Addicted

It had been public and it had been embarrassing.

The very, very loud music from the stage, the laughter and sing-along and general buzz of the crowd has surely kept anyone from hearing the ugly details - except when he had shouted at her, at the end - but no one could miss the way he stormed out, drunkenly pushing and shoving as he went. One of her friends had tried to comfort her, but you couldn't hear yourself think in the place, let alone talk - so she fought back tears and smiled it away.

Brave face in place, she turned to the stage. The band was just roaring, blasting into "Addicted to Love," take-no-prisoners, at ear-bleeding volume. The dance floor, already well-populated, flooded to overflowing.

Even so, she knew that up there on the stage, rocking his ass off, he hadn't missed it. He never missed anything. Over the years, she had counted on that. Plus, he knew the history here. He'd have been watching.

The volume was so high the band sounded like a spaceship landing, and the lights were psychedelic insanity. As soon as she sought him out, his eyes were on her, and despite his stage-smile and his aggressive attack on his guitar, she knew he'd seen the whole thing. 

Your heart sweats... your body shake...

He held her eyes as the lead vocalist blasted out the verse, then looked down at the floor and motioned to the closest dancers with the neck of his guitar. A space cleared, and he jumped from the stage, to loud cheers. Wireless on both his guitar and microphone, as always, he was free to go where he wanted - and he playfully waved a path clear with the neck of his guitar, all the dancers in his vicinity playing along, clearing a path.

Your throat is tight... you can't breathe...

At the bridge before the chorus - a keyboard spot lasting a few seconds - he whipped off the guitar and loosened the strap as far as it would go, and motioned for her to stand. She did, and he was in front of her in a heartbeat, grabbing her with one arm and pulling her completely against him as he dropped the guitar back over his shoulder with the other, around them both...

The dozen or so dancers immediately surrounding them all watched, pointing them out to others, as he started playing again, his sleeveless arms around her, pulling the guitar right up against her, in the best-of-all-possible places. It was as close as she'd ever been to a man in public, tighter than most embraces, and tighter still because of his pull on the guitar. Every chord was a very intimate pressure, and he began singing on the chorus, their faces almost touching...

You're gonna have to face it, you're addicted …

 As their audience grew, he began swaying, dancing with her, and her balance was suddenly a problem. She put her arms around him, but there were bumpy, sharp boxes on the leather guitar strap - wireless transmitters? - and she was afraid she might accidentally turn one of them off.

There was only one other place to put her hands.

The immediate crowd roared their approval of that choice, and she suddenly realized that she was having the time of her life - less than two minutes after being on the edge of a breakdown.

Even so, the question of balance made her nervous - what if I make us fall down in the middle of the song? Is he out of his mind? - but he was tall, and maybe not fireman-hunky but muscular enough, with a runner's body toned from hauling heavy speakers and amplifiers all the time. He didn't seem worried about it - and it's not like she had any choice in the matter...

He pulled his head back just enough for their eyes to meet, and smiled his best smile. He slammed chords with erotic gusto, fully aware of the effect.

The lead singer was into the second verse, so he didn't need to sing, and he pulled her close as the pressure of the guitar eased off some. Their audience was cheering them on, but as they swayed forcefully along with the song, she began to tune everyone out. The leather in her hands was warm, and sweating slightly, and she was even more aware of the vest and the half-bare chest underneath it. He was sweating, too, and he smelled like he always smelled - he had hugged her a thousand times - but somehow he was more him this time.

Might as well face it...

The song heated up again as the second chorus blasted across the dance floor, and he sang again, his face alongside hers, warm air tingling against her ear. They rocked harder, and the guitar pressure increased, and suddenly the other guitarist, up on stage, tore loose.

But the spotlight wasn't on the stage anymore. Suddenly their too-private space lit up like the fourth of July, and they were the center of attention. The hole in the dance floor that they occupied had grown, and so had the number of dancers watching them, and now they were immersed in blinding light. He cranked everything up a notch, swaying harder, pulling her closer, and -

Ohdeargod!

Their southernmost contact was as close as all the rest, owing to his pull against his guitar, and with his shift of position - leather pants notwithstanding - it was now unmistakable that he was, ah, inspired. Fully inspired.

It must have shown on her face, from the reaction of their onlookers.

He pulled back and met her eyes again, grinning roguishly, and as the lead break ended, he bent close, and their lips brushed together, and again, and -

Might as well face it, you're addicted …!

Back into the chorus, and he was singing into her, and it was like nothing like it in anything she'd ever done. Her nipples had long since popped, and her fingers were pretty well dug in as he swayed even harder.

The entire crowd was singing as the band ploughed back into the chorus one last time. They ground together in perfect rhythm, one swaying body, and she went in all the way, singing with him, oblivious to the fact that she was now singing into his wireless microphone - and she wasn't the world's greatest singer. The crowd was, in any case, having too much fun to notice.

The song came crashing to a volcanic finish, and she realized that she was about to do the same, when his lips found hers again, and this time it wasn't a light touch. For the first time in their years of knowing each other... and his hands wailed on the guitar and the drums and lights just went berserk. She made a sound, right into his microphone - and the crowd roared even louder.

A heft of those sweaty arms, a split-second eye contact and smile, and he was sprinting back onstage as the next song started up. Turning, she saw her friend beside her, and the two began dancing. Off to the side - her boyfriend, who had seen the whole thing - ex-boyfriend! - and she felt an incredible rush, as if the jerk was being flushed out of her system.

Turning to the stage, she saw him wink. She winked back.

Your heart beats in double-time... another kiss, and you'll be mine...