#Fringe Encore Series
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SoHo Playhouse's Five Star "Tragedy Plus Time"
#EdByrneTragedyPlusTime
#frontmezzjunkies posts a review by #DennisW:
#Comic #EdByrne's #TragedyPlusTime
playing at the #SoHoPlayhouse NYC
@MrEdByrne @sohoplayhouse
The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: SoHo Playhouse‘s Tragedy Plus Time
By Dennis W.
How do you feel about death and grief? It seems like a straightforward question but try to answer it and you’ll trigger all kinds of replies from anger, sadness, and laughter. Yes, laughter. Comic Ed Byrne’s show Tragedy Plus Time playing at the SoHo Playhouse during its Fringe Encore Series touches on grief,…
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Wild Horses Couldn't Drag Me Away // Ashton Irwin
I can't believe I'm finally able to share this story! As I mentioned, last year I started work on two more Stage!Ash chapters but due to ongoing health issues, I stepped away from writing. When I started back up again, I decided I liked these adventures too much to let them remain "lost," no matter how "outdated" they were, so I finished them both and hope you enjoy! (Thank you to @cal-puddies for listening to me obsess about finishing these for almost a full year lol 💙) Today's story takes place Halloween 2021, so about 2 months after the previous chapter (it can absolutely be read as a standalone, I'm just clarifying for context).
And please be sure and join me back here tomorrow for a "lost" Christmas chapter!
Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash, Stage!Ash: At Home Edition. So many cowboy themed jokes. Semi-public teasing, thigh riding, implied weed usage. Dirty talk, first time rope bondage (following discussions of boundaries, safe words and ongoing consent protocols). Slight dom!Ash overtones. Rough oral sex on a male, cum play, overstimulation on a female including prolonged nipple play and oral sex. Unprotected sex in an established relationship.
Word Count: 12k
Encore: A Stage!Ash Series Masterlist
Masterlist // Ko-Fi linked above
Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!
“You’re way too excited about this, cowboy.”
Ashton winks at you over FaceTime, his giggles echoing off the bathroom tile as he props his phone up on the counter and twirls around, giving you the full view of his all black Western themed Halloween costume, beaming as you ooh and ahh at how the fringe fans out to move with him.
He brags excitedly, “I can’t back the camera up enough for you to see my boots but they really make the outfit. Gotta say, I kind of nailed this one.” He does a brief two-step jig before asking, “When are you gonna mosey on over, little lady?”
You grin at your phone, charmed, as always. “Well, pardner, the party’s not for a few more hours, I didn’t know you were planning an early evening fashion show,” you laugh.
He spins again, this time treating you to some finger gun action when he turns back to the camera. “Nahhh, come over now,” he implores, tone wavering somewhere between enthusiasm and a whine. “We’ve got the house to ourselves, we’ll order food, take some pictures. Maybe play a little cops and robbers.” He picks up the phone to make sure you see his suggestive eyebrow wiggles.
You laugh, “Well how could a gal resist a courtin’ call like that?”
A smile spreads across your face as you turn onto Ash’s street and spot a broad cowboy pacing along the edge of his driveway, impatiently awaiting your arrival. You chuckle at his exaggerated attempts at trying to ogle your costume as you pull up and you’ve barely shut off the engine before he’s pulling at your door.
“Howdy,” you flirt, taking his outstretched hand and letting him help you out of the car.
He lifts your hand above your head and twirls you around, getting a good look at you. You’d agreed to match his Western aesthetic but hadn’t given him any other details about your costume. He lets out a long whistle as he takes in the sight of your tight denim miniskirt and tied up denim work shirt, unbuttoned enough to show off a peek of your bra, red to match the bandana around your neck.
“Howdy,” he says with a smirk, snaking his hands around your waist, stuffing his large hands into your skirt’s back pockets as he draws you into a kiss. “Well… ain’t you a sight.”
You hum against his lips before pulling away to give his outfit the once over as well. He pulls a few dramatic poses and you giggle, “I mean, it’s not the shirtless vest and assless chaps look I suggested but it’s not bad.” He scowls and you laugh harder. “No, seriously, you look great, babe. You’re right, those boots really are the star of the show. Heels are even taller than mine.” You gently kick at his foot with your flat, fringed boots for comparison.
“Haven’t even made it inside the house yet and you’re already trying to knock boots with me?” He jokes, bringing you into another kiss. He reaches behind you to grab your bag from the car, looking confused as he slams the door. He asks, “No hat?”
With a roll of your eyes and a sigh, you realize your faux pas. “Definitely still on my kitchen table. Goddammit,” you groan, hanging your head in defeat. You wrap your arms around his waist as you follow him inside. “Thankfully I have a handsome and generous boyfriend who has an oddly vast collection of cowboy hats for me to choose from?”
He swings his arm around you, chuckling, “Only because you called me handsome.”
You sit in the kitchen, looking over takeout menus and taking a few minutes to catch up and decide on dinner. As soon as the food is ordered and there’s a lull in the conversation, Ash insists on taking a variety of pictures, both selfies and timed, while you wait for your meal to arrive.
“Oh, wait, I have accessories!” You exclaim, grabbing your bag from the entryway where he left it. You find him back in the living room, trying to determine where the best lighting is and you unceremoniously dump an armful of props onto the coffee table. You set about pinning a plastic sheriff’s badge to his shirt while he eyes the assortment behind you.
“Water guns, plastic holsters, fake mustaches… gonna try not to be offended by that one, since you haven’t even noticed the outlaw beard I grew just for you,” he comments, jutting his chin out for you to inspect.
You scratch your nails over the light stubble on his cheek. “Such a light beard, it should be outlawed,” you tease, squealing as he pokes your side.
“I’ve been working,” he pouts, amusement in his eyes, like there always is when you tease him.
“Poor baby,” you pout back at him, leaning in until your puckered lips meet his. “Let me help you out a little bit,” you joke, yanking his bandana up over his nose as you pull back.
“Rude,” he replies, pecking at you through the material. Something else catches his attention on the table and he leans down to grab it. He holds up a bundle of bright red rope, smirking, “Is this for the cowboy aesthetic or is it in your overnight bag for other reasons?”
You bite your lip, pleased that his mind went to the same place yours did when you first thought to add that to your costume. “I was thinking we could just make some lassos,” you explain innocently before adding a coy, “For now.”
Ash grins at you, grabbing a pair of scissors out of a nearby drawer before sitting on the couch to start crafting. You can’t take your eyes off the way his hands nimbly tie a secure knot into the rope; the strand he’s cut looks so small in his large palm and you’re fascinated by how gently it glides and passes through his fingers until it’s worked the way he wants it.
“Of course you know how to tie like that,” you remark, unable to fight the naughty grin forming on your face as he looks up at you, mock scandalized. You joke, “You know… all those camping trips you go on.”
“Right,” he chuckles, squeezing your knee as you sit down beside him. “Have you ever… camped like that before?” He cocks an eyebrow as he meets your gaze, making sure you understand his euphemism.
Your heart beats a little faster, not expecting this discussion to come this easily; your fingers fidget with your hemline but the rest of you exudes confidence as you answer him while maintaining eye contact. “Always wanted to, always thought it’d be something I’d enjoy. But never had a… camping buddy… I felt comfortable enough with to ask if they’d do it with me. Until now.”
Ashton sets the project aside and cradles your face in his hands. He kisses you passionately but it’s not heated like you anticipate, given what you’re talking about, albeit indirectly. The kiss is soft, tender, reassuring; the adoring way he looks at you as he pulls back has you feeling somehow more flush than at any point during the suggestive conversation.
You open your mouth to elaborate but are interrupted by the doorbell ringing to announce your food’s arrival. As he pecks your lips one last time on his way to answer the door, you have to admit you’re a bit disappointed that the moment ended so abruptly but you have no doubt that the topic will be readdressed. Ash’s eagerness to communicate with you is one of your favorite parts of being with him and definitely makes you feel more open to sharing parts of yourself that you usually don’t let boyfriends see this soon into the relationship.
The two of you spend dinner debating not only which of the pictures you took together are worthy of his private Instagram account, but which belong on the grid and which should just be stories. You finally agree on a handful of photos and where they should live and then it’s another fifteen minute discussion on what an appropriate caption would be.
“No tacky riding puns,” you advise as you help him clear the table.
He tosses the empty containers in the trash and turns to look at you incredulously. “Baby, ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ doesn’t count, it’s a lyrical reference,” he insists.
You laugh, “Baby, I haven’t even met most of the people who follow your Finsta, this is the first time you’re putting me on your page and that’s what you want their introduction to be?”
His face softens. “Aww, it is the first post, isn’t it?” He scrunches his nose up, thinking, and it takes everything in you not to kiss it. Instead, you load up the coffee pot, knowing he’ll want at least one cup before you leave for the party; you hit the ‘brew’ button before heading back to the living room. He stands at the counter a bit longer before serving the coffee; just as he’s getting the mugs out of the cabinet, your phone buzzes to inform you that you’ve been tagged in a post. As he sits the drinks down on the coffee table in front of you, you click on the post and read the caption aloud.
“Feelin’ luckier than a horseshoe to spend Halloween with the prettiest gal in the West.” You look up to pout at him but break into a delighted giggle when you see the way he’s beaming at you.
“You approve?” He asks proudly, sitting down next to you. You answer him by planting a slow kiss on his lips. You move closer, swinging your leg over to straddle him but he halts your movement before you settle in his lap. With a teasing grin on his face, he complains, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I received any notifications about being tagged in one of your posts?”
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll definitely get photo credit,” you chirp, barely able to contain the sly smile threatening to destroy your poker face.
“Photo credit?!” He screeches, lifting you off of him and flinging you back onto the couch. He climbs over you and you howl as his fingers poke and tickle your sides. He pins you down, holding your wrists to the bright green cushions, muttering, “I’ll give you photo credit…” as he lowers his face to your neck, kissing and nipping along the edges of your kerchief before playfully pulling it off with his teeth so he can properly affix his mouth to your skin.
Ash spreads sloppy kisses up and across your throat, murmuring contentedly at the way his lips can feel the vibrations of the low giggles and satisfied sighs you’re letting out. Once he frees your hands, you keep your fingers moving through his long curls, loving the way he nuzzles against your touch as you fluff out his hair that’s still flattened from him insisting on wearing his cowboy hat all day.
He finally makes his way up to your lips, capturing them in a heated kiss. You let out a slight whine, raising your hips against him and he takes the hint, shifting to rest one of his legs in between yours. You love that he didn’t need more instruction than what your body gave him, that he can read you like that; you let the way your tongue moves with his convey your appreciation. He smiles as he feels you rock against him, running your hands down his strong back, pressing him tightly against you.
The makeout continues at a pace both leisurely and needy; you’ve each unbuttoned the other’s shirt but seem content to leave the garments on, neither of you making an effort to move past this lazy, comfortable stage of your encounter. You’re so caught up in each other, the original purpose of your visit fades into the background and when you finally notice the sound of Ash’s phone incessantly buzzing on the table, you share a puzzled look with each other as he breaks away from you to investigate.
“Everything OK?” You ask, studying the mildly annoyed expression he’s directing at his phone screen, as you sit up and tug your skirt back down from where it had ridden up from your grinding.
“Yeah,” your boyfriend sighs, squeezing your leg with one hand while the other flies over his phone keyboard, typing a message. “But apparently we’ve gotta hightail it over to Michael’s, seems like they’re getting restless over there.”
You button your shirt, chuckling, “It’s an adult Halloween party, what could they possibly be restless about?”
“Pictures? Snack rations? Waiting to start games they already know I have no interest in playing?”
“Maybe they’re out of weed and they know it’s a guarantee you’ll be holding.”
“Ha ha,” Ashton responds, swatting your ass as you get up to head for the bathroom to make sure you look party ready. He stands and grabs you by the waist. “You sure you wanna go, baby? Not too late to claim we’re sick and have to head straight to bed.” He winks at you before delivering a teasing nibble to your ear.
You shake your head and start buttoning his shirt for him. “Thought you couldn’t wait to show off this outfit.”
“I’ve moved on, rather show you a few things instead,” he flirts, his fingers tracing the designs on your skirt’s back pockets.
You laugh, playfully batting his hands away. “Well, I didn’t put all this effort into my costume just to take it off.”
“Roleplay? A little kinky but I dig it,” he teases, squeezing your ass as he buries his face in your neck.
“Ash,” you protest, giggling at his insistence.
He groans against your skin, releasing you from his hold and letting you lead him out of the living room. “Fine,” he grumbles. “We’ll make an appearance.”
Ashton talks a big game the entire drive over, claiming you’ll be out of there and under him within an hour. But of course, once you arrive at the party and he starts goofing around with his boys, his time frame comes and goes without him even realizing it. You smile as you watch them chattering away as if they weren’t holed up in a studio together all week, passing around the squirt guns from Ash’s costume, debating whether or not it’s too cold outside for a water fight. Every so often you catch your boyfriend making eyes at you from across the room and it both warms your heart and makes it race. Everything feels right, comfortable and intimate, like it often does with Ash. You love it and you’re so glad you didn’t skip out on the party, tempted as you were.
You haven’t seen the girls since the Global Citizen gig so you catch up with them. Crystal introduces you to some of her friends and you do your best to focus on the conversation but you can’t help the heat that spreads across your cheeks whenever you feel Ash looking at you.
“Ash’s post was sweet,” Sierra mentions, clearly noticing your and Ash’s silent flirtations. “First time on the Finsta and a grid post. Big stuff.”
“I haven’t even really posted him so it came as a surprise to me too,” you laugh.
“You must have an airtight circle around you given that not even a hint of you guys has leaked yet,” she notes, impressed. “We’re all used to being careful but it takes most people a while to adjust to that.”
You shrug. “My socials were already private, just family and close work friends mostly. Literally no one who cares whether or not I have a boyfriend, much less if he’s moderately famous.” You all laugh and you raise your glass to Crystal in acknowledgement. “By the way, I appreciate you putting me in a croppable spot when you took the group pics tonight.”
“I got ya,” she smiles, clinking your glass. “Although… call me a fool but I’ve got my fingers crossed for a public post by Christmas…”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you chuckle politely but shake your head firmly. “We haven’t talked about it too much but I think we’re both content to just let things happen how they happen.”
A chorus of “that’s sweet” and “good for you” surrounds you before you joke, “He can be surprisingly lowkey when he wants to be.” Just as the words leave your mouth, you notice Ash exaggeratedly wiggling his eyebrows at you and closing his ridiculous overtures with a cartoonish wink. You shake your head, “Aaaaand apparently now is not one of those times.”
Everyone giggles as you feel your phone buzz in your back pocket; the conversation turns to another subject and you pull your phone out, suppressing a grin when you see a message from Ash that simply says, “Miss you,” with a kissy face emoji.
You shoot him a playful look across the room as you text back:
Gross
You stifle a snort at the offended look he directs towards you before firing off his reply.
Not gross, I was being sweet! :(
If I wanted to be gross, I’d have said how incredible your tits look in that outfit and how I can’t stop thinking about getting my mouth on them later
You chew the inside of your cheek, glancing up to see Ashton nonchalantly talking to his friends as if he didn’t just send you the message that he did. Knowing he’s on the other side of the room fantasizing about you feels thrilling, makes you feel powerful and bold. Your fingers hover over your keyboard as you contemplate whether to match his energy and divulge the thoughts that have been lingering in the back of your mind all evening.
That’s interesting because I keep watching your hands fiddling with that lasso on your belt and I can’t stop myself from thinking about you tying me up like we started to talk about earlier…
You watch as Ash casually looks at his phone and does a slight double take reading your message; he subtly loosens the bandana around his neck as he glances over at you, a smirk forming across his features as he types.
You naked and bound to my bed while I’m free to explore as I please… sounds like a fine way to combine our interests…
You don’t hesitate to send your simple response:
I’m down
He grins over at you before Calum grabs his attention and leans over to address him. Ash turns back towards you, gesturing towards the backyard and miming holding a joint to his lips. You smile at him and nod, holding up a finger to indicate you’ll be a minute and then he and Cal head for the door.
You wait for a natural break in the discussion and then excuse yourself to go outside. You spot the guys in one of the yard’s conversation pits and laugh to yourself as you approach them and notice an obviously cold Cal wearing Ash’s fringed leather jacket.
“I was about to complain to my chivalrous boyfriend about how chilly it is out here but I see you’ve already beaten me to it,” you tease the shivering man.
Calum chuckles like a good sport while Ashton cackles loudly, opening his arms to you. “I offered him the jacket because you get to do this,” he boasts, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you.
You settle in and the three of you hang out and smoke for a while until Calum stands up and declares it’s too cold and he’s going back inside.
“It’s like 60 degrees,” Ash playfully argues.
“It’s 59 so fuck you,” Cal deadpans as he heads towards the house’s glass doors.
You giggle at his outburst and Ashton pokes at you in protest before deciding he’d rather mute your laughter with a kiss. You happily return his affection, humming at the heat of his mouth, appreciating the way his large hands rub over your exposed thighs, helping keep you warm.
“Y’know,” you start, pausing to peck his jaw. “Not that I’m not having a lovely time here… but I think we’ve definitely fulfilled our ‘appearance’ duties at this party.” You look at him, happy to see recognition of your meaning in his eyes.
“Fair point,” he laughs, squeezing your legs. He teases, “Eager to get back to it, are we?”
You purse your lips as you coyly shrug, while making a point to dart your eyes from his to the rope hanging from his belt and back up to his eyes again.
“Right,” Ash responds with enthusiasm, making sure to keep eye contact with you as he continues. “Wasn’t sure if that was a ‘definitely tonight’ conversation we were having back there or a more abstract one.”
You squeeze his hand. “I’m definitely open for some experimenting tonight if you are,” you confirm with confidence.
He squeezes your hand back, lifting his other one to caress your cheek and pull you in for a slow, grounding kiss. “I think I would definitely enjoy that,” he agrees in a tone that’s somehow both sweet and suggestive. You lean into him, pressing a more urgent kiss to his lips. He indulges you for a moment before gently asking, “Can you tell me a little about how you see things going? I think you should call the shots tonight.”
You tuck his hair behind his ear and smile warmly, taking a moment to answer. As you’ve come to expect, Ashton reads you perfectly and understands that your pause is more consideration than hesitation; the encouraging look in his eyes, the warm and steady touch of his hands, everything about his presence in this moment makes you feel even more confident in your trust that this will be a positive experience for the both of you.
“Well. I’d like my hands tied for sure… at first I was thinking legs too but maybe we just try hands for now?” He nods in agreement and you continue. “I’ve been envisioning tied to the headboard. Arms together above my head or spread to each side, I don’t really have a preference, whatever works with your bed I guess,” you shrug.
He rubs your back reassuringly. “We can test things out, see what's most comfortable for you.” You place a hand on each of his bearded cheeks, stroking over them with your thumbs before eagerly kissing him again. He chuckles as he pauses your advances once more. “Speaking of comfort, do you want to pick a safe word, just in case either of us starts feeling too in over our heads?”
You twist the curls at the base of his neck around your finger. “Personally, I’ve always liked the traffic light system but we can pick a word if you want.”
“Green means ‘keep going,’ yellow is ‘slow down, let’s talk about it,’ red means ‘everything stops immediately, no questions asked’?” He checks, grinning when you nod happily. “Alright, we can do that.”
You raise your eyebrows expectantly, waiting to see if he has any more questions before you pounce this time. He catches on and giggles, offering a low “C’mere” before crashing his mouth into yours. The way his lips move against yours, his arms hold you close, his hands lightly caress your skin - it’s everything you’ve been craving since you sent him that text and without even realizing it, your hips begin gently rocking in his lap.
You moan quietly as he rests his forehead on yours before giving you a naughty smile. “Color?” He asks, pressing your hips down and helping you move.
You bite your lip and shift yourself so that you’re straddling one of his thighs. “Couldn’t be more green,” you say firmly, staring into his eyes as you unapologetically roll your hips.
Ash leans in to kiss you sloppily, hands coming around to grip your ass. His voice shifts to something deeper, raspier, hungrier. “Should’ve helped you get off before we left, baby… left you so desperate you can’t stop thinking about being tied up… have to ride my thigh at a party… can’t believe I left my girl needy like that,” he pants, eyes quickly glazing over as he watches your miniskirt ride up, flashing a peek of your red lace panties as you work yourself on him. “Such a good girl being able to hold out this long. Think I’ll be able to make it up to you?”
You take a long breath to steady yourself. His words and the tone of his voice would be enough to get you worked up, even without the pressure that his body is providing. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” you play along, hips speeding up at the thought.
“Yeah… I’ve got some ideas but what do you want, baby?” He asks, egging you on, flexing his thigh underneath you as you grind.
“Take me home… tie me down… just… play with me?” You huff, knowing you’re about to start rambling. “I dunno, Ash… I don’t care, I just want you on me. Mouth, hands, everything… just want to be overwhelmed by you. It’s all I ever want.”
Ashton breathes deep as he watches you, eyes closed and brow furrowed, inching your way towards your orgasm under the moonlight; you’ve never looked more beautiful to him. “That sounds like a good plan, baby. Kiss all along here…” His fingers trace along the underside of your jaw. “Bite a little here,” he asserts, lightly pressing on your throat as his hand moves down your body.
“Maybe leave some marks,” you suggest breathily, feeling yourself get lost in your desire. “Get a little rough… tease me… use me, Ash, treat me like I’m yours. Only yours.”
He licks his lips, silently cursing himself for wearing slacks instead of jeans tonight; he could use the extra pressure on his aching cock right about now. “Fuck, baby, you love it when I claim you like that, huh?” He leans in to suck at the center of your throat and groans at the way your resulting whimper feels against him. “That’s my girl,” he rasps.
“Fuck, Ash,” you moan.
His fingers graze the tops of your breasts as he plays with the lace of your bra, red and teasing beneath your partially unbuttoned shirt. “Can’t imagine my mouth ever wanting to leave these alone,” he groans, giving your tits a firm squeeze before moving his hands down to your inner thighs. He brushes the tender skin lightly while teasing, “Well. At least until I decide my attention is needed elsewhere.”
You see his pink tongue subconsciously dart out to wet his lips and you actually ache at the thought of it doing the same to your pussy. “Ashhhh,” you hiss, clawing at his shoulders, hips beginning to lose rhythm as you reach the edge.
“God, I can feel how wet you are, baby… the heat…feel how much you need it,” Ash encourages, grabbing your hips to help you get the friction you need to finish. “Come on, baby, cum… you worked so hard.”
You gasp as the pleasure overtakes your body, falling forward to bury your face in Ash’s neck, letting his scruffy skin muffle the whines and sighs escaping your mouth. He strokes through your hair with one hand, the other wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly to him as he quietly whispers to you. As your hips slow and your breathing evens out, you lift your head to weakly seek out his lips, lazily moving yours against his, just needing a taste of him.
“Think that fulfills my ‘ride a cowboy’ quota for the occasion?” You joke, dreamy grin on your face.
You’re not sure if Ashton was speeding on the way home or just happened to hit all green lights but you make it back to his place in record time. Your lips are on his before he even gets a chance to turn the car off and even after a longer than necessary makeout session in the driveway, you can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself on the walk to the house.
He fumbles his keys at the front door, distracted by your hands pawing at his shirt buttons and making their way inside to touch over his chest. He bends down to pick them up and laughs heartily at how immediately you take advantage of the situation, planting your hand on his ass and your mouth around his earlobe. “Are you really this turned on or are you just trying to rile me up so I’ll really let you have it in there?” He jokes.
“Why not both?” You breathe into his ear, flicking your tongue against his earring before he can stand back up.
Shaking his head amusedly, he suddenly grabs you and pins you against the door, easily fitting both your wrists in one of his hands and holding them above your head while his knee slides between yours. Your stomach drops deliciously as he leans in and warns, “Behave,” staying close, eyes locked on yours while he finally turns the key and unlocks the door.
The two of you stumble inside and through the foyer, Ash’s lips attached to your neck, your hands spread across his broad shoulders, holding him to you.
“Color, baby?” He asks when you finally reach the living room.
You take a breath, trying to steady your voice, knowing the combination of arousal and nervous excitement has you feeling and sounding shaky. “Green,” you pant, grabbing the rope bundle off the coffee table where you left it, confidently handing it to him.
He kisses you briefly before positioning your arms in front of you, elbows together; he sets the rope aside, instead tugging off the bandana around his neck and securing it around your wrists. He explains, “Thought we’d start with something a little less intimidating, get you comfortable with the feeling first.”
“Makes sense,” you agree, mesmerized watching his long fingers twist and pull the fabric tight against your skin. He gestures for you to try and separate your wrists and when you can’t, a satisfied smile lights up his face.
A lustful surge shoots through you and you drop to your knees, your bound hands making a valiant effort to undo Ash’s belt. “Oh?” He chuckles, helping you feed the leather through the loops. His voice drops an octave and he asks with a smirk, “Thought I told you to behave?”
You match his smirk and reply, “I just don’t see that happening tonight so I figure I might as well start making up for it now.” You successfully get his fly down but your limited range of movement makes tugging his pants down a different story. He watches, entertained, as you try with both your tied hands and your teeth before you give up and just start mouthing at him over the fabric.
He runs his fingers through your hair before gripping a handful and gently prying your face away from his crotch. “You want it that bad, baby?” He keeps his hold on your hair while using his other hand to drop his pants, his hard cock springing up, waiting for attention.
You try to maintain defiant eye contact as you answer but you can’t keep your gaze from shifting down to where he’s slowly stroking himself. “Just really in the mood to please you,” you assert, breath getting heavier with every word. “Saw how hard you got while I was riding your thigh, been wondering how I should repay you… spent the entire drive home thinking about you using my throat to start."
“Jesus, baby,” he mutters under his breath, squeezing mid-stroke at your words. He moves closer and laughs lowly at the way your mouth automatically parts. He gives himself a couple more pulls before tracing over your lips with the head of his cock, effectively smudging your lipstick and replacing it with a trail of precum instead. It takes everything in you not to dart your tongue out to swipe at him, not to lick your lips for a taste of the substance leaking onto your skin. He notices your restraint and playfully comments, “I see, you only behave when you want something, is that right? Want this cock down your throat and suddenly you know how to act.”
The tone he’s using has your pulse racing and you can feel your wetness soaking through the center of your panties. You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself before responding, “Just wanna be good for you.”
Ashton smirks, “We’ll see about that.” He tips your head all the way back so he can see you and you see his face visibly lighten as he adds, “Your mouth’s gonna be busy so I want you to give my leg two taps if you need me to slow down, three if you need me to pull out immediately, OK?”
“Got it,” you quickly respond.
“Color?”
“Green.”
“You sure?” He asks, studying your face.
“Hundred percent… now will you fuck my face already?” You goad him with a smile.
He grins back, tightening the grip on your hair as he taps his tip against you, prompting you to open up for him. “Sure doesn’t sound like someone trying to be good for me,” he chides as he starts sliding his cock between your lips, letting you feel it rest on your tongue before continuing.
You stare up at him, patiently waiting for his next move; he gently thumbs at the drool forming at the corners of your mouth before pushing his hips in, letting your mouth envelop the rest of his shaft. He goes slowly - partly out of courtesy, partly to tease - and you feel your jaw already begin to ache, your lips pulling tightly from the way his girth is stretching them. You’re not used to taking him this deep but it’s all worth it when you hear a long groan as he feels you swallow around him as he hits the back of your throat; you wiggle your head as you lean forward, working him down until your lips are wrapped around his base and his hair tickles your skin. You stay there, unmoving with his cock down your throat, until your body insists you pull back: first with a gag escaping your throat and your eyes watering, then with wracked gasps for air and a strained cough as you sit back on your heels.
Ash’s hand massages your wet jaw while you take a moment to recover. “Now that’s what a good girl sounds like.”
His praise lights a fire in you and you eagerly take him back in your mouth, first tonguing teasingly around the head before moving further, your bound hands working what hasn’t made its way into your mouth yet. You bob shallowly around him, gathering the courage to take him deep again and when you finally start to move down, you hear him sigh your name under his breath, encouraging you to take more.
You fit him into your throat again, murmuring as you get into a slow groove, massaging his balls with your tied hands. You cast your eyes up towards him and feel a surge of confidence at the sight of his eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You pick up the pace a bit and with a mumbled curse, his hands grasp your hair once again and he breathily asks, “Are you ready, baby?”
Your muted but enthusiastic “mmm hmm” allows him to start rocking his hips against you. Despite your restrained state, you’re able to somewhat hold onto one of his legs, bracing yourself as he finds a rhythm; you close your eyes, focusing on relaxing your throat for him and trying to time your breaths for when he’s not as deep.
Ashton starts moving faster, holding you in place as he thrusts in and out of your mouth. You squeeze your legs together, wishing you had a free hand to relieve some of the aching between your thighs, and he takes note, taunting, “Yeah, baby? This getting you wet? Me using your throat to get myself off and you can’t do a thing to help me?” Your whined response blends with the moan he lets out, the situation clearly affecting him more than he’s indicated thus far. “Always wanna be so good for me, must be driving you mad not to touch me. Tied up, can’t play with this cock the way you want to… making me do all the work… have to just sit there, dripping into those red panties, while I take what I need from your tight little throat. Is that what you wanted, baby?”
The way Ash is panting out his words affects you almost as much as the content of them. You want to answer him, that yes, this is exactly what you wanted. You told him to use you, to make you feel like you’re his and only his, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. You want to tell him how good his fingers feel tangled in your hair, how you love the pressure of his hands holding you in place, how you love feeling how large they are, wrapped around nearly your entire head. How some nights when you’re alone, the weight of his cock on your tongue is all you can think about and how you know that after tonight, your loneliest nights will be spent thinking about the feeling of his length throbbing as it glides down your throat, the sound of his strained groans above you, the power in being powerless on your knees for him.
You want to tell him, but instead, you just moan.
“That’s what I thought,” he teases, the rasp in his voice hinting at how close he is.
His hips snap against your face a few more times before he slowly draws out, choking back a whimper as you hollow your cheeks around him and twirl your tongue as he leaves your mouth. He grips himself by the base, trying to buy himself a little more time; he looks down at you, hair wild, makeup ruined, face glistening with tears and saliva.
“Beautiful,” he pants, caressing a hand down your face. He watches as strings of spit fall from your chin to the tops of your breasts, the red lace of your bra peeking out of your shirt more and more while your chest heaves, and he knows what he wants next. He gives himself a squeeze with one hand while the other roughly yanks the rest of your top open, buttons useless against his strength. “Wanna mark what’s mine,” he growls, causing you to stifle a whimper.
You sit back, watching him stroke himself, and you drop your hands into your lap, trying to no avail to find any source of friction, leaving you without even a second of relief. You don’t know if you’ve ever been more aroused in your life and you feel like you might cry if you don’t get some attention between your thighs soon.
“Miss feeling you in my throat already… wish I could’ve felt you cum like that,” you pant, feeling your cheeks flush at how hoarse you sound. “Love when you cum for me, Ash… if I can’t choke on your cum, being covered in it is the next best thing… cum for me, babe, I can’t wait any longer.”
Ashton’s hand flies over his cock as he listens to your filthy encouragement and with a deep groan of your name, ropes of cum begin splashing down onto your tits, one wayward stripe painting your cheek. You moan as you feel the hot liquid drip down your cleavage and start wetting your bra. You watch eagerly as he squeezes out the last few drops, your watering mouth drooping into a frown as he leaks onto his fingers instead of your tongue.
He notices your disappointment, smirking, “Aww, of course my girl wants a taste.” He cradles your face again, using his thumb to swipe the cum on your cheek into your mouth. You take it a step further by sucking the digit between your lips, swirling your tongue around it and biting down slightly as he pulls back.
“Don’t you?” You ask coyly, fluttering your eyelashes and jutting your chest out, making sure the light catches where he’s decorated you with his release.
Shock, arousal, adoration and maybe a hint of arrogance all wash over Ash’s face before he pulls you up on your feet in front of him. He pauses and you wonder if he’s going to go in for a kiss when suddenly his tongue is dragging across your stained skin. You feel the vibrations of the soft moan pouring from his throat as he moves, burying his face between your tits, tasting himself on your flesh. Your fingers twitch as you desperately wish you could run your fingers through his curls, press him closer to you; instead, you just moan his name.
When Ash finally pulls himself away from your chest, he immediately presses his lips to yours, kissing you with a tenderness that adorably contradicts the situation, as if you can’t taste his salty essence on his own tongue. “Are you OK, baby? How are you feeling, what’s your color?” He rushes out, fingers working fast to remove his bandana from around your hands. “I probably should’ve checked in more once we got going, I’m sorry.”
As soon as one of your hands is loose, you’re stroking his cheek, scratching over his scruff affectionately. “Ash,” you start, waiting to continue until he looks at you. “That was perfect, that was… yeah. That was exactly the kind of thing I wanted. You were great. I feel great.”
The concern in his eyes starts to fade into something closer to pride. “Still green?” He checks.
You let the enthusiastic kiss you pull him into answer for you.
He indulges you a few moments more before leading you into the kitchen where he insists on offering you a glass of water and a preventive ibuprofen to help with any after effects you might feel from the rougher than usual session. He then sends you off to the bedroom while he, ever the gentleman, grabs some water bottles and your bag.
Ashton enters the room and finds you on your knees on the bed, carefully examining the headboard. “Inspecting the hardware, are we?” He chuckles, giving your ass a playful smack as he walks by.
“Just strategizing.”.
He tosses the rope bundle at the foot of the bed and looks at you knowingly. “You expect me to believe that this is something you’ve been actively fantasizing about and you haven’t done extensive Google research?”
You bite your lip and grin, both delighted and called out that your boyfriend knows you so well. “Maybe I’ve got somewhat of an idea of how this could go,” you say sheepishly, crawling over to him and throwing your arms around his neck while you still can.
“Mmm hmm,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He stands there, while you kiss and caress each other for a few moments, before he gently nudges you to lay back so he can join you on the bed. Once you feel his weight on top of you, you find yourself quickly become needy; your hands roam his body with greater intention, your breath and pulse both quicken, your tongue licks at his more hungrily. His fingers toy with the button of your skirt and your hips involuntarily buck up as you moan into his mouth.
“Sorry,” you laugh into his kiss. “Think I’m just excited.”
“You don’t say,” he jokes, pecking your lips as he coaxes the denim down your legs. He watches your breath shudder as his fingers trace their way back up your body. “Nervous?”
You think for a second before lacing your fingers with his. “Nah… it’s like… good nerves. Like ‘Looking forward to something fun’ nerves. ‘I really wanna do this and I feel kind of out of control because it’s a new experience but I’m glad it’s one I’m having with you’ type of nerves.”
He smiles widely and squeezes your hand before reaching up to touch your face, looking intently into your eyes before laying a passionate kiss on you. Your head swirls as his lips spoil yours with the type of loving, teasing affection you hope is a preview of what he has in store for the rest of your body soon. He caresses your cheek and sincerely says, “It feels good knowing you trust me like this, baby.”
You feel your face warming like it always does when he’s looking at you that earnestly so you give him another soft kiss and crack, “So ya gonna lasso me up or what, cowboy?”
He giggles, pecking you again as he sits up and reaches for the rope. After a brief discussion, it’s decided you’ll have your wrists tied together and then raised to attach to the headboard. You move into position, making sure to discard your bra first, ensuring Ash has the access to your breasts he’s mentioned wanting all night; he quickly strips out of his clothes, leaving just his boxer briefs on, before kneeling beside you on the bed and beginning to bind your wrists.
He pulls your hands apart and when the knots refuse to budge, you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling it gives you in the pit of your stomach. Your breath hitches as he pushes your arms up above your head and starts gathering the ends of the rope to secure to the headboard.
He pauses to ask, “Color?”
“So fucking green, Ash… please…”
He finishes the job and asks you to try bringing your hands down. You can’t and the resistance you feel, the total loss of control, the knowledge that you’re completely at his mercy has you squirming, looking for friction again, whimpering louder than you mean to.
“Now, baby,” he starts amusedly, forcing your legs apart but stroking them gently as he does. “Are you gonna behave or do we need to rethink tying your legs?”
You take a deep breath, trying to bring your excitement down a notch. “I can be good,” you vow, not sure if you’re saying it to convince him or reassure yourself.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he nods, fingers dancing up your inner thighs. “Be a shame if after all this, you didn’t get to cum.” He grazes his fingertips across the soaked through strip of red lace between your legs and you bite your lip to keep from screaming.
He teases you through your panties, adding just enough pressure so that the seam rubs against your clit but not enough so that anything actually builds. You struggle not to rock your hips in time with the motion but you know it’s in your best interest to hold out as long as you possibly can.
“Good job, baby,” he coos, slipping his fingers under the fabric to touch you directly and a pathetic little whine escapes you. “Yeah, that’s what I figured… been so wet for so long, haven’t you? Before the party on my couch… at the party on my thigh, after the party with my cock down your throat… about time I gave this poor little pussy some attention, huh?”
You’re not sure which answer will win you the most favor with him so you simply meet his eyes and lick your lips, moaning.
At first you think you’ve made the wrong call when he remains silent and pulls his hand away; your nervousness turns to relief when he hooks his thumbs in your waistband and drags the lacy material down and off your body. You feel your breath getting shallow as you watch him sit back and cast a long look up and down your naked body, bound and waiting to be subjected to whatever he deems pleasurable.
“You look fucking gorgeous, love,” he breathes, the sweetest blend of lust, affection and disbelief swimming in his hazel eyes. “Can’t believe you’re all mine… you all mine?”
You choke back a gasp - you always feel overwhelmed whenever Ash calls you his but he’s only just recently started calling you “love.” He’s only tried it in bed so far, almost as if he wants the safety net of heightened passion to fall back on in case you ask questions, and it takes your breath away every time.
You've never felt more naked or vulnerable in your life than you do under his unwavering gaze but you don’t hesitate for a second to confidently answer his question, “I’m all yours.”
Ashton notices you instinctively reach for him, only for the restraints to hold you back, and he’s instantly beside you. “Doing okay?” He kisses over the ropes on your wrists. “Not too tight?”
You shake your head. “Feels good.” Satisfied, he starts to move away and you call out quietly, “Ash… can I have a kiss before you get started?”
He smiles softly at you, cupping your face in his large hand. “Of course, baby.” He lowers himself to you, his lips delivering just the amount of reassurance and strength you needed. “You ready?”
You nod, prepared to let out a small whimper at his warmth leaving you; your expected disappointment never comes as he moves directly from your lips to your neck, peppering your skin with wet kisses before starting on what seems to be a sizable mark onto what he knows is your most sensitive spot. You groan out of both pleasure and frustration, your fingers helplessly flexing, longing to wrap around his hair.
“Perfect,” he announces, admiring his work. He moves to start work on a matching one for the other side and your whine of protest has him pulling back to explain, “We both agree you’re all mine, I think it’s time you look like it.”
He follows through with his promise, sucking and biting along your neck and the tops of your breasts; his hands explore the area, massaging your tits with grabs alternating between gentle and rough. He listens to your noises, how you’re responding to his touch and alters his course of action accordingly. Just as you start to get restless, his hands begin to busy themselves with twirling and tugging at your nipples and you can’t help but gasp, aching to feel more while already on the verge of feeling too much.
“Ash,” you breathe weakly. “Please… please touch me.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing, baby?” He toys with you, taking one of your hardened buds between his fingers and twisting hard.
You cry out, head spinning, trying to decide if it’s the best or worst thing you’ve ever felt. “God, Ash… you know what I mean… need you between my legs.”
“Mmm…” He replies, nonchalantly nipping at your collarbones. “And what exactly would you like me to do there?” The sigh you give as he nibbles along the outer edge of your breast tells him he’s not about to get an answer from you, so he continues. “Hmm… maybe a little something like this?” He flicks his tongue over your nipple a few times before wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently.
The ropes dig into your skin as your body arches off the bed, desperately seeking more contact with him. “Yes, Ash… please,” you plead. “I need that… god, please.”
He pulls away with a loud pop. “Please what, baby?” He shifts his attention to your other side, his hand coming up to paw at the breast he’s left unattended.
Ashton’s hand squeezes around one tit, his mouth lazily tonguing at the other, and you’re so turned on, you feel like you’re losing your mind. “Please… I… I need you on my pussy,” you stammer, not totally sure of what you’re even saying. “Need your tongue… your fingers… something… anything… god, Ash… please.”
Your boyfriend recognizes the brand of desperation and hunger in your voice; you feel his movements pause momentarily and as he lifts off you again, you expect him to indulge your request and make his way towards your lower half but instead, he watches you while he grips both of your breasts in his hands, squeezing carefully, letting his thumbs tease their swollen peaks.
“You are… so beautiful, baby,” he praises softly. He adds more pressure to your nipples as he goes on, “And such a good girl, too, aren’t you? Being so patient, letting me play with you like this… you like it when I tease you, don’t you?”
The way his voice is rasping goes directly to your core except this time, you spread your legs apart instead of squeezing them together - your entire body feels like it’s on fire and any incidental friction suddenly seems like it’d be too much to handle. Speaking seems like it’s too much to handle at the moment, so instead, you just moan.
He gives you a minute, continuing his quiet affirmations, hands ever so slightly tightening their grasp. “Can I get a color, baby?”
“Green,” you huff, still trying to keep your wits about you.
As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Ashton’s attention is focused on your chest again. His tongue swirls and sucks around one nipple while the other is rolled and tugged as his hand kneads your breast. His actions get rougher each time he switches sides and you quickly realize that you no longer recognize the satisfied noises pouring from your throat.
A familiar feeling sparks within you but in an unfamiliar way and if your mind wasn’t so busy screaming with desire, you might’ve thought to question it. An undeniable burst of electricity starts building in your stomach and quickly surges first to your chest and then shoots towards your pussy. At first you think it was just a fluke sensation but then another jolt happens. And another one. Building. Another one, this time in quick succession. It crosses your mind that if your hands were mobile, you’d probably be clutching at the bedsheets right about now. Wait…
“Ash? Ashton?” You rush out, in disbelief. “Babe… I’m… I think I’m cumming?”
Any uncertainty you had about the situation is quelled when he simultaneously pinches one nipple and bites down on the other. You feel like all the blood in your body has suddenly been replaced by white hot lava and your entire being is vibrating to the beat of your racing pulse. An intense wave of sensation rushes through your whole body, followed by several shorter bursts of ecstatic release. You feel like you’re screaming, you think you’re screaming but you don’t hear any sound except for Ashton’s muffled moans as he keeps his mouth on you, dutifully trying to hold your writhing body to the bed.
It takes a few moments for you to settle and your mind is gently brought back to the present moment by the feeling of Ash’s hand softly caressing your face, his lips pressing tender pecks along your jaw. Your eyes flutter open to see him next to you, a proud but sweet smile on his face as he asks, “Still with me?”
You exhale loudly, unable to stop the grin spreading across your features. “Yeah…” You share an amused look with him and you begin to laugh euphorically, “Ash… what the fuck…”
He watches you adoringly for a beat before leaning in and muting your laughter with a kiss. “Knew you were impatient, but Jesus Christ, baby,” he giggles against your lips.
You long to scratch at his scruff, run your thumb over his dimples as you kiss him. You don’t get a chance to lament this lost opportunity, however, because suddenly Ashton is between your legs, noisily lapping up the aftermath of your orgasm.
Your legs close in around his head and you yelp his name. He comes up to hover over you, licking his lips with a smirk. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Figure since you made such a mess for me, it’s only right I clean it up.”
He resumes his task and you groan at the feeling of his tongue indiscriminately making its way around and across the entirety of your pussy; you jolt forward each time he ghosts over your clit and when his nose finally nudges it directly, you rise up off the bed, ropes pulling at you once again. “Fuck! Ashhhh…” Your complaint is short-lived, the uncomfortable sensitivity quickly giving way to something far more curious.
“Yes, dear?” He answers smugly, giving you a break by turning his attention to your inner thighs. He waits for you to voice your protest and when you don’t, he soothingly rubs his hands over your legs and checks, “Color?”
“Green,” you answer, tired but fascinated by what your body is telling you.
Taking a slow breath, you allow yourself to relax into the sensations a bit more as he dives back in. You focus on the delicious scratch of his beard against your tender skin, the affectionate way his hands squeeze your thighs, the talent of his tongue as he plays with your pussy: alternating between using the wide expanse of it to lick long stripes and using the tip to tease along your entrance before traveling up to bat at your clit.
He flicks back and forth, back and forth and you feel that burning sensation starting deep within your core; his lips wrap around your clit to suck and that fire spreads throughout your body, from the bottoms of your feet up to your scalp. It only takes a few slow open-mouth kisses for your legs to start shaking and your hips to begin bucking into his face.
You pant and whine until you finally let that blazing fire feeling completely engulf you and the undeniable waves of pleasure crash over you once again. Ashton’s hands, both reassuring and demanding, hold your lower half steady while the restraints keep your upper body’s thrashing to a minimum. You feel your lips moving but you’re not sure what you’re saying; whatever it is, Ash appreciates it, smiling and murmuring against you until he feels you go slack and he pulls away to tend to you.
“You’re doing so, so good, baby,” he coos, kissing up your heaving body until he’s laying beside you. His hands never leave your skin, caressing, massaging, soothing you as you come back down. His fingers are tracing designs onto your stomach when you finally open your eyes. He, of course, asks, “Doing OK?”
“I can’t believe I came again so soon,” you mumble in disbelief, giggling as the serotonin rush takes over.
He beams, admitting with a laugh, “Me neither! Thought I was just gonna tease ya for a bit but once you started pulling those ropes again…” He chuckles and sits up to check your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one. “How are these, baby? Arms tired? Need a break? Are you tired? Know it’s been a lot.”
You pout, longing to squeeze his hand to reassure him you’re fine, to brush back the sweaty curls clinging to his forehead, to palm over the bulge straining his boxers. “Can’t complain… could use some water… maybe a kiss.”
He leans in and gives you a quick peck before grabbing your water from the nightstand and helping you take some sips. As soon as your head is back on the pillow, he’s lowering himself to your lips, giving you the proper kiss he’s assuming you had in mind. You whimper into his mouth, grateful for the affection but still craving more.
Ash recognizes your need. “What is it, baby, what can I do?”
“Want you… want you inside now… want you to feel as good as I do.”
He kisses you tenderly. “Are you sure, love? It’s already been so much…“
There it is again, love… you were already certain you wanted him but the word sounds so fucking good coming out of his mouth, it solidifies your decision. “Not enough until you’re cumming inside me, Ash,” you coo, moving your hips until you feel yourself make contact with his hardness and his breath catches.
He stares at you for a beat, both his hands gripping your face as he lays an emotionally loaded kiss on you. You whine quietly as he pulls away, quickly discarding his underwear; he strokes himself as he comes back to kneel between your legs and you can’t help but lick your lips. It was only a short while ago that you had him in your mouth but it doesn’t matter, you feel like you’d give anything to taste him again right now.
He notices your preoccupied demeanor and checks in, rubbing your legs. “Still good, baby?” You nod and he checks one more time. “Color?”
“Green. AKA the color of jealousy. AKA what I feel watching you touch your cock right now.”
He giggles and pulls your legs up to rest on his hips. “This better?” He teases, tracing through your folds with his tip.
“Nope,” you say stubbornly, the shudder running through your body telling a much different story.
Ashton grins, dragging his cock up and down through your wetness once more before slowly beginning to push in. He asks, “How about now?” and you answer with a moan and an impatient buck of your hips. “Greedy tonight,” he chuckles, continuing with his teasing pace. He finally bottoms out only to withdraw from you just as slowly before pushing back in at that same torturous speed.
“Ash, I swear to god,” you grumble needily.
“Since we were trying new things tonight, thought you might be open to being patient for once,” he teases with a smirk. “My mistake.” He digs his fingers into your hips and starts bouncing you on his cock.
You cry out, thrilled to feel the force of his body moving yours, the experience amplified by the sensation of the ropes keeping you from assisting him. You're not sure if you'll be able to cum again but having him inside you, feeling him overwhelm you like this is pleasurable enough to keep your head thrown back, moaning.
It takes a few minutes for you to realize that yours is the only voice filling the room. You open your eyes, trying to get a read on why your boyfriend is so uncharacteristically quiet. His hands grip you tighter than ever and his hips are pumping against you harder by the second but his expression remains unchanged: eyes cast down, face pulled into a tight grimace.
“...Ash? Babe?” You ask, trying to sit up as much as your position will allow. “Ashton?”
You’re not sure if it was your tone of voice or using his full name that did it but his eyes snap up to yours and his movements cease. “What’s going on, baby?”
“You’re quiet, babe… is this not working for you?”
“It’s great, baby… you feel so good… love how you love it,” he pants, adamantly shaking his head.
You chew your lip, unconvinced. “What’s your color, Ash?”
He blinks rapidly, clearly caught off guard. “Oh… honestly? Probably close to yellow.”
“Well then, babe, that means we need to talk about it!” You insist. You’re feeling frustrated and you hope he doesn’t think it’s directed at him. Well, part of it is since he was less than forthcoming about his feelings but mostly you just wish you could run your fingers through his hair like you always do when he’s uncomfortable. “What’s wrong, Ash, what don’t you like?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it, baby,” Ash sighs, pulling out and setting your legs down on the bed. He pauses, obviously choosing his words carefully. “I think I’m just not used to only getting a verbal response when I’m inside you.”
You furrow your brow. “How do you mean?”
“You’re usually biting my shoulder, grabbing my ass… nails down my back, fingers yanking my hair… pulling me in when you feel overwhelmed and need a kiss,” he shrugs, voice earnest. “You give a lot of physical feedback and I really like that and I think I’m just missing it right now. Doesn’t mean this isn’t good, it’s just different.”
You pout, taken by his honest answer and how despite everything you’ve experienced together tonight, he seems almost bashful sharing this with you. It’s sweet and intimate and makes you feel irreparably soft for him. “Babe…”
He squeezes your legs, giving you one of his million watt smiles to deflect the emotion. “Good different… I mean it when I say I love how much you’ve loved this. Seeing you experience pleasure in a new way has been incredible, baby.”
“Tonight’s been amazing, Ash… but we can untie me now.”
His face falls. “I didn’t mean --”
“I know, babe,” you say understandingly. “But I miss being able to touch you too. I got what I wanted and I want that for you now, too. And thank you for being honest with me.”
He juts out his bottom lip, giving your pout a run for its money. “You sure?”
You nod confidently. “Absolutely. Green. Green, green, green.”
Ashton smiles softly as he easily frees your bound hands from the headboard; he helps you sit up and then begins working on untying your wrists from each other. You once again watch his fingers work, eyes flickering up to study his face as he focuses on separating the knots, pink tongue peeking between his teeth in concentration.
“Hurting at all?” He asks, noticing the redness on your skin as the rope loosens.
“Wrists are fine… think now that the adrenaline is wearing off, my neck and shoulders are mainly what I’m feeling, from having my arms raised for so long,” you report, rolling your head around, evaluating.
“I can definitely rub that out for you,” he offers, eyes not leaving his task, ignoring the smirk he knows you’re giving him for his phrasing. “Hot shower would probably help too.”
Your arms unceremoniously drop into your lap as he finally pulls the rope away. Instead of shaking them out or taking a moment to enjoy their freedom, you immediately fling them around him, squeezing tight as you bury your face into his neck.
“That was great but I missed this,” you murmur, pulling him into a slow kiss.
He hums at your affection but sheepishly admits, “I didn’t mean to make this about me, baby, I really was enjoying it.”
“Oh babe, please don’t feel bad, I’m so glad you said something,” you say firmly. “Trying that wasn’t ‘about’ me or ‘about’ you, it was about us doing it together. I wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your comfort or your pleasure just because it’s something I suggested. You wouldn’t want that for me either.”
“That’s true,” he agrees, practically purring as your fingers stroke his beard.
“And I did really, really enjoy everything else we did tonight,” you share, voice dropping to a seductive hum. His face noticeably lights up at your praise so you continue, twirling the sweaty curls at the base of his neck around your finger. “You did such a good job, babe… everything I imagined something like this could be.”
You draw him into another kiss, smiling as you feel him deepen it. “You were so responsive, baby… so blissed out… some of the noises you were making… gonna be hearing those for a long time,” he rasps, pulling you closer.
Ash groans as you lean in, attaching your lips to his neck, wrapping your hand around his now half hard cock. “I’m still down to take care of this if you are,” you murmur, stroking him.
He gives you an adoring smile. “Anything you want, love.”
“Good,” you say breezily, climbing into his lap. “Because I was serious about wanting to feel your cum inside me.”
He holds your hips as you raise yourself up and slip him back inside you. You stay as close as possible, kissing and touching each other as you gently rock in his lap until you move his hands down to your ass, gesturing for him to help you move. He bounces you on his cock while you let your hands appreciate his body, relishing that you now have the freedom to do so.
"Knew I missed this but didn't realize how much," you breathe, rubbing over his chest, letting your hands graze down his belly and snake around his sides to grip and claw at his back.
“Incredible, baby… heavenly feeling you all over me,” he pants, voice straining like it always does when he’s close.
You watch his eyes flutter and his lip catch between his teeth as you pick up the pace. “You deserve it, babe… been so good to me tonight,” you praise, threading your fingers in his hair and tugging his head back, causing him to moan. “Gonna cum for me, Ash? Wanna feel you, babe. Cum for me.”
He holds you tight to his chest as you move, working hard to push him over the edge and with a few grunts and a hushed whine of your name, he buries his face in your neck and spills inside you. You slow your movements until he stills you entirely; he brings a hand between your legs, offering to finish you off but you gently shoo him away before gripping his face with both your hands to kiss him tenderly.
The air is thick as Ashton pulls back to gaze at you with intense fondness and as he opens his mouth to speak, you find your breath catching, in anticipation of what he might be about to say.
“I wonder what we’d have spent our evening doing if I’d gone with a different costume.”
You cackle much harder than his joke warrants but you’re both shocked and relieved to hear his light comment as opposed to the profundity you were expecting. “Something tells me I still would’ve ended up naked,” you shrug, grinning at him as he helps you settle back on the bed.
“Probably… you’re kind of a slut for me, baby,” he teases, cleaning you up, giggling as you playfully kick him.
He lays beside you, examining your wrist as he pulls you closer. “These marks are pretty red, love,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the indentations the rope left.
“Think the skin’s just annoyed,” you reassure him. “I’ll put some lotion on it after I shower.”
“Oooh, am I invited?” He flirts, pursing his lips and raising his brows.
“I assumed… you’re kinda clingy after sex, babe,” you tease, giggling and shrieking as he pokes and tickles you.
Satisfied with his revenge, Ash turns to his side, propping himself up to look at you. “I’m glad you brought all this up, baby,” he says softly, giving your hip a squeeze.
You’re not sure how but the grin you’ve been wearing grows even wider. “Me too, Ash… it was a lot of fun. And I like knowing we can try things out together… feel comfortable exploring a little.”
“Exactly!” He agrees enthusiastically. “I’d do it again.”
You cock a suggestive eyebrow. “This or experimenting in general?”
“Both,” he shrugs casually. “Anything either of us are open to. Could be fun to try something new, could be fun to try this again. Could be fun to do a reverse uno and let you lasso me up.”
You sit up, interested. “Really?” He giggles at your reaction, pressing a peck to your jaw that has dropped open. “So basically what you’re saying is this may have been my first rodeo but it probably wasn’t my last?”
He snorts, pulling you in for a flirty kiss. “Something like that.”
“Yee. Haw.” You smirk against his lips.
-----------------------------
I know I announced the end of my taglist but I decided to revive it for this since this was part of an ongoing series and it seemed rude to risk people not knowing there were updates lol.
@hoodharlow @mashtonasfuck @pxrxmoore @bxcketbarnes @talkfastromance4 @camelliastreet @itjustkindahappenedreally @saywhatnow07 @mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @findingliam-o @fedorable-killjoys @trix-arent-for-kids @olivia-foster-irwin @calmsweetcreature @onthecliffside-mgc @feliznavidaddycal @himbohood @maggiesupertramp @karajaynetoday @ashtonangst @sunshineeashton @aladyofalbion @youngblood199456 @calumrose @irwindoll @in-superbloom @2fangirl4u @highstwildflower @bport76 @chamaleonsoul
#5sos smut#5 seconds of summer smut#ashton irwin smut#ashton irwin fic#ashton smut#smut#fic#kindahoping4forever#kh4f fic#encore series#wild horses couldn't drag me away#feedback is always very much appreciated#reblogs give you clear skin#fr tho i'm honestly just glad this is done and out of my docs so i can move on lmaooooo#this has lived in my head -and my docs- for too long
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Echo: Theatre-News.com NYC’S SoHo Playhouse presents Jekyll & Hyde as part of 2024 International Fringe Encore Series - #sohoplayhousenyc @sohoplayhouse #sohoplayhouse http://dlvr.it/T1gVQ0
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Theatre-News.com NYC’S SoHo Playhouse presents Jekyll & Hyde as part of 2024 International Fringe Encore Series - #sohoplayhousenyc @sohoplayhouse #sohoplayhouse http://dlvr.it/T1dTwN
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Antonio Velardo shares: Three Festival Shows Explore Toxic Society by Laura Collins-Hughes, Naveen Kumar and Juan A. Ramírez
By Laura Collins-Hughes, Naveen Kumar and Juan A. Ramírez
“Queens of Sheba” and “Volcano” at Under the Radar, and “Bacon,” at International Fringe Encore Series, expound on identity, captivity and violence.
Published: January 12, 2024 at 03:38PM
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NYC’s SoHo Playhouse announces lineup for 2024 International Fringe Encore Series
SoHo Playhouse announces the full lineup for the 2024 International Fringe Encore Series, running Off-Broadway from January 4 – February 11, 2024. Join SoHo Playhouse and stars from global Fringe Festivals for a roundup of the best Fringe plays this season has to offer!Productions include Bacon by Sophie Swithinbank, It’s a Motherf**king Pleasure by FlawBored and directed by Josh Roche, Aberdeen…
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Vaudevisuals interview with Neil Arthur James
Vaudevisuals interview with Neil Arthur James
Multiple Award-Winning Show! https://vimeo.com/378934306
Thursday, Dec 12th @9pm – Saturday, Dec 14th @11pm – Monday, Dec 16th @7pm
Tickets can be purchased at SohoPlayhouse.com
# # # # #
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#Award Winning Show#Dandy Darkly#Dandy Darkly&039;s All Aboard#Downtown#Eccentric#Fringe Encore Series#Gay#Neil Arthur James#The Soho Playhouse
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Anna Stromberg
Hometown?
I was born in Washington, D.C., but I grew up in Wilmington, NC.
Where are you now?
I’ve been living in Los Angeles for a few years now. Before that I was in NYC for ten years living and working as an actor.
What's your current project?
Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde is running for two weeks at the SoHo Playhouse as part of the Fringe Encore Series. We just have a few more performances left. Dec. 12th-15th. We did our initial run in Hollywood, and were then picked up for a run in North Carolina before making the trek to NYC for this final leg of our tour. I have some film and TV work coming up. I’m set to direct a web-series in the new year, and potentially a feature film noir in the spring.
Why and how did you get into theatre?
I have been doing theatre since I was a child. I can’t talk about theatre without sounding cheesy, so apologies in advance, but the theatre was the only place I felt truly at home. I was an actor for most of my life, but in the past few years I’ve broadened my ideas of what my career really can be. I’ve started directing, producing, editing, and working in all different mediums as well.
What is your directing dream project?
My dream project is to work with talented people with whom I share a mutual respect. I love working with people who are excited about the process, and exploring along with me. A great technical team is imperative, and of course great actors. As far as content goes, I enjoy directing naturalistic tragedies, and I get a kick out of directing larger than life farces. I’m up for anything really!
What kind of theatre excites you?
The first thing that excites me about watching theatre is the acting. I love actors, I love watching them do their thing. It’s the first thing that will draw me in, and the first thing that will pull me out. I’m really turned on by theatre that is funny and smart. Even if you’re working on a tragedy, I think it’s vital to find the humor. If I had to choose a production, Jerusalem is the first one that comes to mind. I was blown away by Mark Rylance, and the whole production.
What do you want to change about theatre today?
I think theatre today needs a publicity make-over. We need to make theatre the next hot date spot for young people. The cool place to bring the person you’re trying to impress. Nowadays, I think theaters that are doing anything original are mainly attended by friends of the performers. It’s a real shame. I think theatre can be the most exciting, funny and seductive experience you’ll ever have. Unfortunately people just don’t have that in mind when they think of theatre, but it can be damn sexy. That’s what needs to change- the perception. We need to bring back the sex appeal of theatre.
What is your opinion on getting a directing MFA?
I don’t hold one. I’m sure there are probably benefits to getting one, and benefits to not getting one. It’s different for everyone. I received so much advice growing up that I am not a huge fan of dishing it out, but I can say that no matter what you choose to do, it’s important to do it. You have to just dive in there and get your hands dirty, because the thing I learned the most from, was just doing it.
Who are your theatrical heroes?
Daniel Aukin. He is a dream. I had the pleasure of working with him, and he is the most inspiring director. I’ve learned so much from his style and his manner. Thanks Daniel!
Any advice for directors just starting out?
Trust your instincts, and don’t be afraid to fail. Come in with all of your brilliant ideas and homework, but try not to be too set on anything until you need to be. Be kind and forgiving. Becoming a director has made my life so much richer. It has taught me so much about my patterns, and my fears. Trust yourself, and try not to take yourself too seriously. Oh, and bring doughnuts to tech! Always.
For more info about Anna visit https://www.BlanketFortEntertainment.com
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Queens Theatre Presents New Season of 'New American Voices'
—Play reading series introduces three new writers—
Erin Clarke,
NeighborPosted Wed, Feb 2, 2022 at 5:52 pm ET
(Queens, NY)— Queens Theatre (QT) announces the 2022 season of its New American Voices (NAV) in-person play readings reading series, featuring three evenings of performances. "EIGHT TALES OF PEDRO" by Mark-Eugene Garcia on Saturday, March 5th at 8pm ET, AS I WAS NOT AS I AM by Alice Hakvaag on Saturday, March 26th at 8pm ET, and TUMBLEWEED by Marcus Scott on Saturday, April 23rd at 8pm. The series marks the first time playwrights Garcia, Hakvaag and Scott will have their work presented at Queens Theatre.
EIGHT TALES OF PEDRO, directed by Rodrigo E. Bolanos, begins in 17 Century Mexico, as Pedro and his companion travel from a small port town into the fabled Veracruz, telling stories while following Pedro's one true love. Meanwhile, in the present day, in a van full of Mexican immigrants, Peter crosses a border into an unfamiliar country, while his companions tell him stories to chase away his fears. The two storytellers risk everything as their lives and plots intertwine.
AS I WAS NOT AS I AM, directed by Hannah Postlewait is a hip, contemporary play about queer roommates, headaches, clubbing, upstairs neighbors, arson, and washing machines that follows the story of twenty-something Laurel who is sick. Her roommates want her to get better, but how do you help someone who can't afford health care? Does it involve setting a car on fire?
TUMBLEWEED, directed by Dev Bondarin is a slice-of-life drama about an interracial family, in which the natural hair of a young girl named Willow stirs up heated controversy in the household. This timely play explores beauty standards both in and out of the Black community, ethnic relations, the mixed-race family, coming of age, interracial marriage, parenting, womanist identity and the visibility of black men in the family dynamic.
"Queens Theatre's new play development program is our longest-running series. Supporting playwrights and creating opportunities for audiences to engage with artists at the readings enables us to reflect and serve our diverse and evolving communities," said Queens Theatre Executive Director, Taryn Sacramone. "We are proud to help facilitate the creation of new works, spark dialogue, and foster community."
"I am extremely excited to introduce three terrific writers to Queens Theatre audiences," said Queens Theatre Director of New Play Development, Rob Urbinati. "Each new play is unique, yet the audience should expect the same high quality of writing that Queens Theatre has come to be known for."
All performances are free, but advance reservations are strongly recommended. Tickets can be reserved by calling 718.760.0064 or by visiting: www.queenstheatre.org. All guests 5 years of age and up must present proof of COVID-19 vaccination upon arrival at the Queens Theatre facilities and patrons over the age of 18 must also show a valid form of ID. Masks are required, regardless of vaccination status. Learn more about our COVID Safety Protocols here.
About the Playwrights
Mark-Eugene Garcia is a Mexican/Honduran playwright and a proud member of the Dramatists Guild and A.S.C.A.P. He is a graduate of the City College of New York and studied book and lyric writing with the Academy of New Musical Theatre and the BMI Lehman Engle Musical Theatre Writing Workshop.
Playwriting Awards include: 2021 Jerry Harrington Award For Outstanding Creative Achievement in Musical Theatre Winner, 2018 UnFringed Festival Best of Festival Award Winner, 2016 Vancouver Ovation Award for Outstanding New Work nominee, 2013 Planet Connections Outstanding Book of a New Musical nominee, 2012 Jacob Weiser Playwriting Award for a Fully Realized Drama
Productions include EIGHT TALES OF PEDRO (The Secret Theatre) STANDBY (Towle Theatre, New York International Fringe Festival- Encores Selection, New York Musical Theatre Festival, Next Link Selection), THE HOLY COWS OF CREDENCE SOUTH DAKOTA (Planet Connections Theatre Festival, Puzzle Theatre Festival) FACING EAST: A NEW MUSICAL (Jericho Arts Center) and UNMISSED CONNECTIONS (Planet Connections Theatre Festival)
Other Plays include FLAKE OF SNOW, WITH BATED BREATH, WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR , ONE NIGHT AT THE GOLDEN BOOT, INSCRIPTIONS, and KEYS.
Alice Hakvaag is a queer playwright originally from rural Pennsylvania, currently based in Philadelphia. She holds a BA in Theater from Temple University and is a proud Ring of Keys member. Her work has been seen through Elephant Room Productions, The Women's Theatre Festival, Mal-Adjusted Theatre Company, Mad Cow Theater, Richmond Triangle Players, and Wings of Paper Theater Company. Her play As I Was, Not As I Am was nominated for a Susan Smith Blackburn Award, and was a semi-finalist for the Princess Grace Fellowship Award. Most recently, her play But Not Uncle Vanya premiered in Philadelphia with Aporia Artist's Collective, of which she is a founding member. She has also worked internationally as a director, actor, and sound designer. When she isn't writing, she's probably doing something else in theater, and when she isn't doing that, she's probably playing Dungeons and Dragons.
Marcus Scott is a playwright, musical theatre writer & journalist. His work includes "Tumbleweed" (finalist for the Bay Area Playwrights Festival & Festival of New American Plays at Austin Playhouse; semi-finalist for the New Dramatists Princess Grace Fellowship Award), "Sibling Rivalries" (finalist for the Seven Devils Playwrights Conference & the ATHE-KCACTF Judith Royer Excellence In Playwriting Award; semi-finalist for the Blue Ink Playwriting Award & the New Dramatists Princess Grace Fellowship Award), "Cherry Bomb" (New York Theatre Barn New Works Series; recipient of the Drama League First Stage Artist-In-Residence). He was commissioned by Heartbeat Opera to adapt Beethoven's "Fidelio" (Libretto; Baruch Performing Arts Center, The Met Museum, Mondavi Center, The Broad Stage, Scottsdale Center for The Performing Arts; called "poignant" by NY Times). Residencies & retreats: Prospect Musical Theater Lab, María Irene Fornés Playwriting Workshop, JACK Governor's Island Artist Residency, Catwalk Artist Residency, The Center at West Park Virtual Performance Residency, Gingold Theatre Group Speaker's Corner Writer, Liberation Theatre Company's Playwriting Residency Fellowship, Athena Theatre Company's Athena Writes Playwriting Fellowship, the inaugural LIT Council at the Tank, Fresh Ground Pepper Artist-In-Residence BRB Retreat, One Co. Writers' Residency at Little Farm & Goodspeed Opera House Retreat. Scott is a 2021 NYSAF Founders' Award finalist and a 2021 Doric Wilson Independent Playwright Award semi-finalist. His articles appeared in Architectural Digest, Time Out New York, American Theatre Magazine, Playbill, Elle, Out, Essence, The Brooklyn Rail, among others. MFA: NYU Tisch School of the Arts.
About Queens Theatre
Queens Theatre (QT) is a performing arts center located in Flushing Meadows Corona Park, Queens, NY. Its mission is to provide high-quality performances and programs that are accessible to the residents of Queens, the most diverse county in the nation. The Theatre's work reflects and celebrates its community. QT presents dance companies, produces, presents, and develops new works of theatre, family programming, community engagement events and initiatives, and offers a range of education programs onsite, in schools and in senior centers. In 2016, QT launched, and has since expanded, Theatre For All (TFA), a ground-breaking initiative to advance the inclusion of disabled people in the performing arts. Since COVID-19, QT has produced a range of digital programming – readings of new plays, wellness checks with performances for seniors, original dance showcases, a Storytellers series, an online round of its TFA training program for Deaf/Disabled actors, and more.
#Marcus Scott#MarcusScott#Write Marcus#WriteMarcus#queens theatre#Queens Theatre in the Park#Queens Playhouse#Alice Hakvaag#AliceHakvaag#Mark-Eugene Garcia#Mark-EugeneGarcia#Rob Urbinati#RobUrbinati#Rodrigo E. Bolanos#rodrigo e bolanos#Hannah Postlewait#Dev Bondarin#Tumbleweed#playwrights#playwrights of color#NYC playwrights#emerging writers
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CSJJ Day 21: “The Best Things Happen While You Dance”
CSJJ Day 21: “The Best Things Happen While You Dance” (1/1)
(AO3)
Rating: E (for unsanitary kitchen activity, which I imagine is typical for these two.)
Words: 3,577
Emma likes to dance. Killian likes that Emma likes to dance. Though it can get distracting when he’s only home because he forgot his phone and he’s trying to get back to his shift at the station and there’s NO TIME to be seduced by his wife, bloody hell, woman...
A/N: I guess all I want to write is Killian’s opinions on popular culture?? Also, ha ha I meant for this to be something fun and domestic about Killian being perplexed by modern music/dancing and then smut happened, whoops.
@csjanuaryjoy, @lenfaz
His wife liked to dance.
Killian discovered this gradually even before their courtship began.
While in her vehicle, on that awkward journey back from New York, he’d caught her mouthing along silently to something on the radio, her finger tapping along with the oddly prominent percussion on the steering wheel. Upon the sea where the misty moon is playing havoc with the tide...
During late nights at the station, pouring over town census records, he’d watch her stand up and stretch only to relax into a sway, a faint pulse to her movement matching the mellow rhythm of the music emanating from her computer. She’d tap a key to increase the volume so she could hum along. I could never see tomorrow...I was never told about the sorrow…
Truthfully, Killian was too over-stimulated from watching the stretch to process the dancing at the time. But later he’d been quietly thrilled that she felt comfortable enough to let her guard down in his presence, that she trusted him enough to let him see her be carefree, to see her be silly.
But he didn’t realize how musically inclined Emma really was until they began living under the same roof.
Everything seemed to call for accompaniment in Emma’s mind. Paperwork, exercise, showering (as if she needed the excuse to take even longer with this particular task). Killian often found her in the kitchen, too busy whipping her hair or belting “the best part” to notice she was burning breakfast.
Henry was worse. If Killian entered a room where the lad had music playing, he was usually pestered into sitting and scolded into staying quiet so he could “really absorb” the song. This was typically followed by a brief contextual lecture courtesy of Henry’s ongoing quest to educate Killian on the popular culture of his adopted realm.
The boy often acted as a fellow culprit of their burned meals, the “Shoop” incident being a prime example.
It was a weekend and Killian was half way down the stairs when he heard the beat from the kitchen. He recognized the style - the type that was more like spoken verse, heavily laden with modern slang. The most difficult to get used to, though the rhythm was a revelation
(“If you really want to appreciate it,” Henry had told him him, “you’ve gotta do your research, ‘cause it started out as, like, protest music? But now it’s gotten all commercial in the mainstream - well, not totally.” He pulled out his phone to add to Killian’s film curriculum. “We’re gonna have to watch The Get Down, and DEFINITELY Straight Outta Compton, maybe Paris is Burning? But I guess that’s more about dance…)
Naturally, when Killian rounded the corner to the kitchen it was to find his wife in his robe (“Why should we buy another one if there’s no overlap in when we want to wear it?”) and his step-son...bouncing? That was the best way he could describe the action. Bouncing - and waxing verse into a spatula and a wooden spoon as if they were microphones.
“Girls, what’s my weakness? MEN.”
Killian could really only stand back and behold.
Emma caught sight of him and began to saunter over, the lyrics aimed at a target now. “Can I get some fries with that shake-shake, booby?”
“Excuse me?” he said.
She ignored his bafflement, her arms rising over her head as her body seemed to roll. The movements were nothing one could find in a ballroom, but with so many years of sailing under his belt, they weren’t completely unfamiliar to Killian. His eyes followed the motion down from her torso to her hips and he promptly lost his train of thought.
She smirked at him - of course - turning so he could appreciate the dance from a different angle. And he appreciated. Up until he smelled the smoke.
“Shit!” came the confirmation from Henry.
They finished the morning at Granny’s, where the lad found the song on the jukebox for an encore.
Lucky for both of the lunatics he lived with that Killian enjoyed their antics. Such as when Henry brought speakers on an afternoon sail, and the sunset had been made truly transcendent thanks to some fellow named Pink Floyd. “Better than lasers,” Emma had said.
But Floyd’s music wasn’t particularly conducive to dancing. More often, Killian found his wife dancing to “hip hop,” or “motown,” or something with layered, ethereal sounds (occasionally, Killian could swear he heard a harpsichord) over a uniform, pulsing rhythm.
“Disco, baby,” Emma had labeled it with one of her fey little smiles. The term of endearment made Killian smirk even as he felt his ears go hot. He was proud to consider himself an accomplished flirt, but his wife could be rather dashing when she wanted to be.
But it was never guaranteed what sort of music he’d find her listening to, especially these days. With the weather turning colder and with no more seasonal festivities to distract her, Emma seemed to rely on her music even more than usual - even just to get out of bed.
She would sit up, wrapped in blankets, and squint at her phone before choosing a song, only leaving her cocoon - with plenty of grumbling - on the second or third selection.
Her mood usually improved in the shower, where she’d sing. Killian was becoming familiar enough with the lyrics to sing along, as he’d taken to joining her in the shower, since he had no hope for hot water otherwise.
This night, Emma had the house to herself. Killian had sensed her delight at the prospect. He could understand it. He enjoyed his own occasional moments of peace at the house or on the Roger. They weren’t as rare since they’d broken the Dark Fairy’s curse, but that didn’t mean he and Emma (and everyone in town) were taking them for granted.
Killian had the late shift at the sheriff’s station with David, and he was to drop Henry off at a party at Violet’s residence (their parting had been amicable, apparently). But first he had to drag the boy away from the latest of a series of arguments with his mother.
“I can handle it, Mom! You said I’m a good driver!”
“In a car, yes. This is different, and you haven’t even been driving that long.”
“I’ve been driving longer than him.” He waved a hand in Killian’s direction.
Killian didn’t bristle at the disparaging tone. His mastery of Emma’s yellow vehicle had taken many exhausting hours of practice and patient coaching from Belle on an apparatus called a “stick shift.”
“Yeah, well he’s definitely not getting a motorcycle,” Emma said.
“Mom, if you would just - ”
“Henry,” she said, “we’ll talk about it later.”
Henry sighed. “You’re just trying to get me out the door.”
“I’m not saying no,” Emma said. “I’m saying we’ll talk about it later and we will.”
He nodded, if sulkily, and allowed himself to be kissed goodbye.
“Come on, lad.” Killian looped his arm around the boy’s shoulder and steered him out of the house.
The drive was silent, Henry too distracted to turn on the radio.
“Look at things her way, lad. She only wants to keep you safe.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, I can take care of myself,” he said, quietly.
“She knows that,” Killian said. “But she also knows what’s in store for you, she knows the world won’t pull it’s punches no matter how capable you are. She’s not looking forward to giving you up to that.” Almost to himself, he said. “I know I’m not.”
“You make it sound like I’m going to leave,” Henry said.
“You might, lad. You’re parents were wanderers, don’t forget. Perhaps by necessity, but they were.”
“And so were you.”
“Aye, and so was I. Though Emma might be happier if you took the Roger instead of a - a motor -”
“Motorcycle.”
“- cycle, right. Aye.”
“Well,” Henry grinned, “would you let me?”
Killian sucked in a deep breath. “I suppose - ”
Henry burst out laughing. “Oh my god, no. Relax, your face.”
Killian sighed, lips twitching as he allowed himself to be mocked. They pulled up to the house shortly after anyway, where Henry turned to him, thoughtful again.
“She shouldn’t worry,” he said, “because if I do wander, it’ll only be until I’ve found my family. Like you both did.”
Killian considered this and dipped his head. “Aye, lad. Very true.”
The boy smiled at him, satisfied and excited, and Killian marveled at him. He was a boy still, but Killian imagined there would always be a spark about Henry, even when he grew into adulthood. It made something pinch in his chest to know that he would get to see it for himself.
He reached out to muss the lad’s hair, which resulted in an angry squawk. “Killian! I just fixed it.”
“Ugh,” Killian said, rubbing the residue between his fingers with exaggerated disgust. “With what? I told you to use -”
“No! I’m not having this argument with you again.” Henry stepped out of the car, frantically trying to smooth out his fringe.”
Killian rolled down the window to shout, “Be responsible, lad! Be a gentleman!” as per his wife’s custom when leaving Henry with his friends.
(“If we aren’t embarrassing him, we aren’t doing it right. My parents embarrass me all the time.”
“That’s because you’re an adult, love.”
“No, it’s because they’re obviously making up for the years they didn’t get to embarrass me.”)
He planned to include the moment in his report when he texted her but as he walked into the station, he reached a hand into his pocket and found it empty.
He cursed and ran back to the parking lot to search the car.
Nothing.
Dave waved him off when he told him where he was going, already pulling up solitaire on his computer. He hated late shifts.
As he pulled into the driveway of the house, curious in spite of himself about how his wife was spending her personal evening.
Music was playing on the amplifier in the kitchen, the rhythm upbeat if lazy, the instruments varied - guitar, harmonica, horns.
She was in a towel, her hair plastered in a wet coil against her neck and shoulder. She wasn’t so much dancing as performing. Her face concentrated in a mask of agony or ecstasy as she sang along, shaking a fist before clutching it to her chest, draping herself across the fridge to pose dramatically. She was ridiculous. Killian bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“Woah!” She jerked as she caught sight of him, a crack of energy sparking off the palm she raised in reaction. Killian ducked but the magic fizzled before it could reach him.
“God, Killian! I could have killed you!”
Killian was laughing as he walked over and gathered her up into his arms. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He rubbed her bare shoulder as she grumbled into his neck. “I forgot my phone. And then I was so enthralled by your performance -”
She shoved him and he laughed again, turning to hunt down the damned device.
When he returned she was pulling a box of something out of the freezer (how she could eat that dreck he’d never understand). The same song was playing, perhaps she’d set it to repeat, but her movements were brisk and efficient. She was focused entirely on her task.
Killian felt a pang of guilt. “Oh love, I am sorry.”
She gave him a self-depreciating smile over her shoulder. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, you were relaxed and I worked you up again.”
“Really, Killian, it’s fine.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her neck trying to think of a way to spike her mood again. “I made sure to embarrass Henry when I dropped him off,” he said.
She lifted a hand to his cheek. “No you didn’t. All his friends have a crush on you, they never notice what you’re saying to him.”
Killian made a face at that disturbing thought. “No I think that little ginger girl might fancy you, actually.”
“Hmm,” she said.
He felt the vibration in her throat, felt her body relax back against his and cheered to himself at the little triumph.
Slowly, he began to rock her, side to side. Trying to lead her back into her dance.
“Am I doing this right?”
She snorted. “Sure. Very ‘PDA couple at a night club.’” She turned in his arms and he moved his hand up between her shoulders.
“No, no,” she said, moving his hand back down to her waist. “This is how we did it in junior high.” She brought his hook to her other side and wound her arms around his neck.
“It’s more in the hips now than anything else,” she said.
Dutifully, he rubbed his hand against the warm terrycloth and felt her hips roll in slow, tight circles, dragging enough to follow the syncopated rhythm.
It was bloody mesmerizing, really.
After a few bars, he found himself matching her movements. She rubbed her cheek along his beard as she pulled away enough to smile at him. He let the satisfaction of seeing the pink burn on her jaw settle heavy in his stomach.
Her fingers had been teasing the hair on his neck, but now her hands (someday, he would have to compose some terrible poetry in tribute to her hands) ran down along his shoulders and arms, making him shiver. She gripped his hand and stepped back, swinging out.
He watched her, expectant, following her lead. Her lips twitched and her eyes danced and all at once she spun back into him, her back to his front, her free hand snagging his hook again, wrapping herself up in him.
She slid down his chest slightly as her hips wound again in a quick little phrase at twice the speed as before. She repeated the move, straightening, and he sucked in a breath as she nestled, plush and warm, against his crotch.
Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder, and still helplessly following her cues, he pressed his mouth to her neck. She hummed approvingly, her hand coming back to his cheek as he trailed kisses up to that place under her ear that made her gasp.
She turned her head to capture his mouth with hers, soft and hot, her fingers snaking back into the hair at the nape of his neck, her hand dragging his up to her breast, her arse grinding insistently against the suddenly aching bulge in his trousers.
He broke away with a groan. “Why are you like this?”
She laughed, breathless. “You bring it out in me.” She spun to face him fully and kissed him again, one hand anchoring his jaw, the other at the small of his back, locking them together, flush from lips to thighs.
“Emma -” the word was smothered against her kisses “- can’t - have to go - I’m on duty.”
“It’s fine.” The word of the night, “I can be quick.”
He laughed, low and desperate. “No you can’t, you greedy minx.”
“Yes.” Now the kisses were punctuation. “When I’m focused - ” Kiss. “When it’s just for you - ” Kiss. Long kiss.
Just as Killian was forgetting the topic of debate - forgetting his own name - she broke off with a snicker. She sang her plea along with the music.
Killian laughed, surprised and delighted.
“Let me...take you there,” she repeated.
“The Savior serenading me?”
“Is that a yes?”
He looked at her, skin pink from the cold because she was too lazy to put on clothes after her shower. Still swaying, pulsing, dancing. Wicked glint in her eye.
He nudged at her nose with his, drawn to her like a magnet, chasing her breath, her taste. “It’s a ‘Do your worst, wife.”
Needing no further prompting, Emma fisted her hands into his jacket and pinned him to the fridge.
“As you wish, husband,” she murmured against his lips.
She devoured him. An onslaught of lips and tongue and teeth. Killian could only grab her hip and hold on. Her kisses traveled from his mouth to his neck, stopping to nip at his earring, and settling at the base of his throat where she licked at the sweat there. She worked open a few buttons of his vest and shirt before she grew impatient and yanked them to the side so she could finish her trail to his nipple. She dragged the flat of her tongue against it making him hiss.
Her hands flew to his belt as she nuzzled her face into his clothed torso, mouthing a kiss to his sternum through the fabric. He stroked his fingers over her wet hair as she kneeled.
“Fuck,” he bit out as her hand seized his cock. She held him up and licked him messily from root to tip then twisted her fist to coat him all over with her saliva. He had to close his eyes, still overwhelmed by the extent of her capacity for depravity.
She pumped him twice, squeezing ruthlessly. His head thunked back against the freezer door. Somehow it registered that the vocalist in the long forgotten song was begging for mercy. He might have laughed if Emma’s mouth didn’t close over him at that moment.
He stiffened, letting out a strangled groan. He struggled to keep still, to let her work comfortably, to be a bloody gentleman. But of course she was having none of it. She gripped the base of him and sucked in long, unbearable pulls that had him growling her name like an animal.
His hips finally bucked forward when her eyes flicked up to snare his. Sometimes the expression in them was fierce and challenging when they made love. Possessive. Now they were serene and smug, reveling in his reaction. Hypnotizing him as he gasped and shuddered and twitched, rendering him a helpless mess plastered to their kitchen fridge, undone by her expert mouth.
She took his hand from where it was clawing at the formica counter and laced their fingers together. Her eyes never strayed from his face as she doubled her pace, her pressure, grounding him even as she sent him careening over the edge into oblivion.
“I needed that.”
“You did?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Not in the slightest. I know I live with a sexual tyrant.”
She smacked his chest with the back of her hand.
“And happily, so,” Killian added.
She hummed her satisfaction, her eyes closed.
He reached over and stroked her neck, frowning at the tension in her frame. “Worried about the lad?”
She hummed again, her lips pursing.
He lifted his to look at her, sitting next to him on the tile, their backs against the cabinets. Still in her towell. “He’s not going to leave us.”
She exhaled sharply, a sad little laugh. “Yes he will. And I get it. I mean, I don’t want him to stay if that’s not what he wants.”
He drew her hair over her shoulder to her back. It had started to dry in unruly yellow waves. “Very well, perhaps he will. But I know you. You’ll make sure we see him again.”
“You know this.”
He gave her a look. “What’s that bloody family motto of yours, love?”
She rolled her eyes.
He cupped her cheek, turned her face to his. “Emma Swan?” he murmured. “She always finds her man.”
She snorted.
He gave her a wry smile. “Henry knows he’s as stuck with you as you are with me.”
Her eyes filled with something deep and steady. “You’re stuck with me too,” she said.
Ah, there it was. A moment of peace. “I know it, love,” he said, and pressed a kiss against her lips.
Something rattled on the counter. His phone.
She broke away. “That’ll be my dad.”
“Yes, I’m stuck with you seducing me away from my duty.”
She laughed, unrepentant, and kissed him all the way to the door.
“I have to go,” he said. “Weren’t you excited to be on your own tonight?”
“Well I changed my mind,” she said. “Now I think it’s a good night to try and beat our record.”
“Goodbye,” he told her firmly. Though the effect was probably ruined by the pathetic grin he felt stretching his cheeks. “Put on some clothes.”
“Put on a scarf!” She nagged back.
His phone buzzed just as he was stepping into the car again.
She’d sent him a link to a song.
Here’s something for you to annoy Dad with at the station, I know he hates late shifts.
I love you.
Killian attached the phone to the car’s sound system before pulling away from the house, and smiled at the opening strains.
She’d played this one for him before, possibly for the first time after their second engagement. Those few calm days before the storm, when they’d shut out the rest of the world, alone together in their house, soaking each other up again. The music she’d gravitated to then had been comforting, and sensual, and hopeful. A serenade for their apologies, their absolutions, their vows, their growth. Their partnership. She might have even played the song he’d found her dancing to tonight.
The moon was high as Killian drove on, but the lyrics rang true as he sang them out, tapping his hook against the wheel.
Just one look at you, and I know it’s gonna be a lovely day
Title from the Irving Berlin song of White Christmas fame.
Songs referenced:
Don’t Get Me Wrong - The Pretenders
How Can You Mend A Broken Heart - Al Green (my “gazing out a window while it rains” song)
Shoop - Salt-N-Pepa
They played Dark Side of the Moon on that sail.
I’ll Take You There - The Staple Singers
Lovely Day - Bill Withers
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Theatre-News.com NYC’S SoHo Playhouse presents Jekyll & Hyde as part of 2024 International Fringe Encore Series - #sohoplayhousenyc @sohoplayhouse #sohoplayhouse http://dlvr.it/T1dTxQ
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“Pete seemed in fine fettle, rocking a severe undercut and floppy fringe that covered half of his face, and Carl leaned over to stroke his hair tenderly during ‘What Katie Did.’“
Accurate.
“How many of you are actually from Margate?” Carl Bârat asked the – well rowdy – audience at the Margate Winter Gardens last night. The query was met with an enormous roar, to which Carl replied: “We’re your new neighbours! Alright!” The Libertines recently bought the decrepit Palm Court Hotel in the seaside town, with plans to transform it into a restaurant and recording studio. You’d think the band were already residents here, though, given the homecoming heroes welcome they received from an audience that moshed, pogoed and stomped on the floor as they demanded more tunes during this warmhearted two-hour set.
The Sunday night headline show at By The Sea festival was the penultimate date on the band’s ludicrously named Tiddeley Om Pom Pom tour, a series of gigs in the UK’s seaside towns, and it’s certainly all a bit end-of-the-pier. There was a warm-up act, a magician called The Magic Mod, who delivered 20 minutes of deliberately shambolic magic and highly unwoke comedy. The audience seemed a bit non-plussed, to be honest, but then The Libs stormed onstage with the staccato opening riff to a raucous rendition of ‘Time For Heroes’ and the venue became an absolute rowdfest. It was a bravura, celebratory performance from thereon in.
Self-mythology has been The Libertines’ forte since they charted their own disintegration with the classic ‘Can’t Stand Me Now’, taken from their second album, and at one point last night they performed ‘Boys In The Band’ with images of themselves as younger men displayed behind them. Pete seemed in fine fettle, rocking a severe undercut and floppy fringe that covered half of his face, and Carl leaned over to stroke his hair tenderly during ‘What Katie Did.’ Yet it wasn’t all nostalgia: one standout moment saw Carl tinkle on the ivories for the mournful ballad ‘You’re My Waterloo’, taken from 2015 comeback album ‘Anthems For Doomed Youth’.
For the most part, though, this was a relentlessly boisterous show; one that included a battering solo from Gary Powell, who thrashed the drums as spotlights broke into him; and in which the audience punctuated the pre-encore lull with an “Ohhhh Jeremy Corbyn” chant. That encore, featuring ‘Music When The Light Goes Out’ and ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’, was followed by about 10 minutes of applause that the band stuck around to soak up. Earlier this year, when The Libertines announced plans to set up shop, Carl explained: “We’re looking for a home.” Looks like they’ve found it.
#what is this fanfiction#except it's actually very true#this totally happened#i need to sit and have coffee with this jordan bassett#pete and carl#the libertines#margate 2017#my gig
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David Corenswet, a Breakout Star in ‘The Politician,’ Takes Flight
LOS ANGELES — If you haven’t given much thought to the correlation between flying planes and milking cows, the actor David Corenswet may be your man.
Mr. Corenswet, 26, came to attention last year in “The Politician,” Ryan Murphy’s addictive twist on high school feudalism for Netflix. With his arctic blue eyes and dimples deep enough to serve martinis in, he was the high school crush who seemed too good to be true.
On a languid Sunday afternoon, Mr. Corenswet elaborated on the bovine-aviation nexus as he headed to a flight simulator class at Van Nuys Airport, a busy hub in the heart of the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles. It was something to do with working with your hands, and seeing the fruits of your labor, he said.
It was the same reason his sister, a law student who spent a year working for the World Bank on global poverty, wanted to be a farmer.
“Her thing is that on a farm if you don’t milk the cows, the cows are not going to get milked — so there’s something really rewarding about that proximity,” Mr. Corenswet said. “It’s the same reason I want to fly planes.”
It’s also the reason he enjoys acting, although not the audition process. “It can really turn into a terrible experience because it’s a lot of rejection,” he said. “Not even rejection. Mostly you just never hear anything.”
Those days, however, should be a thing of the past. In addition to the “The Politician,” which will return for a second season, Mr. Corenswet will star and serve as executive producer on Mr. Murphy’s next series for Netflix, “Hollywood,” a drama pitched as a “love letter to the Golden Age of Tinseltown.”
Mr. Corenswet is also editing a movie, “Down the Barrel,” which he wrote and directed shortly before landing “The Politician.” It features actors from Juilliard, where he studied.
More recently, Mr. Corenswet’s name has been floated as a potential successor to Henry Cavill in the Superman movie franchise, though neither he nor his publicist would comment on that.
After grabbing breakfast at a no-frills Mexican cantina, Mr. Corenswet arrived at the Encore Flight School only to find that his instructor had not. Taking the setback in stride, he sat in an oversize cream leather sofa to consider his options. Ceiling fans, designed to resemble propellers, rotated mockingly above him.
Another instructor, Joy, effervescent with good humor, eventually came to the rescue.
“Joy came through,” said Mr. Corenswet, cringing at his own wordplay. “There’s got to be a good line in there somewhere,” he added, breaking into a goofball smile.
In “The Politician,” Mr. Corenswet’s smile does overtime as a balm for the show’s protagonist, Payton Hobart, played by Ben Platt, a model of teenage hubris and self-regard. It’s often very funny, but also frenetic. Mr. Corenswet radiates calm and generosity that lends the show equilibrium. When he’s onscreen “The Politician” feels as if it’s taking time out to meditate. Mr. Corenswet credits his father with steering him into regional theater as a child in Philadelphia — an early “milking cows” epiphany. “It opened up my eyes to the joys of making things with people,” he said. He was 9 when he was cast in Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons,” and still recalls the thrill of hearing the voice mail telling him he had scored the part.
Joy guided Mr. Corenswet past a wall of photos in which various women posed fetchingly on the wings of single-prop planes, and into a low-ceilinged room lined with flight simulators. A row of white metal cabins on red platforms, it resembled a cool fairground ride, but without the long lines.
“What plane do these most resemble?” Mr. Corenswet said, as he climbed inside a cabin. “Cesna,” Joy said. Mr. Corenswet approved. “That’s what I’m most familiar with,” he said.
The machine began to hum like a loud vacuum cleaner. The control panels glowed green. Sitting in the pilot seat, Mr. Corenswet guided the plane onto a runway at a virtual LAX.
Although it was his first time inside a self-contained simulator, Mr. Corenswet had learned the basics on a computer program he downloaded in Philadelphia last year while taking care of his ailing father (he died of cancer last June). “I was thinking, ‘What could I do that would feel more engaged and worthwhile than just playing video games?’” he said.
Conquering his fear of flying was a fringe benefit. “I always try to use the experience of turbulence as a reminder of my own mortality,” he said. “I go back and forth between reassuring myself, and going, ‘Maybe this is it.’”
In the simulator, Mr. Corenswet followed Joy’s directions. “You want the nose touching the horizon,” she said. “Turn right over here, towards this reservoir.” She pointed to a spot just north of Route 101. The plane seemed to struggle.
“I’m turning right, but is it turning right?” Mr. Corenswet said. It wasn’t. “I don’t think the control wheel is working very well. Do we want to try a real airplane?” There was only one good answer for that question.
Ten minutes later, equipped with safety gear, Mr. Corenswet walked onto the runway, this time to try his hand at a real Cesna. In the far distance the mountains that fringed the San Fernando Valley were turning red. Using the edge of a wing, Mr. Corenswet helped push the plane onto a taxiway and then clambered aboard. His head brushed the ceiling. “You’re so tall,” Joy said.
As he taxied down a runway, Mr. Corenswet was giddy with anticipation. Joy, sitting alongside in the cockpit, chose the moment to tell the story of a student who threw up over the controls during a steep dive. “Try to avoid that,” she said.
Mr. Corenswet was buoyant with confidence. After opening the throttle and pulling back on the yoke, the plane bounced down the runway and suddenly the ground was falling away and the houses and cars below became toys. The sun blazed back into view.
Mr. Corenswet took in the panorama and pulled a wide grin. For a moment everything was a little brighter.
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David Corenswet, a Breakout Star in ‘The Politician,’ Takes Flight
LOS ANGELES — If you haven’t given much thought to the correlation between flying planes and milking cows, the actor David Corenswet may be your man.
Mr. Corenswet, 26, came to attention last year in “The Politician,” Ryan Murphy’s addictive twist on high school feudalism for Netflix. With his arctic blue eyes and dimples deep enough to serve martinis in, he was the high school crush who seemed too good to be true.
On a languid Sunday afternoon, Mr. Corenswet elaborated on the bovine-aviation nexus as he headed to a flight simulator class at Van Nuys Airport, a busy hub in the heart of the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles. It was something to do with working with your hands, and seeing the fruits of your labor, he said.
It was the same reason his sister, a law student who spent a year working for the World Bank on global poverty, wanted to be a farmer.
“Her thing is that on a farm if you don’t milk the cows, the cows are not going to get milked — so there’s something really rewarding about that proximity,” Mr. Corenswet said. “It’s the same reason I want to fly planes.”
It’s also the reason he enjoys acting, although not the audition process. “It can really turn into a terrible experience because it’s a lot of rejection,” he said. “Not even rejection. Mostly you just never hear anything.”
Those days, however, should be a thing of the past. In addition to the “The Politician,” which will return for a second season, Mr. Corenswet will star and serve as executive producer on Mr. Murphy’s next series for Netflix, “Hollywood,” a drama pitched as a “love letter to the Golden Age of Tinseltown.”
Mr. Corenswet is also editing a movie, “Down the Barrel,” which he wrote and directed shortly before landing “The Politician.” It features actors from Juilliard, where he studied.
More recently, Mr. Corenswet’s name has been floated as a potential successor to Henry Cavill in the Superman movie franchise, though neither he nor his publicist would comment on that.
After grabbing breakfast at a no-frills Mexican cantina, Mr. Corenswet arrived at the Encore Flight School only to find that his instructor had not. Taking the setback in stride, he sat in an oversize cream leather sofa to consider his options. Ceiling fans, designed to resemble propellers, rotated mockingly above him.
Another instructor, Joy, effervescent with good humor, eventually came to the rescue.
“Joy came through,” said Mr. Corenswet, cringing at his own wordplay. “There’s got to be a good line in there somewhere,” he added, breaking into a goofball smile.
In “The Politician,” Mr. Corenswet’s smile does overtime as a balm for the show’s protagonist, Payton Hobart, played by Ben Platt, a model of teenage hubris and self-regard. It’s often very funny, but also frenetic. Mr. Corenswet radiates calm and generosity that lends the show equilibrium. When he’s onscreen “The Politician” feels as if it’s taking time out to meditate. Mr. Corenswet credits his father with steering him into regional theater as a child in Philadelphia — an early “milking cows” epiphany. “It opened up my eyes to the joys of making things with people,” he said. He was 9 when he was cast in Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons,” and still recalls the thrill of hearing the voice mail telling him he had scored the part.
Joy guided Mr. Corenswet past a wall of photos in which various women posed fetchingly on the wings of single-prop planes, and into a low-ceilinged room lined with flight simulators. A row of white metal cabins on red platforms, it resembled a cool fairground ride, but without the long lines.
“What plane do these most resemble?” Mr. Corenswet said, as he climbed inside a cabin. “Cesna,” Joy said. Mr. Corenswet approved. “That’s what I’m most familiar with,” he said.
The machine began to hum like a loud vacuum cleaner. The control panels glowed green. Sitting in the pilot seat, Mr. Corenswet guided the plane onto a runway at a virtual LAX
Although it was his first time inside a self-contained simulator, Mr. Corenswet had learned the basics on a computer program he downloaded in Philadelphia last year while taking care of his ailing father (he died of cancer last June). “I was thinking, ‘What could I do that would feel more engaged and worthwhile than just playing video games?’” he said.
Conquering his fear of flying was a fringe benefit. “I always try to use the experience of turbulence as a reminder of my own mortality,” he said. “I go back and forth between reassuring myself, and going, ‘Maybe this is it.’”
In the simulator, Mr. Corenswet followed Joy’s directions. “You want the nose touching the horizon,” she said. “Turn right over here, towards this reservoir.” She pointed to a spot just north of Route 101. The plane seemed to struggle.
“I’m turning right, but is it turning right?” Mr. Corenswet said. It wasn’t. “I don’t think the control wheel is working very well. Do we want to try a real airplane?” There was only one good answer for that question.
Ten minutes later, equipped with safety gear, Mr. Corenswet walked onto the runway, this time to try his hand at a real Cesna. In the far distance the mountains that fringed the San Fernando Valley were turning red. Using the edge of a wing, Mr. Corenswet helped push the plane onto a taxiway and then clambered aboard. His head brushed the ceiling. “You’re so tall,” Joy said.
As he taxied down a runway, Mr. Corenswet was giddy with anticipation. Joy, sitting alongside in the cockpit, chose the moment to tell the story of a student who threw up over the controls during a steep dive. “Try to avoid that,” she said.
Mr. Corenswet was buoyant with confidence. After opening the throttle and pulling back on the yoke, the plane bounced down the runway and suddenly the ground was falling away and the houses and cars below became toys. The sun blazed back into view.
Mr. Corenswet took in the panorama and pulled a wide grin. For a moment everything was a little brighter.
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This is the last Christmas Eve New Yorkers will be spending with Christmas Eve, the character originated by Ann Harada, who originated the role in Avenue Q, because, after 15 years, Avenue Q will close in April. All those puppets, gone.
Today we look back at 2018 with 20 of my favorite human performances in shows that opened this year on New York stages, plus five of my favorite puppet performances.
We look ahead with the Spring 2019 Broadway Preview Guide: A Season of Theater Geniuses Making Their Broadway Debuts
We look at the present too, with
Holiday Theater Going, including the Christmas Week Broadway schedule. There are four Broadway shows with matinees on Christmas Eve, 14 with evening performances on Christmas Day, and 38 Broadway shows with performances the day after Christmas – indeed almost all have two performances that day, and one show has three!
Santa chorus line at Radio City
The Week in New York Theater Reviews
Fabulation, or the Re-Education of Undine
Lynn Nottage’s play about a fashionable public relations executive’s Job-like descent into poverty and ascent into moral clarity, is the first in Signature’s season of Nottage’s comedies…But as the play progresses, and Undine regresses, “Fabulation” turns into something more clever and pointed than just broad comedy. The playwright does no less than subvert common assumptions about the characters that populate her play – some two dozen of them, portrayed by an impressively versatile eight-member cast.
Marisol Rosa-Shapiro as Pizza Rat
Up Close Festival
reminded me what there is to love about theater, and how I can fall in love with it anew.
At first, though, I felt misled. The show is billed as “an immersive festival about New York for New Yorkers of all ages” and “modeled after the community organizing legacy of Jane Jacobs,” who was an important writer, urban theorist, and community activist of Greenwich Village. The New Ohio is located in the Village, and “Up Close” promised “reimagined real moments” from the neighborhood’s history.
But when a woman who identified herself as Ms. Pea (Summer Shapiro), led us from the theater lobby down a dark staircase to the room where the festival would take place, I discovered that the New Yorkers present represented all ages between roughly five and 10.
The Week in New York Theater News
The Play That Goes Wrong will close on Broadway January 6, after 27 previews and 745 performances — and move six blocks away the following month to New World Stages, re-opening February 20. Here’s my wrong review
Director Gregory Mosher quit the Roundabout production of Arthur Miller’s All My Sons because he wanted to cast two supporting roles with actors of color, while Rebecca Miller (Arthur Miller’s daughter and the executor of his estate) thought his concept “not fully thought out.” Jack O’Brien has taken the helm.
Stephen Schwartz
Maria Irene Fornes
…Stephen Sondheim
The 2019 City Center Encores Off-Center season promises an exciting summer:
Working: A Musical, based on Studs Terkel book, featuring songs by Stephen Schwartz, Mary Rodgers, James Taylor, Lin-Manuel Miranda and others, June 26 – 29
Promenade, by Maria Irene Fornés & Al Carmines, about two escaped prisoners mingling in the city July 10 & 11
Road Show by Sondheim and Weidman July 24 – 27
La MaMa 2019 season highlights include Generation NYZ, the latest in Ping Chong’s Undesirable Elements series, China Fringe Theater Festival in February, Stonewall 50 in June.
.@LabTheaterNYC will present its 19th annual Barn Series of FREE new play readings, @CherryLnTheatre Jan 11-20, eg 3 by playwright @CookieRiverside, and “Children in Cages” developed with @daphnerubinvega, @nycbatwife, et al to celebrate “next generation of Artivists” pic.twitter.com/0kiO4wzl3J
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 21, 2018
Speaking of @daphnerubinvega , who was glorious as the original Mimi in Rent (and is glorious still; my pic of her in her dressing room w/ a pic of her Mom). She will be host to a @RENTonFOX live viewing party Jan 27 @ParksideNYC , sponsored by @NYTW79, Rent’s original home. pic.twitter.com/bJTVJ6cOd7
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 21, 2018
Speaking of @RENTonFOX: Amazing cast. Left to right: @Tinashe as Mimi, @BrandonVDixon as Tom Collins, @VanessaHudgens as Maureen, @OHYESMARIO as Benjamin, @BrenninMusic as Roger, @Jordan_Fisher as Mark,@KierseyClemons as Joanne. (Not shown: @kealasettle! @AllOfValentina) pic.twitter.com/NUxvlg3ZGe
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 21, 2018
Is it wrong, though, for me to see an irony (to put it politely) in Fox being the network to broadcast “Rent”? Will Sean Hannity watch?
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 21, 2018
James Snyder will play Harry Potter with Diane Davis as Ginny Potter and Nicholas Podany as their son Albus Potter. Matt Mueller will play Ron Weasley with Jenny Jules as Hermione Granger and Nadia Brown as their daughter Rose Granger-Weasley. Playing Draco Malfoy will be Jonno Roberts with Bubba Weiler as his son Scorpius Malfoy.
Also joining the cast are Aaron Bartz, Will Carlyon, Kimberly Dodson, Patrick Du Laney, Sara Farb, Jonathan Gordon, Steve Haggard, Eva Kaminsky, Jack Koenig, Rachel Leslie, Sarita Amani Nash, Fiona Reid, Katherine Reis, Kevin Matthew Reyes, Antoinette Robinson, Stephen Spinella, Tom Patrick Stephens, Erica Sweany, and Karen Janes Woditsch, who are featured along with returning cast members Brian Thomas Abraham, Olivia Bond, Stephen Bradbury, James Brown III, Lauren Nicole Cipoletti, Zoë Feigelson, Jack Hatcher, Edward James Hyland, Joey LaBrasca, Landon Maas, James Romney, and Alex Weisman.
.@DaveedDiggs to star in “White Noise,” a new play by @SuzanLoriParks: when a racially motivated incident w/ cops leaves Leo shaken,he takes extreme measures
Mar 5 -Ap 14, @PublicTheaterNY
MT @DaveedDiggs
Suzan-Lori Parks has been one of my favorite playwrights since I was 18. pic.twitter.com/Xed8H8LntI
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 18, 2018
The end of an era! Concord Records has taken over 188-year-old Samuel French and created Concord Theatricals, (which also includes Rodgers and Hammerstein, Tams Witmark, and a joint venture with Andrew Lloyd Webber’s company.)
When @HamiltonMusical opens in Puerto Rico Jan 8, starring @Lin_Manuel, it won’t be at @uprrp,but a more secure theater; producer @Jseller feared protests. Why protests?
The students are protesting tuition hikes, closures, reprisals
Background on protests:https://t.co/OudGFKwDnV
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 22, 2018
A complicated issue. It’s unfair to frame this as the poor vs. the arts.
The vast majority of individual donations are to churches and schools
But good read in @FT https://t.co/linDo97n9N
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 21, 2018
“There are diminishing resources (for the arts), and that’s not just money…The hope is…we can stop the decline…Individuals who have never acknowledged one another will need to communicate & connect” – retiring executive producer @BAM_Brooklyn Joseph Melillo, in @HowlRound pic.twitter.com/MhdXvYsFrB
— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) December 18, 2018
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/11/reader-center/arts-criticism-explainer.html?mc_cid=06f26fe125&mc_eid=0d47c9f8a5
How well do you know these #Broadway shows that began #OffOffBroadway? Test your knowledge and RT with how many you correctly guessed!
Take quiz ➡️ https://t.co/ekqAmrZSdw pic.twitter.com/lYx4cR8rJ5
— TDF (@TDFNYC) December 22, 2018
REST IN PEACE
Galt MacDermot, 89, the composer of “Hair.”
Donald Moffat, 87, a veteran of 20 Broadway shows as well as 60 other stage plays, 70 Hollywood and television movies and at least 60 television productions.
Peter Masterson, 84, actor (five times on Broadway), director and co-writer of the Broadway musical “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
Astronaut Bill Anders, orbiting the moon as part of the Apollo 8 mission, photographed “Earthwise” on Christmas Eve, 1968 — 50 years ago today.
Yes, Virginia, There Is A Broadway. New Casts for Harry Potter and Rent. A Summer of Sondheim,Fornés,Schwartz. #Stageworthy News of the Week This is the last Christmas Eve New Yorkers will be spending with Christmas Eve, the character originated by Ann Harada, who originated the role in Avenue Q, because, after 15 years, Avenue Q will close in April.
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