dreamy625 - Tumblr blog

[dreamy625]

So, small reveal - this is a secondary account for @steveinscarlet

I am she, she is me

[dreamy625]

Just keep dancing like we're twenty-two - one-shot

(Did I just use a Taylor Swift lyric for a title? Yes I did. I feel dirty.)

1983 and the Terror Twins, on a break between US dates of the Pyromania tour, are on a night out

Words: 2495

Content: Casual drinking, swearing

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“‘Ere, my mate thinks you’re fucking gorgeous”

“Oh does he? And who’s your mate?”

The forthright young man gestured behind him at another, also blond, but taller and skinnier and with considerably less swagger. When he realised he was being looked at, the second man ducked his head and stared fixedly at the floor.

“Cute,” thought Belinda, but she can’t be doing with shy, too much work for just one night. “Yeah, I don’t think so. But,” she reached out and smoothed down Phil’s collar where it had flicked up on one side, trailing her hand down the front of his shirt, “if you’re looking for some company this evening…? I just looove your accent…” She fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly. 

“I, um, I don’t… not that I wouldn’t want… but you know… my mate… I can’t leave him on his own y’see.”

“Ah well, your loss, sweetie.” She patted him on the head and strode off to look for a more susceptible prospect.

And that was the fifth strikeout of the evening; the two women they’d danced with early on had turned out to have husbands waiting at home; the group at the bar were on a hen night and the bride unconvinced by Phil’s argument that she should take this one last chance to bag an englishman; the girl Steve had bought a drink for had just been dumped by her boyfriend and cried at him for 45 minutes until he asked the barman to call her a cab; and a glamorous blonde whose stiletto heels made her about six inches taller than Phil had just looked him up and down and said ‘no’ before he even opened his mouth! After this latest failure, they retreated to a table beside the dancefloor to soothe their bruised egos with more vodka, and maybe reconsider their strategy. 

“I promised I’d get you laid for your birthday and I’m standing by that. Though at this rate I’m going to have to shag you myself!”

“Thanks for the offer, mate, but you’re not really my type. I think we just have to face the truth, I’m unfuckable.”

“Bollocks, I’ve seen loads of girls sneaking out of your room. Unless you’ve just been playing Scrabble with them in there?”

“Not loads, and that’s different, that’s after shows. They want to get with the guy they watched on stage. When it’s just this,” he gestured down at himself, “they’re not interested.”

“You’ve just got to put yourself out there. It’s a numbers game - if you ask enough, one of ‘em’s gotta say yes. Basic statistics innit!”

“Maybe I don’t want just anyone who’ll have me.”

“Then that’s your problem; it’s not your ugly mug, it’s your attitude - too picky.” He scanned the club and then tilted his head in the direction of a couple of girls carrying brightly coloured drinks and weaving through the tables in search of somewhere to sit. “What about those two? A redhead, I know they’re your favourite.”

Steve looked, with only moderate enthusiasm. “Not bad. I do like her hair. Go on then, do your thing.”

“Alright.” He rubbed his hands together. “But you’ve got to make some effort. At least smile - all the birds go nuts for the Clark smile!”

The owner of the ‘Clark smile’ rolled his eyes but obligingly pasted on what he hoped was a friendly and appealing grin.

Phil stepped into the path of the two wandering women and, dialling his chirpy cockney persona up to maximum, waylaid them with, “Ladies, if you’d be so kind as to join us, you’d be makin’ two lonely travellers in your great country very ‘appy.”

The two women exchanged sidelong glances, and when the redhead opened her mouth, ‘nah, you’re alright, mate’ came out in an equally strong East London accent.

Phil gaped at them - he was relying on American girls swooning in the face of British charm and had no back-up plan for unexpectedly encountering two of his fellow countrywomen, so all he could do was watch as they carried on their way, giggling. 

Steve shook his head, the enticing smile turning into a grimace. “This is getting embarrassing.” He drained the last of his drink and dropped the glass back on the table with a clunk. “I’m going for a piss.”

When he got back, Phil was talking to a petite black woman in a bright blue dress at the bar and, miracle of miracles, she actually seemed to be talking back. 

“Yep, it’s definitely me that’s the problem,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s sodding Erol Flynn when I’m not there cramping his style.” He was highly tempted just to go back to the hotel and leave his Twin to it, but before he could make the move, Phil spotted him and waved him over.

“This is my mate I was telling you about; Steve, meet Denise, and this is Suzy.”

A woman Steve hadn’t noticed before, slouching against the bar, lifted her hand in a lacklustre greeting. She was tall and a little mousey in comparison with her brightly-attired friend, and would be pretty enough if she didn’t look quite so grumpy. She would be the designated 'have you got a friend for my pal who's too inept to find someone himself' then. Oh well, better than playing gooseberry again - frequently Steve's fate on nights out with Phil.

Small talk was not Steve’s forte, and the best he could manage was essentially ‘what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’.

“So, err, what brings you and your friend here tonight?”

“We were supposed to have dates, but they stood us up.” She glared at Steve who, as a representative of the male sex, was apparently at least partially to blame for this slight.

“Oh…sorry…” Not a great start. “They must be total idiots then,” he declared in a hopeful stab at gallantry. 

“Or we are, to have agreed to it in the first place,” she muttered, still frowning. 

Steve waved to the barman and ordered doubles of everything for everyone, hoping that alcohol would serve as social lubricant. After a fortifying gulp of his vodka and orange, he tried again.

"How do you and… Denise was it? Know each other?"

"We're roommates. We were at college together and decided to stay and get jobs after we graduated."

"What do you do now?"

"I'm a techie at the Paramount; Denise is a junior buyer at Nordstrom's. Much more glamorous."

"The Paramount? The theatre?"

"You know it?"

"I think we played there last time we were here. We're… in a band," he added offhandedly. 

"Your friend said. I wasn't sure I believed him; a lot of guys say they're in a band. If they think it's going to impress a girl."

"Oh. Well I don’t know about that, but we actually are."

"Is it one I'll have heard of?"

"Maybe. Def Leppard?" She looked blank so he half-sang, "Photograph… I don’t want your photograph…" and made some drrng drring noises with accompanying mime.

"Oh, yeah, I might have heard that on the radio. Not really my thing though, sorry."

Crestfallen, Steve didn't really have a comeback for that. He took a long swallow of his drink and looked across to where Phil was whispering into Denise's ear, something funny apparently given the giggling response. "Well they seem to be getting along nicely," he observed.

"Yeah. Sorry you're stuck with me."

"Not at all, nowhere I'd rather be."

"That's sweet of you, but you don't have to pretend. I'm always the consolation prize; I mean look at her, she’s so gorgeous, and tiny, and peppy, and I’m just this great galumphing giraffe next to her.”

“No, you’re very… err…” he floundered, looking for a word that was flattering but not patronising, “...elegant.” She rolled her eyes. “And you’re not that tall.” He straightened up and stepped nearer - her forehead was level with his eyes. “See,” he said, putting both hands on her waist, “perfect height! …For… dancing…?” he hazarded, suddenly realising just how up close and personal he had got. “Err, would you… like to?”

For a moment it looked like she was going to turn him down, but when a glance along the bar revealed the other two gazing into each other's eyes and clearly about ten seconds from sucking face, she acquiesced with a halfhearted ‘oh alright then’. 

Now Steve was no dancer but, since his feeble attempts at flirtatious chitchat had entirely failed, he had decided to deploy his only other weapon - making an idiot of himself in the hopes of at least raising a smile. It was a risky strategy, with embarrassment followed by a speedy retreat as likely a reaction as laughter, but at this point he had no other options and was just drunk enough to deem it worth a go. And obligingly the DJ was playing Prince so, having led them far enough into the dancing throng that he wouldn’t be a spectacle to everyone watching from the bar, he busted out his best, most exaggerated, hip-popping, shoulder-shimmying moves. For about twenty seconds Suzy just stood there staring wide-eyed as he threw himself around, then she shrugged and, to Steve’s delight, launched into a routine of her own that suggested she might have seen a few too many John Travolta movies! After bouncing and gyrating through three songs, to the increasing irritation of their fellow dancers who had to try and keep out of the way of Steve’s flailing arms, the DJ put on a smoochier number and Steve held out his hand and twirled his partner into a more typical slow dance hold. She leaned into him, out of breath but grinning.

“You are crazy!” she panted.

“Look who’s talking, Ginger Rogers!”

Looking over Steve's shoulder, she raised her eyebrows as she spotted their two friends still by the bar but now entwined like amorous octopuses. "I think it might be time for us all to get out of here, before those two commit an act of public indecency!"

Steve let himself be pulled off the dancefloor, feeling that this evening might be working out okay after all.

The boys' oh so classy hotel, with nylon bedspreads and perpetually dripping shower, appealed to precisely no one, so the group left the club for the short walk to the girls' downtown apartment. Progress to their destination was slowed by Phil and Denise's apparent need to have at least three body parts in contact at all times, and the other two opted to walk on the opposite side of the street, pausing at each corner for the lovers to catch up. Conversation flowed more easily now, Steve sharing stories of life on the road and Suzy detailing the backstage antics of the various bands who'd played at the theatre. When Steve let slip that it was his birthday, Suzy was a little sad to learn that, being so far from home, he hadn’t really done anything to celebrate it, just the few cards that had managed to make it to the right hotel on time and this night out with Phil.

“Oh no, I don’t think we’ve even got any cake. I could stick a candle in a packet of cookies if you like?”

“Mmm, burning plastic is so festive!”

“You're supposed to blow it out before it starts a fire, dumbass.”

“Ohh, that’s what I’ve been doing wrong!”

They stopped to wait for the dawdlers and Suzy asked, “There must be something nice I can give you for your birthday?” 

The way she said it - he wasn’t sure if he was being flirted with. “What did you have in mind?” he asked lightly, not presuming. But she just gave him a sideways smile and started walking again.

"So, coffee?" Suzy asked when they entered the small two-bedroom walk-up. But the other couple were practically clawing each other's clothes off in the hall and vanished into Denise's bedroom without even replying.

“I guess just me then,” replied Steve, feeling suddenly shy again now that the evening was rapidly approaching the point where he would need to make some kind of move. That was the advantage of the groupies - even if those girls weren’t necessarily the type he would have gone for in the regular non-showbiz world, they made most of the running and he didn’t have to find anything clever or suave to say beyond ‘ullo in his apparently adorable British accent. Real girls were harder and he was out of practice.

“Livingroom’s through there,” she told him, “make yourself comfortable.”

Taking cups out of the cupboard, Suzy reconsidered her original intention to maybe get Steve’s number and then send him on his way. Hook-ups weren’t really her thing, and the guys were only in town for another few days before disappearing to the other end of the country but… he was pretty cute, and funny, and it would be better than trying to avoid listening to the other two go at it all night through the wall. While the coffeemaker dripped, she used the darkened window as a mirror to fluff up her hair and wipe any stray mascara from under her eyes. Before picking up the two cups, she rearranged her top so it draped enticingly over one shoulder and added a swish to her walk as she re-entered the living room. However, she quickly realised that her feminine wiles would be wasted - their intended recipient was fast asleep on the couch. Briefly she considered waking him, but he looked so peaceful, and it was nearly 2am. She took the coffees back to the kitchen and poured both of them down the sink - no point being awake if there was no one to play with. She found a blanket and laid it gently over the sleeping man. 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she murmured, and kissed him on the cheek. 

-----------------------------

Epilogue:

When Steve opened his eyes the next morning, it took him a minute or so to work out where he was - oh yeah, those two girls from the nightclub. Ah, but he was on a sofa and, he checked, fully dressed, so clearly whatever seduction technique he'd attempted had been rebuffed. 

“Morning, sunshine!”

A pretty girl with mussed-up hair and mile-long legs appearing from the bottom of a John Denver t-shirt was smiling at him. He smiled back while the words ‘Sarah… Samantha… Suzy!’ crawled through his befuddled brain.

“Do you want your birthday present?” She held out a toothbrush, new and still in its packaging. 

“But it’s not my birthday anymore.”

“Pretend. Bathroom’s second door on the left down the hall.”

Not awake enough to argue, Steve took it and shambled to the bathroom. When he reemerged, feeling a bit more with it after peeing, brushing his teeth, and washing his face with cold water, Suzy was leaning in the doorway of the bedroom opposite.

“Nice t-shirt,” he teased.

“Just get in here before I change my mind, birthday boy.”

[dreamy625]

Life On Tour

Part: I

Billy Sheehan x OC

Summary: Rio is a timid journalist who gets the assignment of a lifetime. Follow around David Lee Roth and the band on the Eat Em And Smile tour and document life on the road. Is Rio up to the challenge? Maybe with a bit of help from a certain blonde bassist, she might be.

I've never been more nervous in my life. I'm shaking. My heart is pounding. I've never been called to see the editor before. I've worked here for six months, and I've never been summoned to his office. What did I do wrong? I'm trying to think of any possible mistakes I've made. This is my dream job, and I've worked hard to keep it and impress everyone. I don't want to lose it. Maybe he doesn’t like my writing or needs to cut someone because of earnings. I hope that's not the case. Yet I can't help but worry when I've been summoned to the big office.

“Warren will see you now.” The receptionist tells me as I get up and follow her to the office, where she opens the door for me.

I walk into the grand office of the magazine. Warren is sitting behind his big wooden desk and looking at the picture of the editor—stacks of articles piled around him.

“Rio, lovely to see you.” He greets, “Have a seat, please.”

He gestures to two chairs in the corner of his office facing the desk. I take a seat in one of them. I’m still feeling beyond nervous. He's being pleasant, but that doesn't mean anything. The sad thing is, even if he does fire me, I know I won't fight for myself. I've never been the type to rock the boat. I'm timid. I always have been.

“I’ve called you up here because I have an assignment for you.” He tells me. That's not what I expected, but it's a welcome surprise. I get to keep my job today.

Now, a whole new set of worries is plaguing me. Assignment? What could he possibly mean by that? This is a metal magazine we cover metal and rock acts. It's not like we do serious journalism here. My forte is reviews of live concerts. I'm too shy to interview any rock stars, even if that's my dream. Am I even good enough for whatever this is?

“Okay, what is it?”

“Well, we want to do a piece on life on the road. We need a journalist to spend the course of the American leg of the David Lee Roth tour with the band documenting it.” Warren tells me.

Does this mean he wants me to be a journalist? Why, though? Out of all the writers, I'm the least likely candidate. I'm the only one with no experience interviewing or interacting with rock stars. I'm also known for being quiet, timid and to myself.

“I’m honoured, but why me?”

“Roth agreed to under one condition, the journalist be a woman,” Warren admits, and this makes a lot more sense now.

I'm the only journalist at this magazine who's a woman. The rest are male. So I'm his only choice. I figured it had to be something along those lines. I'm ill-fitted for this, especially when it's David Lee Roth. One of the biggest names in the genre. He recently left Van Halen, and his album and tour are a big deal. I've listened to it, and it's perfect. This is something that's a huge deal and would sell a lot of magazines. I'm not sure I'm up to the challenge. Yet I don't want to be the reason we lose this chance. That's a surefire way to get fired. I'm so nervous I'm shaking.

“Okay, I'll do it.” I manage to choke out, trying to hide my nervousness, even though every part of me screams this is a bad idea. I must push that fear aside and remember this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. So many people would kill for this chance. You can do this, Rio, or I sure hope so.

____________________________

I take a deep breath as the tour manager leads me to the tour bus of David Lee Roth and his band—Billy Sheehan on bass, Steve Vai on guitar and Gregg Bissonette on drums. I remind myself so I don't look like a nervous idiot and mess it up. I know who is who. For one, I am a fan of this kind of music, and I also study some photos of the band so I know for sure.

“This is the journalist who will accompany us on this tour.” The Tour manager tells the band, all sitting at the front of the tour bus.

Dave lowers the sunglasses he's wearing down his nose to get a better look at me. That action makes me feel a bit uncomfortable. I'm not used to being examined. I'm used to being invisible, and that's how I prefer it.

“She’s not who I expected when I asked for a female journalist,” Dave comments to the tour manager, sliding the glasses back up.

I look down at myself. I guess I wouldn't be. I'm sure he was picturing some long-legged vixen of a woman, and he gets me. I'd be disappointed, too. I'm not one of those girls. I'm not filled with confidence and sensuality. I don't belong here at all. I'm only here because there were no other options.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Dave asks me, making me make eye contact with the man who insulted me. I'm not offended he has every right. Most people have the same reaction to me. I'm used to it.

“Rio,” I tell him. I waited for him to comment on how Rio sounds like an exotic dancer's name or doesn't match me. I've heard that my whole life. I hate that my parents named me that.

“Have you ever heard of a short skirt Rio?” Dave asks me.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Well, maybe think of wearing one.” Dave suggests, “This is a rock band, not an office.”

“Sorry,” I say, unable to look up; I feel so embarrassed. I thought dressing professionally in a blouse, blazer, pencil shirt, pantyhose, and black stilettos was the right move. I forgot this is a rock band and rockers like sexy women. I don't even own any clothes like that. Most of what I brought were ripped jeans, band t-shirts, leather jackets, boots and sneakers. That's my typical style. What am I going to do now?

I make my way to the only free seat. It's in the corner, out of the way of everyone else, where I should be. I sit down, looking down at the notebook I brought to make notes. After all, this is a diary of life on the road with the band. I wanted to be as detailed as possible. I’m holding back tears. I can't cry and make it even worse for myself. Of course, I'd make a wrong first impression and mess it all up. I should have said no.

“Are you okay?” I hear someone ask from beside me; I look up to see who it is.

It's Billy Sheehan, the bass player in Dave’s band. He has a genuine look in his blue eyes. He's not just asking to be polite. He's genuinely caring. Which, oddly, is comforting. It means maybe not everyone here hates me already.

“I’m fine.” I lie, forcing a smile. He doesn't have to know how much I feel I don't belong here. How I already feel so alone. More alone than usual.

“I'm sorry about Dave.” He apologizes, “He had an idea in his head. He's used to those being made into reality.”

“It's okay. I never live up to expectations.” I tell him, feeling sad at that statement. I wish I did, but I never do.

“No one ever does,” Billy says, “Oh, I'm Billy by the way.”

“I know.” I smile at him genuinely,

“I’m Steve.” Steve Vai waves over at me, “And this is Gregg.”

Steve points over to Gregg Bissonette who's sitting next to him.

“Hi.” Gregg says, giving me a little wave.

“Nice to meet you guys,” I tell them.

“Do you play cards?” Steve asks me.

“Yes,” I tell him, not sure where this is going.

“Do you like beer?” Steve continues to ask me.

“Sure,” I tell him, I'm not much of a drinker, but when I do drink it's usually a beer.

“Great!” Steve says enthusiastically, “Come over and join us.”

“Okay,” I say, sliding in next to Billy and across from Steve. Steve and Billy are tall guys, so next to them, I'm sure I look like a little mouse.

I suddenly feel a lot better though. Yes, it's been a rough start with Dave, but at least everyone else is nice. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

[dreamy625]

I'm writing a one-shot that is soooo nearly finished...

Hey yall! so as yall know tomorrow is Steve’s bday and we want to make it special for him. I’m working on a painting and writing something for him.

some people are planning on making collages

@defleppardfan1 @steveinscarlet @stevesorgasmicriffs @elliotts-personal-property @bring-on-the-heartbreak-joe @i-love-def-leppard @make-me-your-animal @genxrocker @jimmysdragonsuit13 and anybody else who wants to join

[dreamy625]

[dreamy625]

So that's Overture and beginners finished!

I'm so happy people liked it - it's always nerve wracking posting something new, particularly when it's different from what you usually write, and even more so when it's smutty!

It was really nice that writing Steve so young allowed him to be just straightforwardly happy. I'm definitely going to try that again sometime, though *eyes WIP list* I think there'll be some more of my usual Hysteria+ era angst coming before that (sorry)

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 6

< Chapter 5

Words: 2524

Content: Final chapter! I think we know where this is going now 🫣

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Katie turned into Steve’s street just in time to see a younger boy come out of the house, banging the door behind him and bouncing down the steps before heading off in the opposite direction. She waited a minute or so for safety before ringing the doorbell. Steve answered almost instantly, like he was waiting in the hall.

“Hullo, love.” He stepped back, letting her move into the hall before kissing her softly on the cheek.

“Your cunning plan worked then?” She gestured back in the direction that Chris had walked.

“Yeah, I had to pay for tickets for him and his mate, cokes, and popcorn. Who knew having a love life would be so expensive.” He held out his hand, “Can I take your coat?”

Katie handed it to him and automatically slipped off her shoes - if Steve’s mam was anything like hers, outdoor shoes on the carpet was a crime second only to murder. 

Steve led the way into the livingroom - two smaller rooms knocked into one, with anaglypta wallpaper and stone-clad fireplaces. “So, umm, this is my house…”

“Looks a lot like mine. I guess they were all built around the same time? Nice and warm though; my dad will tell us to put on another jumper until we’re practically spherical before he’ll switch the heating on!”

“Mine’s the same; I turned it up the minute they left. Come through to the kitchen and I’ll find us some drinks.” He started rifling through cupboards, “Tea? Or we’ve got lemonade, or…” he turned the bottle around, “dandelion and burdock?”

Katie pulled a face.

“Yeah, disgusting stuff. Why do they even make it? Here’s some weeds we pulled out of a ditch, wanna drink it? We might have something else, orange squash maybe…”

“Lemonade’s fine.”

Steve poured two glasses. “Now lemons, much better idea… fruit… from a tree… and it smells nice…” Clamping his lips together to stop the babbling, he handed her a glass and leaned back against the counter, his head tilted down to the floor. He peeked out at her from under his fringe. “Why am I nervous?”

“No clue, because I am cool as a cucumber!” she laughed. She crossed the kitchen and ran her hand down his arm. “Maybe because you’re thinking about what might happen, and it’s new and a bit scary? Me too,” she confessed. 

He pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on the top of her head. “We’ve got hours and hours to hang out, with no parents, no annoying little brothers, no obnoxious bandmates. We can do whatever we like, right? It doesn’t have to be that.”

“Whatever we like,” she echoed, wrapping her arms around his slender waist, “no expectations.”

“So… d’you wanna see my room?”

“You’re the first girl that’s not related to me to come in here,” he noted as he led the way upstairs. “‘No girls in bedrooms’,” he added in a low, gravelly-voiced impression of his father. “Don’t know what they think is going to happen… actually, now I do…”

Katie had limited experience of boys’ bedrooms, but it looked pretty much like she would have imagined - standard department store furniture, brown carpet, blue curtains, band posters, Sheffield Wednesday scarf hanging on the wardrobe door. 

“Very neat. Did you clean up specially?”

“Maybe, what do you think?”

Katie looked around the small space.”I think… it’s normally pretty tidy, but you made it even more so because I was coming over? No one really has a desk where everything is exactly at right angles!”

“You got me. I don’t have much stuff, just clothes and records really, so it’s hard to make too much mess. I dusted,” he added proudly, “and look, clean sheets.” Katie raised her eyebrows, and a tinge of pink lit Steve’s cheeks. “So, err, shall I put some music on?”

He moved to the record player and dropped the needle onto the record already on the turntable - Queen, it turned out. They both stood rather awkwardly until Steve motioned for Katie to sit on the bed; the only chair in the room was the straight-backed wooden one that went with the desk. He continued to hover at the side of the room, picking pencils up off the desk and putting them down again.

“Come sit with me?” she asked, scooting back to the far corner of the bed. He sat down, pulled his legs up, and leant against the headboard. Katie cuddled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Tell me about these bands you’ve stuck all over your walls.” 

She already understood him well enough to know that music was the topic that would always make him calm and happy, and she could feel the tension leave his body as he expounded on the talents of his favourites, Jimmy Page and Brian Robertson. 

After Steve hopped off the bed briefly to turn the record over, he returned and laid down facing Katie, but not touching. 

“Hello,” he said, smiling mischievously.

“Hi,” she answered cautiously, wondering what game this was.

“May I kiss you, m’lady?”

“I think that could be quite agreeable,” she allowed.

He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips, just once, and leaned back. “Thank you kindly, I am greatly in your debt.”

“Oh come here you ridiculous boy!” she laughed, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and pulling him close for a proper kiss. 

-----------------------------

They were well-practised at this now and it didn’t take long before hands and mouths and whispered words brought them to the point of rubbing up on one another in sweet desperation. 

Steve rolled on top of her and paused, looking searchingly into her face. ‘Yes?’ was all he needed to ask.

“Yes,” she answered instantly.

“Sure?”

“Completely.” She wriggled beneath him, opening her legs wider so he fitted neatly between her thighs. 

“D’you want me to… use something?”

She shook her head, “Let’s not add any complications. I’ve been taking my magic pills, so we’re all good.”

“Right.” He took a deep breath. “If it hurts, or there’s anything you don’t like, you tell me. Promise?”

“Promise.”

With a look of intense concentration he moved to line himself up, but it felt like he wasn’t prodding in quite the right place. 

“Down a little bit…” 

She angled her hips up and all at once the pressure turned to yielding and Steve let out a ‘hah’ of surprise. As gently as possible, he pushed a bit further in but stopped immediately when Katie drew in a sharp breath. “Oh no, did I hurt you?”

“It’s just uncomfortable, because it’s new. Just go slow.” 

He still looked doubtful, “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Really, I’m fine, keep going.”

Monitoring Katie’s expression intently the whole time, Steve did as he was told until he was in as far as he could go. “Is that okay?”

“It feels a bit weird. Not bad, just different. Your… um, your dick is bigger than your fingers!” She experimented, angling her pelvis up and down and clenching and releasing her muscles, adjusting to the new sensations.

"Jesus! That's…"  He'd been focusing so hard on getting it right that he hadn’t really registered how it felt until now. 

The expression of open-mouthed astonishment on her boyfriend's face made Katie laugh, and he laughed back. "Hey, I felt that through your…" (they’d never managed to find a non-cringey word for it).

She reached up and stroked his cheek. "I'm so glad I'm doing this, the whole first time thing, with you."

"Me too." He leaned in for a kiss, at first tender and then passionate. "Can I move?" he murmured, and she mm-mm-ed in answer.

After the first few stuttering strokes, the angles and the motion just clicked and it was easy, smooth and slippery and tight and warm and better than hands, better than anything. Steve’s brain overloaded with ‘feels so good-am I doing it right-can’t believe we’re doing this-she’s so beautiful-oh my god-this is amazing’ and the only coherent thought he could push out was, “Good?”

“Really good.” 

She had wrapped her legs around his hips and started rocking to meet his thrusts and quickly he had to switch from thinking how incredible it felt to thinking unsexy thoughts about belt drives and tailstock adjustment. 

“Don't know how long I can…" he panted.

"That's okay."

"You could… use your fingers? You know…”

Katie hesitated for a moment, self-conscious, before reaching down between their entwined bodies. Not much room, and it was an awkward angle, but ah, there, that was… something. Maybe if she could match her movements to his… 

“Can you go slower?”

Steve switched to long, slow strokes, figuring out how to use his elbows for leverage, and discovered that was a whole new flavour of amazing, ‘oh my god’ and ‘please not yet’ battling it out in his head.

It felt so good, like when they used their hands on each other, but more intense, not just physically but mentally too, a full mind-body experience. Katie felt dizzying waves of both pleasure and emotion building, culminating not in a big explosion like you read about in those novels you have to hide under your mattress, but a warm rippling feeling that spread from her centre all the way down her thighs and made her moan, every breath becoming an ‘ohh’, and grip onto Steve’s bum to pull him in as deep as possible. Feeling and hearing that was Steve’s undoing as well. Some deeply ingrained natural instinct overtook any conscious control and his thrusts sped up, breath coming in grunts and jumbled words, “Oh god… I’m gonna… I… I love you… I love… you…” and a final groan that cracked into a sigh. 

Steve dropped his head down onto Katie’s shoulder, resisting the urge to just slump completely and squash the poor girl. ‘Wow’ was the only reaction he could manage. 

She giggled jubilantly, “We actually did it!” and when he lifted his head she ruffled his hair and observed, “Ah, and there’s that grin you’re going to be wearing all week.”

“All month maybe!” He leaned in and kissed her, “You are the most wonderful girl.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

With a shift of his hips he carefully extracted himself and eased over onto his side, curving his body around hers and nestling his head between her neck and shoulder. Katie wrapped one hand over his as it laid across her stomach, and trailed the other up and down his side, dancing her fingers from one rib to the next (he was unbelievably skinny for someone that she regularly saw eat a pie nearly the size of his head in the canteen at lunchtime!).

When they’d both got their breath back, she started to fidget. “I’m just going to… where’s your bathroom?”

“Opposite side of the landing. Do you need anything? Borrow my dressing gown, it’s on the back of the door.”

From the landing, Steve heard an exclamation of ‘urgh’. “You okay?” he called.

“It’s running down my leg! Yuck!”

“Soooorry.”

“Typical,” she continued to the accompaniment of running water, “you guys make the mess and us women have to clear it up!”

The toilet flushed and Katie reappeared and climbed back into bed.

“Everything all right?”

“Yup, little bit sore, but no blood.”

“Does that really happen?”

“Apparently. Maybe if you’ve never put anything in there before?”

“Lucky we did all that practising then.”

“Preparation is everything.” She looked around the room, seeking out a clock. “What’s the time?”

Steve checked his watch. “Twenty to nine. We’ve probably got another hour before anyone comes back.”

“What do you want to do now?”

He stretched his arms over his head. “Total clichè, but I really want a cigarette.”

“So have one then.”

“I’m not allowed to smoke upstairs.”

“You’re also not allowed to have girls in your room, and yet…” she smiled.

“Good point.” 

He reached over to the nightstand and took out a pack of cigarettes, matches, and a coughdrop tin to serve as an ashtray. 

“Heh, this feels like more of a transgression than the other!”

He offered her the pack but she shook her head, snuggling back down with her arm across his stomach, watching as he attempted to blow smoke rings at the ceiling. 

“Do you feel different?”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know, like you’ve ‘become a man’ or something? It’s made out to be this big momentous thing, and I mean, it was, but I still just feel like me.”

“I don’t think I feel any different, but I do feel like there’s, I don’t know… a secret special thing between us, that’s just for us. Does that sound stupid?” 

“No, it does feel like that.” She tightened her hold. “You’re all mine how, Clarkie.”

He was silent for a moment or two, then, “I meant it y’know, it wasn’t just because of… I love you.”

Katie lifted her head to look into his face. Her eyes were soft and she was smiling a lopsided, considering kind of smile. “I wasn’t going to mention it, in case you didn’t remember saying it, in case it was just an in the moment thing. But I love you too.”

They kissed for a long moment, then Steve sighed. “I wish we could stay like this all night, but I suppose we should get up and get dressed. If Chris comes home and finds a naked woman in the house I will probably have to give him my whole wage packet not to tell Mam.” Reluctantly he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, picking up their now-crumpled t-shirts from the floor.

Katie dug out her knickers from somewhere under the blankets and pulled them on. “It’s not exactly how I want to first meet your family either.”

“You’d certainly make an unforgettable impression! But yeah, clothed and a little less ruffled might be better.” He watched her pull her shirt on over her head, then reached out and combed his hand through her tangled hair. “You look beautiful though. Debauchery suits you!”

“Why thank you. I think.”

“Come on,” he said, standing up to put on his jeans, “I’ll walk you home, or at least to the end of your street.”

“You’re going to have to meet my dad eventually you know. As my boyfriend, I mean.”

“I suppose so, but can we make it not when I’ve just shagged his daughter!” He clapped his hand over his mouth - that’s not quite how he would have phrased it if he’d thought about it!

But Katie just laughed. “Scaredy-cat!”

“With good reason - I like my arms and legs the way they are!”

She ran her hand down from his shoulder to his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I like your arms and legs the way they are too, and I will protect you from the nasty man. We can say goodbye behind a bush if you like.”

“Thank you.” He lifted their clasped hands and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “Best day ever,” he said, the Cheshire Cat grin returning.

“Best day ever,” she echoed.

[dreamy625]

aww thank you everyone for the reblogs and nice comments 😊

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 5

< Chapter 4

Words: 1412

Content: Very slightly smutty

-----------------------------

“Pssst.”

Steve looked around warily, “Hello?”

“Over here, behind the van.”

Recognising the voice, he checked hastily over his shoulder before ducking behind the rusty old Transit. “What are you doing here? Your dad’s just inside you know.”

“He won’t see us here. Look what I got!” She waved a small cardboard box at him. When he just blinked in incomprehension, she pulled out the foil strip inside and showed him the side with the days of the week printed on it. Steve might be fairly innocent in the ways of women, but even he knew what that was. 

“Put them away!” he hissed. “Someone might see.”

Katie put the packet back in her handbag. “So what do you think?” she asked, suddenly uncertain, worried that she had gone a bit too fast.

“I think you’re very brave,” said Steve seriously, “to go into one of those clinics.”

“Oh, that was fine. I’ve been before, with other people. Other people who should have gone earlier,” she added with a wince. “That’s why I know it’s important.” Noticing that her boyfriend still looked rather bunny-in-headlights, she rushed on, “No pressure… just so we don’t have to be worried… and to be prepared… for when, if...”

Steve’s anxious expression cracked into a soft smile, “You are amazing. And just so you know,” he looked down, suddenly finding the pavement fascinating, “I, er, did go to the chemist, so it’s not all on you.”

She could imagine exactly how embarrassed that little errand would have made him and couldn’t help smiling a dopey smile at him. Glancing up, he smiled back.

“I would kiss you if I wasn’t so scared of someone seeing,” he whispered.

“I’ll imagine it.” She closed her eyes for a second and puckered her lips, “Mmm.”

Steve snorted, “You’re barmy, you!”

“Just a little bit.” She started walking backwards away from him - “See you Saturday.” - then turned and ran up the street.

-----------------------------

Saturday afternoon found them once again, taking advantage of the elder Raffertys’ fortnightly visit to Great Aunt Margaret in Barnsley, rolling in the sheets of Katie’s yellow-frilled single bed. With Steve’s shifts and numerous band practices, and Katie’s need to conceal the existence of a boyfriend that her father had such a strong aversion to, they’d only managed to see each other for a chaste few hours at the City’s art gallery in the intervening two weeks, so when finally alone they’d wasted no time, peeling off clothing the second they got through the door and down to their underwear by the time they landed on the mattress in a tangle of limbs. 

“Oh, I have missed you,” muttered Steve into Katie’s neck as he slid his hand up the smooth plane of her back and unclipped her bra.

“I can tell,” she commented cheekily, brushing her hand lightly across the rapidly-growing bulge in his boxer shorts. Caressing his bum, she couldn’t resist giving one of the perfect pert cheeks a little pinch. 

In revenge, the kiss he was about to bestow on her collarbone turned into sucking, hard.

“No marks!” she squealed. “I had to wear a polo neck for three days in a row after last time!”

Her weedy attempts to push him away were useless, so she reached under his arm and tickled him. His surprised ‘Ah!’ broke the suction, but he took the attack as a declaration of war and started to tickle her back - maybe not a fight he should have picked as he turned out to be way more ticklish than she was! However, despite his slight frame, he was stronger and, amid the breathless giggling and wriggling, he managed to tip her onto her back and pin her hands above her head. 

“Do you give in?”

His grip on her wrists was loose and she could have pulled away if she tried, but she didn’t want to. “Okay, I give in… if you kiss me!”

That seemed like a pretty good bargain to Steve.

Building on the success of their previous experiments, they graduated to putting their hands to work on each other simultaneously, the shared sensations adding a new level of intimacy and inching them closer to the eventual goal that they’d both acknowledged with their parallel visits to purveyors of contraception. 

Steve came up for air, “We could… do you want to try…?”

Katie bit her lip, thinking. There were butterflies in her stomach, but only little ones. She nodded, then reiterated, “Yes, I want to.” Steve smiled in response, but then he seemed to freeze, profound indecision showing on his face. “Do you? Want to?”

“Yes.” He scrunched his eyes up. “No. I mean, yes, but… argh… not now. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Do you want to stop?”

“...No…” The conflicting forces of desire and caution could be heard in his voice.

“So…” She’d stilled her hand during that discussion, but not moved it away from its grasp on Steve’s dick, and now she made a tentative half-stroke. “Just hands then?”

“Hands is good. Hands is very good.”

-----------------------------

After a mutually satisfying conclusion and a quick cleanup, they laid side-by-side with the covers pulled up to their chins in the chilly room. 

“Sorry, I just… not here. I just feel like they’ll know.”

“Aw but they’re out, they’ll be gone for hours yet.”

“I can’t shake the what-ifs. What if they come home early, what if someone heard us through the wall or… I dunno… psychic parent vibes or something.”

He was smiling so she felt it was okay to laugh, “You are silly.” She lifted herself on one elbow so she could see him better. “Is it so different from what we just did anyway? And would it really matter if they did find out? I’m eighteen after all…”

“YES! Your dad will actually kill me!”

“Oh come on, you’re exaggerating.”

“He said he’d break both my legs AND both my arms! I’m not so worried about the legs, but I need my arms for playing.”

“But how would he know, psychic vibes aside? I’m certainly not going to tell him.”

“Because,” he said, pulling her down into his arms, “if we do this, I won’t be able to wipe the grin off my stupid face for at least a week afterwards. Everyone will know!”

“You are funny,” she murmured, nestling her face against his neck.

“Hilarious. Now, it’s nearly tea time, so I’d better go. Just in case.”

Reluctantly she let go and sat up, feeling around the bed for discarded items of clothing. Steve stood up and pulled on his jeans.

“My parents are doing the quiz at the Admiral Rodney next Saturday evening. I can skive practice just this once, Kev’ll be out with his girlfriend, and I can bribe Chris to go to the pictures. We could have the place to ourselves? If you want?”

"I'd like that,” she said, tossing Steve his t-shirt.

As they were saying goodbye on the doorstop, Katie’s face suddenly registered alarm. “Get down!” she hissed, dropping into a crouch.

“Shit! Not your parents?” He looked genuinely terrified. 

“No, but Mrs Craddock from next door just came out her front door. Her and Mam are friends, and she’s a terrible gossip.” She craned her neck to get a better look. “Damn, she’s holding secateurs, like she’s going to do gardening or something.”

“What are we going to do?” Steve mouthed, still wide-eyed.

“She might be out there for ages… you’re going to have to crawl. If you stay close to the hedge, she won’t be able to see you. Wait for my signal when you get to the gateway, I’ll distract her, and then you run, okay?”

It seemed risky, but he couldn’t think of anything better, so he nodded. 

“Good luck,” she whispered, and Steve raised his hand in a salute.

He made his way slowly around the garden on hands and knees, smothering a yelp when he put his hand down on a slug.

“Oh my life is not at all ridiculous,” he thought as he squatted behind the gate waiting for the all-clear.

“Well HELLO Mrs Craddock, hasn’t it been a LOVELY day?” greeted Katie loudly.

“It rained, dear,” came the slightly puzzled response. 

But it did the trick, she turned away from her pruning to face her meteorologically-challenged neighbour. Katie raised her thumb behind her back and Steve sidled crablike around the gatepost and made a break for it.

Chapter 6 (final chapter) >

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 4

< Chapter 3

Words: 2852 (I still cannot write short chapters)

Content: Is it still called smut when it’s intrinsic to the plot? And if you’re incapable of writing sensuous prose and end up with something a little awkward? Anyway, there’s some of whatever it is

-----------------------------

“Wow, I don’t envy poor Rick having to carry his drums up and down these stairs.”

“Amps and speakers aren’t a whole bunch of fun either. We thought about trying to put in some kind of pulley system, but the risk of dropping something you’d spent months saving for was too scary.”

They got to the top of the second flight of steep, narrow steps and Steve put his key into the rusty lock and jiggled it until it turned and he could push open the door. It was almost as cold inside as outside and the first thing he did was switch on the two electric heaters. 

Katie looked around at the mishmash of old furniture, threadbare rugs, band posters, and a drum riser apparently built from packing crates nailed together. “Aw, you made yourselves a little clubhouse,” she teased.

“I’ll have you know we are serious musicians and this is a bona fide rehearsal studio,” he retorted with mock affront. 

“Of course, my sincere apologies. The next best thing to Abbey Road I’m sure. How much does it cost?”

“Fiver a week, so a pound each, which is not too bad. And that includes the electric. Wouldn’t want to run this lot,” he waved his arm at the assembled instruments and equipment, “off a meter.”

“Suppose not. Can I?” she asked, gesturing at Rick’s drums.

“Sure, there'll be some sticks on the floor somewhere I expect.”

Katie sat down on the stool and tapped out a few rhythms, pretending not to notice that Steve took this opportunity to hastily take down the topless glamour girl picture pinned to a cupboard door!

“Will you play something for me?”

“Noooo,” he demurred, “you don’t need to hear me make a noise.���

“I do, and it’s not a noise. I bet you’re good; you spend every hour you’re not at work here, so you must be by now!”

“I’m alright,” he mumbled. “Okay, fine, I’ll play.” He couldn’t continue to say no in the face of those big round imploring eyes. 

He clicked open the catches on one of the guitar cases and pulled out a honey-coloured guitar.

“Ooh, pretty.”

“It’s only a copy. But one day I’ll have a real one.” He slipped the strap over his head and bent to switch on his amp and plug in, then stood in front of the drum riser checking the tuning and running through some scales while staring thoughtfully at the wall. “What shall I play?”

“Anything you want. I’d like to hear one of your favourites.”

Steve started to play something, a slow, yearning ballad, that sounded vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place it. 

“That was lovely.”

Steve continued to move his fingers on the strings without strumming and didn’t look up, but she could see him smiling to himself. Then he straightened up, stepped his legs wide, and, with his eyes closed, belted out the opening riff to, easily recognisable even to Katie’s untrained ear, Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin. 

When he finished and struck a pose, arm in the air, she clapped enthusiastically. “Wow. You are… amazing. No, seriously,” she reiterated as Steve shook his head vigorously, “really, really, REALLY good.”

“Oh stop it. And don’t look at me like that,” he begged, all the rock star bravado of a moment ago gone. 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… Elvis or something.”

“You’d better get used to it, buster. Because thousands of people are going to look at you like that one day soon! That is… are the rest of your band as good as you?”

“I think… we’re all pretty good in our own ways. But together… yeah, I think we’ve really got something.”

“Well, sign me up as your first fan.” She jumped up from the sofa and gave him a sideways hug, avoiding the guitar.

“First groupie?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Play your cards right,” she replied, coiling her arms round his neck and pulling him down for a kiss.

Some minutes later, and sunk into the slightly musty cushions of the old sofa, they didn’t hear footsteps on the stairs or the door hinges creak, but they did hear Joe’s laugh, “Jesus, Sav, not again.” And as Steve’s head jerked around, “Ooh, not Sav! Well, well, this is a turn up for the books - Mr Clark getting his end away!”

“Sod off Joe, we weren’t… we were just kissing,” protested Steve, pulling his shirt down and running his hand through his dishevelled hair.

“Oh aye, and the rest! You know you’re supposed to hang your jacket on the door handle when you’re using the place for that kind of caper. What if innocent little Rick had walked in instead of me? He’d be traumatised!”

“Firstly, ‘innocent little Rick’ has had more girlfriends than both of us put together, and secondly, we WEREN’T doing that. Look, trousers on and everything!”

“Oh give over yer daft 'apeth, I’m only kidding. You gonna introduce me to your lady friend?”

Katie, who had stayed hidden behind Steve’s shoulder, peeked out and waved awkwardly.

“Joe, Katie; Katie, Joe. Our singer. And resident comedian.”

“Nice to meet you Katie, and sorry about interrupting your, err…”

“What are you even doing here - practice isn’t for hours?”

“Mum’s got friends round and the sitting room’s full of knitting and giggling. United are away, so I thought I’d come here, try and do a bit of writing, and then listen to the match on the radio.”

“So you’re here the rest of the day then?”

“Yeah, sorry mate, it’s pissing down and I’ve nowhere else to go. You’re welcome to stay, as long as you behave - I’m not watching you two slobber over each other all afternoon!”

Steve and Katie exchanged not particularly thrilled looks. “Weeell, my parents are supposed to be going out, I could phone the house and check if they’ve gone yet?” she suggested.

“There’s an idea.” He turned to Joe, “We’ll be off then, enjoy the… who are they playing?”

“Blackburn,” he answered gloomily.

“Oh dear, I won’t say enjoy the match then. See you later.”

With Katie pulling on her anorak and Steve just flicking up the collar of his denim jacket (he never seemed to have a proper coat), they left Joe regarding both an empty sheet of paper and his team’s prospects without enthusiasm.

-----------------------------

The smooching session that had started in the rehearsal room, continued on the bus back from town, and paused only long enough to make sure the rest of the Raffertys definitely were out, had reached fever-pitch with shirts removed, hands all over, and bodies entwined on the narrow single bed.

With a groan, Steve pulled away and rolled onto his back.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something…”

“Oh no, it was really nice. Just… it could get… err, messy if we go on much longer.” Embarrassed, he avoided her gaze, looking up at the ceiling and adjusting the waistband of his jeans to try and make everything less squashed.

“It would be less messy if you… took it out?” suggested Katie hesitantly.

“I… oh… really?”

She nodded, and so he unbuttoned, unzipped, and wriggled his jeans down. He was wearing blue boxers, that were displaying a distinctly tent-like shape! 

He looked back at her for reassurance. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Maybe!” she teased, then made her face serious. “No, I won’t laugh. Promise.”

He pulled the underpants down too, revealing, well, she had no real comparison to make, but from things she’d heard from girlfriends, it seemed quite impressive. 

“Can I touch?”

“If you want,” agreed Steve, feigning nonchalance.

Katie ran a finger gently down the length, and giggled when it twitched at her touch. 

“Like this?” she asked, wrapping her hand around the base, “And this?” as she slid her hand upwards.

Steve swallowed audibly, “Uh huh.”

When she hesitated, not wanting to do it wrong, he put his hand over hers and guided it up and down for a few strokes. She concentrated on keeping that rhythm going while studying, subtly so he wouldn’t get self-conscious, the piece of equipment in her hands. It was sort of fascinating - the only penis she’d really seen up ‘till now was in that mortifying sex education film at school, and she’d certainly never got up close and personal with one before. Steve held quite still, and when she looked up at his face, his eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted, letting out ragged breaths.

“Is that okay?”

“Perfect.” It came out raspy.

She leaned over and kissed him, and he kissed back, increasingly sloppy and uncoordinated, until she dragged her lips to the corner of his mouth, across his jaw, and down to his throat. She pressed them to his collarbone, his chest, anywhere she could reach, and felt his hips rocking beneath her hand. The only sounds he made were a muttered request for ‘faster’, and then almost-silent grunts on every stroke until, with a final sharp intake of breath, he shot warm white goo over her hand and his stomach.

Katie wasn’t quite sure what to do then. She reached over to the nightstand for tissues and wiped her hand. Steve had thrown his arm across his eyes and she prised it up.

“Are you hiding from me?”

“No! Yes.” Finally he met her eyes. “That was amazing. Thank you.” She handed him a wad of tissues and he mopped carefully at the mess, making sure not to get any on the sheets.

De-gunked, Steve held out his arms and Katie snuggled up to him, her head on his chest. He trailed his fingers up and down her back.

“I’d like to… I want to touch you too, if you’d like that? But I’m scared I’ll be crap at it.”

Katie hugged him tighter. “Aren’t guitarists supposed to be good with their hands?”

“Hehe, I suppose so. But I don’t know… girl bits sound… complicated.”

Picking up on the ‘sound’ part, Katie guessed, “Because you’ve never done it before?” She had an odd feeling asking that. Blokes were supposed to be experienced, weren’t they? But she found she felt suddenly proprietorial, jealous of any girl that had been there before.

“No,” admitted Steve, “but I’ve read three issues of Cosmopolitan if that helps!”

“It’s a good start,” she laughed, “and it’s not that complicated, I could show you. Oh,” she had a sudden thought, “we should wash our hands first, just in case there’s any of that… stuff hanging around.”

They padded across to the bathroom and washed; Steve kept his hands under the hot tap for an extra-long time so that they’d be warm. Back in the bedroom, Katie took her skirt off and they got under the covers. Steve ran his hand down her side to her thigh, getting acquainted with new places he hadn’t properly got to touch before, then back up to her stomach and over the lace of her bra.

“Can I take this off?”

She nodded and he reached behind and unsnapped it.

“See, nimble guitarist fingers!” she exclaimed.

“If you can play an E flat added ninth, bra clips are a piece of cake.”

He slid the strap over her shoulder, kissing the faint red mark it left behind. Katie pulled her other arm through and dropped the garment off the side of the bed.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, trailing his fingers gently round the curve of her breast. It tickled a little and Katie tried not to giggle.

He ducked his head and kissed first one nipple and then the other, followed by an experimental lick and then, very gently, sucking. A quick intake of breath from above made him pause, but fingers squeezing his shoulder encouraged him to continue. He swirled his tongue and was rewarded with a shuddering breathy ‘ohh’. He repeated the trick on the other side (wouldn't want it to feel left out) to more appreciative noises, and then lifted his head.

“You like that?”

She nodded, a little flushed. “How did you learn how to do that?”

Steve shrugged one shoulder, “That was me learning it.”

“Clever boy. Do it again?”

“Yes ma’am.”

With multi-tasking skills honed by many hours of lathe work, he also reached down and slipped his hand under the waistband of her knickers, stroking around her hipbone and across her lower belly. “Do we need these?” he asked teasingly.

“We do not,” she replied, and he tugged them down far enough that she could kick them off completely.

This was definitely new territory and he explored tentatively, sliding fingertips over the soft skin of her inner thighs and curving his hand over the mound in between. “Teach me what to do.”

Katie reached for his hand and guided his first two fingers. “So I guess the main, um, landmarks, are here,” she moved his fingers in a circle, “and here.” She took his hand down lower, to what felt to Steve like a confusing pattern of soft folds that he mentally tried to match with the diagram in the biology textbook and some magazines he kept hidden in a box of sheet music at the bottom of his wardrobe. “And it helps if you lick your fingers first,” she added.

Steve did so, noticing the exciting new smell on his skin just from those brief touches. 

“So like this? In circles?”

“Uh huh,” she muttered, slightly distracted as she got used to the weirdness of someone else touching her in that way, trying to remember the details of what she did when she was alone. “You can vary speed and pressure and… oh I don’t know - improvise!”

“Got it.”

He propped himself up on the other elbow and went to work, moving his hand in slow, deliberate circles.

Katie giggled as she looked at his face with its furrowed brow, “You look like you’re taking an exam!”

“Shush, you. I’m concentrating. Close your eyes.”

She did, and that was better, shyness dissipating and just the pleasurable feeling of Steve stroking her and his warm breath on her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her, and that was even better. She moaned into his mouth as he hit a particularly good rhythm, and felt his lips curve into a smile. When she pulled back to take a breath, he moved his head down to kiss her neck, licking and sucking gently down to her collarbone and back up. 

He sensed her body relaxing and she bent her knee to open her legs wider, which he took as an invitation to move his fingers lower. 

“Ooh slimy!” he observed without thinking about it.

“STEVE! Euw!”

“Sorrysorrysorry! But that’s what’s supposed to happen isn’t it?”

“Yes. Just don’t say it like that!”

“Sorry. Wet. Slippery. Silky.” He punctuated each word with an apologetic kiss. “That’s what I meant.”

“Better.” She smiled and settled back on the pillow, closing her eyes once more. 

Steve wiggled his finger around searching for the right spot and then, when he found it, eased his finger in, smooth and easy once he got the angle right. As he slid the finger in and out of the slick, welcoming warmth, he briefly got distracted, wondering how it would feel to put his… no, this was about Katie, not him, he had to focus. She seemed to be enjoying his ministrations, but how could he make it even better for her?

He broke off from kissing her neck to ask, “Two?”

“Mm-hmm,” she answered without opening her eyes.

His fingers were bigger than hers but the extra stretch wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, after a moment to get used to it, it felt good, great. She angled her hips to get more contact and he seemed to understand what she needed, adjusting his position so that she could press against the heel of his hand. Remembering a particularly informative magazine article, he twisted his wrist and found that, yes, he could reach her clit with his thumb at the same time, and she gasped and clenched around his fingers. It didn’t take long after that for her breathing to quicken and turn to panting, then her head arched back and she came with a long ‘ahh’ and he could feel her knees shaking as well as the spasming inside. It felt like such a privilege to watch that, to be the cause of that, a fantasy come true. He moved to cradle her head, brushing away a tendril of hair that had stuck to her forehead and pressing a kiss to the damp skin. He waited until her breathing slowed and the grip around his fingers loosened before carefully easing them out and resting his hand on her thigh, where he could still feel the occasional twitch of a muscle. 

Katie blinked, coming back to Earth, and her face broke into a grin. “‘Scuse swearing but holy shit, Steve! How does a nice boy like you know how to do that?”

“Um, is it bad if I say from Playboy?”

She laughed, “I think I need to send a thank you letter to the editors!”

Chapter 5 >

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 3

< Chapter 2

Words: 2435

Content: Nothing I can think of, this one’s pretty wholesome

-----------------------------

As they’d parted so hastily with no opportunity to exchange numbers, Steve had to wait until Monday for the chance to see Katie again. He volunteered for every errand around the factory, making a detour each time to pass the administration department in the hopes of spotting her. Finally, on the fourth trip, he almost walked into her, coming out of Packing with a sheaf of dockets in her hand.

Her face broke into a delighted grin. “What are you doing here?”

“Collecting this…” He held up the tool he was carrying. “Whatever it is, from Stores.”

“On the other side of the building?” 

“Er, I got lost?”

She raised one eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

Steve slid his eyes away from hers and cleared his throat. “Anyway, since I’ve bumped into you, quite by chance, I wondered if… well if… you’d like to come to the pictures with me?”

“Hmm…” She pretended to consider for a moment (as if she could possibly say no to those hopeful eyes). “Yes please.”

He beamed back at her. “Sunday? Only I’ve got band practice most nights.”

“Sunday’s good.”

“Maybe seven? I can come pick you up? Actually, best not, if your dad’s likely to be home. Meet at the bus stop on Worrall Road?”

“It’s a date.”

“Cool.” The ear-to-ear grin rather belied his casual tone.

He looked like he didn’t know quite what to do next, so Katie took pity on him. “Shouldn’t you be getting the whatever-it-is back to the workshop? Before they send out a search party?”

He looked at the object he’d forgotten he was holding, “Oh yeah. See you later then.” He ambled up the corridor and, with a final wave over his shoulder, disappeared round the corner. 

On his return to the machine shop he was informed by Simon, who worked the lathe next to his, that the foreman wanted to see him in the office and was, he added with a spiteful grin, ‘hopping mad’. Steve’s happiness of a few moments ago evaporated as he made the seemingly interminable walk across the workshop and knocked apprehensively on the door.

“Ah yes, Mr Clark.” 

He smiled a smile that to Steve’s eye looked very much like a hungry shark. 

“Y-you wanted to see me Mr Rafferty? Sir.”

“Mr Clark, you were late three times last week, you mixed up the metric and imperial die sets, your hair is too long, and your overalls are a disgrace.”

Steve glanced down, wondering how you were supposed to work in a machine shop without getting covered in oil - surely that was the point of the overalls?

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, boy.”

“Sorry sir.”

“Without a significant improvement in both attitude and application, the chances of you successfully completing your apprenticeship are slim. Very slim. You need to buck your ideas up, young man.”

Steve, who was pretty much counting on becoming an internationally famous millionaire rockstar within the next eighteen months primarily so he didn’t have to finish his apprenticeship, just nodded, and then added ‘Yessir’ when that didn’t seem to be sufficient.

“And on the topic of your delinquent ways.” Mr Rafferty drew himself up to his full height, which was in fact slightly shorter than Steve, but he was about twice as wide as the slender younger man and seemed to loom over him as he leaned intimidatingly close. “What are your intentions towards my daughter?”

“I… er… nothing… You have a daughter? I… um… barely know her…” he stammered in a panic.

“DON’T lie to me, boy. I saw you with her last Friday.”

“Oh… right… Friday… that daughter…” Mr Rafferty’s face had turned an alarming shade of purple by this point and Steve sought desperately to placate him. “Lovely girl, a credit to you, sir.”

“That she is. The apple of my and her mother’s eye. She has a promising future ahead of her and I won’t allow anything that could derail that. So I ask you again, your intentions towards my Katherine?” 

His voice had dropped lower and quieter, but that didn’t make it sound any less dangerous. Steve’s petrified brain tried to think of something that sounded as innocent and honourable as possible. “I just… I just want to get to know her better,” was the best he could manage.

“Get to know her better?”

Steve nodded uncertainly.

“If you lay a finger on that girl…” This was delivered at a roar and Steve reflexively leaned back. “I will not be responsible for my actions!”

Already almost nose to nose, he took another step forwards, and Steve took a step back. Reverting to the hushed tone, the older man almost growled, “I can make your life a misery and I will not hesitate. Do you understand?”

He stepped forward again and Steve backed up again. In this manner he almost pushed him out of the room, adding a few more threats for good measure before slamming the door a mere inch from Steve’s toes. 

-----------------------------

At the cinema, their options were Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Ice Castles, and something set during the Vietnam War, which they both instantly dismissed as depressing. Steve was steeling himself for two hours of romance and melodrama on ice when Katie piped up, “Don’t judge me, but I really like sci fi films. Can we see that one?”

“Of course, whatever you’d like.” (He would have sat through the ice skating one, for her, but he was rather glad not to have to.) 

The cinema was only about half full and they chose seats near the back without too many other patrons nearby so they could talk through the trailers without being shushed. 

“You can hold my hand if you get scared,” Steve offered.

“That’s very sweet of you, but whose hand are you going to hold when you get scared?”

“I’ll close my eyes.”

“Ohh, but that’s when the monsters get you,” she warned, before lunging at his neck with her teeth - fangs - bared!

He backed away in pretend terror, but actually the thought of her nibbling his neck was strangely appealing… 

As it turned out, the hand-holding started almost as soon as the lights went out, questing fingers finding each other in the darkness and coming to rest on Steve’s thigh. There weren’t a lot of jump-scares in the film, though they did both jerk and tighten their grip when a supposedly inert alien body suddenly opened its eyes. Then there was one scene which wasn’t frightening as such, but was pretty disgusting, with the slimy, half-formed pod people hatching, that made Steve, who did not have a strong stomach, hide his face against her shoulder. He then basically just stayed there, his head on her shoulder, and they watched the remainder of the film as cuddled up as they could be with an armrest between them, only pulling reluctantly apart when the lights came up at the end of the credits. 

“So… do you need to get back or…?”

Katie looked at her watch. “I’ve got a while longer before anyone starts worrying about me. What do you want to do? Pub maybe?”

“I think I’m hungry, are you hungry?”

“Actually, starving! I was too nervous to eat much tea.” She rolled her eyes at the needless jitters that had led her to stir lamb stew and dumplings round and round on her plate until it turned to mush. 

“Me too, my mam was livid,” confessed Steve.

“The Wimpy’ll still be open, we could go there?”

Seated in the restaurant, Steve ordered a cheeseburger and Katie opted for egg and chips, but was less decisive when it came to a drink.

“I want a strawberry milkshake, but I can never drink a whole one; they’re too cold and it makes my head hurt.”

The waitress shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. “Why don’t I bring you two straws and you can share?” she offered.

When their order arrived, Steve was momentarily distracted from his burger by watching the cute shape Katie’s lips made as she sucked on the straw. 

“Mm, icy but delicious. You have to have some too, save me from the brain freeze!”

He waited for her to push the glass over, but instead she put the straw back in her mouth and raised her eyebrows in invitation.

“Oh, Lady and the Tramp style.” He leaned over the table and angled his head to reach the other straw. After a few sips, he dropped the straw to remark, “You are very pretty, you know.”

“I am? How can you tell from this distance, I must be all blurry?”

Steve leaned back. “Yep, still pretty.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her eyes demurely, a pleased little smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

Steve put the cheeseburger back down and licked a splotch of ketchup from his thumb. He looked thoughtful. “Will you go out with me again?” he asked, a trace of uncertainty audible in his voice.

“Yes please,” she responded with no hesitation.

“Will you go out with me again, after that?”

“Probably. As long as you don’t take me to the opera or something!”

“No opera. And how about again after that?”

Katie laughed, “Why do I have to answer that now?”

“Because I want to get to something, and it’s too soon, but I can’t wait.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out what he was working up to. “Go on,” she said, a little guardedly. 

“Would you…” He wished belatedly that he’d picked a more romantic location for this. Not that he’d actually planned it at all. More that, once he thought of it, he couldn’t wait another week to ask it. “Would you be my girlfriend?”

The wary look softened into a fond smile. “Stephen Clark. You are very odd. But I like you. Sooo, yes.”

His face cracked into that glorious half-moon grin that had been so irresistible to begin with and, unable to celebrate the new relationship with an embrace because there was a table in the way, she settled for reaching across and squeezing his hand. 

“So now we’re official, I want to know all your terrible secrets!”

“Well I have tons of those. What d’you want to know?”

“Umm, what’s your middle name?”

“Maynard. Stupid name. What’s yours?”

“Meredith. After my grandmother. Second question - what’s hidden under your bed?”

“A guitar. It’s not hidden, there’s just nowhere else to put it.”

“Boring! Okay, here’s a personal one - is that your real hair?”

“Are you suggesting it’s a wig?” he asked with mock affront.

“Nooo, at least I hope not. But I don’t remember it being curly at school?”

“Alright, I confess, it’s a perm. My gran did it.”

“Ah ha! I thought so. It’s cute though, you look like Peter Frampton.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Definitely, he’s gorgeous! Ooh, that’s a good one - who’s your celebrity crush?”

“Frida from Abba. And I had a bit of a thing for Sophia Loren when I was a kid.”

“You and every man alive I think!” laughed Katie. “And on a similar topic,” she ate the chip from the end of her fork and held it under his chin like a microphone, “first girlfriend?”

“Really?” he said with pleading eyes.

“Enquiring minds need to know.” She waved the fork again in a more threatening manner.

Steve arranged and rearranged the ketchup and mustard packets on the tabletop. “It’s not a very exciting story, I'm afraid. First real girlfriend was not long after I started at GEC, Rebecca. I met her at the college where I was doing my training course on day release; she was doing catering. We went out for the rest of that year, but then she went on to proper catering school in Leeds. We wrote, and I got the train up there once or twice but… I guess it just fizzled out.”

“Aw, that’s sad.”

“A little bit, at the time, I suppose. But I’d started with the band by then, so I was focused on that, and she’d made other friends, so it wasn’t a big dramatic breakup or anything. The only one since then was Jenny, who’s Colin’s - he’s at GEC too, a year ahead of me - sister. That was just a casual thing. We just,” he looked slightly embarrassed at the revelation, “snogged at a couple of parties. But she met someone much more interesting than me, with a motorbike, and that was the end of that. Huh, pretty pathetic really.” 

“No, you’ve proved you’re not undateable at least!” she laughed.

“Okay, I’ve showed you mine, you show me yours.”

“Ah, also not much to tell. I had a boyfriend at school, but I don’t think that really counts. He went to Myers Grove and we just used to see each other at choir competitions and hold hands in the interval over orange squash and digestive biscuits. Then there were a couple of blokes I went on dates with that didn’t go anywhere. Then most recently there was Gary, who I was seeing for about a month and a half. But he was kind of dull. So I dumped him when I met someone else I liked and hoped might ask me out.” Seeing Steve’s questioning expression she clarified, “You, silly!”

“Ohh.” He grinned down at the remains of his chips. 

-----------------------------

Wending their way slowly to the bus stop, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, they tried to work out when they could next see each other.

“I’m on the swing shift next week,” explained Steve, “which mucks up everything.”

“Ugh, shift work is horrible. I’m so glad we just do regular office hours.”

“Swing is the worst. I mean, it’s easier for sleeping than the night shift, but at least with nights I can go to practice beforehand. Or on dates with pretty girls.”

He swung round, abruptly stopping their progress under a streetlamp. He held Katie’s face in his hands and kissed her until with a giggle she extracted herself. “We’ve got to gooo, we’ll miss the bus.”

“There’ll be another one,” he argued, but reluctantly he started to walk again, taking her hand in his.

“I’d love to see you rehearse one day. And meet the rest of the band.”

“Ah, no girlfriends allowed at practice. Joe’s rule; he says they’re too distracting.” In response to Katie’s moue of disappointment he offers, “You could come and see the rehearsal room another time though? It’s a bit manky, but we’ve got furniture and a heater and a kettle.”

“Mmm, what girl could resist that tempting offer?”

Chapter 4 >

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners masterlist

Baby Lepps era Steve x OFC standalone fic. In early 1979, a junior typist at GEC Traction meets a curly-haired apprentice from the machine shop

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (Mature label)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 (Mature label)

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 2

< Chapter 1

Words: 2212

Content: There’s casual drinking and smoking in this chapter, and some smooching

-----------------------------

For such a casual arrangement, Katie found that a quite unreasonable level of anticipation crept up on her over the intervening week. She flaked on another date with Gary and then, after ten minutes of introspection, called him back to end things altogether. With the vision, however uncertain, of a particular sweet shy smile perpetually hovering in front of her, Gary had just… faded into the background. Oh he was nice enough, and she’d liked that he had a respectable, clean job - chilled goods manager at the new supermarket - and a car, but it turned out, not much else. He wasn’t the most exciting bloke in the world, and the only thing he seemed to be really passionate about was Sheffield United. She let him down gently, blaming their incompatible work schedules rather than the fact that he was boring, and he accepted it with predictable stoicism. 

-----------------------------

Steve’s head had swivelled like an owl every time the door swung open and finally, at twenty past six, he was rewarded with the sight of Katie walking into the pub and looking around searchingly. He jumped up, almost knocking the bar stool over, and then, checking himself, strolled oh so casually over to where she was standing. 

“You came! I mean, hi.”

“Well, sure. I hear this is where all the cool kids hang out on a Friday night,” she quipped. 

“Oh definitely,” agreed Steve, eying the motley collection of steel workers and engineers, some still wearing their overalls, that made up the majority of the patrons. “Have you just got off work?”

“Err, yeah, busy day,” (in fact she had put the cover on her typewriter nearly an hour ago and had spent the intervening time in the ladies’ loo refreshing her makeup, fussing with her hair, and trying to get the ink stain off the cuff of her blouse). 

“Can I get you a drink?”

“That would be lovely.”

While Steve went to the bar, Katie scoped out a small table in a corner made less gloomy than most of the pub by the last of the evening light coming in through a frosted window. When Steve sat down with a vodka and orange for Katie and a pint of beer for himself there was a brief awkward silence when it dawned on both of them that this was now undeniably a date. 

“So, you’re not with your mates today then?”

“Oh they’re around here somewhere. Last I saw they were in the back bar reenacting William Tell and the apple but with darts and a pickled egg! I couldn’t watch.”

He mimed an unfortunate apprentice turning cross-eyed as a poorly-aimed dart approached his forehead and Katie’s laughter, and Steve’s bashful delight at having made her laugh, seemed to break the ice. After that, starting with their common ground of Wisewood Comprehensive, they shared reminiscences about Mr Taylor’s wig, the time 3B set fire to the chemistry lab, and whether the boiler room was actually haunted, before moving on to families, with Steve telling stories of escapades with his two younger brothers, and then grumbling about their shared workplace, each striving to top the other’s tales of dimwitted colleagues and virtually inedible canteen food. Steve’s shyness evaporated once he got engrossed in the conversation, and he was funny, and observant, with a talent for mimicking voices and mannerisms. Katie tried, however pretty his eyes were, not to stare at his face the whole time, and instead found herself studying his hands - black staining like all the men in the manufacturing departments, from oil and metal dust worked so deep into the skin that you couldn’t wash it off however hard you scrubbed, and long slender fingers that were always moving - pushing his overgrown fringe out of his eyes, fiddling with a cigarette, tapping on the table, tearing the corners off beermats. Three drinks and several packets of peanuts later and they were on to more personal topics - childhood dreams, hopes for the future, and, of course, music, at which point Steve’s twitchy fingers took flight, subconsciously miming chords and riffs as he talked about his favourite players. They were in the middle of discovering a shared love of David Bowie when a group of blokes from the factory walked past on their way to the pool table, and one of them did a double-take. 

“Aye aye, Dreamer’s found a girl!”

“Is this your sister, Steve-o?”

“Bet it’s his cousin - they’re like that in Hillsborough.”

Charlie, bringing up the rear, gave a couple of the young men a good-natured shove, “Come on lads, this might be the only time he’s ever spoken to a woman, don’t ruin it for him.” Still snickering and with some crude hand gestures, the group continued on their way. 

Clutching his forehead and turning pink with embarrassment, Steve apologised, “I am so sorry. I work with a bunch of hooligans.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been at GEC long enough to know what they’re like. The office girls call your bit of the factory the monkey cage!”

He grimaced. "Sounds about right."

“Why do they call you Dreamer?”

“Because I’m always sleeping when I’m meant to be working.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “And because I want to be a musician and they think that’s a pipe dream.”

“Well that’s very unsupportive of them.”

“Yeah. They’re probably right though,” he mused gloomily.

“No,” she insisted, suddenly fierce, “how dare they try to squash your dreams!” Impulsively she reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’ve got all the time in the world to get there. And you’re already doing it, playing in a band and all.”

Steve’s head was lowered and she followed his gaze to where it rested on their joined hands. Self-consciously she released her grip and moved her hand, not snatching it back but trailing her fingertips across the landscape of tendons and veins. 

“So, what would you like to do now? Another drink, or…?”

Mustering every ounce of courage he possessed, Steve stretched across the table and very lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. “I would like…” She heard him take a quick breath. “To kiss you. But I don’t want to do it with all that lot watching us.”

“Well, I would appreciate a kind gentleman who would walk me to my bus stop.”

“I am at your service, m’lady.”

Conveniently, it turned out that they lived close enough to one another that Steve could catch the same bus as Katie and only have to walk a couple of extra streets. After establishing this plan, the previously easy conversation dried up, stifled by the anticipation hovering in a cloud above their heads. As they walked, their hands occasionally brushed against each other, and they both pretended not to notice. As they rounded the corner and came in sight of the row of bus stops, they saw that there were quite a number of people already waiting there. 

“Oh goody,” muttered Steve under his breath, “another audience.” Looking around quickly, he spotted open gates leading to the yard in front of some factory or warehouse and stepped sideways into the shadowy gateway, inclining his head in an invitation for Katie to follow him. Though not in the habit of following strange men into dark corners, this one somehow seemed irresistible. 

“Sorry, not the most glamorous of locations,” he said with an anxious smile. 

“At least it's private, and doesn't smell bad."

“So…” He looked at her a little sideways, fidgeting his feet. He could feel his heart beating fast and his palms were sweaty. 

“So… I think you said you wanted to do something?” she teased, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Steve stepped closer and reached out a hand, hovering it uncertainly before deciding that her shoulder was a safe place to land it. Katie put her hand on his other arm and tilted her face up expectantly. He leaned down and bestowed a soft, chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth and then waited for a moment, in case she was going to yell ‘bleugh’ and run away - okay that had only happened once, when he was nine, but it had stayed in his mind as a possible outcome ever since. Happily, there was no cry of revulsion, so he lightly brushed his lips across hers before pressing them together. She responded eagerly, and he felt inspired to elaborate, alternating delicate pecks with firmer pressure with pulling her lower lip into the slightest pout to graze the soft inner edge. His kisses were like questions, to her, to himself - do you like that, can I do this, does that feel good? Each move tentative at first and then more ardent as the response was a clear yes! Eventually they reached some kind of natural conclusion, separating with a final clinging pop and little puffs of hot breath.

“Wow…” She blinked, temporarily unable to find any more words.

“Really? I’ve never had a ‘wow’ before.”

“Maybe we should check it wasn’t a fluke?”

The first kiss had brought them closer together and this time Steve dared to put his hands on Katie’s waist. She lifted up on her toes and looped her arms around his neck. This kiss was bolder; Steve’s tongue traced the inner edges of her lips and she parted them and moved her own to meet it with exploratory touches. His hands gripped tighter on her hips, and hers tangled in his hair. 

The increasingly-passionate moment was rudely interrupted when a group of lads passing in the street spotted the canoodling couple and whistled and hooted (honestly, was there nowhere you could go in this city that wasn’t infested with packs of feral boys). Steve, without breaking the embrace, held up his middle finger in their direction. Not really looking where they were going, he started to steer them, Katie shuffling backwards, into the deeper shadows. After a few steps, she bumped into a wall and broke the kiss with a little ‘oof’ of surprise.

“Sorry, I…” Steve started to apologise.

“No, this is good.” She trailed her hands down the front of his jacket and anchored them around his waist, tugging him closer as their lips met again.  

Pressed into each other, and back against the wall, Steve’s knee slipped between hers, bringing their whole bodies into contact. Katie dropped her hands to his bum, and he let out a half-moan, half-sigh that she felt as much as heard. That sound cemented the transformation that had been happening in her head since the previous Friday, turning the dorky kid from the music room into a handsome prince grown man, with warm lips and strong hands and… let’s be honest, a really nice arse. She felt him slip a hand between her blouse and her jacket, up her back and then round to the side, as if he was following the bra band underneath like a map. Hesitantly, he moved his hand to cup the curve of her breast and his thumb brushed over her nipple. Even through two layers of fabric the touch was enough to make her gasp, and Steve reacted by repeating the action deliberately. Eager for skin contact, Katie wriggled her hand under the hem of Steve’s t-shirt, touching her fingers to the curve of his back. But her hands were cold, and her realisation of it, and his involuntary shiver, broke the spell and they both pulled away from the kiss with simultaneous ‘sorry’-s. 

Steve dropped his hand back to Katie’s waist and took a half-step back, forcing himself to create distance between their bodies. He blew out a long breath. “So… that was…”

“That was…” She was still gazing at him with starry eyes.

“I don’t usually…”

“I don’t either…”

“Sorry, too fast…”

“No… maybe…”

He cleared his throat and tried very hard to form a complete sentence. “If I asked you… would you go on a proper date with me? One that’s not groping in doorways?”

“Of course I would.” She smiled, “Though I wouldn’t be too upset if there was a little bit of groping in doorways!”

“Deal!” 

As they were leaving the yard, they almost bumped into a group of older men also, by the jovial laughter and slightly wobbly gait of some of the party, on their way home from a night in the pub. One of the men stopped after a few steps, turned back and scowled at the couple.

“Uh oh, it’s Mr Rafferty, the foreman. Don’t know why he’s got that face on him though, for once I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Um, it might be because you’re holding his daughter’s hand.”

He dropped her hand like it was molten metal, muttering ‘bloody hell’ under his breath before pasting on an ingratiating smile.

“G-good evening M-mr Rafferty, I was just, err, seeing your Katherine home safe,” he stammered. “But, err, now you’re here, I’ll just say goodnight.”

He bobbed his head in a kind of awkward bow before scuttling off down the street as fast as his guilty feet would carry him. Katie tore her eyes away from his retreating figure and looked up at her father’s still frowning face. She wondered if she had lipstick smeared on her chin.

‘Home’ was all he said.

Chapter 3 >

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 1

In early 1979, a junior typist at GEC Traction meets a curly-haired apprentice from the machine shop

Words: 1260

Content: Mentions of casual drinking in this chapter

-----------------------------

Katie supposed she’d known Steve Clark for most of her life, though to be honest she hadn’t paid much attention to him at school. He’d been in the year above, and she’d only noticed him in the morass of spots and football boots that was fifth form boys because he was always hanging round the music rooms when she was there for choir practice. He’d had hair grown just past his collar, which was against the school rules, and she’d wondered how he got away with it. Linda, one of the more boy-crazy members of her class, had tried to cajole him into joining the choir, but he’d just shaken his head shyly and melted away into one of the practice rooms. 

A few months after she’d started as the most junior of junior typists at GEC Traction, she’d recognised him in the canteen. His hair was longer and curly now, but definitely the same boy. He was sitting with the other apprentices from the machine room, a rowdy bunch that she made careful efforts to avoid because they were known to leer and whistle at any female employee who had to venture onto the factory floor. This lad, she couldn’t remember his name just then, seemed to be on the edge of the group, smiling along but not really joining in with the banter. She watched him for a minute or so as the queue inched its way towards the serving hatch, before getting distracted by the choice of soup or cottage pie.

It was months later when she encountered him again, at The Wentworth just round the corner. She usually steered clear of the pubs near work on Friday evenings - they tended to get rowdy and it was mostly just an opportunity for the boys from the machine shop to try and cop off with the girls from the electrical workshop - but it was Maureen’s last day before she left to get married, so all the women from the office who didn’t need to rush back home to cook someone’s tea had come out to celebrate. Katie had planned on staying for just one drink before her date with Gary, but everyone was in a party mood, and some of the older ladies started telling salacious stories about the managers, and suddenly it was gone seven o’clock. She used the payphone in the corridor to call Gary’s house - he hadn’t come home yet, but she left an apologetic message with his mam, maybe slightly exaggerating how much of a friend Maureen was, and returned to the gathering guilt-free. 

By the time it was her turn to buy the next round, the pub had filled up and the throng around the bar was two-deep. She exchanged an eyeroll of fellow-feeling with the customer queuing next to her and then had a moment of recognition.

“You work at GEC, right?”

“Yeah, machine shop. You’re there too?”

“Yup, in the office. I type. Actually, I do more tea-making than typing.”

“Well that’s a useful skill for a Yorkshire lass,” said the young man, and cringed inwardly at such a dad-like comment.

“Actually, I think we might have gone to school together? Wisewood? You did music or something?”

Steve studied her face. “Oh yeah,” he said, nodding, “you do look familiar. You were in the choir?”

“Yup, mezzo-soprano, fourth from the left.”

“Do you still sing?”

“Only in the bath! Do you still play…” She realised she never noticed what he was actually doing in the music room.

“Guitar. A bit. ‘M in a band.” He almost mumbled the last part.

“Oh, cool. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name?”

“Steve, Steve Clark. And you’re...?”

“Katherine. Well, Katie to everyone who’s not my parents.”

“Nice to meet you, or meet you again, Katie.” He held out his hand in a cramped elbow-up handshake, as they were still trapped in the press of people around the bar. “Are you here with…?” The question tailed off.

Katie gestured to her table, where it seemed another of the apprentices was trying to chat up Janet (120wpm shorthand and E-cup boobs, one or other of those impressive attributes making her an object of great fascination to the men in the factory). “With the girls from work. And it looks like they’ve made a new friend.”

“Oh that’s Charlie, loud but harmless.”

When they reached the front of the queue, Steve, ever the gentleman, let Katie go first. And when the drinks arrived, he offered to help carry them.

“What about your drinks?”

He flapped a hand dismissively. “They can wait. They’re all drunk enough anyway.” He turned towards the table but then looked back. “Do you play pool?”

“Yeah, badly. Why…”

“Badly’ll do.” A mischievous smile formed on his face as he headed to where the women were sitting.

Depositing the drinks, he leant in and whispered in Charlie’s ear. 

Charlie grinned at the suggestion. “We challenge you ladies to a game of pool - if you win, you get to go on a date with me!”

“That was not what I…” 

“And what happens if we lose?”

“You have to go on two dates with him!”

“Hey!” Charlie elbowed his mate in the stomach, but it didn't stop Steve from laughing.

Katie and Janet agreed to the challenge, if not the 'prize' and, with Caroline from Accounts chaperoning in case the boys got handsy (with four grown kids of her own, she had moved on to mothering all the unmarried girls in the office), they moved to the pool table in the corner.

Katie was, as she'd admitted, pretty terrible at pool. Steve was good, and the boys won the first game easily. As they were racking up for the rematch, Charlie suggested they mix it up, him with Janet, and Steve and Katie together. This was a transparent excuse for Charlie to try his best moves on his teammate, putting his arms around her to ‘help’ her line up her shot and somehow always needing to get to the side of the table that meant squeezing past her. Janet put up only token resistance, despite Caroline's disapproving stare. Katie found herself noticing how Steve’s awkwardness vanished when he was concentrating; there was something graceful in the way he moved around the table, and he smiled just as easily when he mis-hit and potted the white as when he made a tricky shot. His skill and Charlie's distraction meant they won the second game, with Steve claiming he was the overall champion, having been on both winning teams. He declined the 'prize' but, from the looks they were giving one another, it seemed like Janet would happily take his place.

"So, um…"

The question he was building up to was interrupted by a passing slap on the back from one of the other apprentices. "We're going for chips, you coming?"

With a glance at Katie he hesitated for a second before shyness got the better of him. "Err, okay, be there in a sec," he called. Turning back to Katie he asked, "I guess I'm off then. You alright getting home?"

"Yup, Caroline and I get the same bus so we'll go together."

"That's good… um… do you think you'll be here next Friday?"

"Oh, yeah, probably. I come in here a lot." (Massive lie.)

"Cool. So… maybe I'll see you then?"

"Sure." 

She smiled and his carefully nonchalant demeanour was torpedoed by a broad grin. He raised his hand in a half-wave as he turned and took quick steps to catch up with his mates. 

Chapter 2 >

[dreamy625]

What are people's thoughts about chapter length? My new fic (yes, really, I swear it's nearly done!) is looking like 12,500 words over 6 chapters, with 4 of those chapters being around 2,500 words - are those too long?

[dreamy625]

"don't live in the past" okay well the people I loved are there

[dreamy625]

It’s so fun reading fanfiction when you have important stuff to do