“I worry if I fall asleep something will happen to take you away from me” It seems like a juvenile fear, one I don’t want her to have to think about.
Her fingers pause over my shoulders, their weight a comforting reminder that I’m not alone in these shadows. Her warmth seeps through the fabric of my shirt, a gentle balm to the bruises on my heart. “You think something will take me away from you?” she asks, her voice a breathless whisper that dances in the still air of the room.
I swallow hard, grappling with the gnawing fear that lurks right beneath the surface. “After everything, it’s hard not to feel that way,” I admit, keeping my tone low, almost conspiratorial. We haven’t really talked about what it was like for us to find her the way we did. To question whether she’d live.
The truth presses against my throat, hot and heavy. I’ve never been one to lay bare my fears, but with her, it feels different—like the act of sharing can lift some of the burden.
At least that’s how it felt when I shared what happened to my mom, and consequently why I don’t talk much. Which I’ve been trying to get better at alongside Raina.
She exhales softly. “I’m right here, Keaton,” she says softly, as if she’s casting a spell meant to ward off the darkness that creeps in at night. “You’ll always have me.”
Her reassurance is everything; it makes the noise in my head quiet. The ghosts take a step back, allowing her warmth to seep deeper, like a light is finally reaching into places I didn’t know were still cold. Maybe what I’ve needed all along was her voice in the dark reminding me that she made it through.
“Come here,” I say while reaching my arm behind me and wrapping it around her legs, guiding her into sitting on my lap. I tilt her chin back, but she’s all about trying to comfort me. Her hand warms my cheek, thumb moving in a soothing motion.
I’m not sure who leads the other into sharing a soft kiss, but our lips brush softly before pressing together. It’s tender, full of love. She’s everything I’ve ever needed or wanted.
I let out a deep breath and rest my forehead on hers. “You’ll always have me too. I love you, Peaches.”
“I know, big guy. Now show me what you’ve been working on when you can’t sleep.” She turns on my lap so she’s facing my kit, her bare legs resting on mine and her ass nestled right up against my cock, making me grow hard instantly.
“Let me show you,” I murmur in her ear. I slide my sticks in her hands and wrap my hands over hers, guiding her fingers into the right position. My palm covers most of her fist, the difference in size both ridiculous and grounding. She lets me do it, lets me arrange her grip and angle her wrist.
The best part is the giggle she gives me. My sticks have so much meaning between us, from the very moment I let her hold them the first time, to using them to make her orgasm, and even helping her snap one to release her trapped emotions.
Now I want to add another memory; teach her a little about my drumming. Give her another piece of my soul.
“Keep yourself relaxed,” I instruct. “It’s not about strength. It’s control.” I demonstrate, taking one of the sticks from her hold and rolling it with barely any pressure, letting it bounce off the snare head. She mimics me, the movement a little jerky at first, then smoother.
We go back and forth, trading the rhythm. It’s nothing fancy. A heartbeat, really: kick, snare, kick, snare. The simplest song in the world. She gets it right on the fourth try, and for a moment she just sits there, looking at her hands, almost amazed.
“You did that,” I say quietly.
She grins, the barest hint, but it’s real. “Feels good. I like it.” Her voice cracks on the second word, but she doesn’t flinch. It shows how much she’s grown in her confidence since she first started using her voice again. “That wasn’t what you were playing before, though.”
I smile into her hair and let out a small chuckle. “Oh, so she wants to get more advanced, huh?” This time I take her hands and work through the easiest part of the song, then continue to teach her as I was before.
I’m not sure how long we sit like that, the two of us hunched over the kit, trading patterns back and forth in the flicker of the lamp. The rest of the world could be on fire, and it wouldn’t matter. In here, with the woman I love sharing my kit, everything is suspended. Everything is okay.
When she seems to have the hang of it, we take a break, and I hand her my water. Her lips wrap around the rim, and my cock throbs painfully. There’s nothing hotter than having herdrumming on my lap, and now I’m imagining it’s not the water bottle she’s drinking from…
From the smirk she gives me, she knows exactly where my mind goes.
She stands, stretches, then walks a slow circle, trailing her hand along the lacquered wood of the floor tom, the battered edge of the crash, then my shoulder. All the while moving in a way that seems to showcase her bare legs. It’s like a sensual show, and my drum kit is her prop.
Her fingers trail over me, tracing my muscles until she leans into me, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “It’s a shame you’re playing with your shirt on.”
My eyes close for a second, soaking up the desire in her voice. Then without thinking about it, I rip my shirt over my head and toss it free. Her fingers continue running over my skin, leaving a trail of fire behind.
She slides around in front of me, her knees slotting between mine, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I let it go slowly, staring at her in anticipation of what might happen next.
I don’t have to wait long to find out what it is. She straddles me, the heat of her core settling right over my aching cock, making me hate the material between us. “Play the song for me from the beginning.”
Somehow I ended up with the sticks when she stood, and I didn’t even recognize it. I rotate them between my fingers and stare into her eyes. They’re bright, filled with happiness and desire.
I’ll give her anything she asks. If she wants to hear the song from the beginning, then I’ll give it to her. Hell, I’ll even finish writing the ending, something I’ve been trying to figure out all week.
I push the rhythm forward, my sticks dancing across the snare, the kick drum pounding out a steady heartbeat as Rainastraddles my lap. The intimacy of her presence makes the world fade away, and I’m left focusing solely on the sound we’re creating together.
