To the Beat of My Heart

His Aurora

Clay wakes to me scrolling through his phone. Yes, I know his password. And yes, he knows mine. Just... famous touring legend like him? You think he has time to be scrolling through Twitter and Instagram?

The answer is yes. Yes, he does. But he's hopeless with the big, crucial details, so I have become de facto social media manager. I'll post for him with tour dates and stuff like that. Clay will post the random tweets, ya know, sharing his ever so humble opinion about whatever shit pops in his head that particular moment. And then he'll interact with the fans, post cute pics. He loves scrolling through Twitter and responding to people, retweeting fan art and getting to know his audience. It still has him grinning like mad two years down this bat-shit insane road.

"Morning," he says, descending into a yawn. He stretches his neck then lets his head fall against me, face buried in his pillow. I don't know when it happened. Somehow I'm the morning person now and he sleeps in till noon. Like, what the fuck. That was the one thing I had. You took that from me, you cheeky bugger.

I shimmy further under the blanket and press my arm against his side, feeling the shimmering heat of his skin.

"What'd I miss?" he says, voice all muffled in the pillow.

"Uh, Kai came knocking around ten. Wanted to check out the nearest club. Told him you were dead to the world."

Clay lifts his head, groggy-eyed, but he looks disappointed.

"Legit, Clay? You missed one night. One. You needed the sleep, babe."

Back into the pillow his face goes.

He says something I don't catch.

"What was that?"

"Whatever."

"You don't want to know what Ansel got up to?"

A pause.

"Anything exciting?"

"Posted a pic of you and him in the hotel pool from last week. He came running to the door to announce the news that the pic got a million likes. He was ecstatic. Having a bit of a mad one skipping about the hallway."

"He didn't come in?"

"No disturbing the princess," I tut.

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

He rolls over so he's grinning up at me. I wince at his morning breath but I can't resist finding those lips, snogging them, the taste of flesh and heat and sex. Last night was so fucking good.

"I want to know how you're doing," he says breathily, earthy eyes pulling me in, specks of forest green, and then our lips meet again.

"You actually care?" I tease.

"'Course." Kiss. "I love you."

My heart. Those words can mean the entire world. And they can be as plain and overused as good morning. Said by him, skin sizzling and still smelling of us last night, and the fire we started, they are the best goddamn words I've heard in my life.

"Clay..." I moan, feeling my heart sing in my chest.

That's it. Got no words left.

I let our lips do the talking.

For a little while, anyway. I'm curious, after all.

"So, you actually want to know how my night was?"

"I do."

"Okay..." I roll onto my back, and feel Clay shift closer, leaning his head against mine. "I called mum."