My Fantasy (Miles Kane one-shots)

Loaded (smut)

You hype Miles up to go on stage with a pre-show blowjob.

-

Your heels click on the shiny floor, whisky bottle in hand, hips swaying to the rhythm of the thudding bass on the other side of the thin walls, separating the hall from the stage. A few more steps and you reach the dressing room, a black card stuck to the white door in front of you, reading "Kane" in gold letters.

You land three little knocks, then his voice rings through the door, over the soft music he's playing inside. "Come in."

Twisting the door knob, you enter, a smile spreading across your face as soon as you lay eyes on him. He's sat on the settee, one leg resting on the other, cigarette between his fingers, taking a drag and tapping it over the ashtray in front of him without not taking his eyes off you.

Besides the smoke you smell a hint of perfume in the room, an open bottle stood on the dresser by the mirror, a few unlit scented candles next to it.

His hair is freshly shaved on his head, unlike his scruffy chin, a silky cheetah print robe that reaches down to only his knees the only thing covering him, revealing enough of his body to suggest there's nothing underneath. "Not ready for the show yet, Kane?"

You expected him to be ready to go, to jump up and greet you, but the melancholic tune spinning on the record player matches the look in his eyes, that spark that you admire so much about him doesn't shine as bright as you'd like it to, he's not as alive as you hoped he would be before a big show.

He takes one last drag from his cigarette, then crushes it, eyes still locked with yours. Despite the light missing from them, the intensity remains, you always feel like he's doing more than just looking at you, like he's really looking at you, seeing you. "Not reallehy feelin' it yet if I'm honest, luv..." he explains, standing up and holding his hand out for the bottle you're still carrying.

"You were buzzing to play earlier..." you recall, biting your lip and handing him the whisky after twisting the lid open. "You're going to be absolutely amazing, I know you will. Don't you doubt yourself now, Mi."

"Just a bit rusteh, aren't I?" He chuckles, taking a swig straight from the bottle, features not faltering even a little when the liquor burns down his throat. "Not proper hyped yet..."

You smirk, reaching for the bottle and taking a sip yourself, licking your lips and exhaling sharply at the burning sensation on your tongue. "What're you worried about, handsome?" You ask, tilting your head to the side as you watch him.

"Been a while since me last show" he shrugs, scratching at the scruff on his chin. "Might 'ave ... might not find me groove, wha' if them people out there fink I don't 'ave it anehmore?"

"What? Your groove?" You ask, cocking an eyebrow, amusement playing around your lips and you watch him, teasing him with your eyes, not to make fun of him, no, but to show him how absolutely ridiculous he's being.

"Me groove, yeh..." he mumbles, laughing quietly but you know there's actually something nagging at his confidence, something you hate seeing because he really doesn't deserve to doubt himself. "Wha' if I can't ... impress 'em like I usualleh do, eh? Wha' if they don't ... wha' if I'm not as ... not confident enough to 'ave 'em like meh anehmore? Wha' if I just don't 'ave it anehmore?"

You shake your head, closing the space between your bodies with a few slow steps, placing the bottle on the table before cupping the side of his face with your hand, brushing over the short hairs on his jaw. "What if I hype you up a bit, hmm, handsome?"

If you didn't have his full attention before, you without question have it now. His eyes are open wide, glued to your face and you give him a confident smile, your other hand moving slowly down his chest, dipping underneath his robe and he swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing beneath the sensitive skin of his slender neck.