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.
“Rob, come kick a ball in the pit with John and Steve.”
Rob didn’t even look up at first. He was stretched across the floor, chatting with Damon, Rachel and Grainne, one leg bent and the other extended like he had absolutely no intention of moving.
“Oh, no, thank you,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “They’re going to destroy me again.”
Jordan laughed from across the room, already halfway to the door. “Come on, we need a rematch.”
“No,” Rob replied firmly, finally glancing up. “I have plans.”
He said it with just enough smugness that Jordan narrowed his eyes.
“Plans?” Jordan repeated. “What plans, you’re not doing anything.”
Rob didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed himself up from the floor and wandered over to where I was sitting.
I was curled up in one of the sofas, wrapped in an oversized sweater, my Kindle balanced in my hands.
I barely had time to look up before Rob climbed onto the sofa with me.
At first, I assumed he was just going to collapse against me the way he often did. But instead, he tugged at the hem of my sweater and started manoeuvring himself underneath it.
“Rob,” I started, already smiling.
He ignored me completely.
A moment later he had somehow managed to wedge himself inside the sweater, his head popping out near my collarbone while the rest of him pressed against me, our chests squished together.
I let out a giggle I couldn’t hold back.
Rob tilted his head up slightly, his chin lifting as his eyes met mine. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Then he leaned up and kissed me and I returned the kiss before he whispered, “save me.”
Afterward he settled back down immediately, resting his head against my chest.
I looked over Rob’s head toward Jordan.
“Sorry,” I said with a small shrug. “He has plans.”
Rachel had filmed the whole thing.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she ended the video and lowered her phone with a smirk. “That’s absolutely going online.”
Rachel had started her TikTok account right after Rob and I got married. Originally it had been meant purely as a way to promote her artwork, just like she had already been doing on Instagram.
During the wedding, she had posted a few short videos, little glimpses of the day, and some of our fans recognized her almost immediately. They knew she was the girl behind our song The Scientist, and many of them also knew we’d dated as teenagers.
Because of that, she’d gathered a handful of curious followers, people interested not just in her art anymore, but in the occasional glimpse she might offer of the band.
At first, she avoided leaning into it.
Her page had been almost entirely paintings, sketches, works in progress, and little moments with her friends, just bits of her life, really.
Often the band inspired a piece, and those would inevitably bring a wave of comments and attention, but she mostly kept those worlds separate.
Lately, though, things had started to change. Maybe it was the pregnancy. Something about it seemed to make her want to capture little moments more often.
Now, especially since Damon and her had announced her pregnancy to us, she posted more often, tiny, candid glimpses of life around the band while we were still on tour. I guess it was her way of keeping busy until the tour ended and she could finally go home and really start planning everything 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 was still very much a thing, mostly because Grainne found 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, not suspicious in the slightest, leaned in when Rob stepped closer. The moment his nose got near Rob’s neck, Rob planted a quick kiss on his forehead.
Grainne burst out laughing when Rob grabbed Jordan’s face and followed it up with several loud smacks of kisses.
And that, of course, ended up on Rachel’s feed.
She posted plenty of moments with Damon too.
But more often than not, she uploaded clips of Rob and me doing something unintentionally hot - or unintentionally 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 the extra attention brought more people to her art, which she loved.
So, whenever she spotted an opportunity to film something involving Rob, me, Jordan, Dylan, or Damon, she took it.
Though somehow, despite her best intentions, the camera 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 depending on whatever song came on, something I did all the time.
Somewhere behind us, Rachel had her phone in hand, filming bits and pieces like she always did.
After three songs, “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga started playing.
Just before she sang “I want your loving, I want your revenge,” I grabbed the guitar lying next to me on the floor and started a riff over the track, the notes rising above the music as I held it straight up. My fingers moved quickly over the strings, running up the neck as the notes came faster and stronger before hitting the final chord. I let it ring through the amp for a moment, the sound hanging in the air, before muting the strings with my palm.
Then I glanced back at Rob.
He was staring at me, mouth slightly open, eyes wide.
For a moment, 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.
****
But the video that had probably gotten the biggest reaction so far, and in just a few short hours, came from a popular couples game people played online, one Rachel had made us do while we were hanging out at the hotel.
Earlier that evening, we’d gone through 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 left, and it was just Rob and me.
Rachel had given birth to Callum only two months earlier, but for some reason we couldn’t quite sit still in London. We had played a couple of very private, almost acoustic gigs there first, and then started moving around Europe to play a few similar shows, Dublin, of course, then Paris and Berlin, going back home between some of them before heading out again to a handful of other cities.
Rob had realized he missed performing not long after Christmas, and after the month we had spent in the Turks and Caicos before Rachel gave birth. Obviously, we weren’t about to go back on a full tour, but playing a few intimate gigs felt nice and 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 had the same intimate, acoustic feeling as the songs from our first album, simple arrangements, warm and understated, but with much bigger production possibilities now that we had the resources of our home studio.
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 said, pointing toward the couch. “When I ask a question, you hit the person who fits the answer. But really hit each other. Like, don’t hold back.”
Rob and I exchanged a look that silently said this could actually be fun 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, glancing at the list of questions she’d written.
Damon briefly pointed the camera at her.
Rachel gave the lens a small wave.
“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, stunned.
Behind the camera, Damon let out a short laugh.
“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”
I swung again, hitting him 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 Rob’s shoulder.
He stared at me. “Excuse me?”
I stared back. “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, and I hit him again.
“Okay, that one was personal.”
“Who’s the most protective?”
The cushion flattened against the side of his head before he could brace.
“I like this game,” I said cheerfully after the sixth hit.
Damon laughed again while Rachel kept reading.
“Who is grumpier in the morning?”
I swung again, the cushion crashing into Rob’s shoulder and making him stumble sideways.
“Who is the most jealous?”
Another solid hit landed against his head.
Rob slowly turned toward Rachel.
“So this is just a game where I take a good beating and you enjoy watching it?”
Damon turned the camera toward Rachel again.
Rachel shrugged at the lens.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never wanted you to take a good beating,” she said with a smirk.
Rob laughed, and the camera swung back to us.
“Never,” she repeated. “That’s just the rules.”
“Yeah, your rules,” Rob complained.
“Who’s more romantic?”
I smiled and smacked the cushion softly into Rob’s face again.
“Who’s the funny one?”
I drove the cushion straight into his shoulder.
“Who is always late?”
The cushion caught him square in the face again, harder.
“I disagree with that answer,” Rob said, rubbing his jaw.
“Who’s the messy one?”
He started backing away, trying to put some distance between us, 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 looked at me. He already knew what was coming, considering he had embarrassed me pretty badly on the French talk show Le Quotidien a couple of weeks before.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
I smacked the cushion hard straight into his face three times, laughing.
“Who dances or sings randomly the most?”
I hit his shoulder again.
“Who’s the biggest flirt?”
I swung again.
By this point, Rob had retreated all the way back to the couch.
Rachel must have noticed the look of revenge forming on his face, because she paused dramatically before reading the next question.
“Don’t even think about moving away,” she told him.
Damon turned the camera toward her.
Rachel leaned toward the lens and whispered, “Now it gets good.”
Then she looked back down at the paper.
“Who spends the most money?”
Rob gasped.
Then he slowly grinned.
“Oh, finally.”
His cushion came flying a second later.
It slammed into my face so hard I collapsed backward onto the couch.
Behind the camera Damon burst out laughing.
Rachel nearly dropped the paper, laughing. “Okay, okay!”
Rob immediately climbed onto the couch after me, clearly energized.
Rachel glanced at the paper again.
“Who’s more stubborn?”
Rob brought the cushion down again before I could sit up properly.
“Who’s the better cook?”
Another hit knocked me sideways.
“Who needs more attention?”
Rob didn’t hesitate.
The cushion came flying straight into my face again.
“Hey!” I protested.
Rob grinned. “That one felt accurate.”
Damon laughed loudly behind the camera.
Rachel continued.
“Who uses their phone the most?”
I tried to swing back, but he moved faster. The cushion smacked into my head again.
“Who’s more organized?”
Another heavy hit landed.
Rachel raised a finger dramatically.
“Who takes more time to get ready?”
Rob swung immediately.
Rachel glanced at the next question.
“Who is more competitive?”
Rob and I both froze.
Then we both swung at the same time.
Our cushions collided midair before both of us managed to land clumsy hits anyway.
Damon laughed loudly behind the camera.
Rachel shook her head. “That checks out.”
She looked down at the paper again.
“Who is 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 is more likely to win an argument?”
Rob swung again.
“That felt premeditated,” I said.
“Who is the best driver?”
Rob hit me again.
“Oh, you know it’s me!” 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 with obvious curiosity.
“Who initiated the first kiss?”
Before I could react, Rob’s cushion slammed into me.
Rachel’s eyes widened.
“Really? It was him?” she yelled at Rob.
“You’re seriously not over this?” Damon said with a laugh.
“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, hitting me again and again before I could defend myself. I curled into a fetal position, trying to shield my head.
I slid off the couch while he continued raining blows down on me.
We were all laughing when Rob finally stopped.
“Okay!” I said, laughing as I scrambled back up. “I officially hate this game.”
Damon turned the camera back toward Rachel, who was still laughing.
“I like it,” she said to the camera. “I think this is extremely entertaining.”
Just then, Callum started crying.
Rachel glanced toward him.
“Oh, shit, we woke him up,” she said. “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.
Because neither of us wanted the other to lose.
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 leaned forward and 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.”
I smoothed my hair.
“We’re never letting you host game night again.”
Rachel smiled.
“Worth it.”
She glanced down at the paper again.
“Oh wait,” she added. “One more.”
Rob groaned. “I thought we were done.”
Rachel read the final question.
“Who worries more about the other?”
Rob and I both paused.
Then we both leaned forward and tapped each other lightly again.
Damon laughed softly behind the camera.
Rachel pointed at us.
“Another tie.”
Rob shook his head, laughing.
“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 stepped into the shower with him 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. I pressed my body against his so that our dicks rubbed together. My tongue quickly found its way into his mouth, and we kissed under the stream of hot water.
My hands roamed over his ass and he smiled through the kiss.
“What’re you gonna do to me?” he asked, hopeful.
“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 what he’d done.
He let out a long sigh.
“You know, I’m as ready for you down there as I’ll ever be.”
I shrugged.
“Come on, it’s been almost three weeks,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against 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, with authority in my voice as my hands continued rubbing his cheeks.
“Mmm, I think I took enough hits tonight.”
“Some of them deserved,” I said.
“Debatable.”
I gave one of his cheeks a light slap and then squeezed it.
“Careful, if you slap me, you have to fuck me,” he teased.
I looked at him for a second, pretending to consider 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,” he said.
“Fine with me,” I teased. “It’s super hot to watch.”
“Okay… then maybe I won’t let you watch.”
In truth, I was hoping to fuck him tonight, I felt myself getting hard at the thought of Rob being so horny for it as I began washing myself.
He kept teasing me any chance he got, making sure to show 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 on 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 before, we were chatting with Yann Barthès on the set of the French talk Show ‘Le Quotidien’ about my guitar riffs. Since Rachel had recorded me playing one over Bad Romance by Lady Gaga, people had loved it so much that she started filming me playing more of them at home, with my wall of guitars behind me in our music room.
This time I’d posted them myself on my Instagram, including a new recording of Bad Romance. I’d played riffs over a bunch of different songs and posted one every two or three days. People were going crazy 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 Barthes smiled as the giant screen behind us lit up.
“We’re going to show people what we’re talking about,” he said, speaking to us in French and I was sometimes answering in French too; Rob could understand quite well, and he had someone translating in his ear anyway.
A reel from my Instagram started playing on the screen, the riff over Bad Romance. The audience reacted immediately when the riff kicked in.
“They’re everywhere on the internet right now,” Yann continued when the clip ended. “Your guitar reels.”
“I didn’t expect that,” I said. “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,” I laughed.
“Well, the comments are… very passionate. You make it look very sexy.”
“Yeah,” Rob said slowly, “begging works on him.”
I turned and stared at him.
“Could you maybe use a filter?”
He just 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 began 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 very true,” Rob commented. “I think the last one he played is my new favourite, but…”
“What was it?”
“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 a few comments saying you can do magical things with your hands.”
Rob laughed beside me. 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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