Angel of My Dreams

When You Were Good...

"Our next song is..." Christine giggles into her hand, stationed behind her keyboard on the stage. "Animal with mineral extract." John plays a bass riff, seemingly amused by his ex-wife's playful behavior. It was the last day of rehearsals, and soon the band would be heading to Pocatello, the first stop on their brand new tour: Tusk. Stevie bustles out on onto the stage, the top of her poodle permed hair covered by a crown velvet beret. Most of the afternoon she had been swamped by a large woollen coat, as she was terminally cold and terrified of getting sick before the tour began, but for this particular number she had decided to remove it. Angel was her favourite song to perform, not only for the lyrics, but because of whom she got to sing it with – if only for a brief moment. Things had between tense between her and Lindsey during the recording of the album to say the very least, but when their voices found each other, wrapping around a perfect harmony, it simply was magical. She never could keep herself from smiling at just how good they sounded together, even when she had wanted to throttle him even just moments before.

Swishing past Lindsey in her long silk dress, she flashes him a grin, but he pretends not to notice her costume change. Instead, he keeps his head down on his fingers as they pick expertly at the steel strings of his new guitar. He knew this song like the back of his hand, but he was nervous. Not about playing, but because of the choreography they had worked out for this song on the first day of rehearsals. They would be sharing a microphone, and it had been so long since he had sung this close to her.

Sometimes the most beautiful things... the most innocent things... And many of those dreams, pass us by. Keep passing me by..." Stevie bops her head up and down in time with Mick's kick drum, holding her mic stand with one hand as she turns to look at the dark haired guitarist beside her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Breaking the line, Lindsey had retreated to the dark shadows behind her, unable to stand still. To be fair, he was also having a hard time focusing on the task at hand seeing as she was wearing what basically looked like a slip, the fabric clung to her causing the outline of her breasts to be clearly visible. But this was it, the moment he had been dreading. Swallowing hard, Lindsey's eyes lock with hers as she makes her way towards him, a small hand wrapping around the stand of his microphone as she leans in to sing. He does the same, his eyes remaining glued to her pretty face.

So I close my eyes softly, 'till I become that part of the wind that we all long for sometimes... Yeah..." Lindsey separates from her, grateful for the few seconds of reprieve from her soulful gaze as he plays a riff. As he leans in for a second time, his blue eyes take her in once more, her full lips nearly touching the microphone, lips he longed to kiss once more.

And to those that I love like a ghost through a fog, like a charmed hour and a haunted song... And the angel... Of my dreams" Leaning back to play more of his guitar, Stevie reaches out and touches his arm. She can't help but long for a bit of contact in this moment, feeling a heightened sense of intimacy being so close to Lindsey after months of bickering and sullen looks. He was at once familiar, but also sort of strange to her. Without his beard, the strength of his jawline was accentuated, and his eyes were darker, rimmed with liner in a way that made him look slightly dangerous. She had to admit, she found it attractive.

Lindsey barely notices her nails grazing his bicep but when he does, it's all he can think about. She beckons him closer, and entranced by her flirtation, his hands fall away from his instrument. Before he knows what he's doing, his sweaty palms wipe themselves over the back of his shirt and he places his hands on her petite shoulders. A familiar warmth radiates over her skin, pulsing through his fingertips, and she welcomes this closeness. He gently rolls his hands further down, brushing her décolletage. Instinctively, Stevie reaches for his wrists and grasps them hard, pulling his hands over her breasts, over her heart, and leaning her face closer to the microphone. She feels a rush of excitement running through her, partially in shock at her own boldness, but more to do with a familiar tingling in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes lock on his lips, mere inches from her own, while he stares down at her chest, thumb grazing a hard nipple underneath the silk. They were like magnets, inextricably drawn to each other by forces beyond their control.