Equinox ★ jimmy page imagines

four

I wrote this a while ago, originally from the 3rd person pov with an oc that eventually evolved into Reina. Thought I'd post it here.

There's sex and drug use, so heads up. Please enjoy!

Like a beacon, the flame tip of the candle reflects in your eye. You don't speak, don't move, just sit in the bed with the sheets bunching at your waist and stare.

I'm occupying the doorway: a dark form with the light of the hall blooming around me. "I can't sleep," I say. You watch my slow-moving mouth in the darkness. Your gaze is still sleep-stopped, but you move your head slightly, in a gesture, toward the side of the bed.

My peach pink slip sways at the thighs when I step over to you. I kneel on the bed and you acknowledge the glitter sparkling on my soft shoulders in the candlelight.

"Mmm, close the door," you finally say, voice rough. I lean my shoulders back and rise, slowly turning from you to fulfill your request. The room is quieter now, it seems, and covered with a bouncing orange glow. You reach beneath the covers to unbutton the pants you fell asleep in. I drift back to you, head down and body outlined underneath the sheer material.

I crawl toward you again and settle beside, watching with round eyes while you kick the pants to the floor and fall back onto the bed. You cast a look at me.

"Jim. . ." I reach out a hesitant hand and scrape my fingernail down your jaw to the center of your chin. I tap twice against the skin. When I'm high, your face reminds me of the moon, pale and marked with short fields of black stubble. When I'm high, I see you from an angle, as if I'm peeping around the corner to find the curl of your lips and the juxtaposition of dark on light. I'm high right now. "I kept thinking of you."

My voice is a breath and it fills your lungs. "What were you thinking?"

I shift under the covers, finding your thin thigh with a cold hand. I rub a strand of hair between my forefinger and thumb. It's good to catch you at times like these, submissive and lazy, your body too blurred to differentiate from the sheets. "You're my star. I read in a science magazine that we're made from stardust. So, you're my star." My words fade and you reach a hand to brush my head. I readjust myself until my feet are hanging from the edge of the bed and my cheek is against your hip. I glance at you and a warm hand of pleasure traps me. Just me and you. Alone. I feel like I can taste the sequins from your stage outfits on my tongue. The little glass beads, the shiny thread. I've got my fingers in your underwear before I can think much of it.

The inhale of air into your mouth sounds like the song of breeze through leaves. "Every man and every woman is a star," you recite and say my name. "You . . . ah . . . have a good memory." I work the fabric down and latch onto you with my mouth. It catches you by surprise and an achy yelp bursts from you as you loosen your leg from under me. My head is between your thighs, your tongue is pressing to the back of your teeth, and you're completely at my whim. You grip my head with both hands, a beg of a pause caught between your lips. "Wait," you breathe. "Wait, wait."

I'm not waiting. You come, exquisite and rapid. When my warm mouth leaves you, your eyes open. I'm above you, catching a bit of you that has spilled down my chin. I wipe it onto your sweating stomach. You catch your breath and gesture for me to crawl further up your body, the slip brushing with a ghost touch up your thighs. I have you pinned beneath me, legs on either side, but I miss pressing my palms to your chest in the moment you flip us over.

A burst of laughter bounds on the other side of the bedroom door and for a moment, we're still, your face caught in the pillow and my body soft and outstretched and waiting. There's a shuffle of feet, a bang, and a jumbled shout from at least Robert and Bonzo. My hair smells of your cologne. You shiver over me.

"Pagey!" A voice singsongs from the hall. My pelvis rocks upwards. You hold your breath with patient desire like you do on stage.

"Probably passed out," a quieter voice mumbles. "How 'bout you went in there and tore his room up?"

You press your thumb into my skin like you're giving a fingerprint. I moan and run my fingers along your bare back and down your spine.

"Nah, I can't be bothered tonight." Someone kicks the door with the toe of their boot and the group meanders down the hall, accompanied by the giggle of girls.

You let your breath go and drown one hand in the silk of my underwear. I breathe low. You retrieve your fingers after a moment, shiny in the candlelight. I've turned away into the pillow. I taste apricot and sucking candy on my tongue. You bring yourself up, supported by an elbow as you finger me more, until I'm mewling and can feel your erection between us.

"Look," you mumble, and I turn. The shadows from your nose and lips dance like thieving figures across the side of your face. "Alright?"

I nod and breathe, "Alright."

To me, it's the sweetest invasion. I'm thinking about laughing. I'm a desperate John Donne asking his god to lay siege to his body, the village. And like Donne's god, you're three-personed. You are here, in the physical with me, but also there, back on stage, with bow raised to the air. You feast and seem to take me up with your eyes, stowing your fingers into my heart and mind.

I cry out as I orgasm and it's a sound that was sitting in the back of my throat like a secret. You follow me and collapse your head onto my chest. Spent, tired, aching. A long gap of silence follows.

"Will you light a stick of incense? Whichever one you want." I ask. I draw on your skin, invisible hearts littering your arms, and let you stretch to find the lighter.