#-immediately makes half my cats even nakeder than they already were-

[noivern]

baruk coalmane is my little played warrior because its too hard but hes an ex flame legion bimbo with none braincells. hes makin out w both talia and ferrin in some kinda triad situation

[smilemoreimagines]

something tragic about you (Geralt x reader)

Chapter 7

length: 2,521

tw: smut

author’s note: fuck me this took forever, so sorry about that.  but it’s finally done.  it’s got smut and it’s the last chapter and i hope y’all enjoy it!  i sure did, i haven’t finished a multi-chapter fic since i was like 14 so i’m pretty proud lol.  it may be a bit out of character at the end, but it made me happy to write so i’m leaving it as is.  once again I hope you enjoy this final part!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

You and the Witcher make quite a pair walking back into Solma, drenched in mud and gore.  His eyes, at least, have returned to their usual gold, so no one runs away screaming--he had warned you that might happen, the casual way he said it weighing on your heart.  On that mostly-silent walk, you resolved that you would stoke the burning warmth that resides in you, chase away the coldness of other people that lingers in the set of his jaw, his hard and guarded face.  

You left that other village because you knew that feelings were creeping up on you; you could have waited for him to return outside of town, but you were too scared of your own emotions.  But you can’t run from them, you don’t want to run from them, not anymore.  

He is clearly headed for an inn, the one he told you Roach is stabled at, but you redirect him.

“We should collect your payment now,” you say, “And I know just where Konrad will be.”

You ignore the question in his eyes, lead him to the bar that those asses entered just a few hours ago.  They are still there, in the crowd that all end up with eyes on the Witcher.  He approaches Konrad, the man who hired him.

“I’ll take my payment,” Geralt says. 

The man, coward that he is, fumbles for his coin purse and hands it over silently, watching Geralt weigh it in his hand, open the bag to check the coin.

“You will find it is all there, Witcher,” he finally says.  “All 250 ducat.”  

Geralt gives a clipped nod, but you aren’t satisfied.  

You step up to the man, tell him, “That’s not nearly the amount he is owed.  You lied about how many Drowners he would find in that swamp, sent him there expecting him to die.  500 ducat.”

He barks out a laugh.  “500?  Who do you think you are, girl?  I do not have that kind of money.”

“Then you will find it.  You hired him saying you’d pay anything knowing that he’d give you a fair price,” you say with a dangerous glint in your eye. “I met your friends earlier, did they tell you about me?  They are alive because the Witcher is.  You are not out of the woods yet; not until he is paid a fair price for the work he’s done.  For saving more of your people from dying.”

It is all an act, one that you are not sure you play well, but he gestures to the men around him and they pass him their coin, most shooting him dirty looks.  He will not be well liked in this town after tonight.

When all of the money is rounded up and counted out, you turn to Geralt.  You cannot tell by his expression what he thinks of any of this, but when you ask him for a bag to fit the coin in, he conjures one.  

On your way out the door, Konrad says, “I am a father in mourning.  You should be ashamed to be taking my coin.”

You pause, remember when he first enlisted Geralt that he said his daughter was one of the people killed.  You feel sorry for her, maybe a little for him as well.  You answer in a softer voice.  “Half of it was not your coin anyway.  I am sorry for your loss, but you should not have lied when the stakes were so high.”  

Outside, you sigh, say, “I need a bath.  I stink like rotting fish.” 

Geralt says nothing and you face him, not sure what to expect, but it certainly isn’t the hint of a lopsided smile that he hides just as you see it.

“What?” You ask.

He hums, considers his words before saying, “You’re more fierce than when we met.”

“Is fierceness a bad look on me?  It feels a little silly,” you admit.

“I have a feeling you’ll grow into it.”

You are not sure what he means by that exactly, but he’s already turned his back on you, conversation ended.  He is walking to the inn; to a bath, you think excitedly, and trot after him.

But as soon as you walk in the door you are shooed back out.

“I’ll not have that mess in here, get out, the two of ya.”  The woman barring entry holds no malice in her voice, at least.  

“We wish to pay for baths and board,” Geralt tries to explain, “We’ll pay well.”

“You need more than a bath!  Filthy, you are…  Save your money, there is a water pump and pail around the building.”  She turns and meanders to a closet, putters around for a moment before finding what she’s looking for.  She returns to the front door and presses soap into Geralt’s hand.  “Get yourselves clean out there.  The brisk air will do you good.  I’ll start the fire in your room so you can warm up inside.”

She slams the door in your faces, but that’s fair enough, you think.  Not that you relish the thought of being drenched with cold water.  Geralt scowls but walks around the building as she said, finding the pump nestled between the inn and the stables.  

You peek in and greet Roach and when you turn around Geralt is in the process of stepping out of his clothes.  You flush and turn back to the stable; of course you’ll need to take off your clothes, they need washed as well, but you hadn’t thought about it.  You listen to him filling the pail and tipping it over his head, fidget in the silence as he cleans.  You busy your hands with your bag, which you’ve been wearing the whole time and is as muddy as the rest of you.  Luckily the things inside of it are clean, if not wet.  You finger the embroidery of your mother’s shawl, tucked safely away.  

“Your turn,” Geralt rumbles, walking past you to get clean clothes from Roach’s saddlebags.  Is nowhere safe for you to look?  He may be confident in his nudity, but you are not, and you ask him to please stay in the stable while you wash.  

You do not hear him step any nearer while you strip or in the time it takes you to upend bucket after freezing bucket over your head--he is lucky he was not half-drowned in mud, you think--but you feel eyes on you at one point or another.  You are not annoyed at him for looking.  

Once clean you call over your shoulder, “Do you have a shirt I might wear for the night?” 

He brings it to you where you stand, shivering, passes it to you and when you turn to take it he is looking away obligingly.  The black fabric is worn soft from time and use, and you relish the slight warmth it brings you; you think he was holding it while he waited.  

Even though you’re clothed now you feel naked under his gaze and hastily suggest, “We should go inside now, to the fire the innkeeper promised us.”

He nods his assent and follows you inside, silent as a cat but you trust that he is there.  The innkeeper insists that she take your bag and clean it and the clothes inside for you.  You take out your mother’s shawl before handing over the bag.  She gives Geralt the key to your room.

The fire is burning merrily, crackling and sparking and heating the cold from you.  You kneel at the hearth and stretch your hands out close to the blaze, groaning at the toasty feeling.  The sleeves of Geralt’s shirt slip and bunch at your elbows, past your healing wounds, and you finger the raised flesh lightly.  

“It’s almost healed,” he remarks, that voice of his rumbling behind you.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it from scarring.”

“What a silly thing to be sorry for,” you retort, glancing at him over your shoulder.  He is standing near the door still, and you roll your eyes at him as you say, “Come here, Geralt.  Sit by the fire; you must be freezing.”

He obeys wordlessly and it startles you when his thigh brushes yours before settling firmly beside you.

“Like a mouse you are,  Geralt,” you say a little breathlessly, “So quiet.  I never know what you’ll do next.”

“I could say the same of you,” he says.

You glance at him only to find that he is already looking at you, the fire’s light playing with his hard features, but his eyes are soft, liquid gold.  You open your mouth with nothing to say and so instead of saying anything you turn toward him fully and close the distance between your lips and his.  He responds immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his movements almost tentative. Almost, but not quite.  

But still not enough; you want him to hold you like something cherished, something forged in fire, strong and lovely and stable.  You whine your displeasure against his lips and tug lightly on his hair.  

This does something to him, he slows and pulls back the distance of a breath, rumbles out, “Do that again, little elf.”  

He presses himself to you firmly then, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you tug again, harder, groans when you shift closer, both of you readjusting until you are seated on his lap, legs bracketing one of his thick thighs.  You feel the fabric of his trousers on your nakedness, press down without meaning to, and he pulls back for a moment, pupils blown wide, before trailing his hands up your thighs, bunching up the hem of the shirt he gave you so that he may hold your bare hips and guide your movements.

You have never felt like this before; by your own hand it was good, but with another person you’ve not felt pleasure.  You throw your head back when he grinds you down harder, baring your neck to him, and as he kisses your throat one hand comes up, tucks your hair behind your ear and you look at him, more than a little fear creeping up in your chest, the way he is touching you so like that boy, so many years ago…

He meets your eyes steadily, his movements not slowing, his calloused finger tracing over the scarred shell of your ear and the tenderness of that tiny gesture is what tips you over.  You are coming and he is kissing you through it, slowing the press of your hips until you are still.  You come down from that high to find yourself still wanting, and you shove his shoulders down.  He complies, plays as if you could actually push him to the ground, his lips quirking up into an expression you can only describe as soft, maybe even affectionate.

Looking down at him, you command in a husky voice you barely recognize as your own, “Make me feel that way again, Geralt.”  

As soon as you’ve said the words you regret them; who are you to be ordering around anyone, let alone Geralt of Rivia, and what if he’s displeased by you telling him what to do?  

But then he is sitting up from under you to tug the hem of your shirt over your head, looking at you like he wants to devour you, and all worry leaves your mind.  All there is is the feeling of his thumb brushing over one nipple, his tongue laving over the other, stubble rough on your skin.  

You are torn between wanting to tip your head back to focus on the feeling of what he’s doing to you and wanting to watch his mouth work on you, but then he is moving, lifting you with him to stand, your legs wrapping around his hips and his face brushing against your neck.  He walks you to the bed, shifts you to hold you with one arm so he can pull the blankets back and lay you down.  

You look up at him, slightly breathless and thoroughly debauched.  He looks back, eyes so dark with lust but his face is open, strong jaw relaxed and for a moment you let yourself think he almost appears worshipful.  

I will die a happy sinner, you muse, and then he is tugging off his trousers and settling himself between your thighs and there’s no more time for thoughts because he is doing something with his fingers that feels absolutely delicious.  He works his fingers in you, stretching, gentle, watching your expression all the while for any signs of discomfort but there are none.

“More, Geralt, please,” you sigh, “I need you.”

“You’re sure?”

You nod too enthusiastically and he hides a laugh by kissing you, stealing your gasp when he enters you.  You discover the sweet pleasured sound he makes when he is seated to the hilt, pausing to let you adjust before setting a slow pace.  This tenderness is what you need, the steady rock of his hips against yours quickly building inside of you until you are on the edge and then coming over it, around him; he follows soon after.

For a moment you lay there together, sleepiness starting to cloud your mind until he is standing up and walking away and your heart jumps to your throat.  

You sit up in a panic and he glances over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised cheekily, simply saying, “I’m just getting a cloth. Stay right there, lay back down.”  

Once again you are flushed when he returns, gaze averted until he is under the blankets and resting on one elbow to carefully clean you up.  When done he drops onto his back beside you; you don’t want to presume anything so you stay where you are, just barely touching, before he curls an arm around you and tugs you closer.  It is his warmth and his slow heartbeat that lull you to sleep and soon you are both snoring softly, more relaxed than you have been in a long time.

You wake feeling pleasantly sore, and unlike the last time you shared a bed with Geralt, he is still lying next to you, even though the sun is already decidedly risen.  You turn to face him, eyeing how low on his hips he’s let the blanket get, his hands folded on his belly just above that tantalizing trail down…  And you notice how he’s tipped his face to you, watching you watching him, his lips quirking up as you flush from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.  

“How did you do that?” He eventually asks, voice pitched low.

“Do what?”

“Make me enjoy your company so damned quickly.  Make me like you.  I don’t just do that.”

You shrug, smile giving you away before you can even get the words out.  “I guess I’m just a people person.”

He laughs that laugh again, so rusty with disuse, and you promise to yourself and to the universe that you will get him to make that sound often and openly.  The way he is looking at you makes you think that you can.

[aboysbestfriendishismum]

Chapter 55 – Wine, puzzles and Spoon Men (Part Two)

In the previous chapter: Meg and Angie go shopping for wine, food and sexy clothing for the romantic date with Eddie. They also discuss a sketch made by Meg for a tattoo based on the puzzle concept. Eddie arrives at Angie's apartment as she's at the window, trying to open a wine bottle with the help of a boot because she's got no corkscrew. The evening goes on quietly despite the fucked up heating system, Eddie's emotional turmoil caused by the half nakedness of Angie and her legs, and embarrassing moments, but it's also time for some intimacy between them. Angie thinks that the date she planned so well, has now turned into a disaster. Eddie can't read the mixed signals she sends to him, since one minute she teases him and one minute later she backs up. He suggests once again telling someone, maybe Meg, about their relationship.

**

"Come back soon though, ok?"

"Yeah, sure" as if it made any difference. One look at Eddie, at his half closed eyelids and his hair spread on the pillow, and I get up from the bed to go to the bathroom. I find myself face to face with the huff and puff version of me in the mirror, I open the cabinet on the left and grab the cotton pads and the make up remover. As I clean my face and see the make up pad become dirtier and dirtier I think about how useless the whole initial preparation was. What was the point of making myself pretty... well, trying to... if it led to nothing? I thought this could be the right time but then, when we got to bed, after kissing for a while, Eddie calmly pointed out I had still makeup on and that it seemed strange to him that I wasn't going to remove my make up before going to bed, since I'm always 'so meticulous'. Meticulous my ass! Everything went wrong tonight: the wine fell out of the window, the romantic music was turned off almost immediately, candles and flowers? No one gave a fuck about those. Nor for the t-shirt, no comments about it... and now? He even told me to go and remove make up. Congrats Angie, you surely impressed him. I throw the dirty pads in the bin and since I'm here I decide to brush my teeth.I look in the mirror as I try to sync the movement of the toothbrush with the one of my sad head-shaking. Do you really believe that with one wine bottle more Eddie would have had sex with you? Are you sure that putting on a different album you'd have had Eddie throw himself at you as soon as he got here? Or that the slutty nightgown Meg suggested would have turned him on more? Can't you see the problem is not in these stupid things, neither in the kind of flowers or in the color of your lipstick? You can put lipstick on a pig... but it's still a fucking pig. It's so evident he doesn't like me, Eddie can say whatever he wants with words but his actions send a completely different message. I rinse my mouth, towel my face, put the toothbrush back into the blue glass and, as I notice the face cream jar right next to it, it's like a supernatural creature suddenly showed up to me, not the ghost of Hamlet's father, but Meg, hands on her hips, saying stuff like '... anti-age creams are bullshit to make money. The only way to delay wrinkles is moisturize and keep your face off the sun...'. I moisturize a lot with this sweet scented stuff, slapping my face a little in the process with the pretext of letting my skin absorb the product well. I turn off the light and go back to my room. Eddie is turned the other way and he's probably already sleeping. And he suffered from insomnia. Since I started hanging out with him, I've never seen it taking him more than ten minutes to fall asleep: either he's a liar or I cured him. I get into bed and pull only the sheet up because it's still hot. At this point Eddie rolls over in the bed to face me, he kisses me on the cheek and rests his head on my shoulder. He also reaches out and tries to touch my belly but I promptly block him and place his hand on my hip. Looks like it all took me less than ten minutes.

"Uhm... so good..." Eddie kisses me all over the right side of my face, basically nibbling on my cheek.

"Do you... do you like it...?"

"I love this scent. And then... you're all so... creamy..." I try and not react because, I mean, it's not like you can only take the pieces of me that you like: either you like all of me or nothing, take it or leave it. But Eddie's arguments are very convincing as always and I end up rolling in the bed with him N times, a little on my side, a little on his side of the bed. And I'm even more at Eddie's mercy here, in the almost total darkness of my room, since I can't see or anticipate his moves, which surprise me every time. Why does it feel like he has, I don't know, ten hands? Why does he touch me like that? It should be illegal. It's too good not to be illegal.

We roll again,Eddie ends up over me, there's a lot of passion going on and a very small amount of fabric covering us and... and Meg is really anasshole and I gotta beat her up one day because I blame her and the stupid things she said this morning if now I have to bite the hell out of my lip not to laugh at Eddie's face. I can almost see her, standing here at the end of the bed, folded arms and smart ass face, as she's asking me What about now? Is he dying once again?

"Angie?" Eddie's deep and panting voice wakes me up from my silly thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Where are you?"he asks me and doesn't stop moving over me but simply takes it slower, making it all even more intense if it's even possible.

"What... what do you mean? I'm here"

"Physically. But your mind is somewhere else" ok, how can he do it? How can he know it? Can he see in the dark like cats and saw me making one of my weird faces? Can he read my mind? Considering my thoughts right now, I hope not.

"It's your fault... you... you make me dizzy"

"Oh really?"

He's dying pretty bad, isn't he?

Shut up, you jerk!

"Well, yeah" I answer and my eyes are getting used to the dark too because I can see clearly both the color blue of Eddie's eyes and the sparkle that briefly lights them up and sends some kind of smirk to his irresistible lips. I touch them with my fingers and he kisses them one by one, before attacking my mouth once again and I can't reason anymore, I can't think of anything that's not his breath, his skin,his hair tickling my neck, his teeth, his hands that... god, I...

"Wanna sleep?"

"Huh?" what did he say? Wait, when did he stop kissing me.

"I said, do you want to sleep a little?" he repeats and this time I can hear him, and I feel him stroking my hair as I can only see white dots in the dark.

"Ok" I reply.

I'm such a loser. I fall for it. EVERY. FUCKING. TIME. But this mess must end: either we're friends or a couple. Either we have sex or we don't have sex. I mean, either we have sex or we do NOTHING.

He took his time to die, didn't he?

Fuck you, mental projection of Meg!

"Do you have to wake up early tomorrow? I'm asking you 'cause I gotta mentally prepare myself to your killer alarm clock" he jokes and I'd really knock out all his beautiful teeth with a punch right now.

"Not that early, the killer alarm clock rings at half past eight"

"Hehe wow, I'm lucky then" he laughs and rolls away from me, lying on the other side of the bed.

"Right. So... good night"

"Good night, Angie" I feel him crawl under the sheets towards me, he rests his forehead against my temple and takes a deep breath. I basically squeeze my eyes shut and hope to fall asleep soon "Angie?" but Eddie nullifies my plans by calling me again.

"Yeah?"

"What about the good night kiss?"

"Haven't we kissed good night already?"

"I don't think so, when?"

"Like... two minutes ago? And we kissed more than once?" I stay still and keep my eyes shut.

"But those where another kind of kisses, they weren't good night kisses"

"No?"

"No"

"Is there a specific type of kiss for saying good night?"

"Sure. And they even gave it a name, you know? Someone calls it... good night kiss"

"Very original"

"Can I have one?"

"One what?"

"One good night kiss"

"Ok"

"Ok?"

"Ok, let's go with the good night kiss" and I said I was quitting a moment ago.

"Yeah?" Eddie's breathing slowly agains my cheek, it seems like he's almost holding his breath from time to time.

"Yes, you can kiss me" Resolve is my second name.

"Uh. I can" he says with a weird voice. One second later his lips are on mine for a peck, then he turns away on his side "Night"

"Good night Eddie" was that all? Well, it's better this way, isn't it?

**

I'm alone. Ok,Eddie's here in bed with me, but it's like I'm alone. I keep on tossing and turning between the sheets without getting any sleep. Now I've been lying looking up, in complete silence and perfectly stil lfor at least five minutes, focusing on the ceiling in search for something interesting. If I were at home in Idaho, now I'd have Frou Frou to talk to, my favorite humidity stain/little horse/imaginary friend. I inspect the cracks in the plaster trying to assign them a known meaning, the shape of a person, an animal, a random being I can legitimately ask a question a grown up would ask. Not that the things I told Frou about were only children stuff but I honestly can't picture myself asking my childhood's imaginary four-legged friend why my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me. Or I should say, why my friend who's not attracted to me keeps on playing the girlfriend and boyfriend game. If I ask myself the same question, well, I already know the answer. I need a fake external interlocutor who can balance my insecurity saying that maybe it's not me, maybe he can't just forget his ex or he's got some intimate problem or he's simply asexual and doesn't know how to tell me. Those mould signs, don't they vaguely resemble a salamander? Couldn't the salamander tell me some of that bullshit? So I could then retort that fussing with complicated theories is just stupid when the answer is almost always the easiest one. I mean, to come up with the Occam's razor in a more convincing way, I need a cross-examination, a debate, I can't do all by myself. By the way, rather than a salamander, it looks more like a fish. Umph, maybe I'd better close my eyes and try and get some sleep. I turn on my side again, looking towards the door.

"Is everything ok?" for a moment I almost think it's Patti Smith's poster speaking, only with a sleepy and very more masculine voice.

"Yes, Eddie"

"Can't you sleep?"

"No" and neither can you, I'd say.

"I could open this window too, what do you think?"

"No, I mean, we shut down the radiator. And we've already opened the window in the other room, I don't want to catch a chill"

"Ok"

"I'm not warm anyway"

"Don't you?"

"No. What about you?"

"Uhm no, I'm fine"

"Ok then" I say and hope he'll stop right here and go back to sleep. I can't wait to hear him snoring.

"Why can't you sleep then?" holy shit...

"I don't know..."

"Is there something wrong?"

"No" I answer, maybe a little too quickly.

"Are you sure?"in the semidarkness I can see my boots at the end of the bed and the urge to use one of them to hit his head and knock him out is strong.

"Yes"

"Sure sure?"stronger and stronger.

"There's nothing wrong, Eddie, really. I don't know... maybe I had too much to eat, maybe it's just the thoughts, you know..."

"Which thoughts?"of course he must focus on the second part.

"Normal thoughts,about normal stuff" we're dangerously close to my tolerance limit.

"Like what?"

"Like things I have to do tomorrow"

"What do you have to do tomorrow?"

"Normal stuff, like... grocery shopping, paying the rent, cleaning the windows"

"You don't have enough money to pay the rent, right?"

"Sure I got the money!"

"I can't see what's keeping you awake then" the danger is getting closer.

"'Cause there's nothing wrong, I told you"

"Other thoughts?"

"No"

"Are you sure?"once you cross the limit, you can't go back.

"No. Well, there's one problem actually"

"Really? What is it?"

"IT'S THAT I'M FUCKING SICK OF THIS FUCKING SHIT, EDDIE!" I blurt out as I switch on the lamp on the nightstand and sit up on the bed.

"Angie wha-"

"CUT THE BULLSHIT, I'M FUCKING DONE WITH THIS!" I yell at his face again, startling him and making him and the mattress under our butts tremble.

"Too many questions, huh? Sorry, I'll let you sleep..." Eddie looks kind of intimidated when he apologizes, because he can't understand shit of course, poor him. And that just upsets me more.

"SLEEP MY ASS! I DON'T WANNA SLEEP!"

"Ok"

"AND YOU WON'T SLEEP EITHER"

"Alright..." Eddie, who was about to turn away on his side, realizes it's better to sit up just like me. I'm breathing heavy and fast, I'm sulking and my arms are folded over my chest. From time to time our eyes meet, mine are probably crazy, his are perplexed, but nobody speaks for a long time. Eddie's the one who breaks the silence "Do you want us to talk about it?"

"Yes" I reply before a deep sigh "I think it's really time to talk about it"

"Ok"

"Ok"

"I'm all ears" I mean, he's doing on purpose, isn't he?!

"YOU'RE ALL EARS?? YOU ARE LISTENING TO ME?!"

"Uhm... no?" Eddie's trying hard not to lose his composure and look calm but he's failing.

"NO! I'm listening to you, I am the one who listens, you are the one who has to talk!" I try and take control back because I'm scarying myself.

"Me?"

"Sure, you owe me an explanation"

"How can I explain if I don't even know what you're talking about?"

"Why don't you want me?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you with me if you don't like me?"

"WHAT?" thi stime he's the one who loses his temper and launches a shrill cry at my face.

"You know it's true"

"Angie, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Why don't you wanna have sex with me?"

"Oh my god" Eddie looks down and holds his head between his hands as he shakes it.

"I mean, I know I'm not a hot chick but..."

"Angie"

"But you keep saying we're a couple and... if two people are a couple they're supposed to like each other, in every sense"

"I like you in every possible and imaginable sense"

"So... so why don't you show me?"

"I don't show you??" Eddie looks up at me as if I had just said the earth is flat or something.

"Why don't you wanna do it... with me?"

"Do you really think I don't want to?"

"Well, yeah ,considering nothing's happened yet"

"Angie, I'm literally dying to... I so want to make love to you"

"Then why don't you-" I actively ignore his choice of words.

"I'm only waiting"

"Waiting for what?"

"For you to be ready"

"Ready? But I am,I'm so ready!"

"I doubt it, Angie"

"Look I... I'm...I'm not a virgin anymore if that's what you think" the mere thought of being here having this conversation with Eddie makes me want to die but I can't stay in this limbo of uncertainty for ever.

"I know, I mean, I guessed..." he answers with a rather tense grimace and I can't help remembering the times he unwillingly caught Jerry and I in unmistakable situations "That's not the point"

"And what is it?"

"I don't think you're ready to do it, with me"

"Why?"

"Because you're not completely comfortable with me yet"

"Haha I'm never comfortable with anyone, not even with myself, that's how I am, it doesn't mean anything!" I let out a nervous laugh. If he's waiting for me to turn into Miss Self Confident before having sex, I might as well become a nun.

"It means a lot to me though" Eddie's still frowning and I try and be serious.

"I know. What I meant is that I'm always like this... I'm shy... that's the way I am, it doesn't mean I'm not happy with you"

"It's got nothing to do with shyness. Trust me, I know you're good with me, I can sense it. What I do not know is what you feel. For me. I mean, there are times I seem to understand it, but then maybe you do something that tells me the exact opposite and I just don't know what to do"

"What I feel?" like it's easy.

"Yeah"

"That's not easy... talking about feelings. You know I'm not good at talking in general"

"You don't necessarily need to talk, Angie, there are other ways to show you rfeelings"

"I always show you!"

"No, I always show you. You... you don't do anything"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T DO ANYTHING?!" I raise my voice, spontaneously this time too.

"Angie, you...you don't even kiss me"

"I what?"

"You dont kiss me. Ever" what the hell is he talking about?

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is. Since that first time at the bus station in San Diego up until the good night kiss earlier tonight. It's always me kissing you, you just reciprocate"

"I'm sure you're wrong. I must have kissed you... sometimes"

"Sometimes? Sometimes when?"

"I don't know, it's not like I remember every single time"

"Had it really happened, I'd remember, trust me"

"Eddie"

"That'd have been a historical event 'cause you never kiss me first. You never do anything first. You never take a single initiative with me"

"Well, ok... I admit that... maybe... since I'm shy, I often let you come up to me first to-"

"Often? I'd say always"

"I'm sorry" I'm so fucking embarrassed and his look becomes sweeter.

"You don't have to say sorry! I don't want your apologies, I only wanna know what the problem is and what I have to do to reassure you" he strokes my arm delicately and I can see he's trying to make me feel better but I feel worse.

"You don't have to do anything, you're not the problem"

"You don't kiss me, you don't even call me on the phone, unless you ask me on advance exactly when I'll be at home, when you can call me, when you're not bothering me and so on. When you showed up at my door with the cake before the concert, you made me so fucking happy"

"Hehe for so little?"

"Yes, because it's not that little"

"And what about tonight? Don't you think I took the initiative tonight?"

"No, not really"

"No? I had you find me basically half naked, dressed only with a t-shirt of your favorite band... I set up this whole romantic and sexy scenario, I even sabotaged the building's heating system... if that ain't an initiative!"

"You... you did what?"

Oops.

"I couldn't show up naked with zero degrees at home, you'd have thought I was stupid. I just wanted to turn on the temperature a little, 'cause if it's always freezing here it's not because the heating doesn't work, it's cause those asshole owners keep it low to save money! Then it's not my fault if the handle came off in my hands as I was turning it" I reveal my evil plan to Eddie who looks more and more surprised.

"So... making this whole mess is easier for you than simply, I don't know, I'll just say it... than simply tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you want to make love to me"

"Oh, that"

"How can you do it if you can't even say it comfortably?" I can almost hear Meg, who apparently hasn't left my bedroom yet.

"I told you, I'm shy!"

"Anyway, if you want my opinion, I wouldn't call yours an initiative. That's not taking the initiative. That was... trying to tease me so that I would then take the initiative, as always"

"I'm not the femme fatale who jumps on you and eats you alive, Eddie"

"You don't have to be! Well, unless you want to, in that case I wouldn't protest" he adds with a teasing smile.

"That won't happen, not even in my next hundred lives"

"Come on, I was just kidding. What I mean is that I'd settle for something much simpler"

"That is?"

"A kiss, Angie. A fucking kiss, which by the way you haven't given to me yet"

"We're talking"

"So what? Who cares, kiss me and shut me up"

"Like you did to me in San Diego?" I smile thinking about it.

"Yes, I want you to fucking kiss me. I want you to feel as free and comfortable as to kiss me, hug me, call me, slap my face whenever and however you want to, without any prior inquiries, announcement or permits on stamped paper"

"That's not easy for me"

"But why? Why can't you let yourself go with me?"

"Because... because I'm scared" it costs me a lot to answer, especially cause the answer is honest.

"Scared of what? Angie, I know we're just at the start and I know you had bad relationships before. I wanna be honest to you: I'm not a saint, I'm very far from perfection, I'm flawed and you haven't seen my worse flaws yet. But I really care about you and this relationship and I won't fuck up"

"Looks like I am the one fucking up" I sadly reply.

"Shut up! Why do you say so?"

"Well, we're discussing..."

"We're talking, we're not fighting. We're trying to understand why you don't trust me"

"I trust you"

"Not enough"

"Eddie, really, I do trust you. It's myself that I don't trust"

"Yourself?"

"I don't trust myself because Im scared. I'm afraid I'll make a mess and fuck it all up. Something I'm already doing"

"You're not doing anything, I told you we're just talking. That's how people solve their problems: talking. Or kissing. As I've been asking you for a while but you haven't done it yet..." Eddie elbows me trying to make me laugh and it works a little.

"Hehe here we are, I try to be serious and you make fun of me"

"I'm not making fun of you, it's an actual request. And it's still valid"

"Maybe I don't take any initiative because... because I'm afraid they're the wrong ones"

"Wrong?"

"I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing, making mistakes. Being too clingy, or not enough. Being too present or too absent. I... I don't do anything because this way I can observe you... and understand what you want"

"And what about what you want? Doesn't it count?"

"I... I want you, that's what really counts" it's like I hear someone else answering in my place and I could see this someone suddenly blushing profusely in front of Eddie, whose jaw drops as I speak.

"Oh Angie..."he takes my face between his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes"I want you too, I want you as you are and I wouldn't change a single thing. I just wished that you weren't afraid of being yourself when you're with me. And that you kissed me whenever you want to. Or whenever I ask you. Something that, I don't know if I mentioned it already, you haven't done yet"

"If it was up to me, I'd always kiss you, Eddie"

"You say it like it's a bad thing" he stretches his thumbs to stroke my cheeks.

"No, you don't understand. When I say always, I actually mean always. I mean, I guess you looked at yourself in the mirror a thousand times but I don't think you did it with the same eyes I have when I look at you"

"Ok, so I look good and you want to kiss me" he takes his hands off my face and shrugs.

"It's not about beauty, something you're not short of anyway. It's like... I mean, your mouth... ok you use it to do a lot of things... talking, singing so good, drinking and eating... but your lips, it's like they're calling me, repeatedly, and not to have a chit chat"

"No?" he looks at me so smug and pleased with himself.

"No. And it's not like your lips are made for kissing: your lips invented kissing itself. I mean, I haven't studied this aspect of history specifically, but I believe people didn't use to kiss on the lips until somebody appeared on the planet who had lips like yours. And at that point evolution just followed its natural course"

"Is it a contorted way to compliment me?"

"It's a contorted way to tell you that if I really let myself go, as you want, I'd glue myself to those lips like a fucking plunger and I most likely won't let you do anything else and I couldn't do anything else either and we'd end up losing consciousness like Marina and Ulay. Only we're not artists, I mean I'm not, and we couldn't live off this kind of art anyway, we'd only look like a couple of jackasses" and so it happens that I try and let myself go and get anxious, and when I get anxious I start bantering random stuff without even taking a breath. And talking about breath...

"Marina and who?"

"And Ulay. Breathing in/breathing out, never heard about it?" Eddie shakes his head no "It was a performance art piece. Marina and Ulay are two artists and used to be a couple too. One day they decided to stick cigarette filters up into their nostrils to block them and press their lips together in a suffocating kiss, exchanging carbondioxide mixed with that single initial dose of oxygen, which was consumed in a few minutes, that led them to almost faint"

"Hehe you make me lose my senses even without nose plugs, so I say we can do it" he laughs and I can't articulate my thoughts, it takes me so long to reply back.

"And what if I let myself go and you can't stand me? What if I become annoying? What if I kiss you when you don't really want to?"

"Angie, I'll tell you a secret"

"You're always telling me secrets"

"Yes, because I'm older and wiser"

"Hahaha please"

"So, the secret: the secret is, there ain't a moment I don't want to"

"There are appropriate and less appropriate moments"

"That simply don't exist. I can't think of a single moment I could even just think about not wanting to be kissed by you. I mean, they could tie me up and torture me, sticking needles under my fingernails and toenails, and I'd still want you to kiss me if you were there"

"You're so dramatic"

"I could have just been shitting razorblades for an hour or have undergone an appendix surgery without anesthetics. But if you came up to me to kiss me, I surely wouldn't turn the other way"

"Hahahaha"

"It's true, I'm not kidding. But also in a positive situation! They could have-"

"Haha they who??"

"Hey, I'm trying to make a point. What was I saying? Oh right, they could have just announced I won a Grammy, an Oscar or another fucking random award and maybe they're calling me on stage to accept it. But you're there and you're kissing me and I won't move an inch and I won't give a fuck about the rest. I mean, yeah, I'd care only because winning the prize would be another excuse for another kiss, only because of that"

"And what if the Cubs win the World Series?" that's too easy if it's about awards, let's talk about the things that really count for Eddie.

"All the more reasons to want a fucking kiss from you to celebrate the event! But I hope I won't have to wait for that event to actually happen for you to kiss me"

"You won't have to wait that long" I answer, shifting a little on the bed to get close to him.

"No?" he whispers.

"No" I get alittle closer.

"How long then?"he insists looking alternatively at my eyes and at my lips.

"A very short moment"

"Really?"

"Yes"

"Ok"

"Ok"

"I'm waiting"

"Just a minute! You're so impatient"

"Yes, I'm kind of impatient, you know? It's only..." Eddie stops talking and stares at an indefinite point behind my back, as he counts on his fingers at the same time, then looks back up at me "I've been waiting for this moment for three months"

"Three months?"I ask puzzled.

"Well, knowingly three months. A little more unknowingly..."

"What does unknowingly mean?"

"Weren't you just about to kiss me?"

"Eddie, what do you mean unknowingly?" I raise my voice a little, Eddie rolls his eyes and gives up and answers.

"I mean that, you know, it's not like I woke up one morning and decided I had a crush on you, it was something... slow and gradual"

"And it started more than three months ago?"

"It started the first time I saw you, at Roxy's"

"Please, you barely spoke to me! And you still were with your ex by then"

"Not really... anyway I said it started then... and still goes on. The first time we talked I started to get to know you and it's like you slipped inside of me, like a seed, which sprouted and then the bud would grow day by day. And the more I got to know you, the bigger the plant grew and the more I liked you. And when I figured out what was happening, it was too late because I was in too deep and the small plant had become a fucking tree"

"Haha a tree?"so I'm not the only one having non sense monologues when I panic.

"Yes, a fucking baobab, Angie. Now if only you could maybe stop laughing at my metaphors and kiss me, please"

"Ok"

"Ok. Can't you see you just can't do it although I'm literally asking you?"

"I can! Just a second, it's not easy this way... like... cold blooded"

"I think our blood is everything but cold right now, Angie"

"Alright, I'll kiss you now so you'll shut up!" I come up to him and put a kiss onbhis lips, then I look at him triumphantly "See?!"

"What the hell was that?"

"What do you mean? It was a kiss"

"And do you call that a kiss?"

"Sure! Why? What do you call it?"

"I don't call it,I didn't even notice"

"Oh so my kisses leave you cold, I see..." I'm about to back up towards my side of the bed but Eddie holds on my hips.

"They don't leave me cold, I know your kisses, that's why I'd want a real one"

"A real one, huh?"

"Yes, please"

"Something like... this?" I speak against his lips before slowly placing mine over his, delicately at first, then pressing them a little harder.

"Uhm... that's better" I give him a little break to reply, then I kiss him again, until I feel him sneak his hands under my t-shirt.

"No, you can't..." I block his hand and keep on kissing him, pushing him on his side of the bed and pulling and holding his joined hands up over his head, as if he was trapped.

"What did I do?"he asks and looks seriously worried.

"If I understand correctly, I'm supposed to take initiatives now, am I wrong?"

"Oh" his frown turns into a dimpled smile.

"So don't move, ok?"

"You don't have to actually do everything"

"DON'T MOVE, OK?" I repeat louder and his amused smile turns into something else.

"Alright, my princess" he answers and I let go of his hands and bury mine into his lustrous mane of curls, and then I kiss him so passionately that at some point I find myself straddling him without even knowing how I got there.

"So?" I pull away and he breathes hard with his lips still slightly parted. Then I sit up astride him "Was it ok?"

"Very ok..." he finally opens his eyes and uses them to burn me on the spot "You like me then?"

"Hahaha oh really? Brilliant deduction, Watson"

"Don't laugh" he grabs my thighs and shakes me as if he was trying to throw me off.

"Why? Didn't you know it"

"How could I know it?"

"That makes no sense. You obviously knew it"

"Obviously? Obvious for you. Had you been in my shoes, what would you have thought?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you were me, if you were the one who always had to take the first step. And I don't mean just the kissing... If you had to always search for me, call me... And if, at the same time, I'd also asked you to keep it absolutely secret and not to tell anyone we were together. And I had cautiously avoided hanging out and being seen in public with you, avoided showing even little more than friendly behaviour towards you in the places our common friends usually go to... If I hadn't told you a single word about my feelings or about us in general, unless on your specific request and with some pressure... In that case, what would you have thought? How would you have felt?" is like shit accepted as an answer? This reminds me of when I used to date that asshole called Drake. Well date is a big wo-... Wait a minute.

"Unwanted. Oh but you don't feel like that, right?"

Fuck.

"Not anymore. Maybe"

"Eddie, I..." I lean forward and pepper his face with kisses. His smile looks relieved but I feel like shit and I speak between kisses "I...didn't... think... that-"

"That I can be insecure too? Well, I can"

"I'm an asshole" I sigh and rest my head on his chest, stretching my legs until I'm completely lying over him.

"I'm the asshole because I should have told you before" he replies stroking my hair.

"Talking to me isn't easy, I'm always elusive. All slippery. I'm a champ at slipping away from difficult situations and serious talks"

"But you're not getting away from me anymore now" he hooks his legs around mine and blocks me in a trap I don't wanna get out of.

"I'm sorry"

"Stop saying that, ok? I didn't say it to make you feel guilty, I told you to make you understand why I couldn't make love to you"

"And now?"

"Now what?"

"Now... could you?" I pull my head up as much as to look at him in the eyes, which are amazing even in the light of my shitty lamp.

"I don't know, I'm not the one who takes the initiatives anymore"

"I hate you"

"That's not true"

"It is" I layback on my side of the bed and drag him with me, over me, grabbingthe hem of his t-shirt and taking it off in the process.

"Do you know what I found out, Angie?"

"What?"

"That I like it when you take the initiatives"

"Oh really?"

"I like it a lot" he repeats as I get rid of the Who t-shirt too.

"Good" I clasp my hands behind his nape and pull him towards me not so delicately for a long kiss, which turns into a long series.

At some point I find myself with my panties slid down to my knees and I can't give any scientific explanation to this phenomenon, because my arms remained around his neck and his hands stayed on my boobs the whole time. So either the friction and grinding made them roll down or Eddie has some extra hands or everything's just happened by magic. And I don't know what came over me, because while I try to take them off completely with one hand, I reach for the elastic band of his boxers with the other hand trying to pull them down. My gesture doesn't go unnoticed because it's like Eddie suddenly went nuts. He starts licking and biting on my face, lips, tongue, neck, on the left side, getting closer and closer to my weak spot and I can't think anymore and I just keep moaning. I briefly come back to my senses when I feel him humping against me again, this time with no fabric barrier, after pulling my legs apart.

"Eddie?"

"Yes?"

"Second... second drawer" I explain pointing left.

Eddie seems to calm down a little too, he caresses my face with the back of his hand, gives me a gentle peck on the lips than opens the drawer of my nightstand, finding the pack almost immediately. He pulls one out and hands it to me, before throwing the pack on the nightstand and plop down on the other side of the bed.

"Here" he says as I try to cover myself with the sheets as much as I can.

"What does it mean?" I give him a puzzled look.

"That you're the one who takes initiatives now, did you forget?" he retorts with those fucking dimples showing. And not just those.

"Oh that's the way it is now?" I try and look pissed.

"Yep"

"And will it always be like that?"

"Why? Do you mind?"

"Not at all" I can hear myself talking but I don't even know where all this confidence comes from. I stop asking questions and try to keep it and hold it tight as long as it lasts, as I force my lips against his and open the wrapper.

**

"Stop laughing" I can hear laughter vibrating in the depth of Eddie's chest because my ear is resting against it, I mean, is basically glued to it, since we're also kind of sweaty. I hope to avoid the vacuum effect, I don't really wanna ruin the moment by blowing out my eardrum.

"I'm happy. I laugh" he laconically answers.

"No, you're laughing at me"

"Why should I?"

"You know why" I pull away from me and lift my head up to look at him and I can see all his beautiful teeth showing.

"You're adorable when you cum, you know?"

"Sure, apart from the sounds I make"

"Actually, I was specifically referring to those sounds"

"The adorable strangulated wailing of a piglet butchered at the slaughterhouse?"

"Hahaha shut up!"he laughs squeezing me under the sheets.

"Of a squirrel squished by a car?"

"Or a squirrel on crack?" he quotes the name of my old and only band.

"Hehehe right"

"Wait: that's not the reason you were called like that, right?" he gets all serious  all of a sudden and seeing his face I think I liked him better when he was making fun of me.

"Hahahah oh my god! Of course not!"

"Are you sure?After all, your ex was in the same band..." he goes on and kind of sticks his tongue out at me right after.

"That's not the reason at all, it was a random choice"!

"Ok. Anyway, Ilike it, it's sweet. You're sweet" he relaxes and kisses my forehead.

"Sweet? So my attempt at looking hot, confident and sexy failed miserably?"

"Sweet is sexy to me. Sweetness is the thing that turns me on the most, you know?" he kisses me over on my temple and on my hair.

"Really?"

"That and the inclination to vandalism. And after tonight, I'd say you scored great in both"

"If they put cameras in the boiler room, I'm screwed" I hide my face against his chest once again.

"Don't worry ,I'll pay your bail"

"With what money?"

"Well, I guess we'll sell a bunch of copies of Ten, I hope"

"Ten?"

"It's the best candidate among the names for our album"

"Because it's ten songs?"

"Actually they'll be eleven, or twelve"

"So what's with ten?"

"It's Mookie Blaylock's number. We had to change the name but we gotta pay a tribute to him, you know"

"You're fixated" I shake my head before burying my face in the crook of his neck.

"Right now I have a different kind of fixation though"

"Oh really? And what is it?" I ask sincerely curious because I honestly think he's still talking about music. So he definitely catches me off guard when in a split second he grabs me and turns me over and pushes me on the bed, jumping over me.

"What do you think?" he asks with a euphoric expression as he mercilessly grinds against me.

"Again? Already?"maybe I react with too much surprise.

"What? What do you mean already?"

"No, nothing"

"Don't you want to? If you don't feel like, it's ok, really" he stops moving and I'd cut my tongue.

"NO, I WANT TO!"

"So why-" he's about to answer, not withough snickering for the heat of my answer.

"I thought it'd take you longer, I don't know! I've never been with someone... well, your age"

"Angie, ok, I'm older than you, but I'm 26 not 62" Eddie looks at me like I'm stupid and he is not that wrong.

"Details"

"I'll show you the details" he threatens and grabs at the sheets and pulls them upover our heads, covering us both completely.

"Wasn't I supposed to always take the initiative?"

"Your Majesty, unfortunately I have no option but to make an exception and give you a practical demonstration. May I?"

"Sir Vedder, please proceed"

**************************************************************************************************

"What about Butterfly girl?" Mike comes back to the table with two pints of beer in his hands, while Stone and Grace tag along, each bringing their own glass.

"Nuh, I don't know. It sounds more like the name of a fucking superhero or something" I answer unconvinced.

"Superheroine" Stone points out. Who else?

"Ok, it sounds like a fucking superheroine. Catwoman, Batman, Batgirl, Butterflygirl... you know?"

"Yes, thank you Jeff for your reasoned explanation. Anyway it's a fake demo, the titles of the songs don't have to make sense. Actually I think Cam doesn't even expect you come up with titles" during his observations, in which he doesn't forget to make fun of me, Stone keeps his arm over Grace's shoulders all the time and thank god Laura hasn't come here too. I'd have been sorry for Mike if he had to fifth-wheel, I mean, things haven't been going great for him lately.

"If he asked me to take care of the artwork of the demo, then it means the tape will be important in the movie" I explain what seems obvious to me. If this demo gotta have a certain image, it means it'll appear on screen at some point, so it has to look real.

"Oh sure, it'll surely be the most important part of the movie: the whole plot revolves around your demo, Jeffrey" Stone nods before taking a sip of his bear and I'm tempted to crash the glass on his head.

"Jeff is right! If it wasn't important, Cameron wouldn't have given him this task. He'd just take blank tapes and write the name of the guy on them in the moment... What's the name of the character again? You told me but I forgot" Grace chimes in to defend me and it's too funny watching Stone pretend this doesn't irritate him at all.

"Cliff Poncier"

"He's thrown out of his band and starts selling his five-track demo on the streets" McCready points out.

"And how many tracks do you have by now?" Grace asks again.

"Three, I've still got two" I show her the notepad in which I jotted down the titles and made a sort of sketch of the demotape's cover.

Seasons

Nowhere but you

Spoon man

... girl

???

"The fourth one... does it have to be about a girl?"

"Yes ,cause he's been dumped by his girlfriend too, not just by the band. Like every real loser musician, he vomits his pain in songs" Stone answers for me and I try and concentrate again to come up with a good adjective to add to this girl of the title. I give a distracted look outside the pub's window but what I see makes me give another more attentive one: the unmistakable Angie's car that's being parked on the other side of the road, right outside our condo.

"Angelic girl?" I try but I can see it sucks as soon as I say it.

"Jesus no! Let Mike give you suggestions, it seems to me like he's more expert about being dumped" Gossard jokes and the other guitarist gives him a nasty look.

"I wasn't dumped"

"Sure"

"I chose to be alone"

"Obviously"

I follow Mike and Stone's quarrel and, at the same time, the movements outside the pub. Angie gets out of the car cautiously looking around, whereas there is our singer coming out from the passenger side, calmly walking around the car and hugging her from behind as if it was nothing, kissing her cheek. They're cute! But if they don't want to be caught, they should be a little more discreet. Ok, it's all pointless in the end, 'cause everybody knows they have a thing, but if they want to bring on this ridiculous charade, they should at least be good at doing it. They even got me catching them the other day! I mean, you told your girlfriend to come over to our apartment? Just fuckin' tell me! Or if you don't really wanna tell me, because you have to play secret boyfriend, at least let me understand it, drop hints, tell me to leave and stay out and come back much later, tell me we'll meet directly at the soundcheck! But no, you tell me nothing and I must come back home and find you both entwined on the fuckin' armchair. I don't even know how you didn't hear me, as I rushed to get out of there as fast as I could I think I even slammed the door. And it wouldn't have been so bad if they noticed me but, knowing Angie, she'd have been ashamed and wouldn't have talked to me for ages.

"Fly girl?" Mike suggests and this is not bad.

"Uhm not bad, I'll put it among the maybes, good job Mikey!" as I write it down I see that Angie's putting into practice my advice about being cautious. She basically shakes herself free of Eddie and tells him something he must not like that much, 'cause he stares at her with a disappointed face and folded arms. Angie now points at the pub and I turn back towards the others as I'm afraid she could see me through the window and notice that I saw them.

"Yeah, go Mike! Hey, what did Mike do?" Cornell arrives at our table and sits next to me unceremoniously.

"He suggested a possible title of a song" Grace promptly answers.

"From your album?"

"No, from Cliff Poincier's demo" I answer only seconds before anothe rfriend joins the group.

"Did you finally find all five titles? Hi guys..." Hangdog Eddie sits down next to Stone and I can't help looking outside, where I can see Angie sitting inside her car, focused on letting an appropriate amount of minutes pass before getting in not to arouse suspicion.

"Hey Eddie. No, only three and a half" Stone explains.

"Who the fuck is Cliff Poncier?" Chris asks confused.

At this point I quickly update him, telling him about the demo and the little part of the movie plot Crowe shared with me.

"Cool! Let me see... Seasons, huh?"

"What's that? A song about the only two seasons existing in Seattle?" Angie's voice comes from behind my back and I can't help thinking that the minutes she let pass weren't that many.

"Hi Angie! What are the two seasons?" Mike asks and makes room for her right next to him.

"Wet and wetter" Pacifico shrugs and she can't believe she can sit on the exact opposite side of Eddie not to look suspicious. What a jerk.

"Well,if it's actually written, it could really talk about that" Eddie laughs trying to dissimulate his being upset.

"And why don't we actually write it?" Chris pounds on the table with his fist and stands up.

"What do you mean?" I ask perplexed.

"That we should really write these songs, record them and have Cameron listen to them. That would be a nice surprise, don't you think?"

The table keeps silent for a while. Everybody, like me, is probably trying to figure out if Cornell's just kidding or is being serious. Something that happens like 90% of the times with him by the way.

"Are you saying you'd really write..." Angie stands up too to stretch across the table and read from my notepad "Spoon Man??"

"Why not? Artis would be happy, we'd advertise him" Chris replies and now we realize he's serious. And if that wasn't the case, now I'll make him.

"Ok, I challenge you then: I have to present the artwork of the demo to Cameron by Monday, you've got five days to write the five tracks of the Poncier's tape"

"Five? Hahah you'll have them all tomorrow, man!" he exclaims and shake my hand to seal the deal.

"Actually not to nit-pick, but you still have to come up with two titles, I mean, one and a half" Stone points out.

"What about Flutter girl?" Grace makes her attempt and... fuck, it's the best"

"Wow, I like it! Flutter girl it is, sorry Mike" I nod at the guitarist, who shakes his head.

"Nuh, no problem, her suggestion wins for me too"

"Ok, we only got one left then. Y'all put your thinking caps on" I encourage and the other girl at the table speaks up.

"Well, the fifth title is missing so... so why don't you call it Missing?"

"You're two fuckin' geniuses!" I state and add the last title to my notes, before tearing the page and giving it to Chris "And now you're screwed, man!"

[thorkidumpster]

street smarts

old handle blah blah mine blah i do what i want

The sun.

A truly marvelous star, really—without it, plants would wither and die, the ground would freeze, and the realm would plunge into a darkness to rival Jotunheim itself.

But as far as Thor was concerned, the sun could mind its own business and shine somewhere else, which is why the city of Asgard was treated to a very localized rainstorm. The townspeople just rolled their eyes and moved any valuables under tarps—it was very fashionable now-a-days to wear the tarps wrapped around the waist. Hellishly hot for the legs, but hey, when the Crown Prince summons rain upon becoming distressed, upset, frustrated, or simply because he damn well pleases, one learns to be prepared… always.

Said Crown Prince and Bringer of (exasperating) Rain rolled over, content enough with the sun flicked off like a light. This was a fairly normal occurrence in the mornings, when Thor simply didn’t want to rise. What wasn’t normal, however, was the stunning pain in his head, his cotton-dry mouth, and the grunt that came from something large and warm in his bed.

Thor peeked open a red rimmed eye, feeling quite sure he should be the only large and warm thing in the bed. “Uhhh…?”

“Mmmm.” The lump returned, quite intelligently for a lump.

Thor let his head fall back to the pillow, deciding this was a matter better left to the morning—or, rather, what he considered to be ‘morning’, though others might more accurately describe the time as ‘afternoon’.

[read more cut here]

When Thor awoke again—feeling only marginally better, but just well enough to stop the whole of Asgard from flooding—a niggling thought prickled his brain. But like a cat stretching the door to be let inside, the idea slipped away as soon as Thor reached for it. Something rather important happened last night, in the strange hour between night and dawn. He recalls the dim purple light on the horizon, and finding good fortune in the wondrous display… right before he emptied his stomach in the bushes as someone giggled.

“Goodness, but you are up late.” The voice sounded worse than Thor looked, gravelly and dry.

Thor bolted upright, nearly tumbling out of bed. “What—who—”

“Words,” a man chided. He was seated at Thor’s own vanity, unknotting his long, black hair with his fingers despite the array of golden combs laid out. Thor felt heat rise up his neck—the man, who ever he was, was both very beautiful, and very nude. He sat obscenely, legs spread far wider than was possibly comfortable, as though he wanted to draw attention to his soft cock.

“Uh…” Thor cleared his throat. He was far too hungover for this. Why hadn’t someone thrown the man out yet? Why did he have to handle this?

His prayer was answered—but not, perhaps, in the manner Thor had wished.

“Thor Odinson!”

The man cocked an eyebrow.

Thor had just enough time to scramble for a pillow to cover his own nakedness when Frigga threw open the chamber doors, a whirlwind of motherly indignation. “You got married? Your father is going to hear about this—”

He did? Thor cut a glance to the stranger, who did not look shocked in the least. In fact, the man smiled and gave him a wink in the mirror. “We did.”

Frigga paused, mouth dipping open. “Ah…?”

“Loki,” the man grunted helpfully. He didn’t bother closing his legs, too entangled in the task of brushing out his hair.

There were, without a doubt, many things in the realms to be scared of; bilgesnipe, his combat instructors, geese… but not even a feathery, honking hell-bird could compare to the terror that coursed through Thor as his mother raised a single, disapproving brow. “Loki,” she repeated flatly. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Not really. More hungry than charmed.”

Thor covered his face. “Loki…”

Loki snorted. “Don’t give me that, you didn’t even know my name until two seconds ago.”

He had a point. If Thor were a truly a man grown—and not a boy having only reached his age of majority, which he promptly celebrated with copious amounts of alcohol and by marrying a whore—he might have endeavored to solve the problem on his own. As it were, Thor turned quivering lip to his Queen Mother and sulked with the might of a small child.

Frigga glanced towards the still-nude Loki and sighed. With a shake of her head, she said, “Darling, the marital laws of Asgardian royalty are very clear—a marriage can only be broken through abuse of one partner—which would lead to immediate exile, Thor, put that down—or the publication of rude prose regarding a spouse.”

“Thor,” Loki murmured, wrinkling his nose, “rhymes with bore…boor…door? Whore…”

Thor bristled. “And how well does Loki rhyme with hokey?”

Loki nodded appreciatively. “Marvelously. Publish it, I say! Let the name of Loki be slandered throughout the kingdom fair!”

Just as Thor was about to pat himself on the back and call it a day so he could curl back up in bed, Frigga pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, Thor. Do not.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Loki sang, “as the offended party, I would be entitled to half your wealth and land holdings.”

“So that’s why you married me?”

Loki made a put upon, wounded noise, but didn’t contradict him. “Perhaps. Now, get to that poem please, I have a client to meet tomorrow and it might be awkward to get fucked while—”

“Loki!”

“What?” Loki scoffed.

Thor jerked his head towards his mother, who was wearing her Disapproving Face.

Loki wrinkled his nose. “I’m quite sure she knows what fucking is,” he said slowly, like Thor was very stupid. “I believe she’s done it before.”

Thor launched himself to his feet, sending his modesty pillow flying. “You filthy mouthed—”

“Me?!” Loki overrode. “Do you have any idea where your tongue was last night?”

“I don’t even remember where I was last night!”

Loki opened his mouth, but Frigga cleared her throat. When both pairs of eyes—one furious, the other, annoyed—were on her, she lifted a single finger and said, “Pants.”

Thor was, in turns, confused, upset at her disregard, then mortified. He scrambled for a pair laying on the floor—the same richly decorated pair he had worn last night, obviously, though they stank of a brewery and were torn apart at the seams. Still, they made for decent covering.

Loki positioned a handkerchief from Thor’s vanity over his cock, more to be an ass than anything else.

“So. About this divorce?” Loki inquired to the room at large. “It’s not as though I can initiate it. If we could hurry this along, that’d be wonderful. I have an estate already picked out.”

Frigga adopted a shrewd, calculating expression. “You know… the Norns show their influence in mysterious ways.”

“Mom?”

“Think on it: your spouse, your other half, a common street whore—”

“Hey,” Loki protested. He didn’t say anything more when they paused to give him space for an objection, just sniffed.

“—it would be as though you joined with the people of Asgard. Not to mention, a smart whore. More intelligent than he lets on, I hazard.” She stared at Loki with eyes that had seen the inner workings of the Realms; eyes that were privy to the Norns secret workings.

“What a statement,” Loki demurred. “However, untrue.”

Frigga hummed. Thor glanced back and forth between the two, locked in some silent argument.

“Oh, no.” Frigga’s smile grew sharp. “No, no. This will do perfectly, I think. Clear your schedule—the only appointment you have tomorrow is your etiquette class, Consort Loki.”

Loki froze. “My what now?”

“We’ll make you into a proper spouse for the Prince, don’t you worry your pretty head. I shall personally teach you your letters and numbers, and outline your responsibilities…”

“My what?”

Frigga bent to pat his pale cheek. “Well, of course! Did you think being the husband to a Prince was going to be all furs and silks? Goodness. If only! No, us Queens run the realm, Loki—we see to all the tawdry gear-cleaning whilst the Kings play war. No sleeping all day or lounging in gold jewelry or being pampered, I’m afraid.”

Loki looked thunderstruck. “But I—”

“Tut. If that’s what you wanted, you should’ve petitioned as a royal concubine. You would have spent all day in scented bathes, your hair brushed and oiled, your face massaged with the sweetest of creams… alas. That is not the life you’ve chosen.”

“I want a do over.”

Frigga just smiled apologetically and lifted a careless shoulder, eyes glittering. Loki gave her a distinctly mulish pout and Thor snorted a chuckle. Feeling no small delight in that Loki’s scheme failed, Thor offered his elbow. “Shall we get dressed, husband dear?”

“I hate you,” Loki sniffed.

“We have a long day ahead, darling mine.”

“I will stab you.”

“After dinner,” Thor advised, forgoing the arm and yanking Loki up to drag him towards the closet. “if I’m going to get my arse whipped for this, I want to scandalize Father a little.”

Loki perked up at that. He snatched a silken night shirt off the hook, along with satin sleeping pants, a soft, brightly colored scarf, and a jeweled belt. “We might scandalize?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Oh,” Loki hummed. “How delightful. Say, have you more silk? Perhaps the Lady Queen dresses modestly, but I shall not be so encumbered…”

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