:-O
Title: Pleasant Surprise (Why Georgia Part 5/?)
Author: Vanilla_alia, the one the only
Pairing: John Mayer/Chloe Harrison
Rating: heh. R
Summary: big day, huh John?
A/N: wow. it has been forever. Well, here i am, back again, with writing, whoa. love it? you should
The Capitol Records Building in Atlanta is simply another office building brandishing the Capitol logo in lighted red script atop its circular design. It’s meant to mimic the Hollywood structure that has become a staple for every tourist visit, a regular topic in postcards postmarked for rural towns that often get dropped in the sidewalk cracks just seconds from the post box. A crowd of Atlanta tourists stops in front of the glass doors, tilting their heads at the glimpse of the lobby, modern too-cool-for-you furniture arranged professionally on a reminiscent 60’s decade rug. On the wall are posters and framed copies of golden albums, with thoughtful pictures of each performer.
John clears his throat somewhere from the back of the mob. Slowly they part, and he moves to the front. He reaches for the gold handle, Capitol glimmering in white script across the glass. A small kid asks loudly.
“Mommy, is he a singer?” John’s mouth and eyes open in delight. A response from the assumed mother figure is too quick to follow. The door shuts, but just in time for John to catch the equally loud answer.
“Honey, I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
He lets it roll off his back, turning away from the hopefuls and approaching the front desk. Chloe’s voice plays in his head.
“Tell Mary at the front desk you have an appointment with me, she’ll direct you from there.”
He stops at the black marbled desk that touches the middle of his chest. A woman sits clicking a mouse with frustration. She’s older, but don’t tell her that. Her dyed black hair is permed in voluptuous curls, billowing into the space above her. John can only see her blue and pink rhinestoned western blouse, the top few buttons undone revealing some weathered cleavage. Somehow it works for her, framing her huge turquoise and diamond necklace. John clears his throat politely. The woman looks up with a smile on her face.
“Hi,” her southern drawl is loud in the mildly noisy lobby.
“Hi, I’m supposed to speak to Mary-”
“Well who’d you think you were talking to?” she interrupts loudly. One corner of John’s mouth lifts in a smile, his eyes unmoving.
“So, you’re Mary?”
“Hell yes I am. I’ve worked here for thirty years, I better be the Mary you’ve got to see. Now, do you have an appointment with someone or are you trying to sweet talk your way to Studio six. If you are, don’t try me, Thom Yorke made it clear that there will be no more fan club visitations.” John stops his train of thought.
“Radiohead is here? Like, here here. Like, in this building here?” Mary shakes her head.
“Just answer the damn question, boy.”
“Oh um, yes. I have an appointment with Chloe Harrison at 3:15.” Mary makes a few clicks on the computer.
“What’s your name?” she cocks an eyebrow at him.
“John Mayer,” he answers smoothly, still smiling at the notion that he’s in the same building as Thom Yorke.
“Okay, here’s what you need to do. Hey, are you listenin’?” Mary smacks the countertop by John’s hand.
“Yes, I’m listening,”
“All right, you need to take this pass with you. Clip it to your jacket or whatever. Then take that elevator to the fourteenth floor. Go all the way down the left hallway to the very last door on the right. That’s Chloe’s office. If anyone gives you any trouble, show ‘em your pass. If they still give you trouble, come back and get me. All right?”
“Yes Ma’am,” John takes the laminated pass and pins it to the pocket of his blazer.
“Oh, manners,” Mary smiles, impressed, “Those’ll get you far boy, keep ‘em up.” She picks a peppermint out of a glass jar sitting on her desk and slides it across the countertop to John.
“Thank you so much Ma’am,” He untwists the plastic and pops the red disc in his mouth, tucking the crinkling plastic in his pants pocket. His shoes squeak on the freshly polished wood floors, traces of cowboy boots barely visible under the wax. Glimmering gold records line the broad way to the elevators. He presses the up button and waits.
The doors to the elevator farthest from him open and he walks briskly to catch it. There’s a young attendant smiling, sitting on a wooden stool in a red uniform.
“What floor, sir?”
“14, please,” The doors close and the small compartment begins to rise. John looks at himself in the mirrored walls, trying to control his hair. They come to a stop and John fishes in his back pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a dollar bill and hands it to the attendant.
“Thank you,” he steps onto the carpeted floor.
“Thank you, sir. And good luck,” The door closes before John can respond. Quickly, John pushes the call button beside the golden elevator doors. The elevator he’s just exited opens up, revealing the same attendant.
“Sir?” he says oddly.
“Honestly, do I look okay?” John opens his arms wide for inspection. The attendant looks him over carefully,
“Your zipper’s down, but other than that, you look great,” John pulls his fly up quickly.
“Thank you so much. See, I’m going to meet this girl I’ve known for about a week and she’s acting sort of funny and it’s been kinda crazy,” John blabbers.
“Well, don’t you think you should go meet her then?”
“Oh right, yeah, thanks,” The doors start to close again. John sticks his arm in between the sealing doors, halting their movement. The attendant looks at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Sir?”
“Yeah, sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” he says smoothly.
“Oh,” John says quietly, looking at his shoes.
“It’s David,” he pauses, “LaChapelle,” John nods with a crooked smile.
“David, thank you David.” The doors roll shut and John sighs. Slowly, he turns and walks down the hallway towards a large clear window overlooking the city. He stops in front of it to stare. He’s never seen the whole city before from such a high perspective. He smiles contented and turns to his right to knock on the wooden door with a red star screwed in the center, brandishing Chloe’s name in black script. She opens the door warmly to a large office, much like her apartment.
“Hey, come in,” John smiles and steps in. Chloe closes the door behind him and kisses his cheek. John notices the wall of clear glass, giving an even greater view of the city. White blinds are pushed to the far left side of the windows, letting in all the sunlight they can even though it is cloudy outside. Several people are sitting in a lounging area just in front of Chloe’s desk. Men in business suits sip at crystal glasses and talk nonchalantly with one another. Chloe speaks above the noise.
“Everyone, this is John Mayer. John that’s Martin Alderman, Scott Crowe, Buddy Mann and Lawrence Clay,” She introduces them in a clockwise direction.
“Hi everyone,” John gives a small nervous wave and clasps his hands together in front of him. Chloe turns John to face her, perpendicular from the group of men.
“Hey, where’s your guitar?” Chloe whispers, their bodies very close together.
“Guitar?” John’s face erases.
“Are you daft?” she says, disbelieving.
“Chloe, what’s going on?” John shoots looks of confusion between Chloe and the men.
“I’m getting you a record deal, you idiot. You’re playing,” she hisses.
“Playing?” John looks back to the businessmen, wide-eyed. His mouth falls open.
“Oh shit,” he says quietly. Scott and Buddy laugh loudly while the others smile. John gives a quick grin and turns back to Chloe with panic in his eyes.
“I’ll get you a guitar, what kind do you want?”
“Um, I dunno, whatever you can get,” Chloe hurries out the door, leaving John to face the other men. He laughs nervously, standing in front of them with no defenses.
“Sorry, this kind of came on me really quick,”
“It’s all right, no need to hurry,” Lawrence says from the corner, swishing his scotch in a small glass.
“So John, how do you know Chloe?” Martin asks.
“Well, I play at the Java Stop on Church Street occasionally and Chloe came by a few times,” John says conversationally.
“Are you seeing each other?” Scott asks.
“I don’t know, what did she tell you?” they all laugh slyly. The door opens and Chloe enters the room empty handed. John’s eyes grow wide. She smiles.
“Relax baby,” a bulky man follows behind her with an amplifier in one arm and a plastic guitar case in the other. John lets out a breath and takes the guitar case from the guy in a tight black t-shirt, highlighting all his muscles. John places the case on the ground carefully and opens the lid slowly. He nearly chokes at the sight of a Taylor 910ce. He picks it up slowly, slipping the shoulder strap over his head. He checks the sound, prepared to make a tuning adjustment. But every string is exactly at its place, right where it needs to be.
The bulky man in the tight t-shirt plugs the cord connecting the amp to the guitar and it makes an empty sound. The Engelmann spruce top contrasts his dark blazer beautifully. Chloe places her hand on his shoulder and kisses his cheek.
“Good luck,” he can barely hear, but he knows all the businessmen are watching. She turns and walks back to her own leather chair in between the smartly dressed men. He takes a deep breath.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, gentleman, I’m not exactly prepared. Nor do I know, in particular, what you’re expecting of me,” John says. He feels pretty stupid.
“We just want you to play, John,” Martin says softly, “Play what you know; show us what you can do.” John takes another deep breath.
“All right, here I go,”
John doesn’t exactly know what he played. He sings something at one point in time, something he hasn’t played at the coffee shop yet. He can’t watch their faces, in fear he’ll falter. He sings lyrics about high school that he composed the second day he was in Atlanta. He wrote them on a park bench, on the napkin from his hot dog at lunch. Somehow he fades into Wind Cries Mary. He holds out the last syllable, calling Mary’s name like a gospel. He strums softly at the end, finally opening his eyes for the first time. They all clap, Chloe smiling brightly. John holds back a huge grin and nods his head in thanks.
Lawrence takes initiative. “Thank you for that John. That was quite lovely.” His thick British tint sounds in the air, overriding the applause. John stands to shake each hand. “We’ll let you know then,” Martin says as they grasp hands. The small group of men moves toward the door, thanking John and Chloe as they exit. The bulky man in the tight black shirt packs the guitar back into the case and shuts the amplifier off. He leaves with everything in hand, shutting the door to Chloe’s lofty office with only two occupants.
John releases a huge breath. “Well, that was a nice surprise.” Chloe doesn’t say a word and pushes John back onto the vacant couch. She straddles into his lap, fisting his shirt collar with her skirt riding up her thighs. She slams their lips together, jamming her tongue feverishly into his mouth. Her hands wander as they kiss, greedily grabbing as many handfuls of cloth and flesh as she can. John moans as her tiny palm finds his crotch, rubbing him through his shorts to full attention.
She unzips his pants at the odd angle and soon gets a fistful of John’s heated erection. Wordlessly, she slides off him and kneels onto the floor. Chloe takes his dick into her mouth before John can let a moan escape his lips. His flesh slips into her heated mouth with ease. She drags every inch of his cock along her lips as she pulls off, suckling the head with her lips. Chloe flicks her tongue over his leaking slit and laps at the fluid spilling from it. John’s head falls onto the back of the couch, eyes clamped shut. He wonders for a split second if it would be rude to hold her head and force it back down onto his cock but lets his hands go there anyway. His fingers sliding through her soft brown hair as she sucks him hard. Her lips are tight around his cock as her head bobs up and down quickly.
John’s fingers clench in Chloe’s hair, pulling sweet strands sinfully. “Oh my god,” he says quietly, pressure mounting up. He snaps, lifting his hips from the couch and planting his cock deeper into her mouth. His come hits the back of her throat and she moans around him. She swallows and pulls off his dick after she’s taken it all. She lays her head on John’s thigh, limp cock touching her jaw, and she looks up at him with a devilish smile on her face. He rubs the apple of her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.
“You, sweetheart, will be the death of me,” he whispers as she traces empty patterns on his thigh. She hums in response and stands up properly. He tucks himself back into his jeans and she straddles his lap again.
“Do you want me to,” his voice trails off, making vague gestures.
“No, that’s all right,” she says softly, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. He rubs her back warmly, thanking her.
“Chloe, thank you so much,”
“John, it’s just a blow job,” She smiles.
“You know what I mean. Thanks for everything today,”
“You’re talented. I want to help you get a leg up,”
“I can’t say it enough,” He pulls her shoulders closer. She settles into him, closing her eyes.
“Then don’t say anything.”
Author: Vanilla_alia, the one the only
Pairing: John Mayer/Chloe Harrison
Rating: heh. R
Summary: big day, huh John?
A/N: wow. it has been forever. Well, here i am, back again, with writing, whoa. love it? you should
The Capitol Records Building in Atlanta is simply another office building brandishing the Capitol logo in lighted red script atop its circular design. It’s meant to mimic the Hollywood structure that has become a staple for every tourist visit, a regular topic in postcards postmarked for rural towns that often get dropped in the sidewalk cracks just seconds from the post box. A crowd of Atlanta tourists stops in front of the glass doors, tilting their heads at the glimpse of the lobby, modern too-cool-for-you furniture arranged professionally on a reminiscent 60’s decade rug. On the wall are posters and framed copies of golden albums, with thoughtful pictures of each performer.
John clears his throat somewhere from the back of the mob. Slowly they part, and he moves to the front. He reaches for the gold handle, Capitol glimmering in white script across the glass. A small kid asks loudly.
“Mommy, is he a singer?” John’s mouth and eyes open in delight. A response from the assumed mother figure is too quick to follow. The door shuts, but just in time for John to catch the equally loud answer.
“Honey, I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
He lets it roll off his back, turning away from the hopefuls and approaching the front desk. Chloe’s voice plays in his head.
“Tell Mary at the front desk you have an appointment with me, she’ll direct you from there.”
He stops at the black marbled desk that touches the middle of his chest. A woman sits clicking a mouse with frustration. She’s older, but don’t tell her that. Her dyed black hair is permed in voluptuous curls, billowing into the space above her. John can only see her blue and pink rhinestoned western blouse, the top few buttons undone revealing some weathered cleavage. Somehow it works for her, framing her huge turquoise and diamond necklace. John clears his throat politely. The woman looks up with a smile on her face.
“Hi,” her southern drawl is loud in the mildly noisy lobby.
“Hi, I’m supposed to speak to Mary-”
“Well who’d you think you were talking to?” she interrupts loudly. One corner of John’s mouth lifts in a smile, his eyes unmoving.
“So, you’re Mary?”
“Hell yes I am. I’ve worked here for thirty years, I better be the Mary you’ve got to see. Now, do you have an appointment with someone or are you trying to sweet talk your way to Studio six. If you are, don’t try me, Thom Yorke made it clear that there will be no more fan club visitations.” John stops his train of thought.
“Radiohead is here? Like, here here. Like, in this building here?” Mary shakes her head.
“Just answer the damn question, boy.”
“Oh um, yes. I have an appointment with Chloe Harrison at 3:15.” Mary makes a few clicks on the computer.
“What’s your name?” she cocks an eyebrow at him.
“John Mayer,” he answers smoothly, still smiling at the notion that he’s in the same building as Thom Yorke.
“Okay, here’s what you need to do. Hey, are you listenin’?” Mary smacks the countertop by John’s hand.
“Yes, I’m listening,”
“All right, you need to take this pass with you. Clip it to your jacket or whatever. Then take that elevator to the fourteenth floor. Go all the way down the left hallway to the very last door on the right. That’s Chloe’s office. If anyone gives you any trouble, show ‘em your pass. If they still give you trouble, come back and get me. All right?”
“Yes Ma’am,” John takes the laminated pass and pins it to the pocket of his blazer.
“Oh, manners,” Mary smiles, impressed, “Those’ll get you far boy, keep ‘em up.” She picks a peppermint out of a glass jar sitting on her desk and slides it across the countertop to John.
“Thank you so much Ma’am,” He untwists the plastic and pops the red disc in his mouth, tucking the crinkling plastic in his pants pocket. His shoes squeak on the freshly polished wood floors, traces of cowboy boots barely visible under the wax. Glimmering gold records line the broad way to the elevators. He presses the up button and waits.
The doors to the elevator farthest from him open and he walks briskly to catch it. There’s a young attendant smiling, sitting on a wooden stool in a red uniform.
“What floor, sir?”
“14, please,” The doors close and the small compartment begins to rise. John looks at himself in the mirrored walls, trying to control his hair. They come to a stop and John fishes in his back pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a dollar bill and hands it to the attendant.
“Thank you,” he steps onto the carpeted floor.
“Thank you, sir. And good luck,” The door closes before John can respond. Quickly, John pushes the call button beside the golden elevator doors. The elevator he’s just exited opens up, revealing the same attendant.
“Sir?” he says oddly.
“Honestly, do I look okay?” John opens his arms wide for inspection. The attendant looks him over carefully,
“Your zipper’s down, but other than that, you look great,” John pulls his fly up quickly.
“Thank you so much. See, I’m going to meet this girl I’ve known for about a week and she’s acting sort of funny and it’s been kinda crazy,” John blabbers.
“Well, don’t you think you should go meet her then?”
“Oh right, yeah, thanks,” The doors start to close again. John sticks his arm in between the sealing doors, halting their movement. The attendant looks at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Sir?”
“Yeah, sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” he says smoothly.
“Oh,” John says quietly, looking at his shoes.
“It’s David,” he pauses, “LaChapelle,” John nods with a crooked smile.
“David, thank you David.” The doors roll shut and John sighs. Slowly, he turns and walks down the hallway towards a large clear window overlooking the city. He stops in front of it to stare. He’s never seen the whole city before from such a high perspective. He smiles contented and turns to his right to knock on the wooden door with a red star screwed in the center, brandishing Chloe’s name in black script. She opens the door warmly to a large office, much like her apartment.
“Hey, come in,” John smiles and steps in. Chloe closes the door behind him and kisses his cheek. John notices the wall of clear glass, giving an even greater view of the city. White blinds are pushed to the far left side of the windows, letting in all the sunlight they can even though it is cloudy outside. Several people are sitting in a lounging area just in front of Chloe’s desk. Men in business suits sip at crystal glasses and talk nonchalantly with one another. Chloe speaks above the noise.
“Everyone, this is John Mayer. John that’s Martin Alderman, Scott Crowe, Buddy Mann and Lawrence Clay,” She introduces them in a clockwise direction.
“Hi everyone,” John gives a small nervous wave and clasps his hands together in front of him. Chloe turns John to face her, perpendicular from the group of men.
“Hey, where’s your guitar?” Chloe whispers, their bodies very close together.
“Guitar?” John’s face erases.
“Are you daft?” she says, disbelieving.
“Chloe, what’s going on?” John shoots looks of confusion between Chloe and the men.
“I’m getting you a record deal, you idiot. You’re playing,” she hisses.
“Playing?” John looks back to the businessmen, wide-eyed. His mouth falls open.
“Oh shit,” he says quietly. Scott and Buddy laugh loudly while the others smile. John gives a quick grin and turns back to Chloe with panic in his eyes.
“I’ll get you a guitar, what kind do you want?”
“Um, I dunno, whatever you can get,” Chloe hurries out the door, leaving John to face the other men. He laughs nervously, standing in front of them with no defenses.
“Sorry, this kind of came on me really quick,”
“It’s all right, no need to hurry,” Lawrence says from the corner, swishing his scotch in a small glass.
“So John, how do you know Chloe?” Martin asks.
“Well, I play at the Java Stop on Church Street occasionally and Chloe came by a few times,” John says conversationally.
“Are you seeing each other?” Scott asks.
“I don’t know, what did she tell you?” they all laugh slyly. The door opens and Chloe enters the room empty handed. John’s eyes grow wide. She smiles.
“Relax baby,” a bulky man follows behind her with an amplifier in one arm and a plastic guitar case in the other. John lets out a breath and takes the guitar case from the guy in a tight black t-shirt, highlighting all his muscles. John places the case on the ground carefully and opens the lid slowly. He nearly chokes at the sight of a Taylor 910ce. He picks it up slowly, slipping the shoulder strap over his head. He checks the sound, prepared to make a tuning adjustment. But every string is exactly at its place, right where it needs to be.
The bulky man in the tight t-shirt plugs the cord connecting the amp to the guitar and it makes an empty sound. The Engelmann spruce top contrasts his dark blazer beautifully. Chloe places her hand on his shoulder and kisses his cheek.
“Good luck,” he can barely hear, but he knows all the businessmen are watching. She turns and walks back to her own leather chair in between the smartly dressed men. He takes a deep breath.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, gentleman, I’m not exactly prepared. Nor do I know, in particular, what you’re expecting of me,” John says. He feels pretty stupid.
“We just want you to play, John,” Martin says softly, “Play what you know; show us what you can do.” John takes another deep breath.
“All right, here I go,”
John doesn’t exactly know what he played. He sings something at one point in time, something he hasn’t played at the coffee shop yet. He can’t watch their faces, in fear he’ll falter. He sings lyrics about high school that he composed the second day he was in Atlanta. He wrote them on a park bench, on the napkin from his hot dog at lunch. Somehow he fades into Wind Cries Mary. He holds out the last syllable, calling Mary’s name like a gospel. He strums softly at the end, finally opening his eyes for the first time. They all clap, Chloe smiling brightly. John holds back a huge grin and nods his head in thanks.
Lawrence takes initiative. “Thank you for that John. That was quite lovely.” His thick British tint sounds in the air, overriding the applause. John stands to shake each hand. “We’ll let you know then,” Martin says as they grasp hands. The small group of men moves toward the door, thanking John and Chloe as they exit. The bulky man in the tight black shirt packs the guitar back into the case and shuts the amplifier off. He leaves with everything in hand, shutting the door to Chloe’s lofty office with only two occupants.
John releases a huge breath. “Well, that was a nice surprise.” Chloe doesn’t say a word and pushes John back onto the vacant couch. She straddles into his lap, fisting his shirt collar with her skirt riding up her thighs. She slams their lips together, jamming her tongue feverishly into his mouth. Her hands wander as they kiss, greedily grabbing as many handfuls of cloth and flesh as she can. John moans as her tiny palm finds his crotch, rubbing him through his shorts to full attention.
She unzips his pants at the odd angle and soon gets a fistful of John’s heated erection. Wordlessly, she slides off him and kneels onto the floor. Chloe takes his dick into her mouth before John can let a moan escape his lips. His flesh slips into her heated mouth with ease. She drags every inch of his cock along her lips as she pulls off, suckling the head with her lips. Chloe flicks her tongue over his leaking slit and laps at the fluid spilling from it. John’s head falls onto the back of the couch, eyes clamped shut. He wonders for a split second if it would be rude to hold her head and force it back down onto his cock but lets his hands go there anyway. His fingers sliding through her soft brown hair as she sucks him hard. Her lips are tight around his cock as her head bobs up and down quickly.
John’s fingers clench in Chloe’s hair, pulling sweet strands sinfully. “Oh my god,” he says quietly, pressure mounting up. He snaps, lifting his hips from the couch and planting his cock deeper into her mouth. His come hits the back of her throat and she moans around him. She swallows and pulls off his dick after she’s taken it all. She lays her head on John’s thigh, limp cock touching her jaw, and she looks up at him with a devilish smile on her face. He rubs the apple of her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.
“You, sweetheart, will be the death of me,” he whispers as she traces empty patterns on his thigh. She hums in response and stands up properly. He tucks himself back into his jeans and she straddles his lap again.
“Do you want me to,” his voice trails off, making vague gestures.
“No, that’s all right,” she says softly, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck. He rubs her back warmly, thanking her.
“Chloe, thank you so much,”
“John, it’s just a blow job,” She smiles.
“You know what I mean. Thanks for everything today,”
“You’re talented. I want to help you get a leg up,”
“I can’t say it enough,” He pulls her shoulders closer. She settles into him, closing her eyes.
“Then don’t say anything.”