My Enemy's Bed
She lay unmoving on the bed, quiet and still, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to join her or leave her in peace. He couldn’t see her face (curled up like this, it was easy to imagine it was years ago and this was their home and not some brightly lit studio) but the line of her back called to him. It was strange how parts of the body which really weren’t expressly erotic meant so much now; yesterday he had found himself getting wistful over the arch of her foot and, really, sometimes he had to wonder if she’d sent him insane. Mick was still sitting beside him on the edge of the mattress and the urge to push him (gently, of course) away from the bed, from Stevie, was growing. Lindsey had wanted to protest earlier, watching Annie ask Stevie to move just a bit closer (her leg slung over the drummer’s scrawny, long limbs), watching Mick’s hand drift over her ass and hip so familiarly. It was wrong. He’d smiled and let Christine nestle in closer, but even her warm, near-naked flesh couldn’t distract him from hearing Stevie’s flirtatious little giggles and Mick’s deeper murmurs. So wrong.
"I need a little something. Want me to fetch you some?" his bandmate asked, nudging his shoulder in a friendly manner. Lindsey ignored him, breathing a sigh of relief as Mick left the small room. A few assistants were still lingering but they would keep their mouths shut and leave when he gestured for them to. He did. They left. He could go to her.
She didn’t move as he crept to the other side of the mattress, didn’t react as he lay behind her. He wouldn’t touch her. Not yet.
"Linds?" she said and it didn’t matter how quiet her voice was, he heard the want, knew it because it was his own reflected back at him. "Hold me?"
"Of course." She was warm in his arms, turning immediately into him so he could cuddle her properly (and how many hours had they once spent like this, wiling the hours away?). Her head was bowed on his still bare chest, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, so familiar and so dear. "Okay?" he asked, needing to make sure, to make sure she was sure.
"Good," she murmured into his neck, pressing a kiss there. "Good."
One of her small hands reached up, her fingers stroking over his cheek, his brow, curling into his mussed hair. Closing his eyes against the emotions stirring him, he pulled her closer, wishing he could remove her gown and be done with it. Not here, not now, though. He allowed a hand to curve over her breast through the satin, smiling contentedly as her eyes immediately met his in a silent question. “Very good,” he said. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted, caressing her gently, not wanting to arouse her (or him) too much. Again, not here, not now.
"You’ve missed these, you mean," she chuckled, giving his ass a firm squeeze in return.
"I won’t disagree with the lady."
"Of course not. Mr Buckingham would never." She kissed him on the lips, soft, not platonic but not anything more. "I miss you too."
And those words, those longed for words, sent a bolt of satisfaction through him. Because fuck, it WAS easier to suffer when the other person was suffering as well. He hated to see her hurting, but it did his heart good to know she wasn’t coping quite as well as she had promised she would (I regret it, Lindsey, everything. Just stay away from me.) He kissed her back, a thank you. And then the damned woman opened her mouth beneath his, asking for more, her arms coming around him and holding him to her. No escape.
He’d never been looking for one.
She held him tight, almost desperately so, and he let himself cling back. There was no shame in this. He’d lost his pride on the night he’d literally fallen to his knees and begged her to stay, not to leave him. And she’d gone and fucked off anyway.
"Linds…" she groaned. "Please." Her fingers wound in his hair, yanking his head back down to hers the moment he blinked, went to move away from her embrace. "Please, honey." Stevie arched her body up into his, her gown riding up so he could feel the soft skin of her legs, her goddamn thighs, against the denim of his jeans. Her palm rested on his belly and maybe if she just… Could they? He broke the kiss, glanced quickly over his shoulder.
"The room’s empty." Her hand moved further down, cupping him through his jeans, and Christ… "I didn’t mean… God, Stevie…"
She ran her teeth along his nipple. “Shut up or I’ll bite.”
"Not if your mouth is too occupied elsewhere. Kiss me."
"Where?" she asked, eyebrow raised, cheeks flushed and maybe he could just go and close the door so they could have some privacy? He wouldn’t last long at this rate anyway.
"On my fucking mouth, angel. Don’t start something you can’t finish."
"I can finish. Just…" She stopped groping him, grabbing his hand in her own, pushing it through the gap in her gown and down to her panties. "You can finish me."
He closed his eyes, let himself indulge, his fingers pushing the material aside. Just for a moment. “Turn,” he commanded brusquely. “Let me get a better angle.” She obeyed. Would that it were always so…
Her nails raked the soft flesh of his side, pressing him harder, urging him faster. He could do this for her. No one would see. She was so wet and he was so needy and anyone could walk in and damn, that shouldn’t make him more excited but… He nudged her gown down slightly, pressing a kiss to her upper back as he worked her with his strong, nimble fingers.
She wriggled back against him, his cock hardening with every movement she made. “Steph, I…”
"Please, Lindsey. I need this."
She came quietly for once, and he felt both pleased that it lessened the chance of them being overheard, and bereft that she hadn’t cried (screamed) his name.
"Thank you," she said softly, turning back in his arms so she could press a kiss to his shoulder. "Are you…" She trailed off, looking to his pants. "Do you want me-?"
"Might be a bit awkward if I leave the room now and people see me, to be honest," he laughed.
"Mmm, I see what you mean," she replied, eyebrow raised. Unbuttoning his pants quickly, she then tossed a blanket over their bodies. "You may have been able to hide me from sight but I don’t want them all seeing your bare ass."
"My bare ass?"
She tugged his jeans and underwear down, stroking him appreciatively when he sprang free. “Your bare ass. Your cock. Any of it. They’re mine.”
"Possessive, are we?"
His ex gripped him tightly, warning him, and he winced. “Always. We’ve been here for too long already. We’d better hurry.”
"No complaints. Just bring me off and we’ll stroll off merrily into the sunset."
"I would swoon if I weren’t already on a bed and with your dick in my hands, I must say…"
"Please, Stevie," he urged, stroking himself along with her, their hands working together in smooth, fast motions. "If I can’t have you, let me have this."
He came against her hand almost embarrassingly fast, gritting his teeth and groaning into her shoulder, relishing the way she didn’t pull away from him immediately. Murmuring an apology against her lips, Lindsey reached over her body for his own kimono which had been tossed to the side during the photoshoot. “This’ll have to do, I’m afraid.”
"You didn’t bring any spare clothes?"
"In the other room."
She shrugged and watched as he wiped them both clean, as best he could manage. “I’d suggest wearing those instead of these,” she said, helping as Lindsey tucked himself back into his jeans.
"I’ll take your advice into consideration," he chuckled, resting his head against hers and entwining their fingers against her belly. "I still miss you, you know. I love touching you like this, getting you off, having sex, but I still miss you."
She watched him silently as he spoke and he wondered if she’d return the sentiment. After all, neither of them were single; they weren’t supposed to be admitting these things except in song. They’d quickly learned airing their feelings rarely helped.
"I love you."
She traced the lines of his brow, his cheekbones, the line of his nose, his lips. And then kissed them. “You know I still love you,” she said, quiet against his cheek.
He wrapped an arm around her, closing his eyes and allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of her body simply resting against his. For these few moments, he would let himself feel.