I want to rip out the eyes of anyone who stares at him. He’s mine. My curly-haired, half-insane loveable guitarist. My Lauri.

He’s the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever set eyes on. Sexy, masculine… Those deep eyes of his, neverending greenish-brown colored pools, ever mysterious and dark and sparkling with something that’s just so Lauri. And his lips… just looking at them makes me want to kiss him, the way his pouty bottom lip kindof sticks out – especially when he’s playing guitar and gets lost in his own little world. He throws his head back and exposes that perfect neck of his – so graceful but masculine – and I can’t help but want to put my lips on it, mark him as mine, get him distracted. ..It’s just so tempting. And he has no idea. That I’m supposed to not molest him is just not fair, really. Especially if he’s shirtless, my god. He’s so lean, taught stomach accented by those amazing hip-lines of his… I’m sure there’s a proper name for them, but I don’t know what it is – I just know I want to run my tongue along them, hear him gasp for it…. Run my hands over his ass – I think he has the best ass in the band, even better than mine, better than Kris’. I’ve always thought his legs were better than Kris’ too, especially when he’s wearing tight dark denim. Or leather… But really, it doesn’t matter what he wears; I find him completely irresistible.

The way his armsleeve is done it’s like the perfect decoration wrapping around his arm, curling over his skin, making it look intriguing and beautiful and wild. And watching his usually-blacknailpolished fingers move on the strings of a guitar is really something fabulous. Makes me want him to play me like that guitar, make me squeal; and he’s good at that, too.

Such a good lover, Lauri. Strong arms, strong body, and he used to be a gymnast too, so he’s quite flexible, which makes things interesting. Let’s just say he wasn’t lying when he said he can put his legs over his head. Not to mention the fact that he wants to make me feel good, and he usually goes out of his way to try. Seems like the only thing in the world that he cares about, sometimes, is letting me know that I’m loved, with his body and his mouth and his hands and his eyes.

All the girls who throw themselves at him, I don’t get the least bit jealous, cos I know he’s not the least bit interested. But still… I don’t like to see them stare at what’s mine. Don’t like to watch them touch him. Don’t like to watch them leave his hotel room and then be sure I can smell someone else’s sex on him all the next day. I tend to be a bit possessive of him – I just can’t help it. I love him with all of my heart. It’s funny that he’s not even mine. Not officially, anyway.

Sometimes he’ll get this faraway look in his eyes, like he’s missing home and lonely and desperately needs to have someone’s arms wrapped around him, holding him. I almost get excited when I see him displaying that demeanor, because I know that means I can love on him without having to worry about possibly upsetting him – which has never happened before, but I still feel like I should be cautious. When he’s in his usual mood – pleasant and even-tempered – he’s never really shown me he loved me, at least not in the romantic sense. I know he loves me always, but it’s harder for him to hold himself back from loving me when he’s lonely. When he’s feeling alone, I’ll take him off somewhere and we’ll disappear together, and he lets me curl into his arms, or sometimes he’ll snuggle into mine, and we’ll just sit in silence and I’ll try to align my breathing with his; slow and even. I’ll play with his hair quietly, wrapping curls around my fingers, endlessly intrigued by them because they’re beautiful and soft and without them, he really wouldn’t be Lauri. He likes to have his hair played with; I can tell because he shudders sometimes, and every once in a while he’ll even get hard from it. I can never resist seducing him when that happens; he always calls me a ‘wicked little minx’ but it’s hard not to be around him because I want him all the time.

I’ve never enjoyed meaningless sex, and I think because of that, and because of the fact that I’m so deeply in love with Lauri, it doesn’t take much for my body to want him in that way. I love it when he makes love to me during the day – our late-night lovemaking is nice, too, but there’s just something different about it when it’s daytime, something that says I’m not just a lay to him. And I know that I’m not, I’ve never thought that, but… well, it’s hard to explain.

I’m a bit of an exhibitionist with him, too, I’m surprised we’ve never been caught by our bandmates or, godforbid, our fans. I always like it best when there’s the possibility of someone walking in at any moment; when we’re making love in the park underneath our big oak tree, or at our spot down by the lake, or even backstage, sometimes. We have a lot of places that we like to go to together that nobody knows about; most of them are lovely, quiet places outside, but there are a few spots by our practice place that we’ve found. One of them is down an alley, and it’s one of the best, I think. When he takes me there, our sex is usually hard and fast and hot, because he’s having me up against the brick wall and we both know that anyone could walk by and see us. And I’m not exactly quiet, not with Lauri. He usually has to put his hand over my mouth or kiss me and swallow the sounds. I can’t help letting myself go like that with him, and I know he likes it, because the louder I get, the faster it gets him off.

Lauri brings out a sexual side of me that surprises me, sometimes; he makes me aggressive and needy and it doesn’t take much for me to get that way. He sees that most of the time, when we’re alone, but when I get that way during a show I always make a point to let him know; to go over and tease him, because I know we can’t have each other then and I don’t want to suffer alone. And it always pays off in the end; we always end up fucking as soon as we can find a place to do it – whether it be a dark corner or a janitor’s closet or a bathroom – and it’s always deliciously rushed and hard and he usually bears the marks of it for several days afterward.

I like to mark him; he won’t let anybody do it but me. I like to leave love bruises on his neck, his chest, his stomach, his hips, his inner thighs… I like to leave marks behind that say he’s mine and nobody else’s; because I know his heart belongs to me, the same way mine belongs to him. It’s not official but that really doesn’t even matter to me anymore; I have him, and that’s all that’s important.

I know he loves me with all of his heart when he makes love to me because he always looks right at me, and I can see it in his eyes. I’ve always felt quite awkward looking someone in the eyes during sex, but the way he looks at me… it lets me know I’m not just a fuck, that I mean something. That he wants nothing but to make my toes curl with pleasure (and he usually does, my god…), to get me off again and again, because he loves me.

He’s given me multiple orgasms before, which I didn’t think was possible, being a man, but Lauri has the stamina, I guess, and he knows how to work my spot. He’s made love to me for hours before, till my body ached with pleasure and exhaustion and I absolutely collapsed to the bed, feeling as if I wouldn’t be able to get hard again for days.

He really is an amazing lover. I’ve never had anyone pay so much attention to making me feel good; he loves foreplay, loves to kiss and touch my body until I’m shaking and weeping precum and my dick is throbbing and I’m feeling like I’m so close that he could shatter my resolve if he just touched it. And then when he finally lets me have him, he’ll move so excruciatingly slow, at first, so that I can’t get off yet, so all I can do is moan and plead and whine for him to finish me off. And then he’ll change his pace so suddenly, slamming right into my prostate, milking the orgasm right out of me with his hips; he usually doesn’t even have to wrap his hand around me, it’s usually his cock that gets me off. And he always makes me come spectacularly. Usually he leaves it at that – sometimes he comes with me, as my muscles clench around him, sometimes he pulls out and finishes himself off over my stomach, and sometimes he lets me finish him off with my mouth; I love the taste of him. But sometimes he just keeps thrusting into me, right into my spot, until I can feel the blood pooling in my cock and I find myself getting hard again, no matter how impossible that might’ve seemed to me just a few minutes before. And then he’ll start to stroke me till I ache and throb for him again, and that’s when he tells me how much he likes getting me off, how good I feel, how much he loves it when I come for him, how I’m the only one who makes him feel this way. When he talks to me like that, his voice deep and husky – pure sex and love – all I want to do is please him, and I always purposefully tighten around him, wanting to bring him off too. That always gets him moving so hard and deep and we almost always find release together that way, though sometimes I’ll reach my orgasm just slightly before him. He won’t let himself go until I have, and sometimes that’s an impressive feat, especially when we’ve been going for hours like that. Most of the time when it happens like that I can feel it for a few days afterward, and I walk around grinning to myself about it. My bandmates can never figure out why I’m in such a good mood – everyone but Lauri, who usually wears the same grin upon seeing mine.

He’s just incredible. I want nothing more than to be able to call him mine, but I know there’s something that’s stopping him from letting me completely; he’s holding himself back. I think he’s afraid that he’d hurt me, and he very well might, though I think it’s worth the risk. But whatever it is, he lets me know with his nuzzles and his kisses and the look in those eyes that I love so much that it’s not me, it’s him. So for now, I’m content with what I have. He doesn’t deny our love, but he doesn’t proclaim it, either – at least not to anyone except me. He gives me what I need both physically and mentally, and because of that, I don’t mind loving him in secret.

***

Sometimes I think there aren’t enough places on Jonne’s body to kiss – to worship. And that’s exactly what I want to do, to worship him, because it always feels like no matter how hard I try to show him, he’ll never really understand how special he is. Jonne is shy and loving and beautiful and sensual and everything that he does and says comes from his heart. He worries what people think about him. Worries a lot. And I love him more than anything in the world and don’t want him to worry anymore.

He worries that he looks too girlish, that his body’s too thin, that he’s not good looking enough, that he’s not enough of the rockstar image. I think he must be completely insane to think that. I love the tiny curve of his hips, and that little red line he gets across his belly when he’s been leaning over too much. I love his lean thighs – one of his biggest weak spots – love to kiss the insides of them until he’s panting and gasping and begging me to just move on already, touch him. I love to cup his ass in my hands – it’s so small and tiny and perfect. Love to flutter my fingers over the hairless, soft skin just behind his balls, and listen to the soft sounds he lets out every time; they’re almost whimpers. I love to kiss up his stomach, watch the way his muscles tense; his stomach is incredibly sensitive, too. I love to circle his lovely little pink nipples with my tongue, and I must say I really miss the ring that was through the one. Biggest mistake he ever made, getting rid of that… but even without it, he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful without makeup, without the glittery clothes, without having his hair all done up. He’s beautiful when he’s lying next to me dreaming, without a care in the world. Sometimes he makes the tiniest little soft sounds in his sleep, and it’s all I can do not to wake him because of the way those wonderful little sounds curl their way around my heart and squeeze tightly. I don’t think he knows how completely lost for him I am, and I’m almost afraid to tell him. Because I love him more than just being his bandmate, his friend, and I know he lets me touch him, but what I feel for him is more than that – the purest version of love and need and him being oxygen to a heart that’s been deprived of air for much too long.

Those lips of his, I swear sometimes I actually crave them, like nicotine when I haven’t had a cigarette in hours. Sometimes when he’s lying there sleeping so innocently I can’t do anything but kiss him awake. And he always rewards me for it – wraps his body around mine, purrs sleepily, and kisses me back, that mischievous tongue of his seeking out more of my mouth. I could never lose those late night moments, that’s when we share the most, when I whisper ‘I love you’s and he says them back, when we kiss and touch and hold eachother, and most times when I wake up in the morning he’s still in my arms, until he wakes up and then we both go back to pretending that we love our girlfriends, who we only keep so that we can deny that we love each other in public. Plus I think if I didn’t keep a girlfriend, it would be that much harder to resist being with him, and I’m doing that for his own protection.

I think I’m too rowdy for Jonne, and that maybe I would break him. Break his heart. I have a tendency to drink and do a lot of drugs and sometimes I get too flirty – sometimes I fuck groupies. And Jonne… he’s possessive of me as it is, I see him looking at those girls (and sometimes boys) like he wants to claw their eyes out. I don’t think he could handle it, if we were together, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I cheated on him; I don’t trust myself with his heart, not fully.

So for now, we have our late-night moments. And it’s not always at night, sometimes I’ll be feeling lonely and he’ll pull me aside – he can read me like that – and steal me away, we’ll run off together and disappear for the day and he’ll take me sightseeing if we’re on tour, or to one of our secret places if we’re at home. But the bottom line is that we give each other what we need most of all – love.

Though he does give me some fabulous sex, too. And sometimes, that’s just what it is – sex. Most of the time it’s making love, but sometimes it’s raw and animalistic and out of pure need for sexual release instead of need to worship his body. Sometimes I want to fuck him into something just to watch him get off. He shows me this side of him that usually only comes out onstage when he hasn’t gotten off properly in a few days and the adrenaline of performance is running through his veins and he gets horny. I can always tell immediately, and he doesn’t try to hide it; those are the shows when he’s rubbing himself and rocking his hips to tease the screaming girls (though they don’t know that it’s directed at me more than it is at them) and humping my amp, or the stage, or his mic stand, or Christus, or whatever else he can find to do that’s naughty. And every time, without fail, he’ll come up from behind me at some point in the show, press himself right up against my ass so that I can feel that he’s hard, and then whisper in my ear exactly what he’s going to do to me when we get offstage. And usually it’s something that you’d be surprised to hear come from Jonne’s mouth if you didn’t know him; something filthy and hot and wicked. And every time he does it, I’m thankful I’m a guitarist, because I have something to hide behind. Sometimes, he’ll even slip his hand down between me and the guitar, just to make sure his teasing has had the desired effect; and it always has.

Sometimes his ambushes are so successful that I’ll miss a note or two, and he always gets so incredibly smug and satisfied with himself when that happens. But whether I do or not, he’ll tease me through the whole show and even when we’re waiting to go back onstage for the encore. That’s usually when I get the worst of it, when we’re waiting in the dark backstage while the fans are screaming for more. Sometimes he’ll even slip his hand inside my jeans and start to stroke me, both of us knowing full well that he doesn’t have time to get me off before we go back out. He does it because he knows by the time the encore is over I’ll be aching for him, and that the mix of testosterone and adrenaline running through my veins will have him finding himself being fucked into a wall or whatever I can find backstage as soon as I can get him somewhere that’s not too out-in-the-open.

I always call him my wicked little minx because of that; because he likes to get me wound up and he likes to whisper naughty things in my ear, and when it’s finally too much and I finally get to have him – and it’s always ‘finally’ with him, believe me – he likes to be loud, and he likes to bite and buck and moan and writhe and claw. When he gets horny like that, I always end up looking like I’ve been in a fight – with lovebruises and bitemarks and long red scratches all over my body. I like them, because they always make me think about how good it was even days later. And he likes to look at them afterwards, because they’re his marks; saying that I belong to him and telling any groupie that I may decide to fuck that nobody can get me going like he does. I’ve always had a very strict don’t-leave-any-marks policy with groupies, and have gotten some incredulous looks for saying that while covered in his marks quite a few times, actually.

But groupies… they’re not my Jonne. They’ll never be him; never compare to him. I don’t know why I even bother with them, sometimes; sometimes when we’re laying there in bed panting and sweaty and sticky I’ll think about just telling him that he’s the only one who can do this to me – arouse me so incredibly and yet have my heart so completely at the same time. But then I think about hurting him, and I never say it; I can’t risk losing him or hurting him, and I won’t. I love him, and he knows I love him, and it’s good enough for me. I have him, and even though it’s in secret, he’s all I need.