WithoutSpeaking
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- Oct 18, 2009
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Title: Shark
Author: WithoutSpeaking
Summary: Just a wee little standalone I wrote. It's an Edgefic with cameos from the singer, the bass player and the drummer. Outside It's America. Find your Joshua Tree limited edition DVD. Watch the documentary. Repeat. It's a scene straight out of it - with what happened afterward. Anyone who's read my "Lost Highway" knows that I love me some pool-playing Joshua Tree Edge.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: No, there's not a saucier version. But there will be a Part Deux
**************
The girls in the bar all crowded around him – everyone was always in love with the singer, weren’t they? He didn’t look out of place in that denim shirt and that cowboy tie – no, not at all. Not until he opened his mouth – that’s when the Irish bullshit knocked you on your ass and told you that he wasn’t from around here, mister ...
With most of the attention on the singer, no one really took notice of him.
But I did.
He fascinated me.
I watched him line up another shot at the pool table – the concentration on his face was so very attractive; the quiet confidence endearing. His long fingers curled around the pool cue, his gaze intense as he sunk yet another 8-ball in yet another corner pocket.
Now he, he was someone I wanted to get to know. And right now, he was all mine.
Earlier that night they’d got up and played Hank Williams and a few Johnny Cash songs for a laugh, the locals were abuzz at who these four poseurs were, but most decided they weren’t half bad, really – some of them had even sung along. For a bunch that shouldn’t have fit in at all, they somehow managed to fit in just enough.
I noticed that they didn’t drink the American beer though; it had to be swill compared to what they had in Ireland, I assumed. I’d noticed, because he was nursing the same Heineken that he’d had for the past hour, too engrossed in his game of pool to replenish it, and I thought it was time he had another.
I approached him quietly, as unlike his band mates, he seemed a bit more reserved; not quite shy, but not craving attention either – certainly not like the singer did. He looked over at me as I walked toward him, a beer in each hand and a smile across my lips as I met those eyes for the first time; hazel flecked with gold.
“Ready for another?” I asked him calmly, my mouth near his ear so he would hear me over the loud country music emanating from the jukebox in the corner. Not my type of music; I most definitely preferred his.
He smiled at me then, a warm, wonderful smile that made my heart skip a beat. He really was incredibly handsome up close; his angular features suited him and his nickname, apt. I resisted the urge to run my hand down his arm and touch the soft leather of his jacket, instead watching transfixed as he lifted a bottle from my hand, his fingers touching mine briefly in the process.
“Why, thank you,” he replied, his eyes searching mine, and his voice barely audible over the din.
He was so close.
His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, trailing down his back. I wondered then what it felt like – it looked soft, and again I had to resist the urge to touch him, to just place some part of my body against his. I’d already felt the spark when our hands touched; I found myself staring at his fingers again when he raised the bottle to his lips – I’d been watching those fingers play my favourite songs for 7 years now and when he’d touched them to mine I felt faint.
“So, how are you enjoying Texas?” I asked him, taking the opportunity to move closer to him to speak into his ear again. I was close enough to smell his cologne, the shampoo in his hair ... close enough to bite down gently on that earlobe ... to taste his skin ...
He cleared his throat and it brought me quickly out of my reverie. I took a step back. I was getting a bit too close and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“It’s ... interesting. Like a different world. Very ... inspirational, in a sense ...”
He had to step closer to me so I could hear him, the volume in the room increasing proportionally with the amount of alcohol being consumed.
“It must be very different for you ... to be here ...” I said, gesturing at the small bar, crowded with people who had no idea who he was.
“It is – we’ll always be the outsiders in America, but everyone has made us feel very welcome. You’re not from here though, are you? You don’t have that Texas drawl,” he noticed, taking another sip of his beer as he looked at me from over the bottle.
“No, I’m actually from Maryland, of all places. Funny sometimes where you end up,” I told him.
“Aye, it is.”
We both took another drink as we regarded each other, his eyes sparkling as he smiled again. He wasn’t traditionally good-looking like the singer, or the drummer, but then again, I didn’t really have traditional taste. Yet when he smiled, he was the most handsome man in the room, if I had anything to say about it. We both glanced over at the singer who was holding court by the jukebox; several women giggling and hanging on his every word as they flitted around him, posing for pictures just so they could find an excuse to put their arms around him.
“So were you at the show tonight?” he whispered close to my ear as we glanced across the pool table at the bevy of ladies trying to impress the singer. His breath in my ear made me forget all about the scene across the room and again I had to subdue the impulse to touch him ... to reply of course I was and to tell him that I’ve wanted him for as long as I can remember ...
I simply nodded my head and smiled slightly, not wanting to act too eager – not like the women by the jukebox. After I’d observed each of them for most of the night, I knew that throwing myself at the guitarist would not impress him at all – I’d have to be patient if I wanted to get to know him better.
“I hope you enjoyed it,” he continued, his lips still near my ear as he awaited my response.
“I did,” I answered, nodding my head and turning to look at him, our faces just inches away from each other.
Although earlier I thought I was imagining it, I knew now that there was definitely a spark between us, and it wasn’t just coming from my direction.
“Do you play?” he asked, suddenly stepping away from me and replacing the beer in his hand with his pool cue. I have to admit I was slightly relieved, as I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep my hands off him.
“Oh, a bit, but I’m nowhere near as good as you,” I laughed. Shit. I’d just admitted to him that I’d been watching him all night ...
If he realized, he didn’t say, however.
“I get worse when I’m actually playing against someone else, trust me,” he said, raising his eyebrows and flashing that beautiful grin again. “Will you do me the honour?”
He handed a cue to me and grabbed another from the rack.
I couldn’t say no – in fact, I don’t think I could ever say no to him, but I hoped he would ask me to try ...
He was a gentleman and let me win. A few times as I watched him stretch over the table, the grace of his lean and lanky body made me wish he wasn’t such a gentleman. Yet he was. For someone in his position, he could very well have been an arrogant jerk, yet he was far from it; in fact he was far sweeter than I ever could have hoped. He was so easy to talk to – intelligent and engaging yet so very sexy at the same time.
With the evening still in full swing and the pool game completed, he motioned for me to sit with him at a table near the bar. I followed him closely, joining him at the bar when he suggested we have another drink before we sit down. To my utmost delight, he rested his hand gently at my waist as I moved next to him; it was the lightest of touches but it was still enough to make me feel dizzy. His hand was warm against me as he ordered two more beers for us. This would be my last drink, I promised myself – I didn’t want to forget one second of any of this.
He took the drinks from the bartender and moved his hand from me, leading me over to the table – it was a bit away from the rest of the band, but they seemed to be engaged in their own brand of fun, surrounded by women and song as they played some kind of drinking game involving cards and shots of whiskey. It was right then that I yearned to be alone with him – I didn’t want to shout over the music anymore; if he spoke in my ear I wanted it to be in a whisper.
We drank our beers rather quickly – there wasn’t much to say to each other that could really be heard across the table; the raucous laughter coming from across the room drowning out most of the conversation that we’d been trying to have for the past while.
“Do you want to get out of here with me?” he asked, and funnily enough I heard those ten words loud and clear.
“I’d love to, Edge ...”
I loved the way his name rolled off my tongue, yet it was strange to finally be saying it for the first time after spending this much time with him.
He stood slowly as he finished the dregs of his beer, his glance becoming cautious as he looked in the direction of his band mates, but they couldn’t care less about what the guitarist was up to.
“Come on ... out the back,” he mouthed. I raised my eyebrow at him as he tipped his head toward the door beside the bar, the exit out of the view of anyone who cared.
He hadn’t done this before.
But what was ‘this’, anyway?
He ushered me past him and closed the back door to the bar, trapping the noise inside as he leaned against it and took a deep breath.
“I’m married,” he blurted out, looking down at his feet as he kicked the dirt with his boots.
“I know, Edge… what did you think I…”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
A blush came over me as I met his eyes.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to pretend I’m not attracted to you…”
“Nor I,” he answered quickly; which surprised me after the ultimatum he had just laid down. “But… we just… I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
He shouldn’t - but he wanted to.
Author: WithoutSpeaking
Summary: Just a wee little standalone I wrote. It's an Edgefic with cameos from the singer, the bass player and the drummer. Outside It's America. Find your Joshua Tree limited edition DVD. Watch the documentary. Repeat. It's a scene straight out of it - with what happened afterward. Anyone who's read my "Lost Highway" knows that I love me some pool-playing Joshua Tree Edge.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: No, there's not a saucier version. But there will be a Part Deux
**************
The girls in the bar all crowded around him – everyone was always in love with the singer, weren’t they? He didn’t look out of place in that denim shirt and that cowboy tie – no, not at all. Not until he opened his mouth – that’s when the Irish bullshit knocked you on your ass and told you that he wasn’t from around here, mister ...
With most of the attention on the singer, no one really took notice of him.
But I did.
He fascinated me.
I watched him line up another shot at the pool table – the concentration on his face was so very attractive; the quiet confidence endearing. His long fingers curled around the pool cue, his gaze intense as he sunk yet another 8-ball in yet another corner pocket.
Now he, he was someone I wanted to get to know. And right now, he was all mine.
Earlier that night they’d got up and played Hank Williams and a few Johnny Cash songs for a laugh, the locals were abuzz at who these four poseurs were, but most decided they weren’t half bad, really – some of them had even sung along. For a bunch that shouldn’t have fit in at all, they somehow managed to fit in just enough.
I noticed that they didn’t drink the American beer though; it had to be swill compared to what they had in Ireland, I assumed. I’d noticed, because he was nursing the same Heineken that he’d had for the past hour, too engrossed in his game of pool to replenish it, and I thought it was time he had another.
I approached him quietly, as unlike his band mates, he seemed a bit more reserved; not quite shy, but not craving attention either – certainly not like the singer did. He looked over at me as I walked toward him, a beer in each hand and a smile across my lips as I met those eyes for the first time; hazel flecked with gold.
“Ready for another?” I asked him calmly, my mouth near his ear so he would hear me over the loud country music emanating from the jukebox in the corner. Not my type of music; I most definitely preferred his.
He smiled at me then, a warm, wonderful smile that made my heart skip a beat. He really was incredibly handsome up close; his angular features suited him and his nickname, apt. I resisted the urge to run my hand down his arm and touch the soft leather of his jacket, instead watching transfixed as he lifted a bottle from my hand, his fingers touching mine briefly in the process.
“Why, thank you,” he replied, his eyes searching mine, and his voice barely audible over the din.
He was so close.
His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, trailing down his back. I wondered then what it felt like – it looked soft, and again I had to resist the urge to touch him, to just place some part of my body against his. I’d already felt the spark when our hands touched; I found myself staring at his fingers again when he raised the bottle to his lips – I’d been watching those fingers play my favourite songs for 7 years now and when he’d touched them to mine I felt faint.
“So, how are you enjoying Texas?” I asked him, taking the opportunity to move closer to him to speak into his ear again. I was close enough to smell his cologne, the shampoo in his hair ... close enough to bite down gently on that earlobe ... to taste his skin ...
He cleared his throat and it brought me quickly out of my reverie. I took a step back. I was getting a bit too close and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
“It’s ... interesting. Like a different world. Very ... inspirational, in a sense ...”
He had to step closer to me so I could hear him, the volume in the room increasing proportionally with the amount of alcohol being consumed.
“It must be very different for you ... to be here ...” I said, gesturing at the small bar, crowded with people who had no idea who he was.
“It is – we’ll always be the outsiders in America, but everyone has made us feel very welcome. You’re not from here though, are you? You don’t have that Texas drawl,” he noticed, taking another sip of his beer as he looked at me from over the bottle.
“No, I’m actually from Maryland, of all places. Funny sometimes where you end up,” I told him.
“Aye, it is.”
We both took another drink as we regarded each other, his eyes sparkling as he smiled again. He wasn’t traditionally good-looking like the singer, or the drummer, but then again, I didn’t really have traditional taste. Yet when he smiled, he was the most handsome man in the room, if I had anything to say about it. We both glanced over at the singer who was holding court by the jukebox; several women giggling and hanging on his every word as they flitted around him, posing for pictures just so they could find an excuse to put their arms around him.
“So were you at the show tonight?” he whispered close to my ear as we glanced across the pool table at the bevy of ladies trying to impress the singer. His breath in my ear made me forget all about the scene across the room and again I had to subdue the impulse to touch him ... to reply of course I was and to tell him that I’ve wanted him for as long as I can remember ...
I simply nodded my head and smiled slightly, not wanting to act too eager – not like the women by the jukebox. After I’d observed each of them for most of the night, I knew that throwing myself at the guitarist would not impress him at all – I’d have to be patient if I wanted to get to know him better.
“I hope you enjoyed it,” he continued, his lips still near my ear as he awaited my response.
“I did,” I answered, nodding my head and turning to look at him, our faces just inches away from each other.
Although earlier I thought I was imagining it, I knew now that there was definitely a spark between us, and it wasn’t just coming from my direction.
“Do you play?” he asked, suddenly stepping away from me and replacing the beer in his hand with his pool cue. I have to admit I was slightly relieved, as I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep my hands off him.
“Oh, a bit, but I’m nowhere near as good as you,” I laughed. Shit. I’d just admitted to him that I’d been watching him all night ...
If he realized, he didn’t say, however.
“I get worse when I’m actually playing against someone else, trust me,” he said, raising his eyebrows and flashing that beautiful grin again. “Will you do me the honour?”
He handed a cue to me and grabbed another from the rack.
I couldn’t say no – in fact, I don’t think I could ever say no to him, but I hoped he would ask me to try ...
* * * * *
He was a gentleman and let me win. A few times as I watched him stretch over the table, the grace of his lean and lanky body made me wish he wasn’t such a gentleman. Yet he was. For someone in his position, he could very well have been an arrogant jerk, yet he was far from it; in fact he was far sweeter than I ever could have hoped. He was so easy to talk to – intelligent and engaging yet so very sexy at the same time.
With the evening still in full swing and the pool game completed, he motioned for me to sit with him at a table near the bar. I followed him closely, joining him at the bar when he suggested we have another drink before we sit down. To my utmost delight, he rested his hand gently at my waist as I moved next to him; it was the lightest of touches but it was still enough to make me feel dizzy. His hand was warm against me as he ordered two more beers for us. This would be my last drink, I promised myself – I didn’t want to forget one second of any of this.
He took the drinks from the bartender and moved his hand from me, leading me over to the table – it was a bit away from the rest of the band, but they seemed to be engaged in their own brand of fun, surrounded by women and song as they played some kind of drinking game involving cards and shots of whiskey. It was right then that I yearned to be alone with him – I didn’t want to shout over the music anymore; if he spoke in my ear I wanted it to be in a whisper.
We drank our beers rather quickly – there wasn’t much to say to each other that could really be heard across the table; the raucous laughter coming from across the room drowning out most of the conversation that we’d been trying to have for the past while.
“Do you want to get out of here with me?” he asked, and funnily enough I heard those ten words loud and clear.
“I’d love to, Edge ...”
I loved the way his name rolled off my tongue, yet it was strange to finally be saying it for the first time after spending this much time with him.
He stood slowly as he finished the dregs of his beer, his glance becoming cautious as he looked in the direction of his band mates, but they couldn’t care less about what the guitarist was up to.
“Come on ... out the back,” he mouthed. I raised my eyebrow at him as he tipped his head toward the door beside the bar, the exit out of the view of anyone who cared.
He hadn’t done this before.
But what was ‘this’, anyway?
He ushered me past him and closed the back door to the bar, trapping the noise inside as he leaned against it and took a deep breath.
“I’m married,” he blurted out, looking down at his feet as he kicked the dirt with his boots.
“I know, Edge… what did you think I…”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to take this the wrong way.”
A blush came over me as I met his eyes.
“It’s all right. I’m not going to pretend I’m not attracted to you…”
“Nor I,” he answered quickly; which surprised me after the ultimatum he had just laid down. “But… we just… I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
He shouldn’t - but he wanted to.
Kthxbai!
