| Jonesy's about to lose it, I can tell. Meet-and-greet is definitely *not* his favorite part of the Savage lifestyle. Me? Hell, I can schmooze with the best of them, but Daniel just does *not* tolerate it well at all. We're on the down side of a hellishly long tour, and this is about the gazillionth press party we've had to attend. I'm sort of half listening to the record label suit who's talking in my ear, but I've been keeping an eye on my partner for a while, and I can see the danger signals. The leggy blonde who's trying to dazzle him doesn't know how close she is to being toast. His eyes have gotten that kind of iced over look, and he's studying some imaginary spot over her left shoulder. The muscle in his jaw is twitching, and I think, if I'm quiet, I could probably hear his teeth grinding from here. And, that glass in his hand better be made of some strong stuff, or else it's gonna shatter pretty soon. Guess it's time for me to move in and save the day. My own glass is empty and I give it a glance and then sort of look lost, and the suit immediately is, like, falling all over himself to help me out. More juice? Why, yes, thanks. Oh, that's so great of you, man, really. And he's off to the bar. Works like a charm. I, of course, use the time wisely, inching over to where Daniel isn't talking with Miss Public Relations. I put a hand casually to the small of his back, and, God, he's all stiff and tense. Looks like I made it just in time. He turns to look at me and he has this totally fake smile plastered on his face and he leans into my hand ever so slightly. My moment to shine. I flash a smile at the lady and wink, and make some noises about being late for a meeting, and *really* hating to run, cause it's just been so *awesome*, and we *so* hope she can make it to the show, and by that time, I've got Jonesy as far as the door, and we are outta there. He's silent as we hurry down the hall, dodging a few stray press guys with quick handshakes and gotta-runs, and then, *finally*, the elevator doors close on them and it's just us. I don't say anything, knowing how close to the edge he is. He rakes a hand through his hair and sort of slumps against the wall, closing his eyes and sighing. In a second, the bell pings and, thankfully, the hallway between the elevator and our room is empty. I fumble a little with the key card, because I can feel how close he is behind me, I can hear him breathing, but finally we're in, all the crazy shit outside locked away, just me and Jonesy. He squirms out of his jacket and just, like, *hurls* it across the room, and stomps over to the window where he leans his head against the glass, but I know he's probably not really seeing the view of whatever-the-fuck city we're in. And, now, he's gonna start on a rant. Not yelling, or anything. Nah, that would be how *I'd* rant. Not Dan. No, he sort of has this controlled, wound-up-tight kind of thing that just breaks my heart. "Goddammit, Darren, this is crazy! I can't *do* anymore of these bloody things! What the hell do they *want* from me?? They're not listening to the *music*, man, they want to know what fucking *toothpaste* I use, or what the hell I ate for breakfast this morning!" Okay, I gotta derail this train while I can, so I ease up behind him and rest my hands on his waist. "Well, you could tell em the truth about that, Jonesy. You coulda told em you ate *me* for breakfast this morning." He can't help it, he has to laugh, which is exactly what I intended. Then he turns around and wraps those long arms around me and pulls me against him, and he's holding me so tight I can hardly breath, and I can feel him trembling, and he whispers against my ear, a broken, desperate sounding plea. "God, Daz, it gets so crazy sometimes. It's not *real*." Have I mentioned how much I love this man? I love that he's so genuine, that he needs *real*. And, most of all, I love that he finds it in me. Right now, he's out on a ledge, and I'm gonna bring him back. I kiss him like I mean it, and his tongue slides along mine, so soft and hungry, and he tastes like the scotch he's been drinking. His hands are fisted in my shirt and when I finally come up for air, he moans. "Daz...I need....please..." He doesn't have to ask me twice. Between urgent fumblings, frustrated groping, and a few lost buttons, we make it to the bed. Daniel's hard as hell, thrusting up against me, and my breath catches when his teeth rake over the skin of my throat. I'm thinking foreplay's just not in the cards tonight, so I reach for the lube, which I barely have time for because, Jesus, he needs this so bad. He starts to turn over, but I won't let him. I want him to see my face while I fuck him, I want to keep that connection. Tonight, his mind needs holding as much as his body does. He's hot and tight around me, those long powerful legs of his pulling me in close. Sweat streaks his chest, and makes his hair cling to his neck and his eyes shine almost feverish in the lamplight and he's gripping my arms, making bruises I know he'll fret over in the morning. God, could he *be* any more beautiful? He's not playing around here, begging for faster, deeper, harder, and I give him all that and more, closing my hand around his cock, loving the way he moans my name. I feel the heat in the base of my spine, and my stomach clenches and I hang on until he comes all over my hand, screaming, and then I bury myself balls deep inside him and shoot so hard I think maybe the top of my head might come off, except Daniel's holding me so tight, keeping me together. Like he always does. I ease out and stretch out beside him, trying to catch my breath. He threads his fingers through mine and brings my hand up to rest on his chest and I can feel his heart pounding. He's quiet, and when I'm finally coherent again, I look over to check on him. "Better?" He keeps his eyes closed, just grins and squeezes my hand. "I love you, Daz." Mission Accomplished. |
| Sanctuary by: Memries |