The beat of the drums echoed across the entire stadium as Mick gave it his all in what seemed like another endless drum solo, the same as all previous nights this and past tours. It was, after all, his time to shine, but neither he nor the drumming, overwhelming as it was, was what held her attention. No, her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the man sitting down on the side of the stage, legs casually stretched out, arms supporting him, head tilted back with his eyes closed and lips slightly parted. She always wondered why he couldn't be bothered leaving the stage, why he simply plopped down on the floor in front of thousands to relax. He, who thought a simple party was "too many people". Not that she complained. No, never. This was her chance to watch, to study him, without him noticing. Unconsciously biting her lip, she could be perfectly content just watching him like this. Well, almost perfectly content. She would love to think what occupied him was thoughts of her, but she knew better. She knew he was simply feeling the drumbeat, enjoying what was basically the only break he had in the entire set. Frankly, she doubted a single thought was flashing through his mind. Just the endless, endless, thumping beat.
Good god he was gorgeous, never more so than when he was completely lost to music. Even if she knew thoughts of her would be absent, something she would otherwise hate. When nothing else existed. He was so intense, so present yet so distant , and all she could do was admire him from afar. He practically glistened he was so sweaty, obvious even where he was sitting in darkness. Staring intently at his exposed neck, a slight moan escaped as she pictured all those times above or underneath her where it had been equally sweaty, so close, so delicious, strained in pure pleasure. She couldn't help but lick her lips as she imagined them pressed up against it, her tongue swirling, tasting his salty skin, then down his collarbone, fingers running through his curls. He always loved that.
Maybe, she thought, she'd just have to remind him of something besides the music currently surrounding him. Remind him of her. Of just how good they could feel together. Better than anything else. Oh, he didn't even have to move a single muscle. He could just stay perfectly still as she straddled him, gently nibbling on his neck. Her hands under his shirt, scratching, rubbing, feeling. His heartbeat faster under her touch, breath louder. She'd take his bottom lip between hers, gently, or maybe not so gently, sucking it, pulling on it, tasting him. Gyrating her hips on his still jean-clad lap, feeling one part of him move at least. Feeling him grow, just for her. Rubbing against him, feeling the friction where she needed it.
That jacket had to go, she thought. Shirt too. Kissing his chest, she'd relish his every shiver as her hair tickled him. She knew that always drove him crazy. Fingers moving down to his zipper, slowly opening it. Reaching inside his boxer, she'd pull him out, admiring his response to her. Stroking him, she'd have him entirely in her grasp, so to speak. Yeah, she'd get some sounds out of him then, she smiled self satisfactory. She'd descend on him slowly, watching his face intently for the hint of any muscle slightly twitching as he filled her. Then, ever so slowly, raise her body just a bit, never losing contact, before surrounding him completely once more, reveling in every sensation strumming through her body as he went deep inside, stretching her to completion. She'd find her rhythm, the only sound Mick's manic drumming surrounding them. No one else existing. Her mouth returning to his chest, tongue trailing up to his neck, blood pumping, head dizzy, feeling herself nearing climax. His hands suddenly gripping her hips. Hard, steel-blue eyes now meeting hers, pupils dilated. Not a single question in them, just that sure intensity that always reduced her to a puddle. She'd bring her face close to his, stare right back into his eyes, his strong hands pulling her hips down to him, joining her rhythm, intensifying her movements. She'd hold his stare, daring him to watch her falling apart above him, not holding anything back, moaning and screaming his name, clenching down around him, pulling him with her. In ecstasy, she'd watch him doing the same under her, muscles convulsing, her name forming on his lips...
"Stevie!"
"What?!" She stared, first bewildered, then embarrassed around her.
"Mick's almost done, we have to go back on. Where on earth were you?" Stevie tried to hide the object of her attention, but not quick enough, as Christine quickly followed her line of vision to the man sitting on the edge of the stage, now slightly stirring. "Better watch it" she warningly sang as she brushed passed her. Stevie stood frozen for a beat before quickly following her to the stage entrance, staring straight ahead. Once onstage she caught Lindsey's eyes as they got ready to join in on the chorus, feeling the color rise to her cheeks. He stared quizzically at her for a brief moment before a sly smirk overtook his face. Oh, he knew. She looked away instinctively, then forced herself to defiantly meet his stare again, hoping she was wrong. He was still staring, knowing smirk just as evident. Right before they had to return to their mics, he added a wink for good measure, his lips parting in a full on smile as he turned. Damn. Damn that man. He knew. So, so many things he constantly got wrong, but this? He always could tell.
Fuck.
