Between Strings and Sparks

Chapter 9 - "After the Storm, the Fire"

The show seemed to last for centuries.

The lights pulsated, the audience screamed, and every song reminded you of him - the way Jack kissed you, the way he trembled when he admitted fear, the way he said he would choose you.

You watched from the side of the stage, trying not to look so obvious.

But it was impossible.

Every time Jack looked to the side, his eyes looked for you.

And when did they find you?

His smile changed.

His posture changed.

His energy changed.

It seemed that all the strings of his guitar vibrated right in his chest.

When the show ends, the audience still roaring, Jack runs off the stage even before handing the guitar to a roadie - completely out of his standard.

He finds you in the hallway, still sweaty, still panting, still illuminated by the lights of the stage.

And he stares at you as if he had held the lack you did for a whole hour.

- You came... - he breathes, as if that was all he needed to confirm.

- I said I would stay - you answer.

Jack takes two quick steps.

And then he kisses you.

It's not the sad kiss from the hallway.

It's not the cautious kiss of fear.

It's hunger.

His hand goes straight to your waist, pulling you hard; the other goes up your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you. You feel the taste of the show in it - adrenaline, sweat, vibration.

He presses you against the backstage wall, his body hot, heavy breathing brushing your mouth when he moves away just enough to say:

- I almost went crazy up there - he confesses, his voice low and hoarse. - Every time I saw you... I just wanted to finish that fucking setlist and come back to you.

Your heart races.

Jack runs the tip of his nose down your cheek, slow, provocative, as if he even missed your smell.

- You're playing with fire coming close like this - he murmurs against his skin.

- And you don't? - you tease, holding his shirt.

- Look at the way you're holding me.

He smiles against your mouth, that dangerous smile you already know.

- I'm trying to hold on, Aria. I swear.

He slides his hand around your waist.

- But you make it impossible.

The backstage is dark, stuffy, full of speakers and cables - but at that moment, it seems like a universe of just the two of you.

Jack leans his forehead against yours, breathing hard, as if fighting something.

- If you tell me to stop... I'll stop - he says, serious, intense, whole there. - But if you tell me to continue... I won't be able to be soft.

The tension between you is almost palpable.

Your breath mixes with his.

Your body vibrates against his.

And Jack waits - even wishing, even trembling with desire - he waits for your word, your gesture, your sign.

Your finger contours his jaw slowly, scratching lightly.

- I don't want you to stop - you whisper.

His expression changes on the spot.

The look darkens.

Breathing fails.

Jack squeezes your waist and pulls you harder, his body glued to yours, the kiss that comes next being hot, deep, urgent - the kind of kiss that marks the soul.

The corridor door slams in the distance, someone calls for him, but Jack just sticks his hand to the wall next to his head and murmurs, without ungluing from his mouth:

- They can wait.

The whole world can.

Because there, at that moment, you two burn together.