And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 52: Deja Vu, But Not In A Good Way

"Please, John."

    He gave me a knowing look, a smile playing with the right corner of his mouth. "I didn't know you liked it so much."

    "I love it when you do it. You have no idea," I told him, my pleading eyes giving much of my emotions away as I leaned towards him, putting a hand gently on his chest as his closed-mouth smile opened to reveal teeth, the genuine facial expression coming through with his amusement. "John, it drives me mad."

    "Fine." He gave in, leaning to his left to retrieve the guitar, giving it to me to tune, a let's-see-what-you've-got smirk appearing on his face. I tuned the instrument quickly and handed it back to him, bouncing a little on the bed with excitement. He put a hand on my knee and looked a little self conscious for the first time, a blush appearing on his cheeks, giving his tough lad face a bit of juxtaposition. "It's just singing, love, I don't know why you're so gear about it," he mumbled, but I could tell he liked it, he liked the remarks from his audience of one in the room for four, now empty as the golden afternoon hour ticked by. "What shall I sing for ye? What do you want to hear?"

    "Anything you want," I breathed out slowly, catching a glimpse of straight-nosed John with a quiff wearing blue jeans, a white t shirt, and a look of concentration on his face one last time before closing my eyes, allowing all my senses to focus on the magical mystical man in front of me. He strummed the guitar slowly before launching into Elvis' Blue Moon and I let every note drip from the air, tasting the appetizer before his voice came in and a sound of approval came out of my mouth. I saw nothing, but simply listened to his voice and the guitar, every dip in his tone, the way he sang certain words. The song changed to a faster tempo; I recognized it as One After 909 and I sank deeper into listening to him, the slap of his hand on the guitar to suddenly stop the accompaniment, leaving only his voice, and then start again. When the song ended my eyes stayed closed until I heard a voice very near to my face. "I love you, you crazy bird, such a reaction to only my shite voice."

    "I love you," I whispered back, a little embarrassed smile mirroring his before he had played the songs. "That was beautiful."

    "You're more beautiful. You're my gorgeous bird." Kissing, but with John it felt new every time, his lips, his teeth, his tongue finding a new way each time to make me groan a little. Backing up on the bed against the headboard I tried to see straight as I undid his belt, feeling his teeth glide along the surface of my neck. "No shag. I'll give ye something else," I breathed as I closed my eyes and let my hands do the work. He quickly kicked off his trousers, I heard the gentle thump as they collided with the concrete floor and I continued, feeling him melt under my touch, his song still running through my head, and it was strangely enough to make me melt as well, closing my eyes and letting loose a sound I didn't know I could make, or had made before, a wave of enjoyment slowly rolling through me and I was against the pillows looking up at him, who was breathing heavily and he leaned forwards to kiss me slowly before rolling over to the other side of the bed.

    "Ye..." he trailed off, choosing instead to play with a dab of sunlight that was making its way across my sweaty face. "Shh," I told him. His look was deep just then, looking not just into my eyes but through them, seeming to consume me, though he was only focused on one point.

    "Oh, my love, marry me," he said, and I said, "Not now, John," and smiled, sitting halfway, my arm propping me up. He ran a finger lightly down my arm, barely touching the goosebumps on it.

    "I want you, I want you, I want you, I want you," he said, each repetition growing more whisper like until it faded into the remains of the music left behind.

***

    "12 marks," the boy told me, staring at me across the counter. I rummaged through my pockets with a slight panic when I realized that I was down to my last twenty. I meekly handed over the bill and he gave me back eight marks and a warm chocolate crepe pancake.