Daemon Lover ☽ Jimmy Page

Unknowing in the Known

"𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞."

Reina sees him, knows him. Jimmy is stained glass through the window, folding in the dark of the night, wearing a forest green jacket, looking at the sky with the vision of a philosopher.

Inside Plumpton Manor, the kitchen chair squeaks with Reina's weight. The heels she slips on are velvet, a gift from her high school graduation, and remind her of home. It seems distant, is distant. Reina breathes and readies herself for a dinner with Jimmy.

The afternoon closed with his voice pressing into her mind, fingers sweeping over her bare arms as he held her on his lap and repeated dull scriptures of amplifiers. His thigh was skinny enough for her legs to spread over it and her toes to brush the floor.

She's small again, troding to the front door with an emotional pain thick on her tongue. Outside, the air is losing its steam. Outside, Jimmy migrates to her and slides his gaze across her form.

"Remind me where we're going for dinner," Reina demands. A heavy strand of hair crosses her face. She pulls it away and glances at the moon. It's waning. Or waxing. She can't tell. She hasn't checked since she's been with Jimmy; his face is as luminescent as its surface.

"It's a small place outside of the village, before we reach the city. I've been going there for a while. They have excellent racks of lamb."

The car moans into the drive of the manor, stopping before the bridge. The driver steps out and waits with the back door held open.

"Can you not drive?" She asks suddenly, catching Jimmy's attention with a hand on his forearm.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes away, quickly settling in the back seat and bringing her on top of him.

The forced intimacy blurs her. He's embarrassed, hiding it with kisses to her neck. The car starts again and pulls to the road.

"Stop interrogating me," he says. He sucks on the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. Her breath speeds into her lungs and the muscles of her stomach clench.

"You must hate journalists, then."

"Very much." Reina wonders if all men's lips are as soft as his. "They all want to uncover you piece by piece, until you're exposed, naked and bare in front of them. And that's when they take pictures."

She doesn't respond. Her insides roll when he licks, kisses, and slides his hand up the long skirt of her dress.

"How would you like that?" He asks. "Maybe I can take some photographs of you when we return."

"Oh," she whispers. It's all she can manage in the tight space of the backseat. She shifts and his thigh is warm. How did she get here?

_____

The restaurant is dark and the hostess seats them in a back booth with a small, dangling light above. Reina slides across from Jimmy and stares at the words of the menu.

Being with him makes her, for the first time, uncomfortable. He's burdened by the shadows, face slipped in darkness: a painting spurring uneasiness.

She tells herself to get out of her head and decides rapidly on the steak. Under the table, the toe of his shoe brushes her shin.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"Do you know how long we'll be here before the second leg of the tour?"