T.H. Mini Series

Lovers Playlist; Fever

He sits at the front of the stage, slowly sipping his glass of whiskey. A curl hangs artfully across his brow, eyes serious as he waits.

He's alone tonight. No mean feat for him.

You keep your eyes clear of his table, focusing on a bottle of Absinthe behind the bar. Your skin ripples with goosebumps as Oliver begins to play, fingers casually strumming the bass. You take a deep breath as the rush of adrenaline burns through you, spotlight shining brightly upon your face.

Never know how much I love you,
Never know how much I care,
When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that's so hard to bear,
You give me fever

You could feel his eyes, their burning intensely, fixed on you. You could feel them undressing you. Slowly. Deliberately.

When you kiss me,
Fever when you hold me tight.
Fever!
In the morning, fever all through the night.

First he removed your shoes, the delicate straps undone, his fingers lingering on your ankle.

I light up when you call my name,
Cause I know you're gonna treat me right

Then his hands would travel up your legs, setting your already burning skin ablaze. He would hook his fingers over your lacy g-string to deftly slip it off, eliciting a heady gasp. As one hand settled between your legs, long fingers resting in your slick heat, the other would casually slip off the straps of your silk dress to reveal your heaving breasts.

Thou givest fever when we kisseth
Fever with thy flaming youth
Fever I'm on fire
Fever yea I burn forsooth

He would be purposefully slow, teasing as his fingers traced your neck, your collarbones, trailing them down to your stiff nipples; the tips of his rough fingers would only serve to fuel the fire that raged within, encouraging you to spread your legs wider.

He would lean forward and attach his lips to your neck, burying his teeth into your tender flesh. Your breath would hitch in your throat as his fingers explored your folds, your nails digging into his forearms as his fingers moved faster and faster.

Now you've listened to my story,
Here's the point that I have made,
Chicks were born to give you fever,
Be it Fahrenheiht or Centigrade,
They give you fever.

You gave a small sigh of delight and came back to yourself; you were on stage, the patrons hushed as they watched you perform. The only hint of surprise on Oliver's face was the widening of his eyes, his fingers still gliding over the strings.

Fever if you live you learn,
Fever!
'Til you sizzle,
What a lovely way to burn,

You smile coyly at the crowd, daring a glance at him.

He smirks knowingly. He winks and your cheeks grow hot.

What a lovely way to burn,

What a lovely way to burn,

What a lovely way to burn.

**

"Darling" he croons as he saunters into your dressing room, a bouquet of white roses cradled in his arm.

Velvet suits him.

You nod, not trusting your voice, returning to examine your reflection in the mirror, watching as he casually leant against the wall behind you.

"That colour becomes you, darling" he murmurs, voice smooth and inviting.

The rogue curl was unfairly tempting. You ached to reach out to twist it around a finger, to lose your hands in the tangled wilderness of his curls.

"As does the velvet" you reply softly, turning to glance over your shoulder.

But you couldn't bear to raise your gaze to meet his, knowing you would powerless against those fathomless eyes.

Why had he come?

The question occupied your mind, making your already shaky hands worse. Your breathing became loud and shallow but still he leant against the wall, face unreadable.

"I need a drink" you mumble, stumbling to the coffee table and pouring yourself a generous glass of Scotch.

Your hand trembled as you brought it to your mouth, amber liquid dancing in the glass. His hand closed around yours, taking the glass from you and setting it down. Your heart thudded heavily in your chest as his eyes bored into you, willing you to look at him. Unable to resist any longer, you looked up, eyes locking with his.

Damn him. Damn him and those eyes. Damn him to hell and back. No, damn him back to London, where he could stay forever and leave me here to rot.

"Why are you here?" you ask tremulously.

"You know why"