After developing the chapter from Damien’s point of view and enjoying spending time again with my favourite imaginary rock stars, I found myself wanting to stay with them a bit longer. But just for fun, something light, easy, and entertaining.
This is really something I wrote for myself, just because I felt like it, and it was fun to write. I don’t know if anyone will read it, but since I wrote it, I might as well post it.
No Filter - The internet loved it
Jordan, our bass player, walked into the green room.
“Hey, Rob, whatcha doing? Do you wanna come kick a ball in the pit with John and Steve?”
Rob didn’t even look up at first. He was lying on the floor with Damon, Rachel and Grainne.
“Oh, no, thank you,” he said, waving Jordan off. “They’re going to destroy me again.”
Jordan laughed. “Oh, come on, get up, we need a rematch.”
“No,” Rob replied. “I have plans.”
He sounded smug enough that Jordan narrowed his eyes.
“What plans? You’re just lying on the floor. We’ve got, like, two hours to kill.”
Rob didn’t answer. He just got up and wandered over to where I was sitting.
I was curled up on a sofa in an oversized sweater, my Kindle open in my lap. I barely had time to look up before Rob climbed onto the sofa beside me. I thought he was just going to flop against me like usual but instead, he grabbed the hem of my sweater and started climbing underneath it.
“Rob,” I started, already smiling.
He ignored me and somehow, a second later he’d wedged himself inside the sweater with me, his head popping out near my collarbone while the rest of him pressed against my chest.
I let out a giggle and Rob looked up at me. Then he kissed me once and whispered, “Save me.”
Afterward he settled back against me, resting his head on my chest.
“Sorry,” I said to Jordan. “He has plans.”
Rachel lowered her phone with a grin. “Oh, that’s absolutely going online,” She said with a laugh and I smiled at her.
She had started her TikTok account right after Rob and I got married, mostly to promote her artwork like she already did on Instagram.
During the wedding she posted a few short videos, small moments from the day, and fans shared her reels. Most of them already knew she was the girl behind The Scientist, and many also knew we had dated as teenagers. Soon she’d gained a handful of curious followers, people interested not just in her art anymore but in the little glimpses she sometimes shared of the band.
At first, she tried not to lean into it. Her page was mostly paintings, sketches, works in progress, and photos or videos with her friends, just pieces of her life, really.
Sometimes she’d post something inspired by the band, and those posts always brought a lot of attention, but she mostly kept those two parts of her life separate.
Lately, though, things had started to change. Maybe it was the pregnancy. She’d started pulling her phone out more often, recording tiny moments she probably would’ve ignored before.
Especially after she and Damon announced the pregnancy to us, she started posting more little glimpses of life on tour. I think it gave her something to focus on while she waited for the tour to end so they could finally go home and get ready for the baby.
She would post a backstage photo, a group dinner, a rehearsal, a ten-second video of Jordan annoying her - or Rob and me annoying Jordan, which still happened a lot, mostly because Grainne thought it hilarious, so we made a point of doing it whenever she was around.
One time, Rob called out to him across the room.
“Hey, Jord. New cologne. You’re gonna love it. Smell it.”
Jordan fell for it immediately and leaned closer. The second he got close, Rob planted a quick kiss on his forehead. Grainne burst out laughing when Rob grabbed Jordan’s face and followed it with several loud kisses.And that, of course, ended up on Rachel’s feed.
Rachel posted plenty of moments with Damon too.
But more often than not, she uploaded clips of Rob and me being unintentionally hot or adorable, because those were the ones that got the biggest reactions.
The fans absolutely lived for it.
Her follower count had exploded almost overnight, and all the extra attention brought more people to her art, which she loved.
So anytime something involving Rob, me, Jordan, Dylan, or Damon started happening, she filmed it. Somehow, though, the camera still usually ended up pointed at Rob and me.
One of the videos she filmed caught us hanging around in a dressing room. Rob was stretched out on a sofa, and I was sitting on the floor with my back against it. My setlist was playing through the speakers, and I kept messing around on my electric guitar, picking up little bits of whatever song came on, something I did all the time.
Somewhere behind us, Rachel was filming with her phone like usual.
After three songs, “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga started playing.
Just before the line, “I want your loving, I want your revenge,” I grabbed the guitar beside me and played a riff over the track, lifting the neck up into the air. My fingers ran up the fretboard fast enough to make Rob groan from somewhere behind. I hit the final chord and let it ring through the amp for a second, then muted the strings with my palm.
When I looked back, Rob was staring at me with wide eyes. For a second, nobody said anything.
“I’m pregnant,” he finally announced.
Rachel burst out laughing behind the camera.
“Me too,” she said.
“You already are,” Rob replied without even looking at her.
“Well, if I weren’t, that probably would’ve done it,” she said.
“If that riff got you pregnant, the kid better come out holding a Strat,” I told Rob.
Rachel posted the clip later that night.
Apparently, I had impregnated the internet with that riff.
****
Another video Rachel posted that fans became obsessed with was footage from our latest “breakup anniversary,” back before she got pregnant.
Ever since Rachel and I broke up, I’d made a habit of taking her out once a year to celebrate it, usually by choosing something I knew she’d hate.
That year, I took her to one of those restaurants suspended in the air where they strap you into a chair before lifting the whole table hundreds of feet off the ground.
Rachel filmed the staff fastening the harness over her shoulders while she stared up at the guy securing the straps.
“Has anyone ever died on this?” she asked him.
The guy didn’t even hesitate.
“Unfortunately no.”
You could hear me laughing before we’d even left the ground.
Later in the video, we were already up in the air, Rachel sitting perfectly stiff beside me and refusing to look anywhere except straight ahead.
“Let’s look down together, okay?” I told her.
“No.”
“Come on, you can do it. On three.”
“I hate you.”
I counted anyway.
She looked down for maybe half a second before jerking back with a horrified expression on her face while I sat beside her with my hand over my mouth, gasping because I already knew she’d freak out.
At the end of dinner, the staff brought us a little cake with Happy Anniversary written across it in icing.
Rachel filmed me immediately throwing an arm around her shoulders while we posed with it like a happy couple, me holding up my wedding ring for the camera, very much married to Rob.
The comments under that video were full of people envying how Rachel and I had gone from teenage boyfriend and girlfriend to the fun straight girl and gay guy duo we were now.
****
Sometimes, she was the one choosing the activity, though, and she was a lot nicer to me.
After the reaction to the breakup anniversary video, she posted a few more old clips she knew fans would love. Most of them were just stupid little moments of all of us together, showing sides of us people never really saw, like one video of Rob, Damon and me arguing for nearly five minutes about whether having scales would make us fish or reptiles, and whether mermaids counted as fish while dragons counted as reptiles… fascinating stuff.
And, of course, one she’d filmed during another one of our breakup anniversaries that started with me walking into her apartment in London while she was waiting by the door with her keys in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Oh, good,” she said immediately. “You’re wearing something that can get dirty.”
Once we were in the car, I kept trying to guess where she was taking me.
“Painting in the park?”
“No.”
“Pottery?”
“No. Just drive,” she said, giving me directions.
When I pulled into a gravel parking lot somewhere outside the city, I climbed out of the car and stopped for a second.
Rachel was still filming while I looked around before saying carefully, in French, “Ça sent le crotin de cheval.”
She gasped immediately, realizing I’d said it smelled like horses.
“I got it right?”
She nodded, laughing.
“No way,” I said immediately, already sounding excited. “That’s so cool.”
The video ended with Rachel filming us galloping across a field together.
****
But the video that blew up the fastest, though, came from a couples game Rachel made Rob and me play while we were hanging out at the hotel.
Earlier that evening, we’d played a few games in Rachel and Damon’s hotel suite with Dylan, Alicia, Jordan, and a couple of people from our team, but eventually everyone else drifted off until it was just Rob and me.
Rachel had given birth to Callum only two months earlier, but for some reason none of us could quite sit still in London.
We played a couple of small, intimate shows there before moving around Europe for a few more. Dublin, obviously. Then Paris and Berlin. Between some of them we went home for a few days before heading back out again.
Rob had realized he missed performing not long after Christmas and the month we’d spent in Turks and Caicos before Rachel gave birth. Obviously we weren’t ready for a full tour again, but a few smaller shows felt manageable. It also gave us time to keep working on new material, stripping the songs back to their basics like we’d said we would.
The new tracks reminded me a lot of our first album. They were simple and acoustic, but now we had the kind of production options we could only dream about back then.
Callum was sleeping nearby when Rachel suddenly clapped her hands together.
“Alright,” she said. “I have one last game for you two.”
That sentence alone should have worried us.
“Each of you grab a cushion.” She pointed at the couch. “When I ask a question, you hit the person who fits the answer. And really hit each other. Like, don’t hold back.”
Rob and I exchanged a look before grabbing two cushions from the couch, specifically the ones that felt the hardest. Rachel turned and handed her phone to Damon.
“Film this for me,” she said.
Damon took the phone with a grin and raised it toward us.
Rachel pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. Damon briefly turned the camera toward her and she waved at the lens.
“Hi, internet. This is not my fault. They agreed to this.”
Rob frowned. “Did we?”
Rachel ignored him and looked down at the paper.
“Alright,” she said. “First question.”
Damon aimed the phone back at us.
“Who was interested first?”
Before Rob could even react, I swung hard.
The cushion cracked against the side of his face, snapping his head sideways.
Rob blinked at me in shock.
“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”
I hit him again, hard enough to shove him a step backward.
“Hey!” Rob protested, rubbing his face.
Rachel kept reading.
“Who gets clingier?”
I didn’t hesitate. The cushion smacked straight into his shoulder.
He stared at me. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve got proof. You literally tried to climb inside my sweater in one of the videos she posted.”
Rob pointed at Rachel. “That was private.”
Rachel continued.
“Who’s the most likely to get arrested?”
Rob gave up and opened his arms wide, admitting defeat on this one. I slammed the cushion into his chest.
“Who’s the most reckless?”
Rob groaned before I hit him again.
“Who’s the most protective?”
The cushion flattened against the side of his head before he could brace himself.
“I like this game,” I said cheerfully after the sixth hit.
Rachel grinned.
“Who is grumpier in the morning?”
I swung again, hitting Rob’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble sideways.
“Who is the most jealous?”
I smacked him in the head again.
Rob slowly turned toward Rachel.
“So this is just a game where I take a good beating and you enjoy watching it?”
Rachel shrugged at the camera.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never wanted you to take a good beating. That’s just the rules.”
“Yeah, your rules,” Rob muttered.
“Who’s more romantic?”
I smiled and tapped the cushion lightly against his face.
“Who’s the funny one?”
This time I drove the cushion into his shoulder.
“Who is always late?”
The cushion caught him square in the face.
“I disagree with that answer,” Rob said, rubbing his jaw.
“Who’s the messy one?”
He started backing away, trying to escape, so I stepped forward and swung again, the cushion thudding against the top of his head.
“Who’s more likely to embarrass the other in public?”
Rob already knew what was coming after what happened on the French talk show Le Quotidien a couple of weeks earlier.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
I smacked the cushion into his face three times in a row, laughing.
“Who randomly starts singing or dancing the most?”
I hit his shoulder again.
“Who’s the biggest flirt?”
By now, Rob had retreated all the way back to the couch. Rachel must have noticed Rob planning something because she paused dramatically before reading the next question.
“Don’t even think about moving away,” she warned him.
Damon turned the camera toward her and she leaned toward the lens and whispered, “Now it gets good.”
Damon let out a short laugh.
“Who spends the most money?”
Rob gasped. Then a grin spread across his face.
“Oh, finally.”
His cushion came flying a second later. It slammed into my face so hard I collapsed backward onto the couch. Damon burst out laughing. Rob climbed onto the couch after me a second later, suddenly very invested in the game.
After that, Rachel barely had time to finish a question before Rob hit me with the cushion again.
‘Who was more stubborn. Who’s the better cook? Who needs more attention? Who uses their phone the most? Who’s more competitive? Who’s more organized? Who takes more time to get ready?’
Every answer somehow ended with me getting hit in the face while Rob looked more pleased with himself by the second.
“Who’s more competitive?”
Rob and I both froze before swinging at the same time.
The cushions collided midair before both of us managed to land clumsy hits anyway.
Rachel shook her head. “That checks out.”
“Who’s more likely to start an argument?”
Rob didn’t even wait for her to finish.
“Wow,” I said. “You didn’t even think about that.”
“I’ve lived it,” he said.
Rachel grinned.
“Then who’s more likely to win an argument?”
Rob swung again.
“Who is the best driver?”
Rob smacked me again immediately.
“Of course, I am!” I said.
Damon laughed behind the camera. “No, you’re dangerous, man.”
I laughed, and Rachel suddenly gasped.
“Oh! I’ve always wanted to know the truth about this one,” she said, leaning forward.
“Who initiated the first kiss?”
Before I could react, Rob’s cushion slammed into me.
Rachel looked genuinely shocked.
“Really? It was him?”
“You’re seriously not over this?” Damon laughed.
“I am. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Wait, wait,” Rob said quickly. “Let me make it up to you!”
He swung again with sudden enthusiasm, landing hit after hit before I could even block him. I curled into a fetal position, trying to shield my head. I slid off the couch while he kept trying to beat me to death with the cushion.
We were all laughing by the time Rob finally stopped.
“Okay,” I gasped. “I hate this game.”
Damon turned the camera back toward Rachel, who was still laughing.
“I like it,” she told the camera. “I think this is extremely entertaining.”
Just then, Callum started crying. Rachel glanced toward him immediately.
“Oh, shit, we woke him up. Okay, last one. Who cares more about the other?”
Rob froze.
So did I.
The room went quiet, except for Callum crying softly in the background.
Rachel leaned forward. “Well?”
Neither of us moved. Rob slowly lowered his cushion.
“We can’t hit each other for that,” he said.
Rachel tilted her head. “Why not?”
I shrugged. Then, at the exact same moment, we both gently tapped each other with our cushions.
Rachel pointed immediately. “A tie!”
Behind the camera Damon laughed. Rob dropped his cushion onto the couch.
“Okay,” he said, laughing. “That was actually a good one.”
“Alright,” Rachel said breathlessly. “Game over.”
Rob nodded. “Yeah.”
“We’re never letting you host game night again,” I muttered, smoothing my hair back.
“Worth it - Oh wait. One more.”
Rob groaned. “I thought we were done.”
Rachel read the final question anyway.
“Who worries more about the other?”
Rob and I looked at each other for a second before lightly tapping each other again, making Damon laugh behind the camera.
“Another tie. Okay, now we’re actually done,” she said as she went to pick Callum up.
***
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let her post that video?” Rob asked.
“Oh, come on, it’s harmless. Let her have some fun,” I said as I followed him into the shower after we got back to our suite.
“So I’m the clingier one, huh?”
“What? We’re saving water.”
He smiled, and I slid my hand down to his ass, our dicks rubbing together as I kissed him under the hot water. He laughed softly against my mouth while my hands roamed over his ass.
“What’re you gonna do to me?”
“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m still not over it,” I said, bringing up the French talk show again. He was still paying for that.
He let out a long sigh.
“You know, this is about as prepared as I’m ever gonna be.”
I shrugged.
“Come on, it’s been almost three weeks,” he said, leaning closer until his lips brushed my ear. “And you want my ass just as much as I want your dick,” he added in a low, teasing whisper. “You just like making me wait.”
I smiled.
“Maybe I’ll slap your ass a little bit.” I said as my hands stayed on his ass.
“Mmm, I think I took enough hits tonight.”
“You deserved some of them.”
“Debatable.”
I gave one of his cheeks a light slap and then squeezed it.
“Careful, if you slap me, you have to fuck me.”
I looked at him for a second like I was actually considering it before stepping away to wash myself instead.
“You know, If you don’t fuck me, trust me the dildo will, I’m putting something up my ass tonight.”
“Fine with me,” I teased. “It’s super hot to watch.”
“Okay… then maybe I won’t let you watch.”
In truth, I’d wanted him all evening, and hearing how desperate he sounded wasn’t helping.
He kept teasing me whenever he had the chance, making a point of showing me exactly how “ready” he was for my cock, even using a dildo on himself in front of me a couple nights ago. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to stop myself from fucking him while I watched, but somehow I did. Instead, I jerked off quickly, making myself cum before I could give in.
Rob laughed softly. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I don’t care, it’s my job to drag you into the light,” he said.
“I’m good where I am,” I shot back.
I hadn’t planned on withholding sex, but when he had wanted to ride me after the talk show, I said no. instead, I flipped him onto his back and rode him. And after that, I kept saying no, again and again, teasing him. We still had sex every day, oral, frotting, toys, him fucking me a few times, but I refused to fuck him in return and he was starting to crave the feeling of my dick pressing against his prostate.
Now, though, I couldn’t take it anymore, just the thought of fucking him would get me rock solid hard.
But there was something intoxicating about hearing him ask for it, about letting the tension build, for him and for me. Each day he wanted it more, and each day I made him wait a little longer.
****
Almost three weeks earlier, we’d been chatting with Yann Barthès on the set of the French talk Show ‘Le Quotidien’ about my guitar riffs. Since Rachel had filmed me playing one over Bad Romance by Lady Gaga, people had gone completely insane for it. After that, she started filming more of them at home in our music room, usually with my wall of guitars behind me.
This time I’d posted them myself on my Instagram, including a proper recording of the ‘Bad Romance’ riff. I’d played over a bunch of different songs and uploaded one every few days. People were going insane for them, saying it sounded like I was making the guitar sing, or that it was sexy as hell, like I was making love to it.
They weren’t wrong.
I was.
Yann Barthès smiled as the giant screen behind us lit up.
“We’re going to show people what we’re talking about,” he said in French.
I answered in French sometimes too. Rob understood most of it anyway, and someone was translating in his earpiece when he needed help.
A reel from my Instagram started playing on the screen, the riff over Bad Romance. The audience reacted immediately when the guitar kicked in.
“They’re everywhere online right now,” Yann said after the clip ended. “Your guitar reels.”
“I didn’t expect that,” I admitted. “A friend filmed the first one just for fun. But then we ended up making a whole series that we called ‘the begging series’, because honestly, most of the time, when I hear a song, I just think, well, this song is just begging for a good guitar riff, some more than others, but … so it’s been really fun to translate some of the most popular vocal melodies, to guitar, and to see how people react to it.”
“Well, the comments are… very passionate. You make it look very sexy.”
“Yeah,” Rob said slowly, “begging usually works on him.”
I turned and stared at him.
“Could you maybe use a filter?”
He only smiled.
I picked up the glass of water in front of him and handed it to him.
“Here, have a sip and turn your filter on.”
Rob obediently took a sip, and Yann Barthes started reading a few comments aloud, translating them into French as he went.
“I didn’t know that song could be better.” That comment was for Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter. You do actually make it sound better,” he said and I smiled.
“Every time I hear you play, I think, oh, this is my favourite. Then I hear another song and think the same thing. Such talent.”
“That’s true,” Rob commented. “I think the last one he played is my favourite now…”
“Which one?” Yann asked.
“Heroes, by David Bowie. We’re big David Bowie fans. You should record it,” Rob told me.
“Yeah, but the guitar on that song is already great, so…”
“It’s really incredible what you can do with a guitar,” Yann replied, raising an eyebrow.
“So you did several of these,” Yann continued. “For me, it’s the one over Katy Perry ‘I Kissed a Girl’ “
They showed a quick clip of the riff. When the guitar slid into the groove, the audience let out a collective oooh.
Rob took a sip of water from the glass in front of him.
“That’s not a riff,” he said, gesturing toward the screen. “That’s foreplay.”
The crowd exploded with laughter.
Then he looked at his water and back at me.
“It’s not working,” he joked apologetically.
“Well,” Yann added with a smile, “I remember seeing comments saying you can do magical things with your hands.”
Rob laughed beside me and I clapped my hand over his mouth before he could even try to say anything else.
“I don’t know what’s more beautiful, the music, the guitar, or the musician, this is spectacular and intoxicating,” Yann quoted from another comment.
“I’d go for the musician,” Rob said.
“Which one is your favourite among the ones he’s done?” Yann asked Rob.
“Wow, I don’t know. Maybe Adele, Fire to the Rain. I think that one is freaking fire, or maybe Chandelier by Sia, or Titanium, Taylor Swift of course … I don’t know, they’re all hot.”
I grinned, and Yann glanced at me, waiting for my reaction.
“I mean… if you’re going to play electric guitar, you might as well make it sexy. It’s basically the hottest instrument there is.”
“It works, obviously,” Yann said.
They showed the end of the riff I’d played over the Taylor Swift track. Rob came in at the last second, pushed the guitar aside, and leaned down to kiss me. The video cut just as our lips met, leaving the rest to the imagination.
“You’re welcome,” Rob said. “Can’t just tease them with guitar skills.”
If you think that was what embarrassed me during the interview, it wasn’t. Rob would manage much worse than that before it was over.
“And what’s funny is that some of the artists actually respond to you on Instagram.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed. “Lady Gaga responded, Rihanna commented on the ones I did of Diamonds and Love the Way You Lie with Eminem. Lewis Capaldi… Taylor left a comment too… a few of them, yeah.”
“Yeah, but they’re all artists we know, so … ,” Rob said.
“That’s excellent. And you even did one over a French song from Indochine,” Yann said.
“Yeah,” I replied as they began showing the clip of that riff. “I had to. For the French audience, you know.”
The conversation drifted toward the French artists I liked and listened to.
I started telling Yann about the artists my father used to listen to, the ones I knew but didn’t really listen to anymore, and then we moved on to more current ones.
“I actually really love Stromae,” I said. “The way he mixes pop with something deeper, the writing, the production, it’s just brilliant. We’d love to work with him. And… well, it might actually happen on our next album, so…”
“Really?” Yann said, surprised.
“Yeah. That’s a very real possibility. We’ve been in touch.”
“That would be quite a collaboration,” Yann said. “Stromae doesn’t do that very often.”
“That’s why it’d be special,” Rob replied. “He has such a unique style. You hear two seconds of a track and you know it’s him. Those electronic grooves, the rhythms, and the storytelling on top of that… artists like that are rare.”
“He is, he truly is. And you’ve collaborated with female artists like Rihanna and Beyonce,” Yann said. “Would you maybe like to add a French voice to one of your songs one day?”
“Yeah, that could be kinda cool,” I said.
“Who’s that girl who sings… you know, you said she won The Voice here?” Rob asked.
“Oh yeah, the song’s called Bam, something like that.”
“Mentissa?” Yann said.
“Right,” I nodded. “Well, great voice. If we need a French female voice on a track, I want her on it, no questions asked. Vianney wrote that song for her, didn’t he?”
“You know Vianney?” Yann asked.
“Yeah, of course. Wasn’t he her coach on the show?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard some of his songs too.”
And then it happened.
“You’ve never wanted to make a song in French?” Yann asked.
I was about to answer, but Rob beat me to it.
“He’s recording plenty of songs in French,” he said. “You just never hear them.”
“Really?” Yann said. “Why not?”
“Yeah, why not?” Rob added, turning to me curiously.
I smiled. “Because they’re just little things I record in our studio at home when I’m bored and can’t sleep at three in the morning,” I laughed. “I’m just messing around. They’re not any good.”
“Allow me to disagree,” Rob said.
“I keep telling you, you’re not objective.”
“Want to put that theory to the test?”
“No,” I said firmly.
“Because I have one on my phone, a fun one,” he said to Yann with a guilty grin. “I like listening to it when I need a pick-me-up.”
“No, you don’t!” I said, suddenly worried.
“Really?” Yann said.
Rob nodded, pulled his phone from his pocket, stood up, and disappeared backstage for a moment before returning a few seconds later.
“What did you just do?” I asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” he said, smiling innocently. But I knew that was a lie. Still, he had been gone and back so quickly that I couldn’t see how he’d had time to pull anything.
Yann Barthès resumed the interview and asked if we had ever considered playing a French song during one of our shows.
Rob answered, and they started talking about the upcoming intimate gig we were about to play in Paris at ‘The Olympia’, which was the reason we were in France in the first place.
And then the song I had recorded at home in our studio - the one that absolutely wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear - started playing.
“No, no, no, nooo…” I said, laughing in disbelief.
I covered my face with my hands and slowly slid off my stool, disappearing under the desk just as the intro began and my own voice filled the studio.
On a quitté la Terre (We left the Earth)
On a décroché la lune (We pulled down the moon)
On a fleuri le béton, les deserts (We made flowers grow from concrete and deserts)
Au milieu des dunes (In the middle of the dunes)
“Not a great time for a blowjob,” Rob joked.
I popped back up, laughing, and pretended to strangle him, my hands hovering around his neck without actually touching him while the intro kept playing.
On a effacé les frontières (We erased the borders)
On en a stoppé des guerres (We stopped a few wars)
On a jeté les chaînes qu'on avait dans la tête (We threw away the chains we carried in our heads)
On a fait de nous deux un poème et une fête (We turned the two of us into a poem and a celebration)
When the intro was about to end and the chorus was coming, I finally gave up trying to fight it and raised a finger toward Yann.
“Wait for it!”
Rob laughed.
“Wait for it,” he repeated.
And then the chorus hit.
On a touché les étoiles (We touched the stars)
Avec la tête dans la lune (With our heads in the moon)
On a chanté notre histoire, la-la-la-la (We sang our story)
Nos rêves et infortunes (Our dreams and misfortunes)
The chorus was ridiculously poppy. Rob jumped up and started dancing, getting the audience involved. Within seconds they were all standing, clapping and moving to the rhythm.
It went on like this,
On en rêvait tellement le soir (We dreamed about it so much at night)
Sans trouver les mots justes (Never quite finding the right words)
Puis elle a filé notre histoire, la-la-la-la (And somehow our story just flew by)
Avec la tête dans la lune (With our heads in the moon)
I couldn’t do anything but smile and watch, half amused, half embarrassed, wishing I could just disappear.
By the second verse he sat back down beside me and I stared at him.
“That’s the one you pick,” I complained and he just laughed.
"You’re bastard,” I whispered under my breath with a laugh.
Souviens-toi du meilleur (Remember the best parts) De ces mômes qu'on était (Of the kids we used to be) Et de tous ces mots doux qu'on se disait d'ailleurs (And all those loving words we used to whisper to each other) Souvent même sans parler (Often without even saying a word)
Et pour te revoir un jour (And to see you again one day)
After that last line, I turned toward Rob.
“Cause you’ll be dead.”
He nodded, smiling, and I smiled back at him, and began singing the next lines looking straight into his eyes.
Je n'aurai qu'à m'adresser au Ciel (I’ll just have to speak to the heavens) Puisque toutes les étoiles te connaissent bien (Since all the stars already know you well) Pour être l'une d’entre elles (for being one of them)
He giggled, and when the line ended he leaned in. I gave him a quick peck on the lips.
Then the chorus started again.
On a touché les étoiles
Avec la tête dans la lune
On a chanté notre histoire, la-la-la-la
Nos rêves et infortunes
The whole time Rob kept hyping up the crowd, trying to make them sing along. They picked up the lyrics surprisingly fast.
There was a third verse and by the final chorus, the entire audience was singing.
On en rêvait tellement le soir
Sans trouver les mots justes
Puis elle a filé notre histoire, la-la-la-la
Avec la tête dans la lune
“One last time,” Rob encouraged the audience and they all sang it.
Avec la tête dans la lune
When the song ended, Rob turned to me with a grin, a little out of breath.
“See? Instant hit.”
I shook my head.
“Do you want it on Spotify tomorrow?” Rob asked, turning toward the audience.
They cheered long and loud.
Rob took one look at me and let out a nervous laugh.
“Oh my god,” he said, seeing the look in my eyes. “You’re already plotting your revenge, aren’t you?”
“Oh, you have no idea,” I said slowly.
“You’re not going to divorce him, are you?” Yann Barthès asked with a laugh.
I shrugged.
“Divorce him? No.”
I paused, then added calmly,
“Murder him? Maybe.”
Of course, the rest of the interview revolved around the song, how it was like a French, poppier version of ‘Yellow’, how I apparently had a habit of writing songs about stars, and how I could probably release a whole album in France or start selling songs to French artists. Things like that.
They even played the chorus again at the end.
****
And that was the reason he hadn’t taken it up the ass in three weeks.
****
We stepped out of the shower, and he told me to make myself comfortable on the couch. I did, a towel wrapped around my waist.
I watched as he pulled a jockstrap from his suitcase and slipped it on slowly, almost suggestively.
“Really?” I smiled, taking in the view of his perfect ass and the jockstrap stretched tight across him.
He glanced at me briefly, then reached for the dildo and the lube.
“Oh… you really mean business.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over and sat down beside me on the couch, studying the dildo for a moment.
“You wanna give me a hand with this?” he asked, tilting his head toward me.
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to watch,” I said, almost in a whisper.
He gave me a teasing smile. “Good thing I changed my mind.”
“Did you?”
“I mean you can look… but it’d be more fun if you helped. And you look like you want to.”
“Do I?”
For a moment, we just looked at each other. His eyes flicked down briefly, then back up to mine, as if daring me to move first.
“Well?” he said quietly.
My eyes drifted down to the bulge in his jockstrap. He didn’t seem fully hard yet, and I couldn’t resist the temptation.
I slid off the couch and dropped to my knees in front of him, letting my hand brush against his package, hoping I’d get a chance to feel his dick grow harder inside my mouth, which I loved.
I pulled the fabric aside and, in one quick motion, wrapped my lips around his dick, swallowing him completely.
I started sucking, moving slowly up and down and much to my delight, his dick began to grow against my tongue. He rested his hands on the top of my head and started running them through my hair.
Once he was fully hard and it became too much work to take all of his thick eight inches cock down my throat, I slid my lips down to his ball sack and took one into my mouth. He flinched as I rolled the smooth ball around, then did the same to the other one. My tongue slid beneath his balls, to the soft skin between them and his ass. I pushed up against the skin with my tongue and heard another groan.
I wanted to tease him, so I slowly slid the jockstrap off him. Then I let my fingers trail along his legs, chest, and arms, moving the same way I would along the neck of my guitar, almost like a slow massage. He relaxed into the touch, enjoying the sensation for a long moment.
"Spread your legs," I eventually told him. He did as he was told, spreading his legs wide. I then took him by his knees and urged his feet up onto the couch. He tucked his hands under his knees to hold himself up and looked like he couldn't wait to see what was next. Now, right in front of me was Rob’s hole. My first reaction was to push my face up against it, but I knew I had to resist doing that so I decided instead to grab the dildo.
“Seriously?” he groaned.
I smiled and lubed up my index finger instead and touched it to his hole. I teased the outer portion of his anus while Rob squirmed. Then, in one quick motion, I slid my finger entirely into him.
"Oh fuck!" he yelled, snapping his head back. I smiled to myself, knowing how much he loved having his ass played with and how bad he wanted it right now.
I started slowly finger fucking him, my free hand rubbing over his chest. He just kept moaning, moving his head from side to side. He released his legs, letting them stay up on the couch by themselves while he stretched his arms behind his head.
I could see the short, straight black hairs under his arms and the visual was making my own cock start to drip. I applied more lube to my fingers and slid another one into him. He started rocking up and down on it. Watching him do this, I thought he really had to be the sexiest man alive.
"Feels so good!" he mumbled. His cock was still hard as a rock, lying on his stomach in need of some attention. I grabbed it with my free hand and started stroking it.
"Oh," he moaned. "Oh...Fuck me! Please fuck me!"
I looked up at him and he held my gaze, fire in his eyes. I hesitated for a moment, then reached for the dildo again to make him think I was about to use it on him.
He shook his head immediately, letting out a quiet ‘no’, then grabbed it from my hands and tossed it across the room.
I laughed.
"Fuck me!" he ordered.
I kind of wanted him to keep begging so I slowed down, keeping my fingers inside him and dragging it out.
My hand returned to his hard cock and my fingers rubbed gently against his prostate. I began working it slowly and he moaned deeply, his breath quickening, his dick leaking precum.
He looked at me again, more eager than I had seen him in a while.
When I removed my fingers, I grabbed the lube and spread some on his dick.
“Don’t you dare try to ride me,” he said.
I stared into his eager eyes. He was saying so much.
“Mark, I swear to God, if you don’t fuck me right now…”
“What?” I breathed in his mouth. “What are you gonna do?” I teased.
“Oh, babe, two can play at this game.”
“Yeah? I like playing,” I said with a moan.
“I think you’ve been playing long enough. You heard Rachel, it’s game over.”
“That was a different game.”
I stared at his sexy horny eyes some more and smiled.
“Look at you, craving my dick,” I said sensually. “It’s pretty addictive.”
He licked his lips again. “I’m always craving your dick, whether you fuck me or not.”
“Not like you do right now,” I whispered teasingly.
I swear, the hunger in his eyes skyrocketed. Before I could react, he was smashing his lips against mine and forcing his tongue into my mouth. I savoured the kiss for a moment and then moved my lips to his neck and inhaled in scent.
There was still lube on my hand so I spread it on myself as my lips sucked on his skin, marking my territory. His hole was already well lubricated so I was ready in no time.
I immediately pressed my cock against his hole, I felt his sphincter tense up but then it relaxed and the tip of my cock popped inside him.
He gasped and took a deep breath, I stopped and watched him take it all in. He looked into my eyes and gaped as my cock penetrated him. From the look in his eyes, I could feel the intensity of what he was feeling, and I could tell he was seeing the same in my eyes. He kept his mouth open and breathed hard into mine.
“Oh, yes, fuck, yes,” he moaned and carried on moaning the whole time I pushed myself deeper inside him until my balls pressed against his skin.
He licked his lips and it brought a smile to my face as I pulled out a little and pushed back into him.
He started whimpering, never breaking eye contact with me and we kissed intensely again as I quickly began to fuck him.
Watching the look in his eyes as I pushed in and out was perhaps the greatest turn on ever.
As I continued to pound into him, he became louder and louder. He hadn’t made quite so much noise in a while, and I was really getting into it.
His ass felt fucking incredible, he was so warm and he squeezed my dick just right.
At one point I took over holding his legs up so that he could push his cock and balls to the side and watch me sliding in and out of him.
He brought his hand to his hole so that he could feel the movement of my cock, and then he slid his fingers inside. They rubbed against my dick and now it was my turn to moan loudly.
“Fuck, Rob.”
He kept them inside himself for a while and the sensation against my dick was overwhelming. He then started stroking his own cock with a lot of ferocity. I was getting really close and could have cum at any second, but I was holding off until Rob was ready.
I didn't have to wait that much longer as I started to recognize the low groaning noises he was making as evidence of his impending orgasm.
"Fuck, here I go!" he said, pounding his cock with his hand and rocking up and down on my own. I pushed his knees up even further and really started slamming into him. This was definitely one of the most intense fuck we’d had in a while.
I pressed my face into his chest and licked at the salty sweat that had formed there. I bit at the tiny hairs on his chest.
With one last groan, I felt hot liquid splashing up against my stomach. I looked down to see cum pouring from Rob's cock. It was watery and didn't seem to be stopping. I felt a tightening in my balls and then I was unloading into him, making some incredibly loud sounds of my own.
Just when I thought I had finished my orgasm, I had another one, causing me to rear up into him one last time before collapsing on top of him. He tightened his arms around me while he continued to shake and quiver.
Then I felt his fingers beneath my chin, guiding my gaze to his. For a heartbeat we just looked at each other, then he leaned in and kissed me.
“Fuck …. that was so fucking good," I murmured against his lips.
He smiled. “On a touché les étoiles, avec la tête dans la lune,” he sang softly, his Irish lilt slipping through the French.
I laughed.
“Shut the fuck up - unless you want to wait another three weeks!”
He laughed too.
“No, I’m good. I’m giving you a bit to recover… and then we’re definitely doing that again.”
Still inside him, I nodded and rested against him.
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