[Fic: RPF] Shadow Days and Technicolor Nights
Title Shadow Days and Technicolor Nights
Pairing: John Mayer/Taylor Swift
Rating/Word Count: R/2216
Disclaimer/Warning: I do not own Taylor Swift or John Mayer, and none of the portrayed events should be taken as fact. They are fiction and never actually happened. No matter how much I wish they did. Other disclaimers are at my journal. This is a RPF story, meaning about real people in a romantic relationship context. If that bothers you, this is not the story for you. Rating for language and non-explicit sexual references.
Summary: Taylor hears John's latest record and demands an explanation.
A/N: So no real explanation for this one other than "Shadow Days" shattered me, and then when the rest of "Born and Raised" came out, it did, too. Then I found the Tumblr dedicated to their relationship, and then this happened. Blame leobrat, she's usually who to blame as the cult leader for these two. Also, I hope it's okay that I stole LMT? It just fit so well here with them.
"Shadow Days" has been on repeat on her iPod for like, a month now. Against her better judgement, against all reason, she finds herself falling all over again.
Again? Who the hell is she kidding...she never really stopped. Even after having her too-young, too-innocent heart torn to millions of tiny pieces as she left the hotel that night, vowing that she'd never let him see that deeply into her again.
He's never been the same type of songwriter as her, no matter how much he tried to convince her so all those years ago. She's very autobiographical and honest and he's all symbolism and waxing poetic and even though it does things to her that she's almost ashamed to admit, she knows she'll never be that way. Can't be anything but unflinchingly excruciatingly honest about every part of her own self.
Except maybe he was right after all...
How was she supposed to know that her heart wasn't the only one in pieces on that hotel floor?
.....
He's spending more time depressed and defeated these days, even though he's in the best place musically that he's ever been. It just sucks to not be able to show it off. The sad truth is, he's got this horrible feeling that it'll never get better.
That maybe the days of touring and playing ten minute guitar solos on stage to tons of adoring fans are gone. The days of being John Fucking Mayer are probably behind him forever now.
That's not entirely a bad thing, really. Especially when he reflects on the fact that those were the shadow days. Some of the most fun, yes, but he's getting closer to forty and all he's really wanted for awhile now is to come home to the same girl tomorrow that he'll come home to another ten years from now, and really, is it so much to ask for?
Because now he knows that he can love someone with a whole heart, it only took him thirty-five years and losing the best thing he'd ever had to help him figure that out. Right now he's sharing his California king with his favorite guitar, has a bottle of Pinot Grinot on his bedside and well...it'll have to do for now.
.....
She's in NYC on a press junket, for what she can't even remember at the moment. Oh, yeah, to promote her two songs on The Hunger Games soundtrack. It's taking everything within herself not to pick up the phone and drunk-dial him. Because yes, stop the presses, America's sweetheart Taylor Swift is slightly tipsy and just slightly out of her right mind.
Damn him. He's the one that got her started on wine, when all her friends were into beer and booze and who even knew what else. He'd pop the cork on his favorite type of red while they had dinner and it took her the better part of that first month before she finally allowed herself a taste. Granted, it was from his mouth and then his glass, but she'd been hooked from that day on.
It's two in the morning and Meredith is with her brother at the hotel, and that's his punishment for making snide comments about her obsessively watching "Grey's Anatomy" DVDs and pouring over the Mark/Lexie debacle and dammit Austin, why did he have to say what she already knew?
He'd teased her about being exactly like Lexie Grey and the alcohol and exhaustion had her snapping if that was so, then who was her Mark, and of course, nobody ever accused Austin of being anything less than honest.
Which might explain why she's in a cab at two-thirty in the morning on the way to a SoHo loft she hasn't seen in years and where she has absolutely no business being tonight.
.....
He's lost in a daze of working out a new rift he's had running through his head when he hears a pounding at his door. He hasn't been cool enough to have people over at this hour in a long time. Who the hell would be outside his door at three in the morning on a Saturday?
After sliding on a pair of sweats he flings open the door to the shock of his life: his pretty little Taylor, with a flush to her face that he's never seen before and a look in her eyes he definitely hasn't seen in years.
"Taylor," he starts, but doesn't get the chance to say anything else before she's vaulting herself into his arms, face buried in his shoulder. This is beyond his wildest fantasies, especially when he feels more than hears her mumble into his neck, "I missed you."
.....
The ball's in her court, has been since she marched out of the hotel three years ago and silenced every call since. But damn if she can't make herself do anything more than just take him in, tattoos on full display, hair longer than she's ever seen, two days of stubble and the hint of wine on his breath. How did she survive three years without being in his arms?
"As much as I'd love to stand here in my doorway all night, you mind if we go inside?" John breaks the spell, guiding her to the couch all the while never letting her go.
Now that she's actually here, she's got no idea how to say what she wants. The most difficult part was throwing herself into his arms and truth be told, that part's never been all that hard. It's everything else that always gets in the way.
"So what brings you to SoHo tonight, Little Miss Taylor?" He harkens back to the old nickname he had for her then, back when she was just a nineteen-year-old kid in love with this tortured soul of a man that shaped so much of who she is. But she's nearly twenty-three now, and she's finally all grown up and somehow she thinks that maybe he might be, too. God, what kind of relationship could they have had if it'd been like that back then?
"This, John," she mumbles as she tosses him her iPhone. It's currently in iTunes, showing that the most played song is "Shadow Days" and why the hell won't he say anything?
"What do you want me to say?" John parries back and she realizes with a start that she actually said that aloud, and wow, she's further gone than she thought. His eyes darken with anger and arousal in an intoxicating mix she hasn't seen since that last night together three years ago.
"I want to know if it's your usual bullshit or did you really mean it?"
.....
Of course he fucking meant it, who the hell does she think she is, waltzing in here calling his soul-searching bullshit? Maybe this is what he's done to her, made her that dark and twisty girl he'd never ever wanted her to be.
"Of course I meant it," he spat, just enough alcohol to lower his inhibitions and make him fight with her instead of take her against the wall like he'd been wanting to do for years. "Why the hell wouldn't I me-"
Before the words can even fully leave his mouth, she's got him pinned against his living room wall and doing her best to devour him whole. He starts for a moment before he registers exactly what she's wanting, then palms her thighs up over his hips, the bite of her heels digging into his lower back the only thing anchoring him in the moment. He turns them around forcefully, pushing her now against the wall, letting it do the work of holding her up while he mouths at that spot behind her ear, the one that makes her see stars and robs her of the ability to remember her own name.
His hips jut against her and she writhes underneath him, words and gasps and breathy moans pouring out of her at will. He'd forgotten she could be this way, so open and out of control. He loves that he could tear her down this way, tear down that filter between her mind and her mouth. She's a talker, which had surprised him the first time they'd done this, babbling nonsensical words and noises and whatever else flashed through her mind. Usually she just whimpered (or screamed) his name, but the words that came spilling forth this time made his blood run cold.
"Hmm, loved you so long."
.....
She feels the loss acutely, a keening whimper she forces silent at the loss of the warmth of his lips, the scratchy stubble against her clavicle. Her eyes blink owlishly open and find John's dark ones piercing into her soul, the way they always had.
"Do you really?"
Confusion, at what he's saying and at the tone of voice, the warring of the darkly caustic, brilliant man he lets the rest of the world see and the vulnerable little boy that she's only had a few glimpses of, the boy that's only wanting someone to love him---
Ah. Well, shit.
.....
His whole world stops and centers in this moment. The stark arousal is fading from her eyes, fear and doubt clouding in. His entire new record, hell, the entire last two years, have been about proving that even though it's too late for them, she's made him a better man. Little Miss Taylor, his nineteen-year-old country princess, challenged him in ways no other woman in his life ever had, made his question all the lies he's ever believed about himself, made him see that "Half of My Heart" didn't have to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not if he didn't want it to be.
But if it's not too late for them? If she still loves him, even after all the ways he's broken her over the years? That changes everything.
"John-John?"
She draws him back into the present, like always, here with her. Those bright blue eyes that were so clouded before are now stunningly clear, shimmering with something close to love and sparkling just a little too much. The use of her old affectionate nickname for him does something amazing to his Grinchy heart, making it grow three sizes with just a touch.
"Do you really?" He repeats, this time a plaintive, painful question. "Even after everything I've said and done and all the-"
"Everything has been for you," she cuts off his broken rambling, her delicate hands coming up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing the ever-present dark circles under his eyes. "My choice has always been you."
She leans in to kiss him again, this time warm and gentle, no sign of the desperate passion of only moments ago. This kiss is love and forever.
He pulls her loose from the wall, fully holding her to his chest like he used to do, loving her wrapped around him, the way her mouth lazily kisses his bare shoulder and something suspiciously like tears falling onto his skin. He carries her into the bedroom and slides in under the covers, all the while still cradling her close. Somehow all he wants now is to wake next to her in the morning. Not a faceless stranger, not one of his beloved guitars, but the girl that's haunted his every waking and sleeping moment of the last few years. It won't mend all the wounds from the shrapnel they've volleyed at each other over the years, but it's a damn good start.
.....
Taylor wakes the next morning, sun streaming into her eyes as they adjust. She reaches out her hand and realizes her pillow is indeed breathing. Momentary panic seizes her as she realizes that she'd maybe gotten carried away with the alcohol last night, until her eyes light onto John's looking down on her. His arms are resting behind his head, seemingly just enjoying the way she looks draped across him.
"So last night," she whispers, nuzzling into his chest, both in an attempt to hide from the impact of the words and to drink in something she never thought she'd have again.
"Yeah, not a dream," he sighs. "But it can be if that's what you want."
He's giving her an out, she knows. He's always done that in the more serious moments, allowing her to shift all blame to him if it makes her happy. No more.
"I don't." Her words are firm, full of conviction, "I want honest and open and grown up. I know we have to talk everything out, but I think we're both finally adults now and we can have this if we want it. Do you?"
Her eyes bore into his soul, bright and open but steady and penetrating. His return fire, love and lust fighting within the deep dark depths as he nods and learns down to claim her mouth in most tender, yet aching kiss.
And yeah, it's not much, but it's a start to something she thought she'd lost forever but that she's certain she's never had, and they're swaying along to a song all their own, the rhythm of the mending of their broken hearts. Maybe the shadow days really are over now.
Pairing: John Mayer/Taylor Swift
Rating/Word Count: R/2216
Disclaimer/Warning: I do not own Taylor Swift or John Mayer, and none of the portrayed events should be taken as fact. They are fiction and never actually happened. No matter how much I wish they did. Other disclaimers are at my journal. This is a RPF story, meaning about real people in a romantic relationship context. If that bothers you, this is not the story for you. Rating for language and non-explicit sexual references.
Summary: Taylor hears John's latest record and demands an explanation.
A/N: So no real explanation for this one other than "Shadow Days" shattered me, and then when the rest of "Born and Raised" came out, it did, too. Then I found the Tumblr dedicated to their relationship, and then this happened. Blame leobrat, she's usually who to blame as the cult leader for these two. Also, I hope it's okay that I stole LMT? It just fit so well here with them.
"Shadow Days" has been on repeat on her iPod for like, a month now. Against her better judgement, against all reason, she finds herself falling all over again.
Again? Who the hell is she kidding...she never really stopped. Even after having her too-young, too-innocent heart torn to millions of tiny pieces as she left the hotel that night, vowing that she'd never let him see that deeply into her again.
He's never been the same type of songwriter as her, no matter how much he tried to convince her so all those years ago. She's very autobiographical and honest and he's all symbolism and waxing poetic and even though it does things to her that she's almost ashamed to admit, she knows she'll never be that way. Can't be anything but unflinchingly excruciatingly honest about every part of her own self.
Except maybe he was right after all...
How was she supposed to know that her heart wasn't the only one in pieces on that hotel floor?
.....
He's spending more time depressed and defeated these days, even though he's in the best place musically that he's ever been. It just sucks to not be able to show it off. The sad truth is, he's got this horrible feeling that it'll never get better.
That maybe the days of touring and playing ten minute guitar solos on stage to tons of adoring fans are gone. The days of being John Fucking Mayer are probably behind him forever now.
That's not entirely a bad thing, really. Especially when he reflects on the fact that those were the shadow days. Some of the most fun, yes, but he's getting closer to forty and all he's really wanted for awhile now is to come home to the same girl tomorrow that he'll come home to another ten years from now, and really, is it so much to ask for?
Because now he knows that he can love someone with a whole heart, it only took him thirty-five years and losing the best thing he'd ever had to help him figure that out. Right now he's sharing his California king with his favorite guitar, has a bottle of Pinot Grinot on his bedside and well...it'll have to do for now.
.....
She's in NYC on a press junket, for what she can't even remember at the moment. Oh, yeah, to promote her two songs on The Hunger Games soundtrack. It's taking everything within herself not to pick up the phone and drunk-dial him. Because yes, stop the presses, America's sweetheart Taylor Swift is slightly tipsy and just slightly out of her right mind.
Damn him. He's the one that got her started on wine, when all her friends were into beer and booze and who even knew what else. He'd pop the cork on his favorite type of red while they had dinner and it took her the better part of that first month before she finally allowed herself a taste. Granted, it was from his mouth and then his glass, but she'd been hooked from that day on.
It's two in the morning and Meredith is with her brother at the hotel, and that's his punishment for making snide comments about her obsessively watching "Grey's Anatomy" DVDs and pouring over the Mark/Lexie debacle and dammit Austin, why did he have to say what she already knew?
He'd teased her about being exactly like Lexie Grey and the alcohol and exhaustion had her snapping if that was so, then who was her Mark, and of course, nobody ever accused Austin of being anything less than honest.
Which might explain why she's in a cab at two-thirty in the morning on the way to a SoHo loft she hasn't seen in years and where she has absolutely no business being tonight.
.....
He's lost in a daze of working out a new rift he's had running through his head when he hears a pounding at his door. He hasn't been cool enough to have people over at this hour in a long time. Who the hell would be outside his door at three in the morning on a Saturday?
After sliding on a pair of sweats he flings open the door to the shock of his life: his pretty little Taylor, with a flush to her face that he's never seen before and a look in her eyes he definitely hasn't seen in years.
"Taylor," he starts, but doesn't get the chance to say anything else before she's vaulting herself into his arms, face buried in his shoulder. This is beyond his wildest fantasies, especially when he feels more than hears her mumble into his neck, "I missed you."
.....
The ball's in her court, has been since she marched out of the hotel three years ago and silenced every call since. But damn if she can't make herself do anything more than just take him in, tattoos on full display, hair longer than she's ever seen, two days of stubble and the hint of wine on his breath. How did she survive three years without being in his arms?
"As much as I'd love to stand here in my doorway all night, you mind if we go inside?" John breaks the spell, guiding her to the couch all the while never letting her go.
Now that she's actually here, she's got no idea how to say what she wants. The most difficult part was throwing herself into his arms and truth be told, that part's never been all that hard. It's everything else that always gets in the way.
"So what brings you to SoHo tonight, Little Miss Taylor?" He harkens back to the old nickname he had for her then, back when she was just a nineteen-year-old kid in love with this tortured soul of a man that shaped so much of who she is. But she's nearly twenty-three now, and she's finally all grown up and somehow she thinks that maybe he might be, too. God, what kind of relationship could they have had if it'd been like that back then?
"This, John," she mumbles as she tosses him her iPhone. It's currently in iTunes, showing that the most played song is "Shadow Days" and why the hell won't he say anything?
"What do you want me to say?" John parries back and she realizes with a start that she actually said that aloud, and wow, she's further gone than she thought. His eyes darken with anger and arousal in an intoxicating mix she hasn't seen since that last night together three years ago.
"I want to know if it's your usual bullshit or did you really mean it?"
.....
Of course he fucking meant it, who the hell does she think she is, waltzing in here calling his soul-searching bullshit? Maybe this is what he's done to her, made her that dark and twisty girl he'd never ever wanted her to be.
"Of course I meant it," he spat, just enough alcohol to lower his inhibitions and make him fight with her instead of take her against the wall like he'd been wanting to do for years. "Why the hell wouldn't I me-"
Before the words can even fully leave his mouth, she's got him pinned against his living room wall and doing her best to devour him whole. He starts for a moment before he registers exactly what she's wanting, then palms her thighs up over his hips, the bite of her heels digging into his lower back the only thing anchoring him in the moment. He turns them around forcefully, pushing her now against the wall, letting it do the work of holding her up while he mouths at that spot behind her ear, the one that makes her see stars and robs her of the ability to remember her own name.
His hips jut against her and she writhes underneath him, words and gasps and breathy moans pouring out of her at will. He'd forgotten she could be this way, so open and out of control. He loves that he could tear her down this way, tear down that filter between her mind and her mouth. She's a talker, which had surprised him the first time they'd done this, babbling nonsensical words and noises and whatever else flashed through her mind. Usually she just whimpered (or screamed) his name, but the words that came spilling forth this time made his blood run cold.
"Hmm, loved you so long."
.....
She feels the loss acutely, a keening whimper she forces silent at the loss of the warmth of his lips, the scratchy stubble against her clavicle. Her eyes blink owlishly open and find John's dark ones piercing into her soul, the way they always had.
"Do you really?"
Confusion, at what he's saying and at the tone of voice, the warring of the darkly caustic, brilliant man he lets the rest of the world see and the vulnerable little boy that she's only had a few glimpses of, the boy that's only wanting someone to love him---
Ah. Well, shit.
.....
His whole world stops and centers in this moment. The stark arousal is fading from her eyes, fear and doubt clouding in. His entire new record, hell, the entire last two years, have been about proving that even though it's too late for them, she's made him a better man. Little Miss Taylor, his nineteen-year-old country princess, challenged him in ways no other woman in his life ever had, made his question all the lies he's ever believed about himself, made him see that "Half of My Heart" didn't have to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not if he didn't want it to be.
But if it's not too late for them? If she still loves him, even after all the ways he's broken her over the years? That changes everything.
"John-John?"
She draws him back into the present, like always, here with her. Those bright blue eyes that were so clouded before are now stunningly clear, shimmering with something close to love and sparkling just a little too much. The use of her old affectionate nickname for him does something amazing to his Grinchy heart, making it grow three sizes with just a touch.
"Do you really?" He repeats, this time a plaintive, painful question. "Even after everything I've said and done and all the-"
"Everything has been for you," she cuts off his broken rambling, her delicate hands coming up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing the ever-present dark circles under his eyes. "My choice has always been you."
She leans in to kiss him again, this time warm and gentle, no sign of the desperate passion of only moments ago. This kiss is love and forever.
He pulls her loose from the wall, fully holding her to his chest like he used to do, loving her wrapped around him, the way her mouth lazily kisses his bare shoulder and something suspiciously like tears falling onto his skin. He carries her into the bedroom and slides in under the covers, all the while still cradling her close. Somehow all he wants now is to wake next to her in the morning. Not a faceless stranger, not one of his beloved guitars, but the girl that's haunted his every waking and sleeping moment of the last few years. It won't mend all the wounds from the shrapnel they've volleyed at each other over the years, but it's a damn good start.
.....
Taylor wakes the next morning, sun streaming into her eyes as they adjust. She reaches out her hand and realizes her pillow is indeed breathing. Momentary panic seizes her as she realizes that she'd maybe gotten carried away with the alcohol last night, until her eyes light onto John's looking down on her. His arms are resting behind his head, seemingly just enjoying the way she looks draped across him.
"So last night," she whispers, nuzzling into his chest, both in an attempt to hide from the impact of the words and to drink in something she never thought she'd have again.
"Yeah, not a dream," he sighs. "But it can be if that's what you want."
He's giving her an out, she knows. He's always done that in the more serious moments, allowing her to shift all blame to him if it makes her happy. No more.
"I don't." Her words are firm, full of conviction, "I want honest and open and grown up. I know we have to talk everything out, but I think we're both finally adults now and we can have this if we want it. Do you?"
Her eyes bore into his soul, bright and open but steady and penetrating. His return fire, love and lust fighting within the deep dark depths as he nods and learns down to claim her mouth in most tender, yet aching kiss.
And yeah, it's not much, but it's a start to something she thought she'd lost forever but that she's certain she's never had, and they're swaying along to a song all their own, the rhythm of the mending of their broken hearts. Maybe the shadow days really are over now.