Archive of Our Own ^beta

Though it’s Gee you flirt with onstage, it’s me your chords are calling, your fingers striking amplified echoes across my skin. Your palms caressing the neck of your guitar make my breath catch; my pick’s frantic with the rush of lust-sound thrumming from my heels to tingle across my scalp. My solo twines around yours with the secrets only we know, voiceless phrases we can only share like this. I wonder sometimes if you’re just teasing me the way you do Gee, or if you mean it this time; I don’t know how to tell you that I always do.