by Mercy Brown
Loud is how I love you,
Loud is how I know you’re there,
Loud so I don’t lose you,
Because I’d know the sound of you anywhere.
My eyes are closed when I’m singing, so I can’t see his reaction, but Travis stops playing when I get to the last line there. His mouth drops open and he freezes. Now we’re staring in silence at each other for a lifetime and then he looks down and I have no idea what’s going on, if he’s mad at me or what. Then he starts to play again and looks up at me.
“Do it again,” he says.
My heart pounds and I pick my guitar up and play the picking part and then Travis arranges the entire song. My string-picking opens the song and he doubles it, so there’s this super rich bell-choir sound, like a lonely church calling the hills home to pray. Then he moves into the chords and I sing it again and it’s all working. Really working. I know this is going to be the next single we record if we can scrape up the money to get into the studio. Travis is bobbing his head as he plays, totally absorbed in the song, and I think, Can’t we just do this? Can’t we just stay like this forever? This is all I want, right here. I know it’s so special, it’s too much to ask, but I’m going to ask the universe anyway.
Please, universe. Please, please let me hold on to him.
He catches me watching him as I sing, as he plays, and finally, fucking finally he gives me that crooked happy smile of his that breaks my heart into a zillion happy pieces.
We stay up until three a.m. working on “Loud.” We end up recording it on my four-track in the living room after Jeff and Sonia and Adam all bitch about going to sleep. After we finish, he comes upstairs to get his jacket and I see how dead tired he is.
“Do you want to stay?” I say, and I know it’s a reach but I really can’t stand to watch him walk out that door tonight.
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m only going a few blocks.”
It’s folly, it’s a real risk is what it is, but I take it. I put my arms around his neck, rest my head on his shoulder.
“Please stay,” I whisper.
“Emmy,” he says, all stiff and awkward. I squeeze him harder until he puts his arms around me and exhales. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t want to?” I ask.
“It’s not that,” he says. “You know it’s not that.”
I look into his eyes and he looks worried and like he’s weighing this decision very carefully. I want to tip the scale in my direction, so I pull him to the bed. I climb onto it and he stands there, looking lost in a way I’ve never seen him look.
“I’m not . . . I don’t want to do anything,” I say. “I just don’t want you to leave.”
Travis climbs onto the bed next to me and we lie on our sides, facing each other. We just look at each other, not saying anything at all. I don’t know what to say now. I don’t know what to do with him there. I still don’t know how to be with him and not be with him all at the same time. All I know is that I never want to stop being around him.
He is so sleepy. He’s trying to keep his eyes open and he can’t. He takes my hand, holds it. He’s running his thumb along the back of it and then I fall asleep feeling not weirdness, not awkwardness, but full-on agony.
***
I wake up in the dark, kissing Travis.
We’re on top of my bed. He runs his tongue along my bottom lip and then bites it gently. I open my mouth for him and he barely puts his tongue inside, knowing it’s wide open and that I want him. He teases me with his tongue, touching my lips and teeth and the tip of my tongue, and it makes me grab the back of his head. I want him to fill my mouth with his tongue because now I’m awake and he’s right here and I need some part of him inside of me. He runs his hand up my back, the other is on the back of my neck, his fingers are in my hair.
I honestly have no idea who started this midnight kissing episode. All I know is that we both wake up in the center of this intense need, like the need itself has its own will and we’re just doing its bidding. I push my tongue into his mouth and he rolls on top of me, pushes my knees apart and holy fuck, I need to get out of these pants.
“Now.” I say it with heaving breath. “Please, now.”
He pulls his T-shirt off over his head. Within seconds we’re both stripped all the way down to nothing but our mating chemicals and now I know exactly how high school girls get pregnant. Travis is naked, kissing me hard as he pushes his tongue into my mouth. He slides his hand down between my legs and I’m already so wet I’m not sure how we aren’t fucking by now.
I have no idea what these low, husky, wordless sounds are that I’m making as I try to process the sensation of his hands, his lips and tongue and teeth working their way down my body, but they seem to encourage him, so I’m happy. He licks my skin. He sucks on me everywhere. He tongues my nipple and gives it a soft bite as he slides two fingers inside of me, and the sensation is making me want—no, need to get fucked now. I can’t believe I’m saying I’d rather get fucked than get head, but if he keeps doing that, I’m either going to come on his hand or take a pass and skip straight to getting boned, because I’m not going to be able to take that for long.
“Not yet,” he says, taking his fingers away, stroking my thigh. “I want you to come in my mouth.”
“Travis, please,” I say, my hands on his shoulders, gripping him.
“I’ll make it worth the wait,” he says. “I promise.”
As he hooks my leg over his shoulder, kisses the inside of my thigh, I am spread open. My legs shake from wanting him. I will do anything, anything at all to feel him against me there. There’s the slightest sensation of motion, his nose along the skin of my thigh, his tongue following, and I am moaning, pleading with him: “Please, Travis. Please, please, please now.”
His tongue is flat and strong as he starts to fuck me with it and I’m arching off the bed as he grips my hips. I’m crying, not the teary, sad kind, oh no. The throaty, “oh my fucking God what is this heaven I’m living?” kind. Three long fingers fill me as he flat-licks my clit and then sucks it into his mouth, and I am fisting the comforter so hard I’m about to tear it to shreds. As I come he opens his mouth on me and fucks me with his tongue again, holding me down on the bed until he’s licked me all the way through to the end and I’m pretty sure I won’t walk for a week now, if the complete loss of muscle control in my legs is any indicator.
You’d think that after an orgasm like that I’d feel pretty satisfied. I can see why you might think that if you didn’t have Travis on you, naked and looking like he’s a starving man and you’re the last rack of lamb on earth. He climbs back up and kisses me with the taste of myself all over him. He licks into my mouth like he’s fucking it with his tongue, too.
I reach down between us, take him in my hand and he’s hard, hard, hard. He groans in delicious agony and kisses my shoulder as I stroke him. He drags his teeth along my neck and I position him against me, getting the tip of him wet. He’s right here now, all he has to do is move, but instead he goes perfectly still and stiff all over with the tension of holding himself back.
“God, you have no idea how much I want you,” he says, his voice shaking. “All the fucking time.”
“You have me,” I say. “I’m right here.” I shift under him and move my hips to try to get him inside of me, but he pulls back and lets out a long, strained sigh.
“Emmylou, you’re going to get fucked if you keep that up. I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
“Then don’t.”
“I don’t have a condom,” he says.
“I don’t care,” I say. “I need you.”
“Oh fuck, Emmy.” I know how hard he’s fighting himself on this, and I know I shouldn’t push it. But apparently what I know and what I feel aren’t on the same team right now. I move again and manage to get just the tip of him inside of me
. He shudders with the sensation, but when I try to thrust my hips up to get him deeper, he pulls back again and this frustrates me like I can’t even tell you.
“Travis, come on, please,” I say, digging my nails into his back. “Let me have you.”
His eyes snap wide open and that’s it. He keeps them locked on mine as he pushes all the way inside with a single thrust and I’m telling you, here and now, the feel of Travis inside of me totally bare, his skin to my skin, owns me. Outright. He stills inside of me, watching my face intently as I cry out his name. What must he see? How utterly lost I am without him? How lost I am in him? How this feeling right here feels like the whole damn point of being born human? Because this is what I’m seeing on his face.
He lowers his lips to mine again and then he starts to really fuck me. So insistently. So thoroughly and so very, very well.
Within a few minutes I come, just from feeling him fill me like that, stroking long and hard at just the right angle, groaning my name into my mouth. And when I’m done waking Sonia and Jeff and Adam up with the sound of his name cried out, he slows down, stays inside of me, touches me everywhere, puts his hand between us, rubbing my clit as he fucks me until I come again, even harder and deeper this time. I’ve never felt anything like this and I know I’m all done with other guys now forever. No more Michael Bolton fans, that’s for fucking sure. I’m so far gone, so blown away by the way he makes me feel that if I’m not careful I might accidentally ask him to marry me. When he finally comes inside of me, he’s so overwhelmed I think he might even say yes. But I’m not completely insane so I don’t ask him to marry me. I’m only twenty-one, for heaven’s sake. Come on now.
When it’s over and the dawn is creeping in and I’m finally calm again, I nestle in his arms beneath the blankets and feel the warmth all the way down to my soul.
“God, Emmylou, what am I going to do with you?” he whispers against my neck.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Just . . . stay.”
“I’m trying,” he says. “I swear, I’m trying.”
I laugh because now I get that it’s true. He really is trying not to leave. Now if only I could try to not push him out the door.
“I want you to know something,” I whisper.
“Tell me,” he whispers back, his lips resting against my brow. All his words feel like a kiss.
“I’ve never let anyone . . .” I start to say, but then I feel awkward. He pulls back to look at my face and suddenly I feel shy. He brushes the hair from my eyes.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I’ve only done it with a few guys before you but I’ve always used a condom. This is the first time I’ve ever done it without one. I just want you to know that.”
Travis lets out a long, happy sigh before he rolls me onto my back. He hovers and he’s so hard against me I think I’m already ready for him all over again.
“Emmylou,” he says, and he’s smiling as he kisses me, that super big, happy Travis smile. “You’re my first, too.”
Chapter Fourteen
When I wake up in my bed, Travis is holding me. We are completely naked under the covers. And he’s still here.
Several minutes later he wakes up and he’s still holding me because although I have to pee, I haven’t moved. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to be in that moment where his arms are no longer around me. I feel him tense with awareness and I’m hoping he will hug me or do something to let me know this is fine, we’re fine, even though there’s so much that needs to get worked out. I feel his arms tighten around me as he draws me closer, and I sigh in relief.
“Good morning,” he says, all sleepy, into my hair.
“Good afternoon,” I say, and pray my breath isn’t as dragony fresh as I feel. “Want to go out for coffee?”
He rolls over and looks at my clock.
“Shit,” he says.
“What?”
“I really need to get my paper done. What time are we supposed to meet Billy Broadband?”
“Eight,” I say.
“I should go,” he says. “I’ll come by at seven so we can run through ‘Loud’ a couple of times before we head over.”
“Sure,” I say, and even though it’s stupid, I’m crushed that he’s leaving. He sees me looking disappointed and stops.
“Fuck it,” he says. “I’m starving.”
I widen my eyes and feel the giant grin spread across my face and he asks if I want to go to the Hungry Peddler for pancakes and of course I do. Of course I do.
At the Hungry Peddler I’m watching Travis drink black coffee and eat a feta omelet, this one too brown on the bottom but he never complains about silly things like his eggs being overdone. He’s talking about Thomas Edison’s complicated relationship to Nikola Tesla like he’s giving a museum tour, he’s so interested in it. He’s the most original, talented guitarist I know (and I know a lot of guitarists), but he’s also the kind of guy who gets really fascinated by things like the rivalry between Edison and Tesla. And for the first time I’m seeing this quality of his as pretty awesome, not just adorably quirky.
“So, Eagleton, huh?” I say, trying to be understanding. Supportive.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m doing the fellowship concurrent with an MBA.”
“MBA?” My mouth falls open. “As in, master’s in business administration?”
He looks down at his plate and shuttles more eggs onto a piece of rye toast. He takes a swig of coffee before he answers me.
“Yeah,” he says, looking back up at me.
“Business? Really?”
“Yes, Emmy,” he says. “Business.”
“What about Stars on the Floor?”
“What about it?”
“Are you serious about getting a record deal or aren’t you?”
“Do you really have to ask me that?” he says.
“I never thought so before, but apparently there’s a lot I don’t know about you and your plans for a career in business.”
“Music is all business,” he says. “We’re already in business.”
“MBAs don’t get MBAs so they can play guitar, Travis. MBAs go work on Wall Street. I just don’t see you as a Wall Street kind of guy.”
“I’m not a finance major,” he says and laughs. “What’s your problem?”
My problem is that he’s planning on a future without Stars on the Floor, that’s my problem. And that’s a future where Stars on the Floor doesn’t exist, as far as I know.
“My problem?” I argue, my face hot with anger. “What’s your problem, making all these graduate school plans and never once telling me?”
“Look,” he says. “I’m not graduating Rutgers with a 4.0 so I can do lube jobs while I’m waiting to break my band, okay? You need to start thinking ahead, too.”
“I am thinking ahead,” I argue. “I’m the only one here who’s done any work to set up a summer tour, aren’t I?”
“Joey and I sent twelve demo tapes out last week, so I’d say not. And I’m not just talking about the summer, you know that.”
“Are your parents putting you up to this?” I ask.
“Leave my parents out of this,” he says. “Please.”
“They hate you being in a band, I know they do.”
“Not any more than your mother does,” he says. “I’m twenty-two, not twelve. I can make my own life choices, thanks very much.”
“And what exactly are your life choices, Travis?” I am squarely confronting him now, even though I’m terrified I already know the answer and it’s not what I want to hear.
“When you’re a senior, you have to think differently, you’ll see,” he says and looks out the window. “You don’t have all the time in the world to figure the future out.”
I want to argue with him about what I know he’s really saying. I want to tell him that h
e just can’t make a safety net for himself, because a safety net is nothing more than a trolling net you trap your dreams in to die. This is the panic rising in my throat, on my face, that I can see he wants to say something about, but just then Ron and Dom from Red Five wander in and we stop talking. They help themselves to the two extra seats at our table and start talking about how damn lucky we are we got the Ag Field Day gig with Ween. Travis starts talking about that and asking Ron about his Seattle contacts because we’re thinking of heading out there over the summer, and I have no idea what to think. None.
When Travis and I get back in the car he plays Bob Marley on the CD player in the van and hums along to “No Woman, No Cry.” When he parks in my driveway he leaves the van running, and I know he’s leaving to go write his paper.
“Look, I just don’t get it,” I say. “I thought we were of the same mind on this.”
“On what?”
“The band, Travis. Come on, don’t be so dense.”
He’s gritting his teeth he’s so irritated with me, and he’s just not that easy to piss off—I should know, since I’m probably better at it than anyone.
“Is that all you ever think about? The only thing in the world you even care about?”
“I take it seriously. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he says. “But maybe that’s not the only thing I take seriously. Maybe there are other things in life I care about, too.”
“Then that’s your problem,” I say. “Because those other things are going to hold you back.”
“Oh, right. Now I see,” he says, and turns to look away from me, dead ahead out the windshield. His eyes are cold and so far away. “I get it.”