Rock and roll for that one, rock and roll forever.
When she whispered his name, he was sure he was hearing things. He looked up at her and her mouth was closed, she was looking down and not at him, and then she took a sip of coffee like she'd just been deep in thought. She looked up at him over the rim of the mug and gave an awkward little smile.
"What?"
"Nothing, I think I'm hearing things."
"What, like your name being carried in on the wind?"
She went on to explain that she wanted to try it out. That she wanted to know how it weighed on her tongue, how easily it would roll off into the atmosphere. How it might feel to say it when she could barely speak, when her mouth was on his shoulder, when it was ripped out of her on a wave of shocked and sudden fruition of the plan. The idea. The scheme.
He shifted in his seat. This was all his usual schtick. He was the one that was supposed to be so honest as to cause the tips of the ears to redden upon hearing it. She took it straight out from under him and now he was free falling, completely unsure what to do next. Does he carry on with the trajectory? Does he bat it out of the atmosphere just to keep her guessing? Does he play coy? No, she knew him too well for that to work. He'd have to just step up and say something clever, something a little naughty, something to make her giggle a little, if only inwardly - likely with someone as ballsy as she. So he geared up, nodded to himself, steeled his spine and tried to channel the spirits of every irresistible, clever man that ever walked the earth. Something, come up with something...
"Cool."
Way to go.
To his utter surprise, and probably against all cosmic justice, he found himself nestling up behind her naked ass a few hours later, sweat slicked skin cooling fast enough to cause a shiver. She'd said his name, and it was great to hear, if a little purposefully expressed. That's alright. He'd been purposefully expressing himself all night. All that remained was figuring out how to get himself out of there without pissing her off. She turned over, patted him on the cheek.
"Get out of my house, Johnny."
"What?"
"Nothing, I think I'm hearing things."
"What, like your name being carried in on the wind?"
She went on to explain that she wanted to try it out. That she wanted to know how it weighed on her tongue, how easily it would roll off into the atmosphere. How it might feel to say it when she could barely speak, when her mouth was on his shoulder, when it was ripped out of her on a wave of shocked and sudden fruition of the plan. The idea. The scheme.
He shifted in his seat. This was all his usual schtick. He was the one that was supposed to be so honest as to cause the tips of the ears to redden upon hearing it. She took it straight out from under him and now he was free falling, completely unsure what to do next. Does he carry on with the trajectory? Does he bat it out of the atmosphere just to keep her guessing? Does he play coy? No, she knew him too well for that to work. He'd have to just step up and say something clever, something a little naughty, something to make her giggle a little, if only inwardly - likely with someone as ballsy as she. So he geared up, nodded to himself, steeled his spine and tried to channel the spirits of every irresistible, clever man that ever walked the earth. Something, come up with something...
"Cool."
Way to go.
To his utter surprise, and probably against all cosmic justice, he found himself nestling up behind her naked ass a few hours later, sweat slicked skin cooling fast enough to cause a shiver. She'd said his name, and it was great to hear, if a little purposefully expressed. That's alright. He'd been purposefully expressing himself all night. All that remained was figuring out how to get himself out of there without pissing her off. She turned over, patted him on the cheek.
"Get out of my house, Johnny."