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Full of Grace	By : TaimaMarie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Tokio Hotel Views: 1012 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know or own the celebrities that I write about. I make no money off of this fic, nor do I claim to.

Chapter List
- 1-Full of Grace
- 1
AN: Inspired by the song Full of Grace by Sarah McLachlan.

I can’t lie and say that I loved him. That’s a gross exaggeration, really. I did love the way he moved on stage, loved the way he looked, loved his hair, and loved his lips. But I didn’t love him. He could have been a dick, could have been the world’s biggest sweetheart. The only thing that mattered was that I felt that electricity between the two of us.

I managed to find him after the show. I stood off to the side of all the other girls, clamoring and shrieking and begging for an autograph. He saw me, saw me leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. He smiled that slow, mischievous smile. I knew then and there that I was about to get what I wanted.

He gently pushed through the crowds of girls, appeasing them with that smile and soft words. His brother watched him and looked almost envious, flipping dreadlocks over his shoulder, when the singer was in front of me. I’ve always wondered who he could possibly be jealous of; me or his brother.

“Hello there,” he breathed in my ear. I smiled and gently let the tips of my fingers touch his shoulder.

“Hey. Do you think you can get away?” there would be no beating around the bush here. I wanted to get right to it. I had spent the whole concert thinking of this moment, and it felt like my heart was about to explode.

“For you? I think I could do just about anything.” I blushed in spite of myself. I usually made it a point not to act cute and innocent during these times. I wasn’t a virgin school girl. I was a woman, and I knew what I wanted, and I knew how to get it. I wasn’t interested in games of this sort.

Of course, if he said something about handcuffs and whips, I might give the whole idea of games another thought or two.

His hand wrapped around mine. Tingles went up and down my arm, and I caught his eye and smiled. The fingers squeezed, and we hurried down the hallway and out the door to a car.

There was no way we’d be able to last all the way to the hotel. I pushed him down in the backseat and crawled over him, pressing my lips to his neck. He tasted salty and metallic. Something about it made my molars ache, but I loved it. I sucked gently, careful not to leave a mark.

I never left marks.

His hands, those hands that I had been mesmerized by during the show, ran up and down my back, dragging up my shirt. He reached in and ever so lightly scarped my skin with his fingernails. I groaned and pressed my hips down.

“I love it when girls are so eager.” He chuckled. I rolled my eyes.

“I’ve just spent the whole show waiting for this.” I hissed as he reached under my bra and tweaked my nipples hard. He chuckled and shushed me, giving me light kisses.

“Wouldn’t want to disturb the driver, now would we?”

“Oh, shut up,” I groaned. He chuckled again and quickly sat up, knowing that we were near the hotel. I straightened my bra and shirt, smoothed down my hair. There was a reason I left the style natural and easy to fix, and this was it. Besides, men weren’t exactly partial to the scent of hair spray.

Although this rock star had enough in his hair that he might have been.

The ride in the elevator was just as interesting. Our lips crashed together, and we barely came up for air. Between the lack of oxygen and his hands on my breasts, I was feeling deliciously dizzy.

My hands found their way to the groin of those tight pants, pushing against it, cupping the bulge there. I found myself wondering what he did when he became hard on stage. How could he hide it? How could he pretend that it wasn’t there?

We spilled onto the floor when the doors opened. We didn’t release one another’s lips for one single minute. Somehow, he managed to ease his keycard out of his pocket. Since his pants were practically painted on, I have no idea how he got them in there to begin with.

Let it never be said that he was untalented.

He pushed me onto the bed, and suddenly we were animals. Ripping and pulling and tearing at any fabric that got in our way. We were so hungry for skin against skin. Finally, we were laid bare before one another, and he was on top of me.

He bent his head and pressed his forehead against mine. I let my eyes drift close as I felt him thrust into me. Like every time, it hurt for the first few thrusts until I managed to relax, managed to open myself up. I managed to let everything in my body become open to take in the other person.

This wasn’t love. I knew that. Sex had nothing to do with love, and it never would. Not for me, at least. Sex was just two bodies coming together, two people using one another to forget about the world, even if it was just for a few minutes.

It wasn’t love, but for just a few seconds, I let myself pretend that maybe it could be. I let myself pretend that the feeling of his lips on my shoulder meant that he loved me. He tasted me out of love, not lust. This wasn’t pure desire. This was something deeper.

I’ve always been good at pretending.

Our bodies came together again and again, our flesh was sticky, and when we pulled apart, it was almost painful. My hands reached up and tangled in his hair, and his fingers gently came around my throat. He wasn’t strangling me, this sweet singer. He was just clutching me. Voices were important to him, and he was holding onto the thing that gave me my voice.

It didn’t take too long until he moaned, sending shivers up my spine. He spilled into me, hot and thick. That was enough to make me arch. My hands clenched big handfuls of sheets, my mouth opened in a silent scream.

We fell asleep that night, holding one another. His sweat mixed with the smell of our sex. His breathing in my ear lulled me to sleep. His arms wrapped around me, and he rocked back and forth ever so slightly.

But when I woke up, he was gone.

There was no note, no money, not even a pair of socks left on the floor. One would have thought I got the hotel room myself. I sat up and looked over at the empty space next to me. The sheets weren’t even wrinkled. There was no assurance that last night hadn’t been just a dream.

I wandered out of the hotel in last night’s wrinkled clothes with my make up smeared over my face. I stumbled out of the elevator, squinting in the bright light of the sun. There was no tour bus, there were no fan girls. He was long gone. I knew that.

I knew what I was getting myself into when I locked eyes with him. I knew that this was going to happen. But somehow, I wasn’t prepared for it.

I think about him often now. I think about him all the time. I think about him at night, when I’m cold and alone in my bed. I think about him when I’m lying down with another man. I’ve searched and searched to find a color of eyes like his. I’ve not had any luck.

He sings to me in my car, his voice resonating in my head. It’s almost enough to drive me crazy. Almost. I don’t go to their concerts, and I don’t actively seek him out. It just doesn’t stop me from hoping that someday, he’ll find me again. Someday, I’ll run across him and we’ll lock eyes again. He’ll push through the crowds again to find me.

Until then, I’m stuck with my CDs and people that I can’t even begin to like half as much as him. None of them can keep me warm the way he did. None of them can press their lips to my shoulders and make me whimper. None of them can look at me with sparkling eyes that make me want to dive inside.

No one will ever be him. It would have been better for me if I had never met him. Maybe. To tell the truth, I’ve been dizzy since I woke up and he wasn’t beside me. I’ve been a bit anxious. I’ve been watching, waiting, searching for him in every crowd.

I kind of like it.
- 1
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Full of Grace