn’t get in there quickly, he’d wake to everything already prepared and being handed to him. Freshly ironed outfit, steaming mug of coffee - she may as well have held a lighter ready to his cigarette as he would waddle in with the hazardous stick sitting between his lips. Eventually, she would wean him off those too, eventually…

Maybe he did spread it on a little thick in expressing his discontent in the kitchen. It wasn’t necessarily that he was ‘bad’ at cooking. But rather he lacked the skill to multi-task and be effective in that room particularly. He somehow managed to use nearly every utensil, and once clean item, in the process. There’d be a tornado of a mess in the kitchen after David was finished in there. And if he hadn’t managed to stain his clothes, get a little flour in his hair, or a spot of sauce on his chin too, it’d be a miracle. But after all that, he wasn’t a bad cook, it just wasn’t his aspiration at all. He would certainly never pursue cooking as anything more than a despised chore. Plus, he hadn’t much practice really, considering. His mother had cooked for him until he left home, and then by the power of charm, he had been pretty much sorted for a cook ever since. He always had a female nearby. Angie had been a terrible cook, even more disastrous than him, so Coco had been offering her helping hand. Once all that had broken loose and he’d fallen into his safety net, he’d already managed to accumulate enough to avoid the responsibility yet again and pretty much skate through the most of the eighties in treating himself to dinners out. He avoided the kitchen as much as possible, in other terms.

“Darling,” David called out as he stuck his head out of the kitchen door and let his voice carry down the hallway, “Breakfast is ready.”

Iman smiled to herself, she could already smell what was on the menu. She should’ve known. Not that she was disappointed, she had grown more and more fond of this dish as she’d been with him. It had grown on her, it’d have to if she was going to be spending her day and night with David. It was his favourite, he definitely loved his cooked breakfasts in the morning, quite unhealthily so. But this morning he had pulled out all the stops. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, beans, hash browns, sausages - he’d even went to the odds of deciding to pick up some black pudding, which he was quite fond of, but it was one of those odd foods that was either yay or nay, no in between. Basically pig’s blood and offcuts that were dried, and then fried, all packed into one sausage shaped object. One crazy British invention right there. But he wasn’t going to put that on her plate, nor the bacon, he knew the lines. Her religion was strictly against eating pigs, so he had bought in halal beef sausages to make up for it. He had picked up and cooked more than enough items to substitute those missing items anyway. David was very careful, and respectful. He had left his own separate bits and pieces to cook until last so there was no cross-contamination.

Bringing the plates through first and then a pot of filtered coffee and two mugs shortly after, he eventually did sit down after her insistence. He had started to flap too much and stress that everything was done. He had shoved all of the dirty dishes into the sink in some hot soapy water to be cleaned afterwards along with their plates and mugs. Iman took up a fork and started to dig in at once, humming her approval his way and smiling softly, fluttering her lashes at the reddened faced, puffed out David sat next to her. Both of them had a different method to tackling their breakfast. It really showed personality, the way in which a person tackled something. Or rather, when they looked at the task at hand, just how they decided to complete it. David always stuck to a really lazy, shovelling method. Of spearing lots of different foods onto his fork and taking in big mouthfuls. He had relaxed since their first, upright, formal meal. There was simply no need for manners, or silver spoons at home. It was an outright given for them to relax and be themselves at home. Being their selves meaning, doing what they wanted to naturally. If they wanted to eat like a pig, then so be it!

Iman was more precise and methodical about her approach. Sitting there cutting up the bigger items into bitesize pieces first and then starting to enjoy her breakfast. She enjoyed the items in a separate bite but the same mouthfuls while David was just getting a bit of everything onto his fork each time. Same all but different. It depended on just how patient one was feeling, and what their mind was saying at the time. This morning, David felt rather flippant and all a jumble. He didn’t have plans, but he’d managed to stick to his routine so far - roughly. Iman was more conserved in her thoughts and had everything together, although she was relaxing more and not really following any specific route today, she had certain tasks that needed completing but nothing was set in stone for times, there was no pressure applied.

David finished first by a mile, he hadn’t wasted a second, getting a little sauce down his front in the process. He sighed as he realised and inspected the damage. Luckily he hadn’t picked a white shirt or it’d have been completely ruined. He could get away with this one if he put it under cold water and on the wash as soon as possible. Iman eyed him and smiled to herself, he always managed to get something down him. He was a right messy pup at home. He had this natural aura that told one he was always in control, a tone and expression that matched with ‘I’ve got my head on straight’. But sometimes, he could be a complete and utter disaster. Or in his eyes at least. He didn’t like being a speck out of line, such as a perfectionist was. Especially a closeted one. Iman had quickly come to terms with how much of a perfectionist David indeed was and while she was sure he was aware, he also seemed to feign confusion when she mentioned it in a manner of ‘Not everything is going to be perfect darling’ as to calm him if he got frustrated with something not going according to mental plan. See imaginations. Double edged swords. Because one could imagine something vividly, and that’s how it’d be. That’s how you’d want it. But if it wasn’t fitting, it was a rather huge disappointment.