( it's difficult to pinpoint the moment it became less about a sense of professionalism than it did a game of one-upping personal strangers. fans, even. gideon doesn't lack any small amount of talent, but his attention span leaves something to be desired, attentions constantly straying to every girl who catches his eye. which, it quickly becomes obvious, is every girl close enough to the stage for him to make out. winking suggestively, singing to them --or mouthing the words to them. it doesn't take her long to realize he rarely if ever truly sings--.
the attention and adoration of the fans is intoxicating. she understands that just as well as he does. wouldn't feel the need --much-- to hold the desire to revel in it against him if it weren't starting to cause disruptions in the show. the kinds of things their fans never seem to notice, but that grate at her each time. chords wrong or missed entirely. launching headlong into a completely different song, despite the fact that there's always a fresh and cleanly written set list at his feet. despite the fact that he wrote all of their songs, supposedly lived them all.
quinn yells after every show. yells and threatens, as if there's anything she can actually do to him other than yell some more.
it isn't selfish, she tells herself in the beginning. it's an experiment. when she struts onto the stage in a skirt that just barely covers the curve of her ass, a shirt that could only very charitably really be given that title, exposing far more skin than it covers, it's a power play. the first chord he misses, gaze heavy, boring into the back of her head, she practically stops mid-song to laugh. instead turns and flashes the same flirty little wink he's tossed to endless girls. throws herself into the performance with even more energy than before, all raspy voice and swiveling hips and a pleased little grin she couldn't wipe away if she tried.
maybe it wasn't a competition, but she's still pretty positive she just won.
or if she wasn't before, then she sure as shit is at the afterparty. waiting by the bar for her drink when he finally catches up to her --she had wondered how long it would take. practically beaming up at him, all sweetness and innocence, slightly tarnished by the fact that she's still wearing the same outfit from earlier. tight and black, faintly iridescent and almost sheer in places that it probably shouldn't be. the sort of outfit that would have made her former self, the president of the celibacy club and good little christian girl, faint on the spot. )
It was a great show tonight, wasn't it? ( she speaks up before he can get a word out. still playing her part, taking a little too much enjoyment from this particular role. ) The crowd was amazing. ( did he even notice? pathetically, selfishly, she hopes not. ) And you were really on fire out there.
( the first time it happens –- quinn catching him off guard -– really rattles gideon. yeah, he fucks up his chord, eyes too busy taking in the curve of her ass as that little skirt of hers swishes to and fro, brain too busy thinking about what lies underneath. he plays it off as nothing, as per usual, other than a little shake of his head to try to clear the mess of thoughts from his mind. even attempts to mouth along the lyrics to a song he doesn't actually sing or harmonize in, keep him focused on the task at hand.
it's the wink nearly sends him straight over the edge, straight into nothing short of ripping the strap of his guitar over his head and letting the instrument clatter to the stage uselessly, straight into kissing her fearlessly, body pressing against hers in front of this whole fucking crowd of people. -- right, the people. the fans. he can hardly see them tonight -- can hardly see anything but quinn fabray. can't think of much else, either -- certainly not some bloody set list even as it lies at his feet, clear as day. he tries, again, to compose himself, wipes the sweat from his brow that must be more from the heavy stage lights than anything with his forearm, rolls up his sleeves, ready to get down to business.
except then he launches headlong into the completely wrong song, one that isn't supposed to happen until second to last, according to the perfectly printed list he's inadvertently chosen to ignore, letting the fast-paced opening chords fly from his calloused fingers so hard he feels the tip of the plectrum clenched between his thumb and index finger splinter right off. it takes their tour drummer only a split second to realize what's happening and catch up with gideon, their bassist following suit only half a moment after. truthfully, they're really fucking lucky that they found two musicians who have their shit together, at least more than his ass does.
the show, as a whole, is kind of a mess for him. feels more like an exercise in self-control, honestly, which is something that gideon possesses very little of. when they're finished with their last encore, his bow is hardly more than a nod of his head before he practically flees the stage with his tail between his legs, relieved as all hell that it's over.
well, the show may be over, but his torment is not, considering when he finally rolls up to the afterparty, alone for a change, the first thing is hones in on -- despite the crowd and the bar and the music -- is quinn, still looking absolutely beyond in that tiny outfit of hers. )
I was absolute shit tonight. ( putting himself down? certainly a rarity, coming from gideon's mouth, punctuated by a harsh sip from his bottle of beer, immediately handed to him when he walked through the door. he finds his eyes darting to the hem of her skirt, high up against the smooth skin of her thigh, and it's probably far too obvious for his own good. fucking hell.
in a feeble attempt at composing himself for the third time this evening, he forces himself to glance elsewhere, decides to stand next to her instead of in front of, leans his elbows back against the bar, slouches with some vague resemblance to his usual confident swagger. looks straight ahead when he speaks again, otherwise he just knows that his mind will wander to that sheer red shrug that does nothing but accentuate the way that fucking top of hers pushes her breasts up, tantalizing, and just how much he'd like to rip it off of her, fingers carelessly tearing through its thin fabric.
... what was that about his mind wandering? ) Glad it's over.
( it occurs to her, about halfway through the show, that this need for constant attention --his attention-- is somewhat childish. the needs of the band ought to come before anything, and allowing gideon to continue to mess up, no....encouraging his mistakes, is bad not just for him but for all of them. it's on her to put an end to it, call a truce to this little war they'd somehow found themselves in the middle of. but then....then the setlist gets blown to hell when he launches into the wrong song, doesn't bother trying to correct himself but instead leaves everyone else to play catch-up --something their band is exceptionally good at, thankfully.
but then she actually looks at him, notices the way the he focuses so intently on his guitar, determinedly avoiding her gaze, and knows she won't, can't give in. quinn fabray is a lot of things, but a quitter has never been one of them. and this is just too good.
it's the same reason she doesn't bother changing before the party. grins brightly up at him as if this is all perfectly normal, as if the show tonight wasn't a total disaster. as if this is the sort of thing she wears every day. ) You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes.
( declared with the utmost sincerity, as if the reason for these particular mistakes wasn't already painfully obvious. ) Besides, I doubt anyone in the audience even noticed.
( or maybe it's more that she doesn't care if they noticed or not. what she does care about, though it takes her a few minutes to notice, is that he's once again doing everything in his power to avoid looking at her. it feels like a challenge, and quinn has never been very good, or indeed even known how, to turn those down.
shifting closer to his side, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle in his hand. slipping it quickly, easily from his grasp. the beginnings of a faint grin making it's way across her face, she pauses with the bottle against her lower lip, widens her eyes as if realizing suddenly that this might be rude. as if she cares that it is. )
I'm sorry, you don't mind, do you? ( yes or no, she doesn't bother waiting before taking a long drink, letting out a satisfied little sigh before tipping it back in his direction. ) Thanks.
( quinn's reassurances only get a noncommittal scoff in response as his eyes scan the crowd, seek something -- someone else to look at. he's happy to fawn over her, ogle her freely, feed her ego at any other given moment, but tonight? tonight felt different - like he'd lost a battle he didn't realize he was a part of. it's not even the fact that he did mess up onstage, considering he's done it loads of times. it's mostly the deep bruise on his ego that she put there without hesitation, caused his brain to virtually short circuit, caused him to make a bloody fool of himself. perhaps it's egocentric of him to think more of himself rather than the quality of the show, but it is what it is.
besides, her reassurances feel fake, just one more part of her plan to throw him off of his game tonight. any other night, he messes up a single note and she's all but chewing his head off, glaring at him and whispering in his ear how completely replaceable he is and how he's going to ruin everything they've accomplished. and still, somehow, he prefers that over these niceties, though that may also have to do with the fact that when she is blatantly angry with him, it usually results in him proving to her just how much she needs him, one way or another.
his efforts at locating some sort of distraction prove to be for naught when her hand so easily pulls the bottle from his hand, his head turning to follow its path into her grasp. could almost let out a bitter laugh when she asks permission, as though he hasn't done the same to her drinks before, as though his tongue hasn't been in her mouth what must be hundreds of times by now. instead, he gives a shrug of his shoulders, a short, ) By all means.
( but she's already drinking and gideon's already back to staring, predictably, as her lips wrap around the lip of the bottle and stay there for what feels like an honest to god eternity until she's tipping the bottle back in his direction. to say that he's tense as he takes the beer back from her, painfully aware of the small gap of space between her hip and his, would be the understatement of the century. )
May dip out early tonight. You're more than welcome to join me, if you'd like. ( which hopefully doesn't sound desperate -- he's anything but, obviously. he could grab the hand of any girl at this stupid afterparty and leave with her, and do it without feeling disappointed that she isn't the devilishly coy blonde that's tormented him all evening. that's what he keeps telling himself. )
( there's a sweet kind of victory in the way that he looks at her, blatant and unapologetic. without glancing over, she can practically feel his eyes brushing over every inch of exposed skin. lingering at the hem of her skirt and the tanned skin it does absolutely nothing to hide, at the sweater that might as well not be there for all that it masks. tantalizing far more than hiding. so far from the --mostly-- proper girl he'd med back in new haven. a creature from an entirely different life, one she barely recognizes any more much less belongs to.
if the way that he stares is a victory, than his faux casual admission that he may just be leaving early, the invitation that isn't really an invitation --as if it's something he's just mulling over and not a decision made the second he arrived at the after party-- certainly is.
too pleased with herself to bother hiding the fact, it shows in the way she stands, just a little bit straighter than usual --though her normal posture is anything but a slouch-- her shoulders back and testing the limits of that little red shrug. the way she can't seem to stop grinning and everything and nothing. except now there's a tightrope that she has to cross. towing the fine line between remaining his sole focus for the rest of the night, or damaging his ego so much that he snaps. grabs the arm of some girl younger even than quinn. one who'll fawn over him and tell him how handsome and talented he is all to have the privilege of fucking a celebrity.
no, this entire night has been too perfect for her to throw it away now.
so she doesn't respond immediately. turns instead to place herself directly in front of him. with the distance between them unchanged, she's practically standing between his legs and for a brief moment, only really noticeable to those paying close attention (which she knows he is) the fingers of one hand toy idly with the material of his shirt.
tipping her face up just faintly, so she's looking at him from beneath long dark lashes, her lower lip stills out slightly, in a pout that's not remotely devious or underhanded in any way. unless, of course, you know her. )
Come on, it's too early to leave yet. ( if the party itself isn't enough to convince, then maybe that pout will help. ) Let's just stay and enjoy it for a while.
( taking a half step away, her fingers catch in the front of his shirt, curling to give a tug. gentle at first, though fully prepared to be a little more insistent if he tries to resist. ) Don't you want to dance with me?
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Date: 2015-03-14 06:55 am (UTC)( it's difficult to pinpoint the moment it became less about a sense of professionalism than it did a game of one-upping personal strangers. fans, even. gideon doesn't lack any small amount of talent, but his attention span leaves something to be desired, attentions constantly straying to every girl who catches his eye. which, it quickly becomes obvious, is every girl close enough to the stage for him to make out. winking suggestively, singing to them --or mouthing the words to them. it doesn't take her long to realize he rarely if ever truly sings--.
the attention and adoration of the fans is intoxicating. she understands that just as well as he does. wouldn't feel the need --much-- to hold the desire to revel in it against him if it weren't starting to cause disruptions in the show. the kinds of things their fans never seem to notice, but that grate at her each time. chords wrong or missed entirely. launching headlong into a completely different song, despite the fact that there's always a fresh and cleanly written set list at his feet. despite the fact that he wrote all of their songs, supposedly lived them all.
quinn yells after every show. yells and threatens, as if there's anything she can actually do to him other than yell some more.
it isn't selfish, she tells herself in the beginning. it's an experiment. when she struts onto the stage in a skirt that just barely covers the curve of her ass, a shirt that could only very charitably really be given that title, exposing far more skin than it covers, it's a power play. the first chord he misses, gaze heavy, boring into the back of her head, she practically stops mid-song to laugh. instead turns and flashes the same flirty little wink he's tossed to endless girls. throws herself into the performance with even more energy than before, all raspy voice and swiveling hips and a pleased little grin she couldn't wipe away if she tried.
maybe it wasn't a competition, but she's still pretty positive she just won.
or if she wasn't before, then she sure as shit is at the afterparty. waiting by the bar for her drink when he finally catches up to her --she had wondered how long it would take. practically beaming up at him, all sweetness and innocence, slightly tarnished by the fact that she's still wearing the same outfit from earlier. tight and black, faintly iridescent and almost sheer in places that it probably shouldn't be. the sort of outfit that would have made her former self, the president of the celibacy club and good little christian girl, faint on the spot. )
It was a great show tonight, wasn't it? ( she speaks up before he can get a word out. still playing her part, taking a little too much enjoyment from this particular role. ) The crowd was amazing. ( did he even notice? pathetically, selfishly, she hopes not. ) And you were really on fire out there.
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Date: 2015-03-15 09:52 am (UTC)it's the wink nearly sends him straight over the edge, straight into nothing short of ripping the strap of his guitar over his head and letting the instrument clatter to the stage uselessly, straight into kissing her fearlessly, body pressing against hers in front of this whole fucking crowd of people. -- right, the people. the fans. he can hardly see them tonight -- can hardly see anything but quinn fabray. can't think of much else, either -- certainly not some bloody set list even as it lies at his feet, clear as day. he tries, again, to compose himself, wipes the sweat from his brow that must be more from the heavy stage lights than anything with his forearm, rolls up his sleeves, ready to get down to business.
except then he launches headlong into the completely wrong song, one that isn't supposed to happen until second to last, according to the perfectly printed list he's inadvertently chosen to ignore, letting the fast-paced opening chords fly from his calloused fingers so hard he feels the tip of the plectrum clenched between his thumb and index finger splinter right off. it takes their tour drummer only a split second to realize what's happening and catch up with gideon, their bassist following suit only half a moment after. truthfully, they're really fucking lucky that they found two musicians who have their shit together, at least more than his ass does.
the show, as a whole, is kind of a mess for him. feels more like an exercise in self-control, honestly, which is something that gideon possesses very little of. when they're finished with their last encore, his bow is hardly more than a nod of his head before he practically flees the stage with his tail between his legs, relieved as all hell that it's over.
well, the show may be over, but his torment is not, considering when he finally rolls up to the afterparty, alone for a change, the first thing is hones in on -- despite the crowd and the bar and the music -- is quinn, still looking absolutely beyond in that tiny outfit of hers. )
I was absolute shit tonight. ( putting himself down? certainly a rarity, coming from gideon's mouth, punctuated by a harsh sip from his bottle of beer, immediately handed to him when he walked through the door. he finds his eyes darting to the hem of her skirt, high up against the smooth skin of her thigh, and it's probably far too obvious for his own good. fucking hell.
in a feeble attempt at composing himself for the third time this evening, he forces himself to glance elsewhere, decides to stand next to her instead of in front of, leans his elbows back against the bar, slouches with some vague resemblance to his usual confident swagger. looks straight ahead when he speaks again, otherwise he just knows that his mind will wander to that sheer red shrug that does nothing but accentuate the way that fucking top of hers pushes her breasts up, tantalizing, and just how much he'd like to rip it off of her, fingers carelessly tearing through its thin fabric.
... what was that about his mind wandering? ) Glad it's over.
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Date: 2015-03-16 06:26 am (UTC)but then she actually looks at him, notices the way the he focuses so intently on his guitar, determinedly avoiding her gaze, and knows she won't, can't give in. quinn fabray is a lot of things, but a quitter has never been one of them. and this is just too good.
it's the same reason she doesn't bother changing before the party. grins brightly up at him as if this is all perfectly normal, as if the show tonight wasn't a total disaster. as if this is the sort of thing she wears every day. ) You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. We all make mistakes.
( declared with the utmost sincerity, as if the reason for these particular mistakes wasn't already painfully obvious. ) Besides, I doubt anyone in the audience even noticed.
( or maybe it's more that she doesn't care if they noticed or not. what she does care about, though it takes her a few minutes to notice, is that he's once again doing everything in his power to avoid looking at her. it feels like a challenge, and quinn has never been very good, or indeed even known how, to turn those down.
shifting closer to his side, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle in his hand. slipping it quickly, easily from his grasp. the beginnings of a faint grin making it's way across her face, she pauses with the bottle against her lower lip, widens her eyes as if realizing suddenly that this might be rude. as if she cares that it is. )
I'm sorry, you don't mind, do you? ( yes or no, she doesn't bother waiting before taking a long drink, letting out a satisfied little sigh before tipping it back in his direction. ) Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2015-03-18 09:14 pm (UTC)besides, her reassurances feel fake, just one more part of her plan to throw him off of his game tonight. any other night, he messes up a single note and she's all but chewing his head off, glaring at him and whispering in his ear how completely replaceable he is and how he's going to ruin everything they've accomplished. and still, somehow, he prefers that over these niceties, though that may also have to do with the fact that when she is blatantly angry with him, it usually results in him proving to her just how much she needs him, one way or another.
his efforts at locating some sort of distraction prove to be for naught when her hand so easily pulls the bottle from his hand, his head turning to follow its path into her grasp. could almost let out a bitter laugh when she asks permission, as though he hasn't done the same to her drinks before, as though his tongue hasn't been in her mouth what must be hundreds of times by now. instead, he gives a shrug of his shoulders, a short, ) By all means.
( but she's already drinking and gideon's already back to staring, predictably, as her lips wrap around the lip of the bottle and stay there for what feels like an honest to god eternity until she's tipping the bottle back in his direction. to say that he's tense as he takes the beer back from her, painfully aware of the small gap of space between her hip and his, would be the understatement of the century. )
May dip out early tonight. You're more than welcome to join me, if you'd like. ( which hopefully doesn't sound desperate -- he's anything but, obviously. he could grab the hand of any girl at this stupid afterparty and leave with her, and do it without feeling disappointed that she isn't the devilishly coy blonde that's tormented him all evening. that's what he keeps telling himself. )
no subject
Date: 2015-03-20 06:11 am (UTC)if the way that he stares is a victory, than his faux casual admission that he may just be leaving early, the invitation that isn't really an invitation --as if it's something he's just mulling over and not a decision made the second he arrived at the after party-- certainly is.
too pleased with herself to bother hiding the fact, it shows in the way she stands, just a little bit straighter than usual --though her normal posture is anything but a slouch-- her shoulders back and testing the limits of that little red shrug. the way she can't seem to stop grinning and everything and nothing. except now there's a tightrope that she has to cross. towing the fine line between remaining his sole focus for the rest of the night, or damaging his ego so much that he snaps. grabs the arm of some girl younger even than quinn. one who'll fawn over him and tell him how handsome and talented he is all to have the privilege of fucking a celebrity.
no, this entire night has been too perfect for her to throw it away now.
so she doesn't respond immediately. turns instead to place herself directly in front of him. with the distance between them unchanged, she's practically standing between his legs and for a brief moment, only really noticeable to those paying close attention (which she knows he is) the fingers of one hand toy idly with the material of his shirt.
tipping her face up just faintly, so she's looking at him from beneath long dark lashes, her lower lip stills out slightly, in a pout that's not remotely devious or underhanded in any way. unless, of course, you know her. )
Come on, it's too early to leave yet. ( if the party itself isn't enough to convince, then maybe that pout will help. ) Let's just stay and enjoy it for a while.
( taking a half step away, her fingers catch in the front of his shirt, curling to give a tug. gentle at first, though fully prepared to be a little more insistent if he tries to resist. ) Don't you want to dance with me?