I want to rip out the eyes of anyone who stares at him. Heís mine. My curly-haired, half-insane loveable guitarist. My Lauri.
Heís the most beautiful thing I think Iíve ever set eyes on. Sexy, masculineÖ Those deep eyes of his, neverending greenish-brown colored pools, ever mysterious and dark and sparkling with something thatís just so Lauri. And his lipsÖ just looking at them makes me want to kiss him, the way his pouty bottom lip kindof sticks out Ė especially when heís playing guitar and gets lost in his own little world. He throws his head back and exposes that perfect neck of his Ė so graceful but masculine Ė and I canít help but want to put my lips on it, mark him as mine, get him distracted. ..Itís just so tempting. And he has no idea. That Iím supposed to not molest him is just not fair, really. Especially if heís shirtless, my god. Heís so lean, taught stomach accented by those amazing hip-lines of hisÖ Iím sure thereís a proper name for them, but I donít know what it is Ė I just know I want to run my tongue along them, hear him gasp for itÖ. Run my hands over his ass Ė I think he has the best ass in the band, even better than mine, better than Krisí. Iíve always thought his legs were better than Krisí too, especially when heís wearing tight dark denim. Or leatherÖ But really, it doesnít matter what he wears; I find him completely irresistible.
The way his armsleeve is done itís like the perfect decoration wrapping around his arm, curling over his skin, making it look intriguing and beautiful and wild. And watching his usually-blacknailpolished fingers move on the strings of a guitar is really something fabulous. Makes me want him to play me like that guitar, make me squeal; and heís good at that, too.
Such a good lover, Lauri. Strong arms, strong body, and he used to be a gymnast too, so heís quite flexible, which makes things interesting. Letís just say he wasnít lying when he said he can put his legs over his head. Not to mention the fact that he wants to make me feel good, and he usually goes out of his way to try. Seems like the only thing in the world that he cares about, sometimes, is letting me know that Iím loved, with his body and his mouth and his hands and his eyes.
All the girls who throw themselves at him, I donít get the least bit jealous, cos I know heís not the least bit interested. But stillÖ I donít like to see them stare at whatís mine. Donít like to watch them touch him. Donít like to watch them leave his hotel room and then be sure I can smell someone elseís sex on him all the next day. I tend to be a bit possessive of him Ė I just canít help it. I love him with all of my heart. Itís funny that heís not even mine. Not officially, anyway.
Sometimes heíll get this faraway look in his eyes, like heís missing home and lonely and desperately needs to have someoneís arms wrapped around him, holding him. I almost get excited when I see him displaying that demeanor, because I know that means I can love on him without having to worry about possibly upsetting him Ė which has never happened before, but I still feel like I should be cautious. When heís in his usual mood Ė pleasant and even-tempered Ė heís never really shown me he loved me, at least not in the romantic sense. I know he loves me always, but itís harder for him to hold himself back from loving me when heís lonely. When heís feeling alone, Iíll take him off somewhere and weíll disappear together, and he lets me curl into his arms, or sometimes heíll snuggle into mine, and weíll just sit in silence and Iíll try to align my breathing with his; slow and even. Iíll play with his hair quietly, wrapping curls around my fingers, endlessly intrigued by them because theyíre beautiful and soft and without them, he really wouldnít be Lauri. He likes to have his hair played with; I can tell because he shudders sometimes, and every once in a while heíll even get hard from it. I can never resist seducing him when that happens; he always calls me a Ďwicked little minxí but itís hard not to be around him because I want him all the time.
Iíve never enjoyed meaningless sex, and I think because of that, and because of the fact that Iím so deeply in love with Lauri, it doesnít take much for my body to want him in that way. I love it when he makes love to me during the day Ė our late-night lovemaking is nice, too, but thereís just something different about it when itís daytime, something that says Iím not just a lay to him. And I know that Iím not, Iíve never thought that, butÖ well, itís hard to explain.
Iím a bit of an exhibitionist with him, too, Iím surprised weíve never been caught by our bandmates or, godforbid, our fans. I always like it best when thereís the possibility of someone walking in at any moment; when weíre making love in the park underneath our big oak tree, or at our spot down by the lake, or even backstage, sometimes. We have a lot of places that we like to go to together that nobody knows about; most of them are lovely, quiet places outside, but there are a few spots by our practice place that weíve found. One of them is down an alley, and itís one of the best, I think. When he takes me there, our sex is usually hard and fast and hot, because heís having me up against the brick wall and we both know that anyone could walk by and see us. And Iím not exactly quiet, not with Lauri. He usually has to put his hand over my mouth or kiss me and swallow the sounds. I canít help letting myself go like that with him, and I know he likes it, because the louder I get, the faster it gets him off.
Lauri brings out a sexual side of me that surprises me, sometimes; he makes me aggressive and needy and it doesnít take much for me to get that way. He sees that most of the time, when weíre alone, but when I get that way during a show I always make a point to let him know; to go over and tease him, because I know we canít have each other then and I donít want to suffer alone. And it always pays off in the end; we always end up fucking as soon as we can find a place to do it Ė whether it be a dark corner or a janitorís closet or a bathroom Ė and itís always deliciously rushed and hard and he usually bears the marks of it for several days afterward.
I like to mark him; he wonít let anybody do it but me. I like to leave love bruises on his neck, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his inner thighsÖ I like to leave marks behind that say heís mine and nobody elseís; because I know his heart belongs to me, the same way mine belongs to him. Itís not official but that really doesnít even matter to me anymore; I have him, and thatís all thatís important.
I know he loves me with all of his heart when he makes love to me because he always looks right at me, and I can see it in his eyes. Iíve always felt quite awkward looking someone in the eyes during sex, but the way he looks at meÖ it lets me know Iím not just a fuck, that I mean something. That he wants nothing but to make my toes curl with pleasure (and he usually does, my godÖ), to get me off again and again, because he loves me.
Heís given me multiple orgasms before, which I didnít think was possible, being a man, but Lauri has the stamina, I guess, and he knows how to work my spot. Heís made love to me for hours before, till my body ached with pleasure and exhaustion and I absolutely collapsed to the bed, feeling as if I wouldnít be able to get hard again for days.
He really is an amazing lover. Iíve never had anyone pay so much attention to making me feel good; he loves foreplay, loves to kiss and touch my body until Iím shaking and weeping precum and my dick is throbbing and Iím feeling like Iím so close that he could shatter my resolve if he just touched it. And then when he finally lets me have him, heíll move so excruciatingly slow, at first, so that I canít get off yet, so all I can do is moan and plead and whine for him to finish me off. And then heíll change his pace so suddenly, slamming right into my prostate, milking the orgasm right out of me with his hips; he usually doesnít even have to wrap his hand around me, itís usually his cock that gets me off. And he always makes me come spectacularly. Usually he leaves it at that Ė sometimes he comes with me, as my muscles clench around him, sometimes he pulls out and finishes himself off over my stomach, and sometimes he lets me finish him off with my mouth; I love the taste of him. But sometimes he just keeps thrusting into me, right into my spot, until I can feel the blood pooling in my cock and I find myself getting hard again, no matter how impossible that mightíve seemed to me just a few minutes before. And then heíll start to stroke me till I ache and throb for him again, and thatís when he tells me how much he likes getting me off, how good I feel, how much he loves it when I come for him, how Iím the only one who makes him feel this way. When he talks to me like that, his voice deep and husky Ė pure sex and love Ė all I want to do is please him, and I always purposefully tighten around him, wanting to bring him off too. That always gets him moving so hard and deep and we almost always find release together that way, though sometimes Iíll reach my orgasm just slightly before him. He wonít let himself go until I have, and sometimes thatís an impressive feat, especially when weíve been going for hours like that. Most of the time when it happens like that I can feel it for a few days afterward, and I walk around grinning to myself about it. My bandmates can never figure out why Iím in such a good mood Ė everyone but Lauri, who usually wears the same grin upon seeing mine.
Heís just incredible. I want nothing more than to be able to call him mine, but I know thereís something thatís stopping him from letting me completely; heís holding himself back. I think heís afraid that heíd hurt me, and he very well might, though I think itís worth the risk. But whatever it is, he lets me know with his nuzzles and his kisses and the look in those eyes that I love so much that itís not me, itís him. So for now, Iím content with what I have. He doesnít deny our love, but he doesnít proclaim it, either Ė at least not to anyone except me. He gives me what I need both physically and mentally, and because of that, I donít mind loving him in secret.
Sometimes I think there arenít enough places on Jonneís body to kiss Ė to worship. And thatís exactly what I want to do, to worship him, because it always feels like no matter how hard I try to show him, heíll never really understand how special he is. Jonne is shy and loving and beautiful and sensual and everything that he does and says comes from his heart. He worries what people think about him. Worries a lot. And I love him more than anything in the world and donít want him to worry anymore.
He worries that he looks too girlish, that his bodyís too thin, that heís not good looking enough, that heís not enough of the rockstar image. I think he must be completely insane to think that. I love the tiny curve of his hips, and that little red line he gets across his belly when heís been leaning over too much. I love his lean thighs Ė one of his biggest weak spots Ė love to kiss the insides of them until heís panting and gasping and begging me to just move on already, touch him. I love to cup his ass in my hands Ė itís so small and tiny and perfect. Love to flutter my fingers over the hairless, soft skin just behind his balls, and listen to the soft sounds he lets out every time; theyíre almost whimpers. I love to kiss up his stomach, watch the way his muscles tense; his stomach is incredibly sensitive, too. I love to circle his lovely little pink nipples with my tongue, and I must say I really miss the ring that was through the one. Biggest mistake he ever made, getting rid of thatÖ but even without it, heís beautiful.
Heís beautiful without makeup, without the glittery clothes, without having his hair all done up. Heís beautiful when heís lying next to me dreaming, without a care in the world. Sometimes he makes the tiniest little soft sounds in his sleep, and itís all I can do not to wake him because of the way those wonderful little sounds curl their way around my heart and squeeze tightly. I donít think he knows how completely lost for him I am, and Iím almost afraid to tell him. Because I love him more than just being his bandmate, his friend, and I know he lets me touch him, but what I feel for him is more than that Ė the purest version of love and need and him being oxygen to a heart thatís been deprived of air for much too long.
Those lips of his, I swear sometimes I actually crave them, like nicotine when I havenít had a cigarette in hours. Sometimes when heís lying there sleeping so innocently I canít do anything but kiss him awake. And he always rewards me for it Ė wraps his body around mine, purrs sleepily, and kisses me back, that mischievous tongue of his seeking out more of my mouth. I could never lose those late night moments, thatís when we share the most, when I whisper ĎI love youís and he says them back, when we kiss and touch and hold eachother, and most times when I wake up in the morning heís still in my arms, until he wakes up and then we both go back to pretending that we love our girlfriends, who we only keep so that we can deny that we love each other in public. Plus I think if I didnít keep a girlfriend, it would be that much harder to resist being with him, and Iím doing that for his own protection.
I think Iím too rowdy for Jonne, and that maybe I would break him. Break his heart. I have a tendency to drink and do a lot of drugs and sometimes I get too flirty Ė sometimes I fuck groupies. And JonneÖ heís possessive of me as it is, I see him looking at those girls (and sometimes boys) like he wants to claw their eyes out. I donít think he could handle it, if we were together, and I donít think I could ever forgive myself if I cheated on him; I donít trust myself with his heart, not fully.
So for now, we have our late-night moments. And itís not always at night, sometimes Iíll be feeling lonely and heíll pull me aside Ė he can read me like that Ė and steal me away, weíll run off together and disappear for the day and heíll take me sightseeing if weíre on tour, or to one of our secret places if weíre at home. But the bottom line is that we give each other what we need most of all Ė love.
Though he does give me some fabulous sex, too. And sometimes, thatís just what it is Ė sex. Most of the time itís making love, but sometimes itís raw and animalistic and out of pure need for sexual release instead of need to worship his body. Sometimes I want to fuck him into something just to watch him get off. He shows me this side of him that usually only comes out onstage when he hasnít gotten off properly in a few days and the adrenaline of performance is running through his veins and he gets horny. I can always tell immediately, and he doesnít try to hide it; those are the shows when heís rubbing himself and rocking his hips to tease the screaming girls (though they donít know that itís directed at me more than it is at them) and humping my amp, or the stage, or his mic stand, or Christus, or whatever else he can find to do thatís naughty. And every time, without fail, heíll come up from behind me at some point in the show, press himself right up against my ass so that I can feel that heís hard, and then whisper in my ear exactly what heís going to do to me when we get offstage. And usually itís something that youíd be surprised to hear come from Jonneís mouth if you didnít know him; something filthy and hot and wicked. And every time he does it, Iím thankful Iím a guitarist, because I have something to hide behind. Sometimes, heíll even slip his hand down between me and the guitar, just to make sure his teasing has had the desired effect; and it always has.
Sometimes his ambushes are so successful that Iíll miss a note or two, and he always gets so incredibly smug and satisfied with himself when that happens. But whether I do or not, heíll tease me through the whole show and even when weíre waiting to go back onstage for the encore. Thatís usually when I get the worst of it, when weíre waiting in the dark backstage while the fans are screaming for more. Sometimes heíll even slip his hand inside my jeans and start to stroke me, both of us knowing full well that he doesnít have time to get me off before we go back out. He does it because he knows by the time the encore is over Iíll be aching for him, and that the mix of testosterone and adrenaline running through my veins will have him finding himself being fucked into a wall or whatever I can find backstage as soon as I can get him somewhere thatís not too out-in-the-open.
I always call him my wicked little minx because of that; because he likes to get me wound up and he likes to whisper naughty things in my ear, and when itís finally too much and I finally get to have him Ė and itís always Ďfinallyí with him, believe me Ė he likes to be loud, and he likes to bite and buck and moan and writhe and claw. When he gets horny like that, I always end up looking like Iíve been in a fight Ė with lovebruises and bitemarks and long red scratches all over my body. I like them, because they always make me think about how good it was even days later. And he likes to look at them afterwards, because theyíre his marks; saying that I belong to him and telling any groupie that I may decide to fuck that nobody can get me going like he does. Iíve always had a very strict donít-leave-any-marks policy with groupies, and have gotten some incredulous looks for saying that while covered in his marks quite a few times, actually.
But groupiesÖ theyíre not my Jonne. Theyíll never be him; never compare to him. I donít know why I even bother with them, sometimes; sometimes when weíre laying there in bed panting and sweaty and sticky Iíll think about just telling him that heís the only one who can do this to me Ė arouse me so incredibly and yet have my heart so completely at the same time. But then I think about hurting him, and I never say it; I canít risk losing him or hurting him, and I wonít. I love him, and he knows I love him, and itís good enough for me. I have him, and even though itís in secret, heís all I need.