( that's exactly what this shoot is, quinn had decided early on in the day. a middle aged man's fantasy of suburban america and the golden girl who, in real life, wouldn't have given him a second glance. but despite her near constant eye roll anytime the photographer instructs her to hitch her leg a little higher around her counterpart's waist --his fingers curled tight, possessively, so far up her thigh that the old high school urge to stop and pray nearly kicks in. instead, between shots, she leans in to whisper in his ear. remind him (nicely, of course) that he may be taking his role just a bittoo seriously.-- or pull him in closer for what, to the camera, will no doubt look like the prelude to a searing kiss, she throws herself into it with the same enthusiasm she does everything.
the energy of a young girl who understands that one wrong move could land them right back at the bottom of the heap. scraping the barrel and playing shitty dive bars where people were too busy ogling each other to notice a single thing they said or did.
it takes a good twenty minutes of draping herself over a model who's almost painfully pretty --with a jawline that could likely cut glass but who seems to have no real personality outside of "smoldering"-- and staring seductively into the camera lens, the corners of her lips turned into a faintly knowing smile that, she supposes, is supposed to draw men in, make people want her or want to be her, before they take another break. strike the hallway set for the locker room one, in which she can only suspect they'll somehow find a way to make her wear even less than she has been.
a good twenty minutes before she heads back to her chair to find that it's already been claimed. ) I thought you were too busy working? ( the words, and the grin that accompanies them are entirely smug, fully pleased with herself. if he wants to deny it he can --though it would be a waste of breath-- they both know he's here because she wants him to be. because she didn't want to be here by herself and he has this desire that she doesn't understand --though appreciates nonetheless. not that she would say it.-- to keep her happy. ) This whole thing is so pathetic. Do you see what you abandoned me to?
( she doesn't think twice about taking up her former seat. the fact that he's already in it doesn't phase her in the least, doesn't even make her hesitate. (it's not as if there aren't already countless rumors and blind items suggesting --or outright stating-- that the two of them are fucking. maybe it's careless to add more fuel to the fire but she's too tired to look for another chair and doesn't care enough to make him move.) simply plants herself in his lap, comfortable enough to suggest it isn't the first time, and leans back against his chest with a heavy sigh. ) Did you manage to finish anything?
( gideon has, at the very least, the foresight to knock the notebook out of his lap before she decides to make herself at home, hears how its nearly completely blank pages ruffle noisily as it clatters to the ground. it's immediately forgotten the moment she sits, back flush against his chest, so close he can feel how she sighs against him.
his hands itch to touch her; he has to mentally restrain himself from letting his hand glide down the length of her thigh, drift back upwards again until it's beneath that horribly (hah, sure) short skirt of hers, fingers brushing against the fabric of her underwear. from doing something as simple as letting his palms wander until they press flat against her breasts, grope her until she has to flit off for her next set of photos. but it'd be too ballsy, even for him, to do anything like that here and now. they can usually get away with most things in front of their own people with as much as some rolled eyes as their admonishment, but here? there's the stylists, the models, the photographer, the creative director...
best not. though it's probably hard to believe considering how things are between the two of them, gideon likes to think he still has at least an ounce of reserve... instead, he settles for letting his hands drift lazily against her middle until he's got his arms fully wrapped around her, supposing that he'd ought to be content with at least a bit of contact, as innocuous as it is. ) Haven't written a single word.
( it gets a small chuckle out of him, at the very least. their managers and producers are clamoring for them to start working on their second album, but it's difficult to find the time or motivation when their fame's granted them a seemingly endless world of possibilities of things -- people, too, he supposes -- they could do. besides, if he's being completely honest, most of their first album's songs were inspired by wallsend, by home, by meg, all things that feel worlds away now. their lyrics tend to resonate with people so deeply because of how fucking deeply he feels as he writes, practically leaves his blood and guts on the page, but how can he be content rehashing old tales that he's so utterly convinced he'd moved on from?
maybe it's time to start looking for new inspiration, gideon thinks, as he lets his grip around quinn tighten just slightly. might even pass for something like affectionate. ) You didn't look too put off up there. Thought you quite liked that model of yours.
( the polite thing to do, of course, would be to pick that empty (or nearly so) notebook up before perching on his lap. not all that long ago quinn would have considered herself exactly that. a nice young woman, kind and polite, not to mention a million other things she doesn't feel much like anymore and hasn't in some time. but now she's too tired --of this shoot, of this ridiculous outfit and just tired in general-- to think about anything but the few minutes of rest the setup change has allowed.
there'll be a wardrobe change too, of course, but that can be put off for just a bit longer. especially, after a few brief nervous moments of utter stillness, when his arms firmly wrap around her middle and she relaxes easily into his chest. tips her head up to nuzzle gently just underneath the line of his jaw. a rare and incredibly short moment of genuine tenderness.
because he came here even though he didn't want to, because it's no secret that the writing for their second album is far from where their team wants them to be right now, but mostly just because she can. because when they're out in (relative) public and his hands start to wander just a little too far, fingers brushing teasingly over her skin, raising goosebumps on tanned flesh before drifting beneath the hem of her top or, god forbid, her skirt, she no longer possess the reflexive urge to slap his hand away and chide him for being a horndog and an asshole. instead shrugs carelessly, smirks up at him as if daring him to go further. when he drags her away from whatever party they happen to be attending on any given night, and whatever crowd she's managed to surround herself, without bothering to even fake subtlety, she still lays into him but the heat behind her words seems to fade a little bit more each time. being around gideon, with gideon, and the lack of consequences that's come along with, has emboldened her. if only slightly. )
He's alright. ( she muses softly, arms coming to rest over his, fingers tracing absent patterns over the back of his hand and across his wrist. ) Not really my type, though. A little too much of a pretty boy. ( as if it was any sort of demonstration of this fact, she shifts in his lap. simple and innocent, just trying to get comfortable. ) Better be careful, though. Someone might think you're a little jealous. ( completely innocent until it isn't anymore, until she isn't just shifting in his lap but pressing her hips down with each movement, slow and deliberate and as bold as she's ever been. )
( gideon nearly laughs out loud at her remark about the model being a pretty boy. not her type? she can say that again, he thinks to himself. he doesn't take much stock in the types of men she hooks up with after shows, nor the ones she tries to actually date here and there for whatever reason (considering most of them only ever end up lasting all of a few weeks -- he can't imagine why).
they aren't the ones whose lap she takes a seat in, completely unprompted. they aren't the ones who she nuzzles against, brushes her fingers against so affectionately that goosebumps spread across his arms in a second. they aren't the ones who she goes home with at the very end of the night, even if the two of them found other partners earlier, if a tour bus could even be considered "home". call him what you will -- cocky, self-assured, whatever -- but gideon thinks it's a fairly safe bet to say he knows what her type is. )
I'm careful as can be, love. ( and she shifts in his lap so subtly, he hardly thinks anything of it. except then it happens again, more purposeful, prolonged. the movement of her hips against him causes friction between his jeans and his underwear, makes him nip at his lower lip to keep his thoughts at bay. jesus.
a hand creeps upwards to the exposed skin of her midriff, fingers gliding up towards her ribcage. he can hardly help himself; it's practically a reflex at this point. exhaling sharply, he mutters, ) Should I be jealous?
( right now, it sure doesn't fucking seem like it. gideon hasn't the slightest as to what she's thinking, doing this right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of her ridiculous shoot. surely she must be planning on dragging him off into a closet somewhere for a quick one before it's time to return to her rightful place in front of the camera once more. )
( if gideon doesn't understand what she's doing then that....makes two of them. pushing her boundaries --in any sense of the word-- is nothing new for quinn. is practically a requirement when living an entire life always within arm's reach of the same person. one who's always so relaxed in any given situation that it honestly sometimes makes her sick. nothing ever seems to piss him off, or get under his skin, where she is the exact opposite. the smallest, most insignificant things --a single bad review or an offhand comment thrown her will-- will eat at her for days.
so she tries to push him. because she's angry, because she's hurt, because she's bored. the reasons never matter very much, for quinn, it's always about the reaction. whether he loses control and yells --rarely. and almost always dependent on how much he's had to drink-- or just plain loses control, she still wins.
and the moment his touch begins to shift, words huffed under his breath, she knows she has him. ) He has really good hands. ( she murmurs in response, laying her own over top of his to stop it's slow upward movement. ) Nice, long fingers.
( threading theirs together as in in demonstration of the fact, her head falls onto his shoulder. sweetly, completely innocent if it weren't for the way she shifts again, hips pressing back and down. determinedly ignoring the fact that surely at least one person has noticed what's happening by now. too caught up in those little details again, like the way his breath catches faintly, or the warmth of his palm against her stomach. the light flush that stains her cheeks is the only indication that this isn't an every day sort of occurrence. ) He kept slipping them under my skirt. If you hadn't shown up to distract me, I might have asked him to show me if he knows how to use them.
( slowly, achingly so, she guides his hand. down her stomach and to the top of her skirt, where it would be so easy for his fingers to dip underneath the waistband. where she knows that's exactly what he wants to do. ) But you, you don't get jealous, right?
( yeah, it's truly a wonder why none of her attempted relationships has ever lasted longer than a couple weeks. )
( it's easy for gideon to lose himself in the way that her voice, silky smooth and lilted with seduction, guides him through the little scenario she's presented before him. as easily as the way she fully takes control of the situation -- of him, places her hand on top of his until his fingertips drag desperately against the soft skin of her stomach, only to meet the thick fabric of her waistband instead.
he imagines, as her words play out, what it would be like for the model to touch her. slip his hand between the warmth of quinn's thighs, make her arch with sheer pleasure, much like she does now, with her head laid back against gideon's shoulder. and, just like now, she'd rock her hips needily against the model's hand, wordlessly beg for more of those long fingers of his. what it'd be like for gideon to do nothing but watch, as though glued to his chair. just sitting here, now, even with her on top of him like this, makes his own fingers itch to touch her. makes it very clear just how much she's beginning to affect him once her hips bear down against his lap again.
while she may have one of his hands under control, firmly atop her waistband, the other skims from its place around her middle down along the pleats of her tiny skirt, past the hem and getting dangerously close to slipping back up against her inner thigh. almost like he's more than ready and willing to fulfill her request for fingers -- as though she's giving herself over to him right here and now. funny, that.
his eyes close and he turns his head just enough to nuzzle her jaw with the roughness of his cheek, as close to something purely affectionate, almost appreciative, as gideon gets most days. a contented little smile works its way to the corners of his mouth as he murmurs so quietly he isn't sure it's audible over how loudly his heart seems be pounding: ) Don't exactly think I've much to be jealous of, mm?
( a rhetorical question, but a brash, utterly arrogant one, nonetheless. )
Hmmm. ( a soft hum of agreement; she takes advantage of that brief moment of genuine sweetness, presses a fleeting kiss to the line of his jaw, little more than a featherlight brush of lips, before relaxing into his chest once more. soon they will call her back to work. into hair, makeup, wardrobe. setup number...3? 4? she stopped paying attention long ago. this brief and unconventional --HA!-- little interlude has been the most interesting thing to happen all day.) You have really good hands too.
( an understatement, possibly. fingers long, the rough not that of a guitar player, but a sailor. someone who knows what it's like to put in a long day's work, weathered the elements. god knows she's gotten more than her share of enjoyment out of them. feels those fingers now, his free hand, dancing along the hem of her skirt like he's just waiting for her to give the nod. permission to do exactly what they both want him to. instead she squirms slightly on his lap, crossing one leg over the other, a move elicits a barely audible gasp, the effect her little game has had on him suddenly very obvious.
tsking under her breath, she tries to adopt a mask of stern reproach. a task made all but impossible by the proud little smirk that works it's way onto scarlet painted lips. ) You didn't want to be a part of the shoot, remember? You don't get to touch. (unless i let you. the truth meaning of her words all too clear and just underneath the surface. --control is, and always has been essential to her comfort. it's why quinn throws herself so wholly into every single aspect of their careers. surprises, being caught off guard, are recipes for disaster now. there's no place for it in her life. but with her inability to delineate her private and public lives, the constant desire for control has bled into every part of her life.-- if his hands are on her, it's because she's allowed it. ) But maybe I'll let him this time. It'd make a hell of a picture, right?
( somewhere her name is being called --thought technically screamed might be the more accurate definition. wasting time, her own and everyone else's, to flirt with her bandmate isn't exactly professional, something she ordinarily prides herself on, and yet it takes a tremendous effort to disentangle herself from his arms, to stand to leave when all she wants to do his haul him into the dressing room, a closet, a dark corner somewhere. let him put those fingers to use. instead she starts to head back towards the makeup table, waves apologetically before turning back. as if she's simply forgotten something. leans until her mouth is beside his ear, testing the limits of the flimsy excuse for a top they've put her in, body shielding the movement of her hand when she presses the heel of her palm against the crotch of his jeans. ) Make sure you stick around. I think these shots are going to be really great.
( and then she's the very picture of professionalism once again, if professionalism looks like a slutty cheerleader who has apparently repeated a few years, as she dives back into the fray. a new and far too cheerful bounce in her step. )
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no subject
Date: 2015-03-30 05:07 pm (UTC)the energy of a young girl who understands that one wrong move could land them right back at the bottom of the heap. scraping the barrel and playing shitty dive bars where people were too busy ogling each other to notice a single thing they said or did.
it takes a good twenty minutes of draping herself over a model who's almost painfully pretty --with a jawline that could likely cut glass but who seems to have no real personality outside of "smoldering"-- and staring seductively into the camera lens, the corners of her lips turned into a faintly knowing smile that, she supposes, is supposed to draw men in, make people want her or want to be her, before they take another break. strike the hallway set for the locker room one, in which she can only suspect they'll somehow find a way to make her wear even less than she has been.
a good twenty minutes before she heads back to her chair to find that it's already been claimed. ) I thought you were too busy working? ( the words, and the grin that accompanies them are entirely smug, fully pleased with herself. if he wants to deny it he can --though it would be a waste of breath-- they both know he's here because she wants him to be. because she didn't want to be here by herself and he has this desire that she doesn't understand --though appreciates nonetheless. not that she would say it.-- to keep her happy. ) This whole thing is so pathetic. Do you see what you abandoned me to?
( she doesn't think twice about taking up her former seat. the fact that he's already in it doesn't phase her in the least, doesn't even make her hesitate. (it's not as if there aren't already countless rumors and blind items suggesting --or outright stating-- that the two of them are fucking. maybe it's careless to add more fuel to the fire but she's too tired to look for another chair and doesn't care enough to make him move.) simply plants herself in his lap, comfortable enough to suggest it isn't the first time, and leans back against his chest with a heavy sigh. ) Did you manage to finish anything?
no subject
Date: 2015-04-05 06:41 am (UTC)his hands itch to touch her; he has to mentally restrain himself from letting his hand glide down the length of her thigh, drift back upwards again until it's beneath that horribly (hah, sure) short skirt of hers, fingers brushing against the fabric of her underwear. from doing something as simple as letting his palms wander until they press flat against her breasts, grope her until she has to flit off for her next set of photos. but it'd be too ballsy, even for him, to do anything like that here and now. they can usually get away with most things in front of their own people with as much as some rolled eyes as their admonishment, but here? there's the stylists, the models, the photographer, the creative director...
best not. though it's probably hard to believe considering how things are between the two of them, gideon likes to think he still has at least an ounce of reserve... instead, he settles for letting his hands drift lazily against her middle until he's got his arms fully wrapped around her, supposing that he'd ought to be content with at least a bit of contact, as innocuous as it is. ) Haven't written a single word.
( it gets a small chuckle out of him, at the very least. their managers and producers are clamoring for them to start working on their second album, but it's difficult to find the time or motivation when their fame's granted them a seemingly endless world of possibilities of things -- people, too, he supposes -- they could do. besides, if he's being completely honest, most of their first album's songs were inspired by wallsend, by home, by meg, all things that feel worlds away now. their lyrics tend to resonate with people so deeply because of how fucking deeply he feels as he writes, practically leaves his blood and guts on the page, but how can he be content rehashing old tales that he's so utterly convinced he'd moved on from?
maybe it's time to start looking for new inspiration, gideon thinks, as he lets his grip around quinn tighten just slightly. might even pass for something like affectionate. ) You didn't look too put off up there. Thought you quite liked that model of yours.
no subject
Date: 2015-04-06 04:33 am (UTC)there'll be a wardrobe change too, of course, but that can be put off for just a bit longer. especially, after a few brief nervous moments of utter stillness, when his arms firmly wrap around her middle and she relaxes easily into his chest. tips her head up to nuzzle gently just underneath the line of his jaw. a rare and incredibly short moment of genuine tenderness.
because he came here even though he didn't want to, because it's no secret that the writing for their second album is far from where their team wants them to be right now, but mostly just because she can. because when they're out in (relative) public and his hands start to wander just a little too far, fingers brushing teasingly over her skin, raising goosebumps on tanned flesh before drifting beneath the hem of her top or, god forbid, her skirt, she no longer possess the reflexive urge to slap his hand away and chide him for being a horndog and an asshole. instead shrugs carelessly, smirks up at him as if daring him to go further. when he drags her away from whatever party they happen to be attending on any given night, and whatever crowd she's managed to surround herself, without bothering to even fake subtlety, she still lays into him but the heat behind her words seems to fade a little bit more each time. being around gideon, with gideon, and the lack of consequences that's come along with, has emboldened her. if only slightly. )
He's alright. ( she muses softly, arms coming to rest over his, fingers tracing absent patterns over the back of his hand and across his wrist. ) Not really my type, though. A little too much of a pretty boy. ( as if it was any sort of demonstration of this fact, she shifts in his lap. simple and innocent, just trying to get comfortable. ) Better be careful, though. Someone might think you're a little jealous. ( completely innocent until it isn't anymore, until she isn't just shifting in his lap but pressing her hips down with each movement, slow and deliberate and as bold as she's ever been. )
no subject
Date: 2015-04-06 06:07 am (UTC)they aren't the ones whose lap she takes a seat in, completely unprompted. they aren't the ones who she nuzzles against, brushes her fingers against so affectionately that goosebumps spread across his arms in a second. they aren't the ones who she goes home with at the very end of the night, even if the two of them found other partners earlier, if a tour bus could even be considered "home". call him what you will -- cocky, self-assured, whatever -- but gideon thinks it's a fairly safe bet to say he knows what her type is. )
I'm careful as can be, love. ( and she shifts in his lap so subtly, he hardly thinks anything of it. except then it happens again, more purposeful, prolonged. the movement of her hips against him causes friction between his jeans and his underwear, makes him nip at his lower lip to keep his thoughts at bay. jesus.
a hand creeps upwards to the exposed skin of her midriff, fingers gliding up towards her ribcage. he can hardly help himself; it's practically a reflex at this point. exhaling sharply, he mutters, ) Should I be jealous?
( right now, it sure doesn't fucking seem like it. gideon hasn't the slightest as to what she's thinking, doing this right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of her ridiculous shoot. surely she must be planning on dragging him off into a closet somewhere for a quick one before it's time to return to her rightful place in front of the camera once more. )
no subject
Date: 2015-04-07 05:56 am (UTC)so she tries to push him. because she's angry, because she's hurt, because she's bored. the reasons never matter very much, for quinn, it's always about the reaction. whether he loses control and yells --rarely. and almost always dependent on how much he's had to drink-- or just plain loses control, she still wins.
and the moment his touch begins to shift, words huffed under his breath, she knows she has him. ) He has really good hands. ( she murmurs in response, laying her own over top of his to stop it's slow upward movement. ) Nice, long fingers.
( threading theirs together as in in demonstration of the fact, her head falls onto his shoulder. sweetly, completely innocent if it weren't for the way she shifts again, hips pressing back and down. determinedly ignoring the fact that surely at least one person has noticed what's happening by now. too caught up in those little details again, like the way his breath catches faintly, or the warmth of his palm against her stomach. the light flush that stains her cheeks is the only indication that this isn't an every day sort of occurrence. ) He kept slipping them under my skirt. If you hadn't shown up to distract me, I might have asked him to show me if he knows how to use them.
( slowly, achingly so, she guides his hand. down her stomach and to the top of her skirt, where it would be so easy for his fingers to dip underneath the waistband. where she knows that's exactly what he wants to do. ) But you, you don't get jealous, right?
( yeah, it's truly a wonder why none of her attempted relationships has ever lasted longer than a couple weeks. )
no subject
Date: 2015-04-14 05:19 am (UTC)he imagines, as her words play out, what it would be like for the model to touch her. slip his hand between the warmth of quinn's thighs, make her arch with sheer pleasure, much like she does now, with her head laid back against gideon's shoulder. and, just like now, she'd rock her hips needily against the model's hand, wordlessly beg for more of those long fingers of his. what it'd be like for gideon to do nothing but watch, as though glued to his chair. just sitting here, now, even with her on top of him like this, makes his own fingers itch to touch her. makes it very clear just how much she's beginning to affect him once her hips bear down against his lap again.
while she may have one of his hands under control, firmly atop her waistband, the other skims from its place around her middle down along the pleats of her tiny skirt, past the hem and getting dangerously close to slipping back up against her inner thigh. almost like he's more than ready and willing to fulfill her request for fingers -- as though she's giving herself over to him right here and now. funny, that.
his eyes close and he turns his head just enough to nuzzle her jaw with the roughness of his cheek, as close to something purely affectionate, almost appreciative, as gideon gets most days. a contented little smile works its way to the corners of his mouth as he murmurs so quietly he isn't sure it's audible over how loudly his heart seems be pounding: ) Don't exactly think I've much to be jealous of, mm?
( a rhetorical question, but a brash, utterly arrogant one, nonetheless. )
no subject
Date: 2015-04-15 05:37 am (UTC)( an understatement, possibly. fingers long, the rough not that of a guitar player, but a sailor. someone who knows what it's like to put in a long day's work, weathered the elements. god knows she's gotten more than her share of enjoyment out of them. feels those fingers now, his free hand, dancing along the hem of her skirt like he's just waiting for her to give the nod. permission to do exactly what they both want him to. instead she squirms slightly on his lap, crossing one leg over the other, a move elicits a barely audible gasp, the effect her little game has had on him suddenly very obvious.
tsking under her breath, she tries to adopt a mask of stern reproach. a task made all but impossible by the proud little smirk that works it's way onto scarlet painted lips. ) You didn't want to be a part of the shoot, remember? You don't get to touch. ( unless i let you. the truth meaning of her words all too clear and just underneath the surface. --control is, and always has been essential to her comfort. it's why quinn throws herself so wholly into every single aspect of their careers. surprises, being caught off guard, are recipes for disaster now. there's no place for it in her life. but with her inability to delineate her private and public lives, the constant desire for control has bled into every part of her life.-- if his hands are on her, it's because she's allowed it. ) But maybe I'll let him this time. It'd make a hell of a picture, right?
( somewhere her name is being called --thought technically screamed might be the more accurate definition. wasting time, her own and everyone else's, to flirt with her bandmate isn't exactly professional, something she ordinarily prides herself on, and yet it takes a tremendous effort to disentangle herself from his arms, to stand to leave when all she wants to do his haul him into the dressing room, a closet, a dark corner somewhere. let him put those fingers to use. instead she starts to head back towards the makeup table, waves apologetically before turning back. as if she's simply forgotten something. leans until her mouth is beside his ear, testing the limits of the flimsy excuse for a top they've put her in, body shielding the movement of her hand when she presses the heel of her palm against the crotch of his jeans. ) Make sure you stick around. I think these shots are going to be really great.
( and then she's the very picture of professionalism once again, if professionalism looks like a slutty cheerleader who has apparently repeated a few years, as she dives back into the fray. a new and far too cheerful bounce in her step. )