Chapter Text
“Gwen, they want you to sing.” one of the event planners whispers in her ear. She smiles and nods, finally ready to get up from Blake’s lap. He pushes his chair back and lets her put on her silver heels.
“Grab me my clutch, Blakey?” she requests, all the while finger-combing her curled hair. When he hands her the sparkly bag, she fishes out of it a pocket-sized mirror and her red lipstick. He remains seated on the velvet chair, his gaze fixated on her every movement. She runs her hands down her dress, getting rid of any wrinkles, no doubt a consequence from the amount of time she spent sitting on Blake’s lap tonight.
“A very special lady will be singing for us tonight,” Gwen hears someone on the mic say, a row of clapping hands along with it. She holds on to the hem of her couture dress and walks up the few steps to the stage where a thirty-something man is waiting for her. “Miss Gwen Stefani!” she takes three strides towards the mic stand and waves her hand. She then looks behind her, to the band, and mouths the name of the song. As soon as she starts singing Hollaback Girl, the people in the last few tables get up and start dancing.
She has fun with it, walking from side to side, moving as much as she can in her tight dress. The band is ecstatic too, the atmosphere crazy in that big room. Someone dims the lights as Gwen sings the last couple of lines, her eyes stopping on Blake’s. He’s up as well, and she can tell that he’s been dancing along with everybody else in the party.
She looks towards the man who introduced her and he motions for one more song. She obliges.
“This one if for a very special guy out there,” she smiles widely, grabbing the microphone, putting it back on the stand. “This one is for the love of my life.” The words come out almost like a breath, like the caress of a long-gone remembrance.
The first chords of Rare echo throughout the mutedly lit room and her hips start swaying to the rhythm slowly. Her eyes rise from the ground and search for his at their table. He looks so relaxed and content she could cry. His hair is wavy and moussed, his black suit looking so perfect with his blue eyes. When he notices her gaze, he returns with a side grin, making her giggle in the middle of the song.
You’re so good and you don’t even know it and the words are sung purely for him, everyone knows it. He’s the only thing she’s looked at since the song started, and she doesn’t show signs of averting her gaze. He laughs at the words, pointing at himself, coyly asking: “Me?” her smiles widens even further, and people start looking at him. He pretends to be annoyed and hides behind his arm, only intensifying her amusement.
Do you really think you wanna make some new memories with me? She decides to go up to their table and a bystander helps her descend the steps carefully. She cuts through the middle of the room, all the while dancing to the strumming of the guitar. When she reaches his chair, he holds out his hand and helps her sit down. Her legs are sprawled on his lap sideways, while her back is arched, his other hand travelling to the small of her back, making sure she won’t fall against the table.
You’re rare and only a stupid girl would let you go, don’t you know? As the last words are sung, she makes sure her face is only inches apart from his, their eyes glued to each others’. His smile is reassuring – much like his entire demeanor – and she has to take a breath before they kiss. It’s a sweet, honey-like lock of lips, very much an appropriate display of affection, given the number of on-lookers all around them.
“You’re crazy,” he murmurs in her ear after their lips part. She holds on to his shoulder, burying her head on the crook of his neck. “And you’re making me be rude to our hosts.” He says, pushing her a few inches away from him, so as to look in her eyes.
“What do you mean?” she asks, a puzzled expression on her face. Someone else has already started to sing.
“You can’t do something like that and just expect me to keep on eating my dinner in front of everyone.” He says, matter-of-factly. His eyebrows shoot up as she gets up from his lap.
She makes sure to speak loudly enough so that people around them could hear: “I’m going to the ladies’ room, be back in a second.” and just walks through the door. He waits another song before he exits, following her every step. After he’s out of the ballroom, he looks around in hopes of finding Gwen. He sees a flash of red on the marble staircase and quietly walks up to her. She doesn’t hear him though, so he decides to put a hand on her stomach and whispers in his sweet southern drawl: “Hey, pretty girl. You taken?”
She spins around immediately, almost like a reflex of his voice, and locks her arms around his neck. Even with the heels, she struggles to reach his lips. Her nose trails down his jawline, down his neck, her face stopping in the sensitive spot behind his ear. Her kiss leaves an imprint on his skin, a bloody crescent moon begging to be mended and hung once again amidst the stars.
“I can’t believe you’re my girl,” he exhales, thrusting the words into her skin, each syllable more pressing than the last. That same hunger to be touched by someone you love reverberates between them.
“Your cowgirl,” she smiles into his lips, his warm hands holding her face in place. Her neck burns, her cheeks are on fire, her eyes barely managing to stay open. Her body relics in that blissful state of numbness that only his stubble against her velvet skin provides. “Blake?” her voice wavers slightly as he intertwines his finger with hers.
“Yeah?” his southern accent is thick and prominent.
“I had an idea the other day…” he spins her around and her back hits the wall. His rough cheek rests against her smooth one, her mind lost in between phosphenes. “Let’s go to that lake house you keep talking about.”
His head shoot straight up and he’s all smiles. “Really?”
“Yeah, we’ll take the boys too, it’ll be fun!” her heart swells with the overflowing happiness that resonances in the space between them.
“You’re the best, Gwen.” The chandelier above offers them a misty sort of lighting, the hallway devoid of people and sound. The music from the ballroom zigzags through the walls and envelops them in a blissful haze. They stay there against the wall and solely look at each other. He can’t help but exhale lightly while she bites her crimson lip. Her right hand brushes against his arm, the softness of his shirt pleasant underneath her skin. He lowers his head and their foreheads meet, his curls tickling the sensitive skin of her face. She laughs a curt laugh and tilts her head to the side. Her eyes travel from his chin, to his lips, to his nose and, finally, to his eyes.
“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” Gwen teases, all too aware of the tension growing between them.
“No need to beg, darlin’.” He tugs her towards him and covers her mouth with his and, in an all but surprising manner, she responds immediately. Her lips slide on his, tender but demanding, and it feels like falling in love all over again. In fact, she never needs to worry about forgetting how it feels like to be kissed for the first time, because every time Blake and her kiss, it’s an all-new sensation that makes her insides quiver or her mind spin.
“Should we go home and… pack?” she asks, bashfully yet mischievously.
“Yeah, let’s go pack,” he kisses her cheek and locks his hand in hers. They walk down the hallway to the lobby to leave the building, the clanking of her heels marking their every step. Far away, you could see a mesh of black and red, and hear an all but shy voice say: “When we get home, I think the packing can wait.”