The crowd of 75,000 people are all screaming when Only Angel starts playing. I smirk to myself as I adjust the guitar over my shoulder, seeing Priscilla's face when she lowers her camera for once.
That's the only issue. I love that I can just look at her but she's always got that stupid camera covering her face. I shoot her a little wave and she sends me one back, her cheeks flushing pink.
People in the audience go wild at the sight of me with the guitar and it makes me smile as I sing.
"She's an angel."
I want to yell about how Priscilla is the angel. She's my angel.
"My only angel."
I really want to. But I can't.
Every time we have sex, I want to kiss her. Sometimes I think about just saying that we kissed the first time we did, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable or doubt anything.
I can feel Chris' eyes burning into the back of my head because of course he knows that I've written this song about Priscilla. Idiot.
I look down at her again as the song ends and she takes one more picture.
✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮
✮🎧 ⋆⸜ °｡✩
She's so beautiful here.
Well, she's beautiful everywhere in every context. But here? In my bed? Underneath me? With her pretty brown doe eyes shut, her head tilted back, exposing her throat to let me kiss it more?
Stunning.
"Oh-" Her breath hitches as she looks at me finally. "I'm gonna-"
I kiss just under her ear and she whines. Then comes basically immediately.
Her voice is always soft after her orgasm, like she's just lost all her strength and to be fair I think she has. That's why I lift her up after giving us a few moments and take her to the adjoining bathroom.
"Want a bath?" I murmur with my lips against her forehead. I'm not kissing her lips so I'm not breaking any rules.
She shrugs, her head against my shoulder as her eyes close again. "Sure."
I set her down on the closed toilet lid and start running the bathtub. Once it's going I wet a tissue and wipe her legs.
Honestly who wouldn't want to kiss me?
She smiles at me kneeling before her. "Thanks."
"Mhm."
A while later she's sat in the bathtub and I'm about to leave she stops me.
"Sit with me?"
And I do. I put some sweatpants on and sit beside the tub. Then our conversations start. My favourite conversations - ours.
"Where's Paris?" - "Malia's room."
"Favourite place to perform?" - "London. Wembley."
"Hangover cure?" - "McDonald's hashbrowns."
"Why'd you stop performing?" I ask as I lean my head on the porcelain.
"I just did. Didn't feel very fulfilled doing it."
"Didn't feel fulfilled getting applause every day? Performing in the longest running show ever?"
"Exactly." She smiles and taps my nose. Funny girl.
"That doesn't make sense. Maybe you should do it again."
"Can't do it now, can I? Anyway, I don't think I would."
I didn't even like musicals very much, but I'd see a hundred of her shows.
"Sing for me, angel?"
She didn't. She never did, well not her opera voice. And honestly? I think the sheer beauty of it would kill me.
In the next ten minutes, she falls asleep in the water and I lift her up, getting her dressed in one of my shirts and nothing else.
——
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