Misguided

 

    He should have been furious.  Lying beneath cool blue sheets, his arms folded behind his head, his body cooling slowly as the thin film of sweat dried, JC decided that he should have been angry with the gorgeous creature curled lovingly around his body.

    They made few rules when first entering their relationship.  Having both been scarred by loves lost, and timid at the prospect of beginning a “relationship,” JC and Moira were cautious about setting concrete boundaries.  “Take it as it comes,” She had sagely suggested, and he was all too willing to agree.

    One stipulation, though, was that she was never to interrupt him while he worked.  A muse’s call was so fleeting, so instantaneous, that he could not risk a song or a lyric or idea being spirited away because of wasted time.  And so he insisted that when the door to his “office,” or downstairs studio, was closed, she was not to enter unless beckoned.

    For months she had respected that trust.

    Tonight, though, she had ignored their steadfast rule.  He should have been furious.

    When two AM bled into three and three to four, she rose out of bed, her eyes blurry with sleep, her breathing shallow and soft, and searched for him.

    She found him hunched over the piano, head in his hands, tears running down his face, mouth fixed as his lower lip trembled.  It had been such a difficult week, with looming deadlines and a steady stream of appearances that required him to exhibit false happiness for countless hours.  The new album had not received the critical acclaim he had lusted after so fiercely, and the songwriting plaudits, his heart and soul, had been largely heaped upon work that was not his.  Sitting at the piano, the silence deafening as he tried in vain to create a rhythm, JC found himself crying quietly, and his heart aching with loneliness.

    He should have been furious when she entered his study, placing slender fingers on his shoulders and kneading the tense muscles gently, coaxing a grateful moan from deep within his throat, his neck tilting toward her tender touch.  He should have been livid when she removed his fingers from their positions on the keyboard, where moments ago they had been pounding relentlessly, and placed them against her lips, kissing each one softly, causing his stomach to quiver.  He should have been beside himself with rage when she kissed his cheek gently, whispering softly in his ear, come to bed.”

    When she took his hand into the warm safety of her own and drew him to his feet, he should have reminded her of the promise she was breaking, instead of allowing her to trace the muscles in his abdomen lovingly, slowly, causing his eyes to flutter shut.  He should have resisted when she tugged on his hand, leading them to their bedroom.

    He never should have allowed her to slowly remove his pants, kissing his hips teasingly, silencing the song in his head with a beckoning of lust.  He should have chastised her when her lips parted his, seeking out his tongue and drawing it into her mouth, effectively stopping his words from tumbling forth.

    When she pushed him gently onto his stomach, massaging his back with skilled hands, he should have yelled at her for causing the melody dancing in his brain to escape, but all he could manage was an appreciative groan.  When she touched her warm mouth to his eyelids, he should have rebuked her for obscuring the vision that had danced in his head.

    And when she turned him over, revealing her supple body to his hungry eyes, JC stopped thinking altogether.  The pain, the frustration of the uncertainty of his future, flew from his mind like the moan from his lips as she leaned over him, pressing the soft mounds of her breasts into his torso, and his fingers hungrily caressed every available inch of skin they encountered.

    “Mmmm…Baby,” He whispered, his voice husky with desire, and she merely kissed him, keeping him from using his voice to communicate.  Instead, she insisted on hearing his thoughts by way of gentle touches and quiet moans, of sighs of pleasure and breathy pants, until he proclaimed his ecstasy with one shuddering breath.

    He should have screamed at her for violating the most sacred of unspoken rules.  But when the beautiful woman with whom he had spent the past two years of his life looked into his eyes and whispered “I love you,” a single tear slipped down his cheek and he nodded, grateful beyond mere words.  With his heart in his throat and his body pulsing with nervous energy, he repeated them back to her, cherishing the stunned smile that crossed her face, leaning into the palm that cupped his cheek, drawing his lips to hers once again.

    Much later, as four AM bled into five and five to the sunrise of six, he watched her sleep, her features relaxed, his hand trapped beneath the gentle heat of her body.  She betrayed his trust, disobeyed his request, and listened only to her heart.  He should have been furious.  Gathering her close, tasting the salt of her skin leisurely with the rough tip of his tongue, JC Chasez realized that perhaps he wasn’t so angry after all.


2001  ~A.

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