The Aggressor

I'm a contributor to Hath's PIC FIC blog....and this is a VID-FIC instead. Thought I'd post it on my own blog as well.

Amsterdam - June 2008 - Someday I'll Be Saturday Night. (Formatted for the Ipod Video, mind you...so enjoy the download)

This is the Jon that makes me ache. THIS is the Jon that I want to see at every blessed show. This part of him that lets go and shows he still loves that stage and his songs. And loves the reaction of a woman on the edge...ahem. Me.




You want me.

It's there.

I can see it.

The way you watch so arrogantly.

You don't even hide it. The glass of wine cradled in your palm as you lean back on the expanse of mahogany. Your hips pushed forward, the pull of your dark washed jeans over your thighs spread wide. Your eyes, dark and glittering in the low lights of the bar. You lift the glass to your lips, the quick flick of your tongue on the rim just as the dense red liquid slides down your throat. Your eyes never leave mine.

Everything inside me wants to fidget. My clothes feel too hot, too tight. The very air around me feels heavy, pressing down on me. Something inside me holds on...keeps me still. I can't let you know that it effects me.

Then the game would be done.

I know it's a game.

The night is a game. Especially this night. It's late. The bar's all but on its last call. The dark Disaronno swimming in my belly with the controlled kick I was looking for. I'm four deep in lowballs of the earthy liquor. I wasn't looking to get drunk, just longing for the slow burn of the amaretto to go with my dark mood.

You suit my mood. I can feel the darkness in you. Even across the bar as you watch me, I can feel it. You know you can have me...the game isn't there. The game is in the stalking. The game is in the hunt. The game is in the how...and most definitely in the when.

You finish the wine, placing the glass on the bar carefully as you stand. Dropping bills on the glossy surface you walk to me...purposefully. The angles of your face seem almost menacing in the flickering table light candles that bounce off your skin. But it's your eyes that hold me.

Ever watchful still.

You stand in front of me, no words spoken. You lift my glass, turn it to where my lipstick mark has branded the glass and tip back, the click of ice in your mouth just before the crunch. Your eyebrow quirks. "Amaretto?"

Your voice is like smoke.

"I wasn't in the mood for whisky tonight."

"I don't think I got enough of a taste." You step closer. "Mind?"

"Too bad, last call was ten minutes ago."

You smile, your thumb tracing my lower lip. "I'm not interested in the Disaronno."

I felt my belly tighten and my nipples harden. The wanting, the game, the night. It was there. If I wanted it, it was there without question. My tongue flicked out to taste the pad of your thumb. Fascinated, I watch your eyes go darker, the pupils widen with a predatory gleam. I watch the tick of your pulse in your neck, the line of your Adam's apple dusted in a day's growth.

The quick swipe of your tongue over your lips. The divot along the top lip...the perfect edge for the tip of my own tongue. "Not at all?" I ask.

The bright flash of white in the dark lets me know that I've won...for now. Without a word you dip down, your lips a breath away. "Perhaps a taste?"

I stand straight, the line of my dress swishes around my thighs as you crowd in. "Perhaps I'm not interested in a taste."

The darkness is back. The bold, watchful gaze going from tease to heat. Your hand lifts to cup my jaw, the line of my neck with your thumb and middle finger to each side. Holding me still without the least bit of pressure. You lower your mouth, the tip of our tongue glides over my lips and skips from kiss to a deep, all consuming infusion. No sweet layering. No soft seduction.

You take.

The game is yours. The darkness is for me and I'm not interested in the light.

I move closer, but you hold me still. "I'm not done tasting," you say. The heat of your palm on my throat, just a tiny bit of pressure to hold me still...the arch of my jawline angled up to you for more. You like the power of it, the bit of surprise that swirls in my eyes.

No fear though. Interest glimmers in those midnight eyes of yours. You like it. I smile. "More," I whisper.

The kiss is harder, rougher. The demand higher, the reward greater as our tongues grapple. Strength and darkness wars while your taste, driving me higher. I bite down on that wide lower lip, sucking your tongue into my mouth. "More."

You tear your mouth away, the spots of color high on your cheeks from wine and heat. You lower your hand from my neck to my hand, dragging it to the length pushing hard against your zipper. "How much more?"

I press my palm to the scratchy denim and let my fingers learn you. "More." You turn, pulling my hand away. The grim line of your mouth so different from the soft fingers at my wrist. Almost like you're afraid to squeeze too hard.

I won't break and I don't want soft.

I like the dark.

I like the look in your eyes that leads to the wild. I like your aggression.

No talking, just the action.

Now this...this I want. The finding. The needing. You find the door, rounding the building in that purposeful stride again. I catch up with a quick step and click of heels. I turn my face up to the misting rain.

You turn to me. "How much more?" Rain dots your hair, pushes it down into your face as droplets form a sheen on your cheekbones.

My answer is a kiss. The wetness adding to the heat. It could have been a cool dose of reality. But I don't want reality.

I want this.

The heat.

The darkness.

And now the wet. You crush me close, jerking me higher as your fingers bruise now. You've found the moment.

You want the heat.

You want this.

You want me.

My breath lodges deep in my throat as the brick of the building slams into my back. You're there. Your fingers scraping against my thighs as you open me. Jerking up the silk of my dress, pleased when it sticks to me...to my belly.

Your hand, hovers over my panties. Your lips just there...not on me, but not away.

Watching again.

You tilt your head as you slide your finger along the elastic at inner thigh. My quick gasp of breath leaves you smirking. Just a tease really. Not quite a touch yet.

I can feel your breath on mine. The quick shudder of your fingers as they wait there. "More."

Two fingers. No warning. Deep and gripping as I cry out. Turning, burning as you reach inside me. Cupping me, holding me high on the tips of my toes. "More?"

Watching. Always watching.

My head falls back to the brick, the rasp of the wet stone on my back. The hard male in front of me. The fingers inside me, the rain on my face. "All of it."

Your tongue is relentless, but all I can focus on is the loss of your touch. I moan into your mouth, searching for more...For the fullness again. I hiccup out a groan as you press into me. Finally! "God yes," I whisper against your mouth as the bulky ridge of you butts against my hood, presses against the lace barrier.

Your eyes.

There.

Your eyes on mine. The rain clinging to your lashes, the darkness swirling there as you jerk the slim string at my hip and the cool night air touches me for the first time. No time for thought, no time for coolness. You lift my thigh on to your hip.

Watching. Always watching.

Your breath, your groans mingle with mine. Your eyes never leave mine. Never look at our bodies clasping, slapping or merging.

My eyes. Just my eyes as you drive into me. Your lips finally settle on mine, sucking my lower lip as my cries are swallowed in the rain and your eager mouth.

Your fingers grip and wrap my other thigh up around your hips. Your arms bracing against the brick as you pound inside of me.

Watching again. Forehead to forehead as the sky opens up. As I open up and take you.

All of you.

I don't know if it's my cry or yours, who walked the edge first. I know this. I know that I died a little. I know that you became part of me...a moment in time.

My aggressor.