The Last Blues We're Ever Gonna Have

Chapter 12

Luxe gasped, drowning in the sensation of two searing mouths on her, nipping, sucking, biting. She had no idea who was currently inside of her but every thrust had her gasping for air and feeling like she was being launched into space. Fingers, deft and wicked plucked at her nipples, scratched at her back, gripped her hips, pressed her thighs apart. She felt their groans ripping through her body, setting fire to the napalm pooling deep inside of her.
"Oh god," she gasped, feeling herself nearing the edge.
"Good girl, Luxe. Come for us," a growling voice puffed at the hollow of her neck.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fffuuuuuck," she cursed, writhing her hips to feel which ever was fucking her deeper inside. She was almost there, so close she swore she could taste it, like ash in the air from the blazing inferno she had been reduced to.
    Almost. Almost...almo-
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Luxe shot up in her bed with a gasp. Her chest heaved with her heavy breathing and she swiped her hair off of her sweaty face.
"Holy shit," she panted, scrubbing her hands over her face. She forced herself to take deep breaths.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Luxe turned to look at her phone as it buzzed on her nightstand, screen lit up in the dark of her bedroom. She leaned over, reaching to turn her alarm off and wincing at the slickness she felt when her thighs shifted against each other. That dream...holy fuck, that dream had left her trembling, heart jackhammering in her chest. She'd never had such a vivid dream before. She swore she could still feel phantom fingertips on her heated flesh.
It obviously wasn't the first sex dream she'd ever had, but instead of faceless partners, it was Jem and Beck driving her to the brink. And, oh god, had it been a good dream. So good. Maybe too good, since now she would need to shower to wash the sweat from her still tingling body.
She threw her comforter off, swinging her feet off the bed and shuffled into her en suite bathroom, beelining for the shower. Maybe I should take a cold one, she wondered, looking down at her oversized t-shirt that clung to her damp skin. Plus, it might help her get her mind off the snapshots of her dream that kept filtering through her brain.
***
Luxe sighed as she fiddled with the unlit cigarette in her fingers. She was alone for the moment, sitting in the warmth of the sun on the chilly roof of the sound stage, trying to clear her mind. She brought the cigarette to her lips but tipped her head to stare up at the clear sky instead of lighting the end. She thought back to just fifteen minutes ago, during the table read of the script for the next two episodes. The final two episodes of the season.
"We're gearing up for the season finale," Mark had explained, his voice still sleep ragged in the early hour. "The team will be splitting up for two separate missions at the end of the last episode, with James, Penelope, and Scarlet going after Nikolaev, and Clint and Roger staying behind for an under cover mission with the Arms Dealer from earlier this season. There will be an intimate scene in the last episode." Luxe had stared resolutely at her script, hoping her hair was covering her red face.
"I bet it's Roger and James," Wendy joked, the rest of the cast chuckling tiredly.
"Don't be jealous of our love, Wendy," Beck teased. "We will have the manliest of sex scenes. With explosions and shit." Luxe snorted, finally looking up and over at Beck where he sat across the table from her. He winked at her when her gaze met his own.
"Yes, I'm sure that would be...entertaining," Mark interrupted, scratching at his nose just under his glasses. "But, I'm afraid we can't fit that into our budget, so we'll just stick with it being between Clint and Penelope." Aaand, Luxe's blush was back with a vengeance. She could hear Beck snickering, as she looked back down at her script, cheeks and ears burning; flashes of her dream from the night before causing her heart to stutter.
"Moving on," Mark continued. "For this next episode, Bruce will be back to coordinate the next fight sequence. Luxe, he will be working with you, and Beck. This...uh...this scene," Luxe looked up when she heard the hesitation in Mark's voice. He was looking directly at her. "The scene does involve your character being choked." Luxe's pulse hammered against her eardrums.
"I don't...c-can we change it?" She asked, her own voice sounding muted over the sound of her heartbeat. She could feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the room and Luxe felt herself begin to sweat. Mark sighed.
"No." Luxe felt her breath catch.
"Can we have a stunt double do it?"
"We can have a double do your fight sequence, but we will need to have you for the close ups," he replied. She swallowed thickly.
Luxe exhaled slowly, lowering her face from the sky and bringing her lighter up to the end of her cigarette. She flicked her thumb over the flint, watching the flame spark and rise, licking at the end of her cigarette. One pull of breath, and the cherry glowed to life.
She'd wanted to tell Mark no. No way. There was no way she would let anyone put their hands around her throat. But, after her refusal to do a previous choke scene, Vaughn had pulled her aside and advised her from being difficult about scenes if she wanted to stay employed as an actress.
"This may be a big business, but it's run like a small town. People talk, and if you get a reputation of being hard to work with, you will be passed over for parts no matter how talented you are." His voice was gentle, but the words were obviously a warning. Luxe closed her eyes as she drew the smoke into her lungs.
    You still wanna talk back to me, you little bitch? Huh? Where's your fucking smart mouth now?
Luxe's eyes snapped open as the words her father had spat in her face, as she thrashed and struggled against his fingers squeezing at her throat, clawed at her memory. She rose her hand up to her neck, fingers trembling as she remembered the feeling of suffocating.
The door to the sound stage opened and Luxe hastily wiped her tears from her face. She tipped her head forward so her hair would fall over her shoulder, curtaining her face.
"Figured you'd be hiding up here," Jem muttered, shutting the door behind him and sitting against it. Luxe heard the grainy snap of his lighter. "Gigi looked pretty mad, downstairs." Luxe grunted.
"Yeah, she's pissed that I didn't insist on getting the scene rewritten," she huffed.
"So why didn't you?"
"Because I don't want to get a reputation for being a diva."
"What's your problem with choking?"
"I don't like to be choked," she deadpanned.
"No one likes to be choked, Luxe," Jem snorted. "You know it's not real, right? You won't actually be strangled." Luxe brought her cigarette to her mouth, inhaling deeply before tipping her head to look skyward again.
"Y' know, Movies and TV shows never do it right," she whispered. "They're always showing the victim gasping and reaching for something to bash their attacker with." Luxe exhaled a shuddering breath, feeling more tears gathering in her eyes. "That...That doesn't happen. There's no gasping because there's no way to pull your breath in. You can't push air out. You physically can't gasp. You can't even make a noise. Logical thinking shuts down. There's only fear and panic and the burning feeling in your chest as your lungs starve for oxygen." She tilted her face down, finally looking at Jem. "It doesn't matter if it's not real. Someone's hands around my throat will always feel real to me."
     He sat, gaping at her, mouth open and grey eyes unblinking. His hand was frozen midway in its path to bring his cigarette up to his lips. She sniffed, wiping at the tear that had escaped her lashes to roll down her cheek and giving him a dry smile.
****
Her words slammed into his gut with every syllable that fell from her lips, and Jem had never felt like a bigger shmuck before in his adult life. It suddenly clicked, puzzle piece finally locking in place; her defensive attitude, they way she held people at arms length. Why hadn't he seen through it? How could he possibly have missed the signs? Again.
    Shame burned inside him, eating away at his insides like acid. It shouldn't eat at him, not like this, not to this degree.  Sure, he was attracted to Luxe,might even be dangerously skirting the edges of something more than attraction. But she was a coworker, a castmate...just an acquaintance...simply the next conquest for he and Beck. Right?
And yet, the hollow verdant eyes that stared at him in place of warm and bright green tore at him. The wet path of tears on her pale cheeks grated against him. That false curl at her mouth twisted his insides. Somehow, Luxe had become more than just a person he saw everyday, that he worked with; more than a tempting body he wished to pin beneath him for a single night. He reached his hand out across the space between them, fisting in the front of her shirt and pulling her forward. She gasped as she fell against his chest, legs tangled beneath her.
"W-what are you doing?" She squeaked when Jem's arms circled her.
"Hugging you, moron," he murmured. Truthfully, Jem couldn't quite be sure if he was holding Luxe to comfort her, or to ease the ache inside his own body at her confession. "Make them rewrite the scene, Luxe. I'll back you up." Luxe was silent, but Jem felt her body soften against him. "Who was it?"
"I don't usually divulge dark secrets before the third date," she hedged.
"I told you that I share sexual partners with my best friend. I think we've moved past withholding secrets," Jem muttered.
"I don't really think you want to hear it," she deflected softly. "And I really don't want to see the way you'll look at me after you know."
"Then don't look at my face." Luxe exhaled slowly.
"My mom killed her self when I was thirteen," she began, voice sounding empty, robotic. "She...my dad was a mean drunk. And he was always drunk. And I think she...finally just couldn't take it anymore. After my mom died I was the only one left to take his anger out on. I don't really remember everything leading up to it, but my dad...I don't even think I had done anything that time to make him mad, but he was already halfway through his bottle of Jack."
Jem heard her pull in a shaking breath, like she was stealing herself for her next words. He could feel her body tremble in his arms. He tightened his arms around her, to ground her and keep her from drowning in the memories. Her head turned slightly and he could feel her breath warming the fabric of his shirt. Her voice was muffled as she spoke into his chest, but he heard them perfectly. Every word lanced through Jem like spears.
"I...I really only remember flashes of it. Falling to the floor. His face as he yelled at me. My throat feeling like he was crushing it. Wanting so badly to just feel breath in my lungs..." she trailed off.  He wasn't entirely sure if it was her trembling that shook him, or his own.
"Jesus, Luxe," he whispered and she stiffened in his arms.
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't do that. Don't fucking pity me."
    Don't you dare fucking pity me!
Jem heard the echoes of Beck's shout in his head. He ground his teeth. Suddenly, the concrete beneath them was tilting away, out from under them; the hinges on the door screeching in protest as it banged open, knocking them over. Jem looked up to see Beck slam the door shut, bending down to grab Luxe by her shoulders, dragging her up as she yelped in shock. He crushed her to his chest, hugging her fiercely.
"Just let people fucking comfort you, dumbass," he growled. "Let people care about you." Jem blinked in surprise.  Well, well, well. Look who actually paid attention in Therapy. Sort of.
"I really don't like how pushy you two are about feelings," Jem heard Luxe mutter into Beck's shirt.
"I don't really fucking care," Beck growled. Jem sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Beck, I'm not sure you really understand how to be comforting," Jem interjected. It wasn't surprising, in all their years of friendship, it was usually Jem who provided comfort. And reason. "Its usually not so rude." A muffled chortle sounded from Luxe.
"You two are so stupid."
"At least we're pretty," Beck joked back.
"Were you listening at the door?" She questioned, folding her arms and tucking them between her and Beck.
"Yes," Beck admitted softly. "But Jem would have told me anyways."
"Jesus, do you two share everything?" She pulled her head back and Jem could see the annoyed look on her face. He much preferred to see that than the haunted look she'd had before.
"Pretty much," Jem answered. She sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face. Suddenly she jerked and stared at her hands.
"Goddammit," she cursed. "You two assholes made me drop my last cigarette."
"Oh for fucks sake, you can have one of ours and buy more later," Beck grumbled, dropping his arms and stepping back so he could pull his pack out from his back pocket. Luxe sighed heavily.
"I can't buy more. Gigi has threatened with physical violence if I don't quit smoking today," she explained.
"Well, have this one," Beck told her, holding a cigarette out to her. "And good fucking luck with quitting."
"You're so bad at making people feel better," Luxe muttered as she took the proffered cigarette and tucked it between her lips. She slipped her lighter from her pocket and brought it up to her face.
"I'm fucking amazing at making people feel good though," Beck countered breezily and Jem snorted a laugh when the cigarette fell from Luxe's mouth. Beck snickered, stopping to pick up the white stick and held it back out for her. She snatched it with a growl and quickly lit the end. She inhaled deeply.
"I demand a dinner-a nice one-to make up for making me cry," she grumbled, leveling a glare at both men. Jem stood, smirking down at her as he stepped closer.
"You better be careful with what you demand from us, Luxe," he told her, voice low and rough. "We might have some demands of our own." He watched as her cheeks pinked, but she stared at him boldly.
"I can handle it."
***
She no longer had that haunted look in her pretty green eyes when she walked down the steps from the roof. Those motherfuckers, butting in, tearing into her life like they belonged there. But they didn't. They didn't understand that she needed that misery. She was never so beautiful as when her tears caught in those long, pretty lashes, like gathering stars. She was never more gorgeous than when she was fighting through her pain. They didn't understand that she didn't belong to them. Couldn't ever belong to them.
"She is mine. I'm the only one who loves her. She's mine..."