Scout. When he says my name it sounds like a promise. And my entire body reacts to it, both physically and emotionally. He's searching my face, and out of habit I look away again.
"Look at me," he says.
I do, though I have to fight the urge with everything I have to not look away.
"I've been hiding from performing for a long time now. Hiding from that other side of me."
I shake my head to reject his misgivings, because he was born to perform.
"What?" he asks.
I'm still shaking my head adamantly. "You shouldn't hide. What I saw tonight ... " I sigh because now I'm getting emotional thinking about it and I know he doubts himself way too much, so I need to say what I can to convince him otherwise. "You, up on that stage. God ... it was incredible. Your voice, your music ... just your presence ... was amazing. You asked if you met the challenge earlier ... but damn ... " I hesitate. " ... You blew me away."
He's still staring at me, with no hint of a smile. As he leans forward slightly, the pressure on my knees increases and with it I feel the air around us charge. His eyes drop to my mouth before finding my eyes again. "Maybe you see my other side differently than I do. What you just described ... " He shakes his head. "That can't be me."
I cock my head in disbelief. "Why not?"
"Because I'm always doubting my talent. I'm always questioning whether I'm good enough. Hell, for over a year I couldn't even write a new album."
I want to shake him, but I tighten my hands into fists instead. "How can you even say that? You're the most talented person I've ever met. And you did just write a new album."
He takes my fists in each of his hands and gently pries open my fingers. "So, basically what you're saying is I should tell all the doubt to fuck off, because I'm better than I think I am? That you see me differently than I see me?"
I lock eyes with him and I nod. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."
He squeezes my hands and raises his eyebrows to emphasize his point before he even says the words. "That's exactly what I'm saying, too."
While I'm thinking about what he's just said, replaying the words in my mind, he places a hand behind each calf and lifts my legs until my feet are even with my seat. Then pulls his legs together until his knees touch and rests my feet on top of them. "You don't see the woman I see." His hands part my legs and he lowers them until each of my knees touches the outside of his. I'm trying to listen, but my focus is shifting from the things his lips are saying, to the things his hands are saying. The story is unfolding in his touch. His hands find my knees again, but this time they slide slowly up my thighs. Mid-thigh they roll to the outside toward my hips. At my hips, he doesn't stop until his hands are cupping me from behind and he slides me forward until I'm sitting on his lap, straddling him.
And now my heart is racing and I've never been more aware of touch and how it can set all five senses in motion than I am at this moment. I want to take in everything about him, everything about us, but I'm not sure what to focus on first. So I keep my eyes downcast and I put all of my attention on the feel of his hands moving up and down my back ... up and down ... in a slow and soothing massage. The repetitive motion coaxes my eyelids closed. And as soon as I'm plunged into darkness it awakens a need inside me. I need to touch him more than I've ever needed anything in my life, so I place my hands on his sides near his ribcage. He doesn't have a shirt on and he's still warm from his shower. My eyes remain closed but I feel him lean in until our chests are brushing and his mouth is at my ear. And the conversation, a compelling combination of words and touch, continues. "I couldn't have played without you there tonight. I panicked when I got on stage and I couldn't find you in the crowd, that's why I asked you and Pax to move up front. I feel different when you're around. I feel better, like maybe I can deal with all the shit. I don't know what it is about you, but you make me want to be Gus again. Both sides. I had so much fun tonight. I haven't played like that in over a year."
Hearing that, hearing the healing and hope in his voice, sends my heart soaring. "You have no idea how happy that makes me," I say into his shoulder.
He's still at my ear. "Thank you. It was you." His hands make their way up my back again, continuing until they're on either side of my neck and his thumbs are resting under my chin. He urges my head to turn to the left with his thumbs, fully exposing my scars, and says, "I meant what I said earlier." A soft kiss falls on my marked cheek and my eyes tighten shut. "Pretty girl. You're beautiful." Another kiss paints another scar. "Every," another kiss, "thing," another kiss, "about," another kiss, "you," this kiss falls lower on my neck, "is fucking perfect."
I'm getting dizzy with him touching me like this so I open my eyes and turn my head to face him.
(Gus)
When she opens her eyes, they're dark and shining. She's looking at me like she did earlier tonight while I was on stage. The look is undiluted sexual need, pure and radiant. But there's also something else. She's trusting me with the most vulnerable part of her, and she's not backing away from it. That courage? It's incredibly sexy.
I can't go another second without her mouth on mine and take her face in my hands at the same time she reaches for mine. The moment my lips touch hers, I want to be inside. And my teeth lead the journey of exploration; tugging at her bottom lip I trace it with the tip of my tongue. The act prompts her fingers to snap apart and rake through my hair until her palms are covering my ears, blocking out the silence in the room and all I can hear is my own heartbeat thundering in my chest. It mirrors the desperation I feel.
Releasing her lip I plunge inside, she's ready for me. Our tongues brush gently at first, but it's only seconds before the need amps up to an all-out war inside her mouth. The most beautiful fucking duel I've ever tasted.
She pulls away gently. "Gus?" Her voice is breathy, air more than sound.
It's the first time she's ever called me Gus. And goddamn, it feels like acceptance and approval; she finally let me in. "Call me Gus again."
"Gus." It's the same whisper.