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From: "Eros' Dreams" <eros_dreams@hotmail.com>
Subject: {Adhara} "Red Hot & Blue" (repost) {M/F}
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This is a repost; I submitted the story without all the usual subject
line information. Sorry!
Adhara
RED HOT & BLUE
Copyright 1998 Adhara Law (eros_dreams@hotmail.com). All rights
reserved. May not be reproduced or distributed, with the exception of
USENET archiving, without express written permission by the author.
The pungent odor of smoke and alcohol and the sharp twang of old guitars
filled her senses as she pulled open the door of the small bar. Chatter
and clapping harmonized with the last bars of a guitar solo by the lead
member of the band on stage. She chose a table near the front.
"Got anything German and dark?" She asked the waitress over the noise.
Through the dim light and haze she saw the waitress nod and heard her
holler out the brand. Mira didn't hear her, but nodded to signal she'd
take one, whatever it was.
"Cold Shot". She knew the song well. Classic Stevie Ray Vaughn, she
thought to herself. Her head bobbed absent-mindedly to the beat as the
waitress set a cold, slick brown bottle in front of her. She took a gulp
while looking over the band onstage and smiled at the taste; Tucher, her
favorite. She could get to like this place.
She gave a cursory look to the drummer. Percussion was never her thing.
She smirked at the second guitarist; classic guitar face. If musicians
only knew what they looked like when they were into the music, she
thought. Out of habit she stopped at the bassist. Every detail of his
playing style filtered into her memory without her knowing. It was
subconscious after all these years.
The lead guitarist caught her attention, an unusual thing. Tall,
muscular without being overbuilt, long blond hair. She noticed the
expression on his face while he played -- he was completely absorbed,
but he controlled the music, not the other way around. She nodded her
head in approval in time with the beat.
People milled through the dark haze of the room, shadows grazing past
her solitary form as she sat alone at her table. She saw a few male
heads turn her way, but they didn't follow through. The looks weren't
unusual. Her long black hair and pale skin were pretty, but there were
more beautiful women than her; she knew, though, that when she felt like
it, she could carry herself in a way that would shame a supermodel.
Tonight was one of those nights. And she didn't look to be in need of
company. She liked being alone.
The band ended the set with a tight guitar solo and a nicely done
flourish on the cymbals. She watched as the guys laid their instruments
down carefully and exited the stage for the bar. The last drops of the
cool amber ale slid down her throat, tasting so good that she thought
she'd go to the bar for a refill.
"Tucher," she told the bartender. He nodded and turned his back to her
while he fetched another bottle of the dark German brew.
"They have Tucher here?"
She turned to see the lead guitarist from the band smiling at her.
"Yeah. Hard to believe, huh?" She sized him up. Taller than he seemed
onstage. His eyes were much greener this close. "Nice set," she said.
"Thanks. Blues fan?"
She nodded and took a swallow when the bartender handed her the bottle.
"Always liked Stevie Ray Vaughn." She turned back to him. "By the way,
your bassist is pretty fancy with that fretless Hagstrom."
His eyebrows arched. "You play?" He asked tentatively, sounding as if he
couldn't believe that she did.
She shrugged. "A bit," she answered, turning around to watch the throngs
of people milling around the bar. She could feel it starting -- a warm
tingle that crept up the inside of her thighs. Not again, she thought.
She ticked off the reasons in her head -- no steady job, late nights,
undependable…
She drained the last of the bottle in a couple of swallows and slapped a
few bills onto the bar. "Again, nice set," she said quickly as she
turned to walk out of the bar. She didn't bother to watch his eyes as
they followed her out.
* * *
They were playing again the next night. She pushed her way slowly
through the swaying crowd as they moved in near unison to the rhythm of
John Lee Hooker. She took the same table by the stage, ordered the same
beer from the same waitress, and looked into the same green eyes from
the night before.
She watched the bassist for a while. His fingers adeptly plucked the
thick steel strings of his guitar, an ivory-colored job that looked like
it had seen better days. She knew, though, that it was often the
roughest looking instruments that gave the best sound.
She meandered over to the bar and found an empty stool. When the set was
over, she watched as the mane of blond hair found it's way to the bar.
"You left before I could get your name last night," he said when he saw
her.
She paused, looking into the mouth of the brown bottle in her hand.
"Mira," she replied. "You?"
"David." He ordered up a Tucher. "So you play. What do you have?"
She took a deep swallow of beer. "'71 Fender Jazz. Old, but the best
bass I've ever played."
He nodded appreciatively. He stared into her eyes while a man just
behind him, she noticed, stared a little lower. "In a band?" He asked.
She shook her head. "Just moved here. Checking out the place."
He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything his
bassist brushed past her to crowd in. "David," he said, almost panting.
"I gotta go. Kate just called, Matt broke his arm in football."
"Ah, geez," David replied. "Go. Let me know how he's doing."
Mira watched as the bassist stepped quickly through the crowd and out
the door.
"His kid," David said as he watched him go. "Son's 13. Hope he didn't
break it too badly." He ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair.
"Shit, we're going to have to cancel the second set."
Mira swallowed the last of her beer and set the bottle on the bar. "I'll
play it."
David stared for a second, then smiled broadly. "You know Muddy Waters?"
She nodded.
"Lowell Fulson?"
She nodded again.
He smiled even wider. "You'll work out just fine."
They walked to the stage. Her fingers started to itch just thinking of
picking up that bass, getting into those blue notes. She climbed up onto
the stage and picked up the guitar, adjusting the strap so it hung
comfortably on her. Her fingers flew to the neck as she plucked out a
rippling riff to test out the feel.
David's eyes got big. "Nice," was all he said.
He showed her the set list. She recognized almost every song. "That last
one," she said as she pointed to the sheet. "I don't know it."
"Don’t worry; simple twelve bar blues in A."
She nodded. Then they started playing.
She knew she probably had the same look on her face that she noticed on
the guitarist her first night in there. She didn't care. She was
playing, and it felt good.
They played Muddy Waters "I Can't Call Her Sugar". She ticked the notes
off the steel strings like she'd been doing it all of her life and fell
into the rhythm as she and David watched each other. She felt connected
to him, playing off of him as they danced through John Lee Hooker's
"Solid Sender". They were two people playing like one person. A
connection she hadn't felt in a long time.
She watched David's eyes soak in the sight of her fingers as they
tickled the neck of the fretless bass, pulling out notes she didn't know
were there. She watched David for the changes in the last song while she
felt for where the music was going. Her body melted into the instrument
hanging on her and it almost felt like she was playing herself. She
wanted, instead, to be David's guitar. She tried to keep her mind on the
music.
The set ended. As the clapping subsided, she ran a hand along the cool
wood of the neck and slowly lifted the guitar off of her, setting it
down on the stage. She flashed a quick smile to David as she brushed
past him, hopping off the stage and toward the exit.
The cool air as she threw open the door hit her hard, but she needed it.
Not tonight, not ever, she thought to herself. She'd been through this
before. The lack of stability inherent in a relationship where the meals
were measured out by potential gigs. She didn't need it again. She
walked away from the bar and away from David, trying to push him out of
her mind.
"Hey," she heard him call as he ran out the door after her.
She walked toward the back of the building, trying to put some distance
between them.
"Mira!" He caught up to her and gently took her arm as she turned the
corner of the bar. "That was great playing. Why are you in such a hurry
to leave?"
She turned to him and smiled, almost laughed. "That was fun, but I gotta
get going," she said.
"Why?" He asked again.
She stared at him so hard that she thought he would shatter into a
million pieces. She ran her eyes over his hair, the shoulders that
flowed under the flannel shirt he wore. She let them run down his chest
and over his crotch. "You want to know why?" She said, her voice low and
raw. "I'll show you why." She grabbed his face with both her hands and
kissed him hard.
She felt him pull for a brief moment and then sink into the kiss. As she
kissed him, she leaned back against the old, weathered wood of the back
of the bar, pulling him with her. The constant whine of the crickets in
the grass measured the heat. She felt the beat of "It Serves Me Right To
Suffer" as someone punched it up on the jukebox. How appropriate, she
thought.
David pulled out of the kiss. Catching his breath, he closed his eyes
but said nothing.
"I don't love you," Mira said to him.
His eyes flew open in surprise, but still he was silent.
She looked down, ran a hand over the jeans covering his thigh. She heard
his breath catch as he closed his eyes again. It had been so, so long,
she thought. "And that's why this is all right," she finished. She ran
her fingers over his crotch, feeling the hardness that was catching up
with her thoughts.
He moaned so softly that she almost couldn't hear him. It egged her on.
She unzipped his jeans and tugged on them roughly, shoving her hand
under the cotton fabric of his underwear. He'd caught up by now.
"Mira," he started, his eyes still closed. "Are you sure…?"
She pressed her lips to his with such force that there could be no doubt
as to whether or not she was sure. The light sensation of his fingers as
they undid the buttons of her thin shirt tickled her and made her
nipples harden in anticipation. She felt David slide the thin silk over
her shoulders and glide around to her back, where he unhooked her bra.
When his hands moved forward, she grabbed them lightly and held them
away from her as she stared at David, lowering her body to kneel in
front of him. The cotton of his underwear slid away from him as she
moved it aside, sliding his cock as far into her mouth as it would go,
making him moan and steady himself against the back of the bar. The
moonless night gave nothing away.
She moved with the steady rhythm beat out against the walls from the
music within, the rhythm she played best in. When he breathed that he
couldn't stand much more, she slowly stood up, her hands still gripping
the backs of his thighs, and pulled him into her.
When his fingers found the silk of her panties and roughly pushed it
aside, she moaned. Small breaths escaped her as she let her head roll
back, his fingers sliding into her already wet pussy. But it wasn't
enough. Her fingernails dug into the smooth skin of his ass as she
pulled at him roughly, coaxing him into her. They both gasped as he
started the rhythm, but she didn’t care about rhythm anymore. Fast and
furiously, her hips ground against his, wanting it all right then. She
bit her lip as she began to come, sooner than she ever had before, and
locked his hips against hers as she let slip a short, muffled cry. A few
movements later and he moaned his own arrival.
They were silent for a few moments. "Mira," he said finally. "Nice set."
She couldn't help but laugh.
"Would you consider playing tomorrow night?" He asked. He ran a hand
over her neck.
She stared up into the sky. "I think that can be arranged."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Adhara Law
eros_dreams@hotmail.com
http://asuwlink.uwyo.edu/~astarte/adhara
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