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The following is a work of fiction. Characters, names, situations, events, and locations described in this novel are purely the invention of the author's mind, or are used fictitiously. Any sort of resemblance to people - living or dead, names and locations is purely coincidental. This story is copyrighted and cannot be taken or displayed without the permission of the author.
by S. Goodfellow "Hey. You're Jon Bon Jovi." "Hwuh?" he looked around blearily. The regiment of empty shotglasses neatly lined up on the bar before him broke rank as his hand fumbled against one, knocking it out of place. Which was fine: they weren't up for inspection and he'd already drunk most of the colonel anyway. "I said, you're Jon Bon Jovi," the voice swam through the haze again. "Aren't you?" Coalescence: brunette. Green eyes. Nice rack.... She was still looking at him expectantly. He dragged his eyes upward, hoping she wouldn't notice how bloodshot they had to be. Oh those empty glasses? Those were here when I got here, baby. "Uh... yeah," he slurred. Seconds passed, and he remembered to smile. That's it Johnny, you're killin' em. "Drinking alone?" She had sat down next to him. The rest of the room was eerily silent; just the two of them alone in a little pocket. She took one of his empty glasses and sniffed. "Tequila?" She picked up the bottle and poured herself a shot. Lifted the glass to her lips, smirking mischievously. "Do I get to guess which part your lips touched?" Tossed the alcohol back with authority. Jon was still several seconds back, trying to figure out why he needed so many shotglasses if he had the bottle there. He shrugged dully in response to her question. "If you... want, I guess...." Something seemed to tip her off that he wasn't really all there. He couldn't imagine what, exactly, but she was smiling knowingly at him. "So what's the story? I thought you were more into Muff Dives." "I like tequila too." No wait, that was terrible. He winced. Stop, rewind. She was smiling knowingly at him. "So what's the story? I thought you were more into Muff Dives." "Well you really need two people to do that right," he leered, imagining it was a suggestively charming smile. Ok, still not great, but at least he could pretend he'd come up with something moderately clever. "So uh, what's your name?" She told him. Put her hand on his knee. He stared blankly at it. "Hey, up here," she whispered, lifting his chin with one finger. Three inches from his face. She smelled like... fabric softener. Mountain spring. Yeah. "Maybe you wanna show me how to do that right?" "Uh, I'm not really into-" she pressed closer, brushing her lips against his cheek- "well, maybe-" her fingers raked his hair back from his face. She was practically in his lap. Her face hovered, breath mingling with his. "I'm married," he blurted. She stopped advancing, but didn't move away. He didn't push her. "I don't see a ring," she observed. He looked over at his left hand quickly to correct her. See, it's right... here.... His finger was bare. He didn't remember taking it off. He didn't remember putting it on, either, but still. "I uh... well, I have one," he insisted dimly. Really. "But you're not wearing it," she murmured, hooking her wrists behind his neck. She breathed closer; her lips touched his. He kissed her, reflexively, his tongue probing past her teeth. She dragged her hands through his hair, wrapping her fingers in the sweat-damp locks, pressing her mouth against his. His hands dragged across her back, settled on her hips. A muffled moan issued from somewhere in his throat and he drew back, biting down lightly on her lower lip. She gasped softly. "D'you wanna go up to your room?" she asked after a moment to recover her breath. He saw himself nodding dumbly. He watched as he eased off the barstool, still half-interlocked with her, and stumbled out of the lounge. He was a mute observer as he fumbled the key to his room and staggered inside, pressing her up against the wall with the whole of his body, devouring her mouth hungrily. His attention wandered to her neck, her breathless exclamations urging him on. She drew off her sweater in a single fluid motion and began working frantically at the buttons on his shirt as his fingers struggled thickly with the clasp of her bra. She slipped her hands under his shirt and pushed it back, over his shoulders; he shrugged out of it hurriedly. Her fingers dragged through his chest hair; slid around him to explore the muscular contours of his body, and downward, her tongue dragging lightly over his chest before seeking his mouth again. Somewhere a thought dimly struggled to be acknowledged, but he pressed it down. She didn't have to know. She couldn't know, she wasn't here, he wouldn't say anything, and even if... what was her name again? Had she told him? Even if the brunette went and blabbed, who'd believe her? Yeah, you fucked Jon Bon Jovi. Found him stupid drunk in a hotel lounge and he couldn't resist. Right. He was safe. She smirked at him and sank slowly to her knees, working at the buckle of his belt.... Jon bolted awake with a startled lurch. Dark. Where was he? His breath rattled in a panic as his eyes adjusted, his heart racing like a rabbit. Not a hotel room. He was home. In his own bed. He grabbed at his left hand; his ring was solid and real on his finger. He slumped back against the pillow with a sigh of relief, wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead with a corner of the sheets. They smelled of fabric softener. Mountain spring. Dorothea stirred groggily beside him. "Mmph.... Jon? Something wrong?" He squinted at her in the dark; felt his expression soften of its own accord. "Just a dream," he murmured. "Go back to sleep, baby." "Mm-hmm." She rolled over, not more than half-awake to start with, and pillowed her head against his shoulder, draping one arm lightly over his smooth torso. He lay there like a stone, daring only to let out a long, slow breath after a minute, careful not to disturb her. There had never been a brunette. It was just a dream. It was all right. She didn't even have to know about it.... He stared upward into the dark, and couldn't sleep. |