💿 Emmy 💿

The night out started with a quick conversation, an agreement made between a couple who are beginning to stand on opposite sides of a gulf filled with fame, fortune, and hedonistic pleasures. Noel’s career had hit the stratosphere, and while you were incredibly proud and happy for him, certain things had begun to chip away at your relationship. One was the drugs. It was no secret that Noel, for years now, was an enthusiastic dabbler in illicit substances. That was all well and good, at least when you were sharing a bedsit with one set of dishes between you, before he had more money than God and a line of cocaine was as commonplace as a cup of tea. Seeing him laying out the white powder on tables, bars, and the backs of records, using the edge of his platinum credit card to form the drug into tidy lines before hoovering it up his hooked nose- it meant nothing at first. But one day, the movements were too practiced, the dance between the powder and the man too rehearsed. It was no longer a momentary pleasure, but a habit. 

Girlfriends, you had learned, had a tenuous place in the hierarchy of rock and roll. Look at Yoko Ono- perhaps the most famous girlfriend of all, but also the most villainized. Knowing your place- you hated the term, but it rang unfortunately true in the halls of venues and the aisles of tour buses- meant walking a tightrope every day. You certainly didn’t want to be the overbearing, paranoid girlfriend, the killjoy. You yearned to be the “cool girl”- unbothered, laid-back, and ready to party, the girl who wouldn’t nag at her man to lay off the drugs, but would snort a line in solidarity, or cuddle in close while he slid a tablet into her sultry mouth. This image flew in the face of your natural demeanor, no matter how many nights you lay awake imagining how much more hip you could be. You’d met Noel long before any of this life was even a possibility, in a different life where shacking up with a good middle-class girl was par for the course. You adapted and pretended, playing the part as well as you could, and it was eating you alive. 

Noel was running ragged in his own way- the cocaine binges were giving way to panic attacks, ones that crept up on him in the dark of the night and ended with him sweating and groaning on the tiled floor of your shared ensuite, the cool tiles a tiny solace as his world spun around him. He was burning out, and from the sideways glances you gave him, the ones he caught out of the corner of his eyes, he was well aware that you could see it. He could see reflected in your eyes the caring concern of a woman watching her partner self-destruct by a thousand cuts, or snorts. His pride and ego, both as outsized as his talent was- big enough to power the entire north of England should the grid go down- would not let him turn back from the path he’d started skipping down and was now trudging along, for better or worse. 

It was with a quick kiss in the hazy depths of a backstage dressing room, the air redolent with sweat and cigarettes, that he assured you that he wouldn’t go too hard at the after-party tonight. “Won’t do any lines, promise. Just gonna drink, love. Surely a man can have a pint after work.” 

You couldn’t argue with that, not when he was smirking at you as he did back when he was twenty and still on the dole, not when he was tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear with tenderness that belied the roughness of his fingers. So with a smile reflecting his own, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving the faintest hint of peach lip gloss on his jaw. “Just as long as you buy me a gin and tonic, okay?”

That was several fevered hours ago, and to his credit, Noel had been good. He had bought you a drink, held it for you when you inevitably got distracted and were so engrossed in yapping with Bonehead’s girlfriend that you were no longer keeping a watchful eye on your glass. He pulled you into his side when you got dizzy and snapped his fingers, ordering you a glass of water to help sober you up. He was the model boyfriend and kept his word, until you caught him coming out of the toilets with Liam, white powder clinging to their nostrils and pupils dilated wildly. There was no way Noel could talk his way out of this situation because the two looked like a walking advert on the dangers of stimulants. There could have been a bold text box beneath them, something that read “Do You Know Where Your Boyfriend Is Tonight? 1-800-NODRUGS”. 

He’d had no choice but to follow you as you stomped out of the hotel bar with such vengeance that one of your high heels had almost snapped. Your fingers smashed the buttons of the lift with the fury of a woman who’d been lied to one too many times. Noel just managed to slide into the lift before the doors closed, the sly bastard, and was surreptitiously wiping at his nose and attempting to charm his way back into your good graces. 

“Ey, love, c’mere. Didn’t get a chance to tell ya, ya look proper fit tonight.” He nuzzled at the soft skin of your neck, ghosting his lips down your jaw and snuggling against you in the confined space. He was trying to deflect, to distract you with affection. You’d seen him do it before, and it had worked then. You were crazy about the man, and yes, just the smell of his cologne and having his body within a two-foot radius was enough to make your mind go blank. But nothing ever stays the same, and tonight the foolproof charm just wasn’t enough to break through the wall you’d thrown up to protect yourself when he’d fucked up one too many times. 

“Don’t say that. I don’t want you to say that. It’s not going to work, Noel.” You grumbled, fingers trying, failing, and trying again to get the door to your hotel suite open. The keycard wasn’t cooperating with your fingers, impaired by anger and drink. When it finally swung open, and the room came into view, Noel was still not listening to you. His hand came from behind, settling on your hips as he continued to try to seduce you. “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re all upset, lemme help you relax.” 

As if you could relax. His flippant reaction and inability to take any ownership of why you were upset caused you to finally snap. “I’m not going to fuck you when you’re out of your mind. You said you wouldn’t do any lines tonight, Noel. You promised-” Your voice was ragged at the edge, bleeding into a higher pitch fueled by the absolute audacity of this man. 

Still unable (or unwilling) to acknowledge his behavior, Noel cut you off with a roll of his eyes. 

“I’m not sure that’s true, sweetheart.” Noel’s voice was infuriatingly calm and even compared to your own, filled with an unshakeable certainty that only further ignites your fuse. He stepped closer, caging you against the wall before you even realized it. “Because if you aren’t going to put out, I’ll just go back out there and find someone who will.”

Standing back with his arms lazily crossed, Noel sees the exact moment that the weight of his words hits you, sinking in right where he’d hoped they would. He knew as those syllables came out of his mouth that they would play perfectly on your deep-seated insecurity- that you weren’t enough- and twist you into a stuttering, overthinking mess. He was astute enough to have filed away for future reference the many times you would get quiet and make yourself smaller in the presence of models at the bullshit industry parties he always dragged you to. He had more than once taken mental note of how your shoulders sank when another woman even so much as smiled at him. He watched you as you silently critiqued yourself in the mirror, comparing the size and shape of your breasts, the line of your legs, the thickness of your hair, and the color of your lipstick. And he had seen- and so had you- that it was true, that if he stepped outside, he could find a willing girl within half an hour. They flocked to the venues, the hotels, even the airport lounges, like vultures. Being a rock star had its perks like that. They were perks he wasn’t generally wont to indulge in, unlike his brother, but ones that were certainly still very much available to him. The way he so casually tossed out this threat, disguising it as an offhand anecdote, made you feel entirely unimportant on top of it all. 

His eyes rake over the way your delicate hands start to almost imperceptibly shake as he steps away. This is a move that should allow you some breathing room, distance from his aura to allow you to collect yourself, but your stomach immediately drops as he reaches for his worn denim jacket and his wallet, preparing to make good on his threat with a steady and unbothered focus. He’s acting as if he’s going out to get the paper, the way his actions are so casual. Your mind doesn’t have time to think of a coherent response, one that both tells him off and makes it clear you aren’t something to just play with. Instead, you’re left only able to manage panicky stuttering while he pads lazily across the carpet to the door. 

“You can’t just do that!”

The shrill, childish, and empty statement means nothing to him, but it’s all you can muster when you’re practically ready to throw yourself in front of the door, to do anything to keep Noel inside this room. Fuck, you’re so, so mad at him- mad enough that you want to scream, or cry, or curse the day you’d met the man, but god, you would rather die than let him go. Your gut burns with anger while your pulse is pounding out a frantic beat, each pump of your heart ticking like a timer, counting down to some awaiting disaster. 

Your boyfriend turns to look at you, blue eyes staring uncannily at you with an expression you can’t read. He raises one heavy eyebrow, the thick arch dark against his pale forehead. “I’m going to get laid tonight. And here you are, too dumb to understand that the decision is yours.” His voice is deceptively soft and controlled, and he lays out his words in a way that leaves no room for discussion. 

Noel’s always good at twisting words, his mind sharp enough that he could leave anyone spinning. You’d seen him tie reporters up in knots and leave industry suits stumped, not knowing their ass from a hole in the ground after half an hour in a room with him. You hate being on the receiving end of it because you know how he warps people into doing what he wants them to. You know he’s doing it to you, the same tactics he uses on people he professes to hate, and you hate that it’s effective. But no matter how dark the feelings you harbor right now, the thought of another woman touching him, running her fingers through the pelt of dark hair that clings to his chest, leaving her lipstick on his collar, and tasting the salt of his skin, makes you feel physically ill. He’s your man, your Noel. Even when he is being a cunt, even when you want to punish him. 

“Noel, please-” the words dry up in your throat, desperate and pathetic. “Just stay, please.”

Noel squares his shoulders, holding your gaze for another long second, almost like he’s daring you to push his buttons some more. He doesn’t make any move to set aside his things, but, in a sort of corrupt gesture of generosity, gives you one more chance. “Then get your fucking clothes off.” It comes out low and rough, but you still understand his message as clear as day. 

Okay. Just clothes off. Fine. 

Your hands are clumsy as you reach for the lacy hem of your tank top and pull it off over your head. The suite is air-conditioned in the way that all hotel rooms are- too much, and god forbid you be able to adjust the thermostat. The chilled air hardens your nipples almost instantly, a sensation that only reinforces how exposed you are. His eyes are burning into you in a way that makes you want to hide away, because the gaze is too bright, too intense. Without even thinking, your arms come over your chest, crossing tight to give yourself some coverage, some protection from Noel’s judgemental stare. His stoic face is tight with a mask of complete disinterest, though not quite distaste. It makes you think how you wouldn’t ask for anything else in life if you could just please melt into the carpet now, disappearing into the fibres that are rough under your bare feet. The tears trailing slowly down your cheeks might be the start of this dissolving, as they drip, drip, drip from your red face. Red from anger, from sadness, or from embarrassment- it’s a potent mixture that churns your gut and burns you up. 

Noel breaks the silence, a silence that is so tense you could cut it with a knife. “Dunno what you’re cryin’ for. All I told you to do is take your clothes off.” He cocks his shaggy head in appraisal, brows furrowing slightly. “It’s ‘cause you know how small they are, innit?” He gestures to your tits, B cups obscured by pointy elbows. 

Through the tears, you notice him set down his jacket and wallet, an action that you’d wanted a few minutes ago, but one that now fills you with foreboding. It meant he was staying, and you really didn’t want to be in the same room with him. But deep down, your mind kept on flickering the vision of him with another girl, and that you wanted even less. You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to will away the intrusive images. 

Crossing the room, he uses his overwhelming presence to back you into the wall once again. While he’s not a tall man, he has the charisma that can pin you in place. Pressed into the wall, you think back to the mounted butterfly specimens in your 12-form science classroom. Here you were, just waiting for someone to label you with spidery handwriting. Maybe a name like patheticus puella. 

With one heavy, calloused hand, he cups one breast, squeezing hard. While his touch usually filled you with excitement, and your brain tries it’s best to tell you that you should have felt ecstatic to be the recipient of his attention, you found yourself flinching away, a yelp escaping as his fingers grope you roughly, with a bruising force that somehow reminds you that, when it comes down to it, you’re made of simple flesh and blood. Like any other girl. 

Noel leans in closer, too close, ignoring the tension in your body that is screaming, “don’t touch me”. His cheek is pressed to yours, the faint five o’clock shadow rasping against soft skin. He murmurs into your skin while his roaming left hand drifts down, resting on the soft spot where your waist meets your hip. “Y’haven’t fucking got your clothes off, have you? Can’t even do one simple fucking thing.” As if to prove his point, he snaps the delicate waistband of your panties, leaving a stinging in his wake. 

Snickering at his little stunt, he pulls away, taking with him his warmth, no matter how ill-intentioned the flame that burned was. He makes to leave again- to find a girl with bigger tits, surely. In his mind, of course, he knows that he’s not actually planning on leaving- just playing with your emotions. It works like a goddamn dream, as in his peripheral you tear your skirt off with clumsy hands, determined to keep his treasured attention. Your knickers are caught halfway down your knees, and you stumble forward, the pale pink lace tearing slightly with the uncoordinated motion. 

“No, Noel, look- “

He turns slowly, glancing down his nose as he watches you trip over your own knickers. He rolls his eyes, a movement so calculated to cut you down that you actually do fall to your knees, hitting the floor hard. The disdain in his voice drips from each word when he responds to your little show. “Give me a fucking break. “Look at me! Look at me!” His voice is high-pitched, mocking, a bad approximation of your own that is surely intended to humiliate you. “What the fuck are you even givin’ me to look at?”

From his vantage point above you, Noel watches you finally give in and cry, shoulders shaking and breath coming in gasps, your naked body folding in on itself. You look so pretty, with your rosy cheeks and damp lashes and the shining tears shimmering at your waterline. You look like everything he’s even wanted, and everything he doesn’t deserve. It sends a fresh ripple of anger through him, because it had to be a sick joke on the part of God, or fate, or the universe, to send him an angel when he was someone no one could ever love. 

The lines he took earlier certainly aren’t helping the situation- regardless of the fact that they got him into it in the first place. His jaw is grinding, teeth gnashing together, and he’s already half-hard in his trousers without even having hardly touched you. Your tears continue to fall, and he watches with a semi-detached interest at how they streak paths down your cheeks, trailing your carefully applied mascara into tracks below your eyes. He lets you sit in your feelings, naked and exposed, for several agonizing moments before swiftly dropping to his knees and shimmying over to you. Reaching out, he rests a hand on your bare shoulder, unfolding you and rolling you onto your back, forcing you to look at him. 

“You look like a raccoon,” he mutters, swiping a calloused thumb under your eye, coming away with a smudge of makeup. Noticing this, he wipes it roughly on your forehead, like the priest used to do with ashes on Ash Wednesday when he was a lad. “Maybe I should go find a girl whose face isn’t meltin’ off.” He grins wickedly, watching as you register this before he continues, with fake thoughtfulness and a false faraway gaze. “Or maybe I’ll stay here…if you open yer legs and give me summat else to look at.”

Fucking hell, it’s diabolical how, despite you not wanting to even touch him, this man has managed to get you naked and prone without any physical force. You’ve done it all on your own, coaxed just by his words that stoke the fear of losing him. You open your legs in the same way you’ve moved through this whole scene-  It’s almost automatic; they part before your brain can register the motion, before your self-respect can put up any sort of argument.

Noel swallows hard when he sees your thighs part, because it’s immediately, unmistakably clear that you’re wet. Your mound and the dainty lips at the apex of your thighs are swollen and glistening and begging for attention, even if you’re determined to act like a frigid bitch. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, because fucking hell. 

“This is turning you on, innit it?” It’s a rhetorical question, punctuated with a wry chuckle on his part. “You’re disgusting. After all this talk, all this carryin’ on, and here you are beggin’ for it.” 

“No, I’m not! You’re such an asshole, Noel!” You cut yourself off with a gasp, prompted by his swiping a single finger through your weeping folds. It’s so quick that it’s barely any contact, but it makes you spasm, bucking your hips against nothing despite yourself. 

He holds his finger out for examination, and the dim light of the suite shines like a beacon on the wetness. “What’s this, then?” He swipes it alongside the mascara smudge on your forehead, so that you can feel the slickness. His cock is throbbing now, so hard that he can’t stand it, pulsing in the confines of his trousers. He yanks his belt off, the buckle clinking violently with his frustrated motions. He doesn’t let the way you flinch at the sound stop him, shoving his jeans and kecks down just far enough to free his cock. If he doesn’t fuck you now, he’s going to lose his mind. His world has narrowed to you, the object of his desires and dreams, and how could you ever think otherwise? How could you ever actually think he’d go outside and find someone else? He’s going to fuck you and show you just how fucking wrong you are. 

Shifting his body over yours, he wastes no time in lining his cock up and entering you.  He’s inside you in one deep thrust, when you’re still processing the fact that he’s now on top of you. He’s got a thick fucking cock, and he knows it. He always takes his time stretching you out, finger by finger, before slowly easing in, mindful of the girth. It somewhat surprises him how easily you take it without the usual preparation. You cry out, yes, but your body accommodates him, because of course it does. You’re meant for him, right? The warm, tight embrace of your cunt feels like heaven, like he’s died and gone away, lost in you. “Fuck, baby. So ready for me.” He sets a fast pace, hips snapping sharply as you twist under him. 

“Noel, it hurts- it’s too much. Get off me-”

He tosses his head, shaggy hair beginning to curl at his temples and stick to his forehead with the sweat of exertion and lust. “Nah, baby, you can take it. Y’always take me so well.” He’s pounding relentlessly against that secret spongey spot that makes you see stars, and is fucking into you as deep as he can go, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with a bruising touch, one that makes you jolt. “You’re fucking squeezin’ me to death, Jesus Christ.”

Your back is scraping back and forth against the rough hotel carpet, and despite trying to close your legs against Noel’s movements, you can’t- his whole body is in the way. You can only really move your head, and it jerks from side to side as you try to fight for any sort of control. Looking to the left, to the right, as if in some corner of the room, you’ll manage to find a way out from under your partner. All it does is rub your hair into knots and make Noel laugh. “Calm down, fuckin’ calm down,” he pants, one hand coming to your neck, holding you more firmly in place. 

Coke usually allows him to hold off on his own orgasm, but tonight is an exception, because after only a couple of minutes of ravishing you, he’s right on the brink. Like any couple that’s been together long enough, you’ve come to an understanding regarding the climax of any time together. While you don’t make a habit of using condoms, he has to finish outside. Whether that’s on your thighs, your tits, your face- anything goes. He could even finish on your hair for all you cared. What he knows without a shadow of a doubt is that he can’t let go as long as he’s seated inside you. But, he thinks, high as a kite, losing track of the fact that he had a human woman beneath him, and one that he loved at that,  wouldn’t it feel fucking fantastic to fuck his cum deep inside of you? To fuck you through his orgasm, letting your clenching walls milk him dry? 

Almost as if you can sense his imminent orgasm, you start to bitch once again, though in his single-minded daze, Noel can’t quite make out what you’re going on about. And does it even matter when you were so desperate for him to want you? 

“Gonna cum inside you, sweetheart,” he grunts, pressing his body against yours with a desperation bordering on mania. “Don’t wanna hear any whinging about it, you’re so fucking tight. Made for me.”

Your sore, split-open cunt fills with warmth, burning you from the inside out as you realize with a primal fear that Noel meant what he was saying. It’s unfortunate for you that your body betrays you, your own orgasm hitting like a freight train as Noel collapses on top of you, boneless and thoughtless. You can’t move with his dead weight on top of you, and your tears, which have started up once again, are wetting the flushed skin of his collarbone. The world feels like it has tilted on its axis, everything askew and undone as you struggle to catch your breath through rasping sobs. 

“Fuck.” His voice is low in your ear, his breath is coming in gasps, his heart rate is ever so slowly coming back down. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl.” He presses a sloppy, open-mouth kiss against your trembling lips, one that tastes like lager. “Good fucking girl.” He slides his cock out of you, an obscene wet sound echoing in the otherwise silent room as you cringe at the reversed stretch. His cum is leaking out of you, pearly liquid that feels like damnation as it coats your inner thighs. His thick fingers promptly push it back into your quivering and overstimulated hole. It’s not so much that he wants to spare the carpet- if the hotel charges him extra for deep cleaning, he can afford it- but because he wants all of him inside of you. 

It’s almost as if he only then sees for the first time that night that you’re crying. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He says it without a great deal of conviction, and presses another, gentler kiss to your forehead. When you don’t stop, he peppers more to the corner of your eye, licking up the salty tears. “Nothin’ to cry about- you were gettin’ all jealous thinking about me being with someone else, so I had to show ya how much I want you. Yeah? You were just desperate for me to cum in you, weren’t you?”

You don’t respond because you don’t even know what to think anymore. He’s right- you were jealous, you did want him to soothe that pain by showing you how much he wanted you, and only you. This wasn’t how you wanted it to happen, and you were reeling and scared, but he wasn’t wrong. 

Strong arms haul you up, and your carpet-burned back is quickly embraced by expensive hotel sheets. You’re still boneless and drifting, mind and body in two different planes of existence, so the presence of Noel next to you isn’t something you fight; instead, you let him wrap his arms around you and pull you close, your reddened back against his chest. Chapped lips trail soft kisses down the nape of your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. A gentle tongue darts out to lick your tears away. “S’okay, baby. I’m gonna take care of you. Lemme take care of you.”