12-02-2018, 02:16 AM
Kharon had tipped him off that it was gonna be an extra special concert, of course. Mind you, he’d had no idea just how special, but he’d been smart enough to bring more than one bouquet. Purple and white and flashy for Kharon, ‘cause his rockstar kid deserved flowers too obviously. And then. Amber was the obvious bet, and he wasn’t wrong there. Their rendition of Baby It’s Cold Outside was sassy and flirty and adorable, and he was damn glad he’d brought a gorgeous orange flower that matched her fiery red hair. And he fuckin’ loved the way they looked at each other when they sang, too.
Kali sure as hell wasn’t up to singing in public, not without some serious coaxing and not for such a big audience. But his just in case white rose for her was easy to sneak into Kharon’s when she didn’t come out on stage with him for so much as a shaky little Jingle Bells. Aww, he was pretty willing to bed Kharon was at least a little bit bummed about that, but there was no wayyy you could see it in his face, not on a night like tonight. Baby was in his element, and the whole world could see it.
Holy fuck, but Lacey. He’d had his fingers crossed, coaxed his florist into hooking him up with this sexy little arrangement of deep red orchids and soooft white calla lilies juuuust in case, but he hadn’t held his breath. God, he should’ve. It would’ve been worth every second of the oxygen deprivation.
For once in his life, he didn’t try to stand out from the crowd, dressed casually in a touchably soft grey cashmere sweater and pants a darker grey. This was his boy’s night, and clearly Lacey’s too, and he didn’t wanna horn in on anyone’s spotlight, not tonight. So he watched his baby sing her magnificent heart out with a smile on his face, and when she was finished he didn’t even chase her down, just gave her a little space and watched their gorgeous boy finish out his set. Sent flowers backstage for Kharon and Amber, and glanced around looking for Lacey. Probably enough time had passed for her to get a little distance from the raw, naked vulnerability of performing and he could find her without pushing too many buttons.
No sign of her though, and she’d be damn hard to miss in that sexy little number Kharon must have coaxed her into. He frowned a little and headed outside, flowers in hand, wondering if maybe she’d slipped outside for some air. Hell, maybe that’d be better, see her out where they could talk, he could get a word in above the crowd and all. No big deal.
He headed outside, in no particular hurry just yet, since it was about even odds she’d already took off and headed home. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t much of a betting man though, or he’d have lost big tonight. Home was not exactly where she’d headed. He rounded the corner and a couple caught his eye, pressed up against the building in a passionate embrace. He halfway started to smirk, a little tip of his hat to the two of them for getting a little action, when his brain caught the rest of the way up with his eyes and figured out just who he was seeing.
Lacey.
That was his Lacey.
Wrapped around someone else.
“Take me away, Woolf,” she begged softly in that sexy, fuck me whisper of hers, and his hand clenched around the stems of the flowers he’d been pretty sure it was stupid to buy her, stems suddenly encased in iron. Hell, for a second he was solid iron as everything in him froze, as a fucking cacophany of new emotions he couldn’t name clamored in his head and his chest, as his vision bled red and his fists begggged him to beat the shit out of the pretty face she was kissing.
What the fuck?
What the actual fuck was happening to him?
He should be grinning and high fiving her, smirking and offering to double-team her with whatever sexy piece of ass she’d wrangled with her gorgeous body and the fire in her eyes and that goddamn song he would’ve sworn was about him. He should be stoked for her, getting some action, having some fun, spreading a little holiday cheer. Instead he wanted to pound fucking Woolf’s face into a pulp with iron fists. Tear him off his goddamn Lacey, beat him halfway to death, and grab her and kiss the everliving fuck out of her until it was his name falling from her perfect lips.
What the shit?
He almost charged forward, too. Almost gave in and did it, acting on impulse and thinking with his dick like he always had, especially when it came to her. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? This wasn’t some asshole making a move on her, and Lace rolling her eyes and telling him to fuck off and die.
She wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted some other fucking guy.
And he had no idea what the fuck to do about it.
Had no right to do a damn thing about it, really. He’d managed to fuck things up brilliantly with her for years, ruined every chance he’d ever walked right up and taken, and who the fuck was he to tell her she couldn’t do something that made her feel good?
FUCK.
He forced his hand open, unclenching his fist with a loud crack as the long-forgotten bouquet broke free of the solid iron still making up the rest of him and clattered to the ground, landing upright, blooms still somehow intact, bobbing merrily and mocking him. And for another long moment he just stared at them, breathing in the lust and the want and the need that he hadn’t put in her eyes and drowning in the way something inside his iron chest was cracking, hissing, screaming protest.
Screaming pain that drowned out the jealous anger and flashed in silver eyes that narrowed against hurt he didn’t understand. His brow furrowed and his jaw clenched and he swallowed hard at the sudden lump in his throat. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he having some kind of fucking stroke, or? Heart attack? Was apoplexy a thing outside of shitty Victorian romance novels?
He stood frozen, screaming at his feet to pick a damn direction and move. Charge and start a fuckin’ fight that’d end in two big, stupid men covered in blood and bruises and Lacey either storming off or fucking one of them, gods only knew. Leave, let Lacey make her own choices and fuck who she wanted, as was her damn right. Do FUCKING ANYTHING and not just STAND THERE LIKE AN IDIOT having some kind of fucking aneurysm. His hands shook with the force of whateverthefuck feeling it was that was killing him from the inside, and his mind shouted endlessly at his body to fucking obey him and do two conflicting things at once.
Kharon, he begged softly beneath the screaming, reaching out from the iron prison his body had become. Baby, I think I need your help.
((lol sorryyyyyy he insisted on interrupting by doing absofuckinglutely nothing like a crazy person :| ))Bite my shiny metal ass.
Kali sure as hell wasn’t up to singing in public, not without some serious coaxing and not for such a big audience. But his just in case white rose for her was easy to sneak into Kharon’s when she didn’t come out on stage with him for so much as a shaky little Jingle Bells. Aww, he was pretty willing to bed Kharon was at least a little bit bummed about that, but there was no wayyy you could see it in his face, not on a night like tonight. Baby was in his element, and the whole world could see it.
Holy fuck, but Lacey. He’d had his fingers crossed, coaxed his florist into hooking him up with this sexy little arrangement of deep red orchids and soooft white calla lilies juuuust in case, but he hadn’t held his breath. God, he should’ve. It would’ve been worth every second of the oxygen deprivation.
For once in his life, he didn’t try to stand out from the crowd, dressed casually in a touchably soft grey cashmere sweater and pants a darker grey. This was his boy’s night, and clearly Lacey’s too, and he didn’t wanna horn in on anyone’s spotlight, not tonight. So he watched his baby sing her magnificent heart out with a smile on his face, and when she was finished he didn’t even chase her down, just gave her a little space and watched their gorgeous boy finish out his set. Sent flowers backstage for Kharon and Amber, and glanced around looking for Lacey. Probably enough time had passed for her to get a little distance from the raw, naked vulnerability of performing and he could find her without pushing too many buttons.
No sign of her though, and she’d be damn hard to miss in that sexy little number Kharon must have coaxed her into. He frowned a little and headed outside, flowers in hand, wondering if maybe she’d slipped outside for some air. Hell, maybe that’d be better, see her out where they could talk, he could get a word in above the crowd and all. No big deal.
He headed outside, in no particular hurry just yet, since it was about even odds she’d already took off and headed home. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t much of a betting man though, or he’d have lost big tonight. Home was not exactly where she’d headed. He rounded the corner and a couple caught his eye, pressed up against the building in a passionate embrace. He halfway started to smirk, a little tip of his hat to the two of them for getting a little action, when his brain caught the rest of the way up with his eyes and figured out just who he was seeing.
Lacey.
That was his Lacey.
Wrapped around someone else.
“Take me away, Woolf,” she begged softly in that sexy, fuck me whisper of hers, and his hand clenched around the stems of the flowers he’d been pretty sure it was stupid to buy her, stems suddenly encased in iron. Hell, for a second he was solid iron as everything in him froze, as a fucking cacophany of new emotions he couldn’t name clamored in his head and his chest, as his vision bled red and his fists begggged him to beat the shit out of the pretty face she was kissing.
What the fuck?
What the actual fuck was happening to him?
He should be grinning and high fiving her, smirking and offering to double-team her with whatever sexy piece of ass she’d wrangled with her gorgeous body and the fire in her eyes and that goddamn song he would’ve sworn was about him. He should be stoked for her, getting some action, having some fun, spreading a little holiday cheer. Instead he wanted to pound fucking Woolf’s face into a pulp with iron fists. Tear him off his goddamn Lacey, beat him halfway to death, and grab her and kiss the everliving fuck out of her until it was his name falling from her perfect lips.
What the shit?
He almost charged forward, too. Almost gave in and did it, acting on impulse and thinking with his dick like he always had, especially when it came to her. But it wasn’t that simple, was it? This wasn’t some asshole making a move on her, and Lace rolling her eyes and telling him to fuck off and die.
She wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted some other fucking guy.
And he had no idea what the fuck to do about it.
Had no right to do a damn thing about it, really. He’d managed to fuck things up brilliantly with her for years, ruined every chance he’d ever walked right up and taken, and who the fuck was he to tell her she couldn’t do something that made her feel good?
FUCK.
He forced his hand open, unclenching his fist with a loud crack as the long-forgotten bouquet broke free of the solid iron still making up the rest of him and clattered to the ground, landing upright, blooms still somehow intact, bobbing merrily and mocking him. And for another long moment he just stared at them, breathing in the lust and the want and the need that he hadn’t put in her eyes and drowning in the way something inside his iron chest was cracking, hissing, screaming protest.
Screaming pain that drowned out the jealous anger and flashed in silver eyes that narrowed against hurt he didn’t understand. His brow furrowed and his jaw clenched and he swallowed hard at the sudden lump in his throat. What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he having some kind of fucking stroke, or? Heart attack? Was apoplexy a thing outside of shitty Victorian romance novels?
He stood frozen, screaming at his feet to pick a damn direction and move. Charge and start a fuckin’ fight that’d end in two big, stupid men covered in blood and bruises and Lacey either storming off or fucking one of them, gods only knew. Leave, let Lacey make her own choices and fuck who she wanted, as was her damn right. Do FUCKING ANYTHING and not just STAND THERE LIKE AN IDIOT having some kind of fucking aneurysm. His hands shook with the force of whateverthefuck feeling it was that was killing him from the inside, and his mind shouted endlessly at his body to fucking obey him and do two conflicting things at once.
Kharon, he begged softly beneath the screaming, reaching out from the iron prison his body had become. Baby, I think I need your help.
((lol sorryyyyyy he insisted on interrupting by doing absofuckinglutely nothing like a crazy person :| ))