original writing: Motorcycle Vagabond (4/?): Quiet Kisses Are So Hardcore
Title: Motorcycle Vagabond
Subtitle: Quiet Kisses Are So Hardcore
Rating: NC17
Words: 3452
Note: Set sometime after the previously posted bits. Actually features plot, dialog, and names. PLEASE comment and critique, for they are love and I like being loved. All due credit to thehighwaywoman, for the cheer-leading and the beta, because I think I would have backed out otherwise, and to teithiwr and chatona and fyrie for letting me vent and geek and helping choose names.
Summary: People aren't meant to be alone forever. Thankfully she doesn't have to be.
It kind of pisses her off that almost no one really understands the difference between homeless and living on the road. That most people assume she hasn't chosen the way she lives her life, like it isn't damn well more expensive than renting an apartment and staying put. That they think she has no family (which is true, in all the ways that matter) and no friends (which isn't true, by any stretch of the imagination). It pisses her off, but at least its understandable.
The waitress in Dubuque confuses the hell out of her.
“What do you do... you know,” Margery (according to the name tag) asks nervously.
She raises her eyebrows. “Apparently I don't.” That isn't entirely true, but it's been a long day and she's feeling just a little bit sadistic.
“Well,” Margery makes a suggestive hand gesture. “You know. For your...” The woman pauses, trying to think of an appropriate euphemism. “For your needs?”
“Ooooh,” she says around a french fry. “You mean what do I do about sex.” She takes some pleasure in the way Margery's eyes nearly pop out of her head. In fact she has to take a bite of her burger to keep from laughing. “Usually I just take care of myself.”
The fact that she has to explain what that means to Margery has her snickering for days.
It really shouldn't surprise her that she finds herself in southern California less than a week later, staring up at the sign over the Ace High Bar and Grill. She shouldn't be nervous (she isn't normally), but she is now. Maybe it's the weather, the uncharacteristic chill giving her goosebumps. All she can think as she stares up at the faded paint is maybe he doesn't work here anymore, maybe he's gone. She bites her lip and heads inside anyway.
It's early in the evening, but there's a small group of regulars sitting at the bar. They've got more food than alcohol and are arguing sports scores. She holds her breath when she realizes there's no one in the kitchen (the place is small enough, you'd hear them just walking back and forth between the fryers and the prep counter) and only a tall blond chick tending bar.
“Dani?” she hears behind her. She'd know that drawl anywhere. “Jesus, Dani, is that you?”
She surprises herself by being more afraid now than she had been outside. Its not like she doesn't keep in touch. That's not who she is, she could never do that. But things... things are complicated. And she's kind of kept to herself for a month. Or three...
She keeps expecting to show up and find out he's gotten married or something.
“Aidan,” she says. Her voice sounds small and when she turns around to look at him, it gets lost for a moment. He's wearing his dark hair long and shaggy again. Blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight as he takes her in. “You look good.”
And then he's hugging her. Something unwinds in her chest. He must have felt it, because he pulls her closer and doesn't let go. He's only a few inches taller than she is, but curling into him is easy, tucking her head down into the crease of his neck. She can feel his breath in her hair. “You smell like french fries,” she says after a long moment.
He snorts. “Like you don't smell like motor oil and gasoline, girl.” He pulls back enough that she won't fall on her face as he drags her toward the bar. “Guessin' you ain't eaten in a while?”
“Last time I came with no appetite, you got mad at me.” Her voice is deadpan. “Cried like a little girl because I wouldn't touch your brisket. You were inconsolable-”
“I seem to remember you consoling me just fine.”
“- you were inconsolable and I had to eat the brisket anyway. Good sauce though.” She gives him a wicked grin. “Finger licking good. If I recall properly.”
He makes her a small bar food feast - burger, cheese fries, mozzarella sticks, chicken strips, and onion rings - and spends a half hour pretending to work while he steals her food. She's lucky, as it turns out; he's working the mid-shift instead of closing like he usually does and has the next few days off. Even so Aidan's all but dragging her out the door the moment Paul (the guy relieving him) parks his car.
Loading her bike up into the bed of his truck is a bit of a trick, but they manage it without anything getting broken or anyone getting hurt. And if they end up tangled together leaning against his rear windshield, breath mingling in the cold air as they laugh, well, she certainly isn't complaining. Especially not once his head dips down so he can capture her lips with his own. Soft and smiling.
God, she's missed him.
“I was worried about you,” he says. Their lips brush lightly when he speaks.
“Oh?”
“Thanksgiving,” Aidan says simply.
Dani tilts her head so she can look him in the eye. He doesn't ask about her quirks. Doesn't ask why she refuses to be alone on Thanksgiving or why she won't drive on her birthday. Doesn't ask why she won't drive through Texas in July or why cornfields make her cringe. Why she makes it a point to visit Acadia in the spring and tries to make it to the Shenandoah Valley in the fall. Why she loves the bison burgers in Salt Lake City but never goes to get one. Why in all the stories Dani tells there's a hole in her map shaped like Philadelphia. Sometimes she wishes he would and wonders why he doesn't. Now she wonders if he doesn't know her better than she thought.
Aidan doesn't ask, but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice. Dani smiles a little. “I was with Sarah and her girlfriend in Manhattan. There was this cozy little diner a block down from her place where we got dinner. Wasn't the worst turkey I've ever had, but I swear the cranberry sauce was still shaped like the can it came in.” He chuckles at that, relieved. “I'm sorry,” she says. She looks away at the last sliver of the sun sinking down. Their breath shimmers golden between them. “For disappearing for so long, I -“
He traps the rest of her words with his mouth. “None of that.”
Dani nods and pulls him down for another kiss. A deeper kiss. And long enough to steal her breath and make her shiver from something other than the cold. “We should go,” she says. She pushes away from the glass to press into him and leverage them both into a proper standing position. He takes the opportunity to run his hands down her back and over the curve of her butt. Which makes Dani particularly glad the open end of the truck is behind him, or they'd never leave. She leans her weight into him and walks him backwards as she kisses along his jaw. When she nips at the soft spot, Aidan makes a noise in his throat that tells her precisely what he thinks of going anywhere. “Bed would be warmer.”
“True,” he says. Then he grins. Suddenly he can't get out of the truck bed fast enough. “That reminds me. You're gonna love my new place.”
The drive doesn't take long at all, barely long enough for her to tell the story about the nudists in Mississippi. She blinks when he heads straight through downtown, where his old loft had been, and on into suburbia. Her mouth falls open when they pull into a driveway in front of a pale blue two-story gablefront with a porch that stretches around the side.
“You bought a house? It's beautiful.” Dani looks over at him. He's grinning back at her, pleased as punch. “You have a house!” She hops out of the truck, jogs to one side and then the other to get a better view. Aidan laughs at her when she all but skips along the porch to peek at the back yard, but she can let loose around him so she doesn't care. “With a pool! You have a house with a pool!”
“Wanna see the inside?” he asks as he walks up beside her. She punches him lightly in the arm. He just laughs again and pulls her by the hand back toward the front door. “I've barely had it for a month now, but I'm mostly settled. If you'd showed up any earlier I'd still be living outta boxes.”
He tosses her jacket on the coat rack beside the door, then flourishes to the innards at large. “Mi casa es su casa.”
It's a lot more open than she'd been expecting. The floors are all hardwood (they leave their boots by the door), and there's plenty of windows to let in natural light. Just in front of the door are the stairs heading up, and to the left is the living space. It's a little haphazard - the couch here, the coffee table there, a couple of chairs in the corner, throw rugs tossed this way and that, a smattering of bookcases that are full but no better organized. The only coherent part is the entertainment system - complete with television, sound system, and X-Box 360 - on the far side.
To the right of the stairs is the dining room. Aidan had obviously bought a new table and chairs (the old ones would have felt too small), but he'd used the ample wall space between the windows to put up his vintage concert posters and framed photos he loves so much. Past that toward the back is the kitchen, divided off by an island with stools pulled up to it. Judging by the way it's littered with mail, a newspaper, and a small stack of bowls, it's where he ate breakfast at least. (Although Dani can remember him eating cereal for lunch, so.) The kitchen itself is a thing of beauty, neat (immaculate even) but obviously well loved. Pans line the wall next to the door to the porch, and several spinning spice racks are in easy reach from every counter.
“You had this set up before you did anything else, didn't you?”
“Almost,” Aidan says. He pulls open what she'd assumed was the pantry door to reveal stairs going down. Dani raises an eyebrow but lets him lead her down into the darkness. “The switch is here... Somewhere. Ah.” A loud click, and the cellar is illuminated.
Part of the space is taken up by an actual pantry, a small rack of wine, the water heater and laundry machines. The rest... A single plush throw rug covers the concrete floor. An old, ratty looking love seat is up against the wall. There's a mismatched stool, chair, and ottoman. And his guitars. Not his baby, of course, that's probably upstairs in his bedroom. But his classical, his flat-top and, a ways over with its speaker, his Stratocaster are all here. Near another wall is a keyboard and stool. Off to the side, out of the way, is his old dining room table; it's covered in papers and sheet music and scraps of paper. There's an air of purpose, here.
Dani squeezes his hand, looks up at him with awe widened eyes. “You're recording?” This is big.
“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his neck self-consciously, still smiling like a school boy. “Me an' James got signed. It's why I went ahead an' bought the place.”
She curls an arm around his waist and kisses his cheek. “Congratulations, Aidan. You've worked so hard for this.” Dani wouldn't have thought it possible, but his grin gets bigger. And he blushes.
They go back upstairs. He tells her about the scout that heard James and him playing at Ace High, about the awkward performance for the agents a couple of days later. He's damn near giddy by the time they get to the main stairs. He starts talking about their manager and how he gets it.
The rest of the tour is pretty quick. She's pleased to find some of his sister's paintings hanging in the hallway amongst more photos (the kid's really very good). The guest bedroom is undecorated and unfurnished except for a futon and a few dozen boxes filled with odds and ends. His bedroom is the opposite, despite being larger. The chair under the window and his California king take up one side, while his desk and a dresser with a TV on top take up the other. She isn't really very sure how he fit another bookcase in amongst everything else. More throw rugs, his guitar, and a box half full of electronics (because the rest, like his laptop, are spread around the floor) make everything feel a little cluttered. And cozy.
And then the bathroom. God's own bathroom. The tub is less bathtub and more hot tub. The standing shower has one of those super-nozzles (how many settings can you really need for a shower?) and enough space... Enough space to...
Enough space to accommodate two fully clothed adults standing under the spray. It takes a well timed pounce and some fancy footwork, but Dani manages well enough. By the time Aidan regains his balance and figures out what's going on, she's kissing him and the water is making their clothes slick and heavy, and he can't think past the way she tastes and how when she rolls her hips just so...
Dani smiles, because when she rolls her hips against him he stops thinking altogether and groans. She slides her hands under his shirt, runs them up his back before skimming them across his chest. Rolling her hips again, she pushes him back against the wall with one hand. With the other she starts to undo his pants. Unfortunately his jeans are button-fly, requiring both hands and all her concentration.
Aidan's brain shudders back to life, hands first. He tilts her face up and kisses her, deep and needy, hand tangling in her hair even as he's deciding that shirts are one layer too many. He finds the hem of the offending clothing by feel, peels it up over her head. The bra isn't far behind. Her hands don't leave his fly for longer than necessary. She palms him through the wet fabric as though to make up for lost time. He groans again, and somehow manages to get his own shirt off.
“Damn jeans,” she murmurs against his mouth, and kisses him hard. Finally she's got them undone. She hooks her thumbs over the top and pushes them down slowly, kissing and licking her way down his throat and chest. He gasps when she flicks her tongue over one of his nipples but continues her way down. His hips jerk as his hard-on drags up against her belly, then between her breasts, seeking friction. Dani pins him with one hand on his thigh. Her lips and tongue trace a path from his navel to his hip bone, pausing only to momentarily follow a rivulet of water back up along his abdomen.
She nips at his hipbone. Aidan whimpers a little and tries to thrust his hips. She smiles against him and nips a little lower down. Her free hand slides up the inside of his leg, fondles his balls before stroking his length with a deft twist of her wrist. He leans his head back, palms spread flat against the wall, each pull evoking a gasp and twitch of his hips. Dani nips even lower down.
“Please,” he begs, panting. She sucks a little at his base. Aidan makes a desperate noise in his throat. “Please...” She licks in swirling motions up his shaft. Hesitates just long enough that he looks down at her, cheeks flushed with need and want. And then, then she takes him into her mouth, slow and deep and even. She looks up at him through the steam, water running over her shoulders and breasts. “Jesus Christ.”
His breathing turns ragged. “Dani,” he manages. She pulls her tongue along the vein as she sucks, and his next attempt to say her name comes out as an incoherent moan. He has to put his hand in her hair and pull to get her to stop. He manages to pull her to her feet, step out of his pants, and turn them so he's crowding her into the wall with more grace and speed than wet clothing should allow. Aidan runs his tongue along the edge of her ear, sucking at the soft spot below her jaw as he works his way down to her breasts. She moans and bites her lip when his mouth finds her nipple
Her jeans are significantly easier to unzip and remove, his hands sliding over smooth skin as he pulls them down and away. He stands and kisses her on the mouth even as she parts her legs for him. He grinds against her, feels just how wet she is as he presses against her entrance. Teases her with almost until she's clinging to him just to stay upright because she's trembling so hard.
“Aidan,” she pleads. One hand is tangled in his hair to keep him close enough to kiss, to share each shuddering breath. He rocks against her again and she moans against his mouth. “God, I need you... need you in...”
He cuts her off with a kiss and sinks into her slowly. He braces one arm on the wall, the other curled around her leg and butt, supporting them both. Slowly he pulls all the way out, sinks back in. Keeps it slow, keeps her trembling, until they can barely breathe they're so close.
“Danielle,” he murmurs. Aidan is the only one who calls her that. He looks her in they eye and she whimpers. He's the only one. “Danielle. Come for me.”
He thrusts into her, in so deep, and she tumbles over the edge and comes undone with his name on her lips. The world goes white. When she comes back to earth, he's slumped against her, head resting on the cool tile. He looks spent, sure. But he'd be wearing that shit eating grin for days.
They spend the next couple of days in bed, curled round each other in a tangle of limbs and sheets and only rousing themselves long enough for Aidan to cook. She's never so relaxed as she is with Aidan. Never so free to be entirely herself as she is with him. The damnable itch for the road doesn't disappear, but it quiets enough for her to ignore it. At least for a little while.
She wakes one morning sprawled alone in his bed, and she can feel it coiled around the base of her spine. Not much longer, then. She closes her eyes and wills it away.
It's the sounds of guitar playing that pull her out of herself at last. The windows are open, letting in the warm sunlight and the cool breeze, and the uneven stilted melody floats in with it. She can hear Aidan's voice, if not his words. He's writing. She lays still and listens as he undoes and reforms the music, as he finds his words.
At last she pushes herself out of bed, shrugs into an off-white button up he's left thrown across his chair, and heads downstairs. She pours herself a cup of coffee before leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. Listens without making her presence known, watches his profile. It's a love song, at once bittersweet and hopeful.
Aidan pauses, biting his lip and obviously contemplating the next choice of phrase.
“It's beautiful,” she says. She grins when he jumps a little. He's blushing deep scarlet... and then she gets it. It's for her. She puts the coffee down, and he barely has enough time to set his guitar aside before she's kissing him. He pulls her down into his lap, holds her close as he deepens the kiss. “Aidan,” she manages when they break for air. “I don't des-”
“None of that,” he murmurs and smooths her hair back from her face. Aidan never asks about a lot of things. Never asks her to stay, because he knows she won't. Not yet. Never asks to go with her, because he knows that on the road she's alone no matter who she's with, for now. He never asks, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to.
Danielle kind of loves him for that.
Subtitle: Quiet Kisses Are So Hardcore
Rating: NC17
Words: 3452
Note: Set sometime after the previously posted bits. Actually features plot, dialog, and names. PLEASE comment and critique, for they are love and I like being loved. All due credit to thehighwaywoman, for the cheer-leading and the beta, because I think I would have backed out otherwise, and to teithiwr and chatona and fyrie for letting me vent and geek and helping choose names.
Summary: People aren't meant to be alone forever. Thankfully she doesn't have to be.
It kind of pisses her off that almost no one really understands the difference between homeless and living on the road. That most people assume she hasn't chosen the way she lives her life, like it isn't damn well more expensive than renting an apartment and staying put. That they think she has no family (which is true, in all the ways that matter) and no friends (which isn't true, by any stretch of the imagination). It pisses her off, but at least its understandable.
The waitress in Dubuque confuses the hell out of her.
“What do you do... you know,” Margery (according to the name tag) asks nervously.
She raises her eyebrows. “Apparently I don't.” That isn't entirely true, but it's been a long day and she's feeling just a little bit sadistic.
“Well,” Margery makes a suggestive hand gesture. “You know. For your...” The woman pauses, trying to think of an appropriate euphemism. “For your needs?”
“Ooooh,” she says around a french fry. “You mean what do I do about sex.” She takes some pleasure in the way Margery's eyes nearly pop out of her head. In fact she has to take a bite of her burger to keep from laughing. “Usually I just take care of myself.”
The fact that she has to explain what that means to Margery has her snickering for days.
It really shouldn't surprise her that she finds herself in southern California less than a week later, staring up at the sign over the Ace High Bar and Grill. She shouldn't be nervous (she isn't normally), but she is now. Maybe it's the weather, the uncharacteristic chill giving her goosebumps. All she can think as she stares up at the faded paint is maybe he doesn't work here anymore, maybe he's gone. She bites her lip and heads inside anyway.
It's early in the evening, but there's a small group of regulars sitting at the bar. They've got more food than alcohol and are arguing sports scores. She holds her breath when she realizes there's no one in the kitchen (the place is small enough, you'd hear them just walking back and forth between the fryers and the prep counter) and only a tall blond chick tending bar.
“Dani?” she hears behind her. She'd know that drawl anywhere. “Jesus, Dani, is that you?”
She surprises herself by being more afraid now than she had been outside. Its not like she doesn't keep in touch. That's not who she is, she could never do that. But things... things are complicated. And she's kind of kept to herself for a month. Or three...
She keeps expecting to show up and find out he's gotten married or something.
“Aidan,” she says. Her voice sounds small and when she turns around to look at him, it gets lost for a moment. He's wearing his dark hair long and shaggy again. Blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight as he takes her in. “You look good.”
And then he's hugging her. Something unwinds in her chest. He must have felt it, because he pulls her closer and doesn't let go. He's only a few inches taller than she is, but curling into him is easy, tucking her head down into the crease of his neck. She can feel his breath in her hair. “You smell like french fries,” she says after a long moment.
He snorts. “Like you don't smell like motor oil and gasoline, girl.” He pulls back enough that she won't fall on her face as he drags her toward the bar. “Guessin' you ain't eaten in a while?”
“Last time I came with no appetite, you got mad at me.” Her voice is deadpan. “Cried like a little girl because I wouldn't touch your brisket. You were inconsolable-”
“I seem to remember you consoling me just fine.”
“- you were inconsolable and I had to eat the brisket anyway. Good sauce though.” She gives him a wicked grin. “Finger licking good. If I recall properly.”
He makes her a small bar food feast - burger, cheese fries, mozzarella sticks, chicken strips, and onion rings - and spends a half hour pretending to work while he steals her food. She's lucky, as it turns out; he's working the mid-shift instead of closing like he usually does and has the next few days off. Even so Aidan's all but dragging her out the door the moment Paul (the guy relieving him) parks his car.
Loading her bike up into the bed of his truck is a bit of a trick, but they manage it without anything getting broken or anyone getting hurt. And if they end up tangled together leaning against his rear windshield, breath mingling in the cold air as they laugh, well, she certainly isn't complaining. Especially not once his head dips down so he can capture her lips with his own. Soft and smiling.
God, she's missed him.
“I was worried about you,” he says. Their lips brush lightly when he speaks.
“Oh?”
“Thanksgiving,” Aidan says simply.
Dani tilts her head so she can look him in the eye. He doesn't ask about her quirks. Doesn't ask why she refuses to be alone on Thanksgiving or why she won't drive on her birthday. Doesn't ask why she won't drive through Texas in July or why cornfields make her cringe. Why she makes it a point to visit Acadia in the spring and tries to make it to the Shenandoah Valley in the fall. Why she loves the bison burgers in Salt Lake City but never goes to get one. Why in all the stories Dani tells there's a hole in her map shaped like Philadelphia. Sometimes she wishes he would and wonders why he doesn't. Now she wonders if he doesn't know her better than she thought.
Aidan doesn't ask, but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice. Dani smiles a little. “I was with Sarah and her girlfriend in Manhattan. There was this cozy little diner a block down from her place where we got dinner. Wasn't the worst turkey I've ever had, but I swear the cranberry sauce was still shaped like the can it came in.” He chuckles at that, relieved. “I'm sorry,” she says. She looks away at the last sliver of the sun sinking down. Their breath shimmers golden between them. “For disappearing for so long, I -“
He traps the rest of her words with his mouth. “None of that.”
Dani nods and pulls him down for another kiss. A deeper kiss. And long enough to steal her breath and make her shiver from something other than the cold. “We should go,” she says. She pushes away from the glass to press into him and leverage them both into a proper standing position. He takes the opportunity to run his hands down her back and over the curve of her butt. Which makes Dani particularly glad the open end of the truck is behind him, or they'd never leave. She leans her weight into him and walks him backwards as she kisses along his jaw. When she nips at the soft spot, Aidan makes a noise in his throat that tells her precisely what he thinks of going anywhere. “Bed would be warmer.”
“True,” he says. Then he grins. Suddenly he can't get out of the truck bed fast enough. “That reminds me. You're gonna love my new place.”
The drive doesn't take long at all, barely long enough for her to tell the story about the nudists in Mississippi. She blinks when he heads straight through downtown, where his old loft had been, and on into suburbia. Her mouth falls open when they pull into a driveway in front of a pale blue two-story gablefront with a porch that stretches around the side.
“You bought a house? It's beautiful.” Dani looks over at him. He's grinning back at her, pleased as punch. “You have a house!” She hops out of the truck, jogs to one side and then the other to get a better view. Aidan laughs at her when she all but skips along the porch to peek at the back yard, but she can let loose around him so she doesn't care. “With a pool! You have a house with a pool!”
“Wanna see the inside?” he asks as he walks up beside her. She punches him lightly in the arm. He just laughs again and pulls her by the hand back toward the front door. “I've barely had it for a month now, but I'm mostly settled. If you'd showed up any earlier I'd still be living outta boxes.”
He tosses her jacket on the coat rack beside the door, then flourishes to the innards at large. “Mi casa es su casa.”
It's a lot more open than she'd been expecting. The floors are all hardwood (they leave their boots by the door), and there's plenty of windows to let in natural light. Just in front of the door are the stairs heading up, and to the left is the living space. It's a little haphazard - the couch here, the coffee table there, a couple of chairs in the corner, throw rugs tossed this way and that, a smattering of bookcases that are full but no better organized. The only coherent part is the entertainment system - complete with television, sound system, and X-Box 360 - on the far side.
To the right of the stairs is the dining room. Aidan had obviously bought a new table and chairs (the old ones would have felt too small), but he'd used the ample wall space between the windows to put up his vintage concert posters and framed photos he loves so much. Past that toward the back is the kitchen, divided off by an island with stools pulled up to it. Judging by the way it's littered with mail, a newspaper, and a small stack of bowls, it's where he ate breakfast at least. (Although Dani can remember him eating cereal for lunch, so.) The kitchen itself is a thing of beauty, neat (immaculate even) but obviously well loved. Pans line the wall next to the door to the porch, and several spinning spice racks are in easy reach from every counter.
“You had this set up before you did anything else, didn't you?”
“Almost,” Aidan says. He pulls open what she'd assumed was the pantry door to reveal stairs going down. Dani raises an eyebrow but lets him lead her down into the darkness. “The switch is here... Somewhere. Ah.” A loud click, and the cellar is illuminated.
Part of the space is taken up by an actual pantry, a small rack of wine, the water heater and laundry machines. The rest... A single plush throw rug covers the concrete floor. An old, ratty looking love seat is up against the wall. There's a mismatched stool, chair, and ottoman. And his guitars. Not his baby, of course, that's probably upstairs in his bedroom. But his classical, his flat-top and, a ways over with its speaker, his Stratocaster are all here. Near another wall is a keyboard and stool. Off to the side, out of the way, is his old dining room table; it's covered in papers and sheet music and scraps of paper. There's an air of purpose, here.
Dani squeezes his hand, looks up at him with awe widened eyes. “You're recording?” This is big.
“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his neck self-consciously, still smiling like a school boy. “Me an' James got signed. It's why I went ahead an' bought the place.”
She curls an arm around his waist and kisses his cheek. “Congratulations, Aidan. You've worked so hard for this.” Dani wouldn't have thought it possible, but his grin gets bigger. And he blushes.
They go back upstairs. He tells her about the scout that heard James and him playing at Ace High, about the awkward performance for the agents a couple of days later. He's damn near giddy by the time they get to the main stairs. He starts talking about their manager and how he gets it.
The rest of the tour is pretty quick. She's pleased to find some of his sister's paintings hanging in the hallway amongst more photos (the kid's really very good). The guest bedroom is undecorated and unfurnished except for a futon and a few dozen boxes filled with odds and ends. His bedroom is the opposite, despite being larger. The chair under the window and his California king take up one side, while his desk and a dresser with a TV on top take up the other. She isn't really very sure how he fit another bookcase in amongst everything else. More throw rugs, his guitar, and a box half full of electronics (because the rest, like his laptop, are spread around the floor) make everything feel a little cluttered. And cozy.
And then the bathroom. God's own bathroom. The tub is less bathtub and more hot tub. The standing shower has one of those super-nozzles (how many settings can you really need for a shower?) and enough space... Enough space to...
Enough space to accommodate two fully clothed adults standing under the spray. It takes a well timed pounce and some fancy footwork, but Dani manages well enough. By the time Aidan regains his balance and figures out what's going on, she's kissing him and the water is making their clothes slick and heavy, and he can't think past the way she tastes and how when she rolls her hips just so...
Dani smiles, because when she rolls her hips against him he stops thinking altogether and groans. She slides her hands under his shirt, runs them up his back before skimming them across his chest. Rolling her hips again, she pushes him back against the wall with one hand. With the other she starts to undo his pants. Unfortunately his jeans are button-fly, requiring both hands and all her concentration.
Aidan's brain shudders back to life, hands first. He tilts her face up and kisses her, deep and needy, hand tangling in her hair even as he's deciding that shirts are one layer too many. He finds the hem of the offending clothing by feel, peels it up over her head. The bra isn't far behind. Her hands don't leave his fly for longer than necessary. She palms him through the wet fabric as though to make up for lost time. He groans again, and somehow manages to get his own shirt off.
“Damn jeans,” she murmurs against his mouth, and kisses him hard. Finally she's got them undone. She hooks her thumbs over the top and pushes them down slowly, kissing and licking her way down his throat and chest. He gasps when she flicks her tongue over one of his nipples but continues her way down. His hips jerk as his hard-on drags up against her belly, then between her breasts, seeking friction. Dani pins him with one hand on his thigh. Her lips and tongue trace a path from his navel to his hip bone, pausing only to momentarily follow a rivulet of water back up along his abdomen.
She nips at his hipbone. Aidan whimpers a little and tries to thrust his hips. She smiles against him and nips a little lower down. Her free hand slides up the inside of his leg, fondles his balls before stroking his length with a deft twist of her wrist. He leans his head back, palms spread flat against the wall, each pull evoking a gasp and twitch of his hips. Dani nips even lower down.
“Please,” he begs, panting. She sucks a little at his base. Aidan makes a desperate noise in his throat. “Please...” She licks in swirling motions up his shaft. Hesitates just long enough that he looks down at her, cheeks flushed with need and want. And then, then she takes him into her mouth, slow and deep and even. She looks up at him through the steam, water running over her shoulders and breasts. “Jesus Christ.”
His breathing turns ragged. “Dani,” he manages. She pulls her tongue along the vein as she sucks, and his next attempt to say her name comes out as an incoherent moan. He has to put his hand in her hair and pull to get her to stop. He manages to pull her to her feet, step out of his pants, and turn them so he's crowding her into the wall with more grace and speed than wet clothing should allow. Aidan runs his tongue along the edge of her ear, sucking at the soft spot below her jaw as he works his way down to her breasts. She moans and bites her lip when his mouth finds her nipple
Her jeans are significantly easier to unzip and remove, his hands sliding over smooth skin as he pulls them down and away. He stands and kisses her on the mouth even as she parts her legs for him. He grinds against her, feels just how wet she is as he presses against her entrance. Teases her with almost until she's clinging to him just to stay upright because she's trembling so hard.
“Aidan,” she pleads. One hand is tangled in his hair to keep him close enough to kiss, to share each shuddering breath. He rocks against her again and she moans against his mouth. “God, I need you... need you in...”
He cuts her off with a kiss and sinks into her slowly. He braces one arm on the wall, the other curled around her leg and butt, supporting them both. Slowly he pulls all the way out, sinks back in. Keeps it slow, keeps her trembling, until they can barely breathe they're so close.
“Danielle,” he murmurs. Aidan is the only one who calls her that. He looks her in they eye and she whimpers. He's the only one. “Danielle. Come for me.”
He thrusts into her, in so deep, and she tumbles over the edge and comes undone with his name on her lips. The world goes white. When she comes back to earth, he's slumped against her, head resting on the cool tile. He looks spent, sure. But he'd be wearing that shit eating grin for days.
They spend the next couple of days in bed, curled round each other in a tangle of limbs and sheets and only rousing themselves long enough for Aidan to cook. She's never so relaxed as she is with Aidan. Never so free to be entirely herself as she is with him. The damnable itch for the road doesn't disappear, but it quiets enough for her to ignore it. At least for a little while.
She wakes one morning sprawled alone in his bed, and she can feel it coiled around the base of her spine. Not much longer, then. She closes her eyes and wills it away.
It's the sounds of guitar playing that pull her out of herself at last. The windows are open, letting in the warm sunlight and the cool breeze, and the uneven stilted melody floats in with it. She can hear Aidan's voice, if not his words. He's writing. She lays still and listens as he undoes and reforms the music, as he finds his words.
At last she pushes herself out of bed, shrugs into an off-white button up he's left thrown across his chair, and heads downstairs. She pours herself a cup of coffee before leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. Listens without making her presence known, watches his profile. It's a love song, at once bittersweet and hopeful.
Aidan pauses, biting his lip and obviously contemplating the next choice of phrase.
“It's beautiful,” she says. She grins when he jumps a little. He's blushing deep scarlet... and then she gets it. It's for her. She puts the coffee down, and he barely has enough time to set his guitar aside before she's kissing him. He pulls her down into his lap, holds her close as he deepens the kiss. “Aidan,” she manages when they break for air. “I don't des-”
“None of that,” he murmurs and smooths her hair back from her face. Aidan never asks about a lot of things. Never asks her to stay, because he knows she won't. Not yet. Never asks to go with her, because he knows that on the road she's alone no matter who she's with, for now. He never asks, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to.
Danielle kind of loves him for that.