rhythm and blues
We slept under the stage that night, dank with the smell of grease and metal from the lift. The blanket was thin under us, but his skin was warm against mine. I arched my back, fingers splayed against the cold concrete wall; his rhythm was sweet, strong. Our hearts beating, racing.
Later, we were startled awake by the groans of the organ, in the early morning. Doc Runner, getting in a morning's practice before the campus awoke. We held each other, laughing silently, as over our heads the organ galloped and bucked; its rhythm strong, sweet. Our hearts racing, beating.
Liese broke me.
Damn it.
Not on a college campus, but I've done that, a very long time ago.
It was fun. And, gah, could that man play! We stayed down there longer than necessary, just to hear the rest of his rehearsal.
The other fun time was when the stage started to come down and we were still under there. It wouldn't have hurt us, we were under the lift, but the doors automatically lock when the lift moves, so that no one accidentally comes in under there when it's coming down. They didn't actually take into account the fact that someone might already be under there, and locking the doors meant we wouldn't be able to get out! Fortunately, the stagehands were arguing and had forgotten something, so they stopped the stage, and we ran out.
Heh.
(Also, I wrote about sex! Yay me!)
And very well, too! Yay, you!
Anyone wanna take a look at my Buffista/Bronze paper before I finalize it?
Also, someone kick my butt into gear and remind me to do the drabbles. My creative writing prof is really encouraging us to write on a regular basis, and this is a perfect opportunity. I just always forget about it. Silly me.
