Magcon (Tumblr) Imagines

No Promises

They tumble through the hotel room door, his palm swiftly pushing it shut behind their entangled bodies. Her hands wander up his chest and her arms find their way around his neck, a need to be close dragging her to him. Their lips detach from one another's during brief moments when they both push their jackets off their shoulders and take off their shoes in a hurry, and when he pulls her top over her head. Her fingers work fast to unbutton his shirt and remove it from his body while his hands move to cup her bottom.

He lifts her to the couch not far away from where they're standing. She takes command when he sets her on the soft cushions, swinging her leg over his thighs and pushing him against the back of the couch, her mouth finding his neck while she lets her hand explore his chest and abdomen. His hands play their own game with her waistband as his fingers unbutton the dark jeans that is wrapped around her flesh and pulls the zipper down. He lets his hand slide under her jeans and his hand cups the heat between her thighs, a thin piece of fabric separating their skin. Her body reacts with slow movements against his fingers as he teases her with rough strokes.

"Bed," he says against her breasts.

"You sure?" she replies.

"Yeah."

He lifts her by her thighs and she wraps her legs around him as he walks toward the bed placed further inside the room that is far too large for one person. She moves her fingers through his dark curls with her mouth back at his neck, him groaning when she tugs hard. He presses her against the nearest wall and carelessly plants wet kisses against her neck and chest. He pushes her left breast out of the cup of her bra and licks at the nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking. His hand comes up to cup her other breast and he squeezes gently as his other hand moves around to her back to unclasp her bra. She gasps at the pleasure and presses her core against his stomach, her hips pushing against his abdomen. He walks back against the bed, remembering how little time they have. He wishes there was more, but she's always quick to speed up their meetings.

They're not lovers. He knows this isn't something that will last, they have both made that clear in their hasty actions. They don't talk much at all, instead they let the sounds of their bodies, their natural response to each other's actions, do the talking. The most substantial conversation they've had lately is the text he sent her to tell her he's in her city and asked if she wants to go for dinner. They both know by now what dinner means. There's no time for sweet talk or lingering kisses or gentle touches; they won't be making love, it's just a quick and temporary thing that happens every once awhile. He has a flight to catch in a few hours and she won't be kissing him goodbye at the airport. He's leaving tonight already, and they both know they won't be visiting each other. If anything they'll meet each other again for all of two hours the next time he's there for work. It's the honesty between them that allows him, without any feelings of discomfort to claim her body and act without restraint.

He's not sure why he's doing this. Sometimes he just needs the physical contact, and sometimes he wants the fabricated feeling of being cared for and loved. Sometimes he thinks he wants more, and it terrifies him. But there's no time for more when you're having breakfast in London and playing a show in Paris later that evening. At times when he feels lonely he reminds himself of his family and friends back home, but that's the thing - they're back home while he's switching between hotel rooms and a tour bus every other day. Writing during time off is a little better, he gets to stay in places a little longer and, if he's lucky, explore the place. But the loneliness never really stops outside of the studio, or when he's writing on his own in his hotel room, so he likes to have her body pressing against his skin and her quiet sounds against his neck. And that is what he needs tonight. He needs her more than anything else, he needs to be close, to be touched and held. He needs nails grazing his skin and teeth dragging along his shoulder. He feels a little less like a machine, and a little more like a person when he's with her. All despite her tenacious attemps to keep him distant from her.