Dust and dirt rose around them, a mass of people pressing against each other. She couldn’t see the band, but oh could she hear them! The electric guitar roared in the speakers around the amphitheater. She tasted mud, dirt, dust, sweat on the tongue but she couldn’t stop jumping, she couldn’t stop belting the lyrics at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t stop.
Her legs felt like lead, in this seventh song, her lungs and skin were in fire, burning up, burning down, but she was free and that freedom was as precious as the rock pouring under his skin.
She was leaning on someone – she didn’t know him, didn’t care, to jump higher, to give her horns to the band but she only met walls of people when she reached the top. Groaning, frustrated, she took a breather in between the two songs. Gibson had a flask and so she stole it, not caring and she drank and winced as moonshine burnt her tongue.
He laughed and kissed her, just when the drums roared and she was jumping again, her heart beating in her throat. Her eyes teared up as dust was everywhere. She didn’t, couldn’t care.
She looked at Gibson and he was smiling, and laughing and he leaned on her and his kiss was aggressive, hard, rough. She tasted alcohol and blackberries and dust but her tongue still swirled around his. Possessive arms snaked around her waist and idly, she realized they weren’t Gibson. His hands were in her hair who’d come free during her jumping, angling her head back to deepen the kiss.
“You can kiss him, if you want,” he whispered at her ear between two songs and she looked at him, her hands tight in his hair.
If she wanted.
Was is a trap?
“Do you mind?” Justain.
It was Justain behind her and his mouth was idling over her neck, not touching, not wanting to impose.
She didn’t know, she didn’t know.
What would happen to their balance? What if they fell through? She looked at Gibson, and maybe he saw the terror in her eyes, maybe he didn’t understand –
“It is ok” he whispered and she barely heard it above the roar of the crowd.
But against her ear, against her hair, she could hear it, she could feel Justain’s hot breath on her shoulder. She shuddered but nodded.
And it was Gibson’s smile that appeased her. What was going to happen to them? Would they be awkward again?
But Justain had gently spun her around and he looked at her, gently pulling her sticky hair away from her sweaty face. Gibson brought his arms around her, around her waist and familiarity calmed her. Justain offered – when did he become Justain again? Justain hovered above her, his lips millimetres away from hers and it was her who covered the distance.
A shaking hand went to his jaw and she felt his sharp intake of breathe and the heat. Lips soon became tongue and heat and burn and teeth and she could feel Gibson laugh behind her.
Was he laughing at her? But his lips found the spot behind her ear and she moaned. Justain grinned, snapped his eyes open and looked down at her and his tongue – oh man, bloody hell –
When she pulled back, away, she was panting and shaky and she let Justain go. He – he wasn’t mocking, he wasn’t arrogant but he was warm and his eyes just shone.
“We will talk later,” Gibson whispered against her ear and she understood and nodded before pivoting back to the music, to the band who never stopped playing.
It would only be later that she would understand the irony of kissing two men to Better Man.
It was when people jumped less and punched more than she stopped and leaned back on the person behind her, male, female, she didn’t care, didn’t mind. She watched as the mosh pit opened just in front of her and she laughed, howled and lurched herself against the bodies slamming into the wall of the mosh pits.
Freedom was a drug and she was high, so fucking high right now!
Prayers for the Damned erupted around them and the crowd got violent but not once, not once did the person behind her move. Not once – she realized, did Gibson try to stop her, to pull her away.
She was theirs, she was music and lyrics and words and sensations.
The feelings bubbled in her throat and she realized she was crying and laughing and pushing these men so much taller than herself back into the ring of dust and wind and screams and yells.
She was panting, her ribs hurt from the men beside her, her head was so light though!
It was after twelve songs that the band retired from the stage and it was over.
She had screamed and it was done and she couldn’t breathe.
She turned shining, sparkling eyes towards the exit and she couldn’t see her men. But they would be there, she knew. They would have waited.
It was that confidence in them that shocked her and so she stood in the middle of the crowd, panting.
She trusted them to wait for her.
Idly, she wondered when they would turn their backs on her.