funny_herman | [timed to some weeks before christmas]

[timed to some weeks before christmas]

It was that time of the day when the Kit Kat Klub was at its emptiest and quietest, like a cold mausoleum containing the remnants of the revelries from the previous night. The only source of warmth and light that remained in it, though, was Herman, steadfastly working on musical arrangements to occupy his long hours of (mostly) solitude until evening.

As he worked away, wayward thoughts inevitably seeped in, his concentration becoming misty at the edges until a dense fog forced him to put his pencil down and stop what he was doing. He blamed himself for this relapse into semi-hermitism. If he would only relax and not keep to himself so much, this sort of thing would probably be easier to handle.

Those dreams about Fritzie had been waking him up again lately. They weren't unpleasant -- far, far from it -- but he could never seem to finish them without waking up. He wondered why they always ended so abruptly before the climax, and so he would have to finish the job himself. It was beginning to annoy him, in a petty, amusing way.

This is what he was contemplating at the piano instead of writing music, replaying dreams in his head and creating happy endings.

Quite engrossing.

[OOC: Plotlocked for Fritzie.]

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After a few deep sighs, he lifts his head, giving a slightly dazed nod and a chuckle. "Oh, you certainly did...and beyond. Of course, I wouldn't mind it if you kept living up to yourself."

As he steadies himself, he slowly draws his hips back from hers, perhaps a bit reluctantly, and holds his arms out to her to help her to her feet. It's when their bodies have parted that he realizes how chilly it is on the empty stage.

Her damp thighs are what first alert her to the extent of the chill in the room, but nothing can induce her to make more than a lazy swipe for her robe. "You'd better get your clothes on quickly," she advises, though not at all dismissively, her eyes looking him over, taking in the glistening between his legs like an art surveying her finished work with evident satisfaction. "I'd hate for you to get sick on my account."

He bends down to grab his trousers pooled around his ankles, pulling them up as he rights himself, careful of his still-sensitive member as he buttons up. A shiver runs through him. "I could say the same to you, dear," he murmurs, also eyeing her thighs before she covers herself. He shuffles around the piano bench to pick up his shirt, and her panties, which happen to be under it.

"Here, darling, I'll relieve you of that." She light plucks her panties away, planting an impish little kiss on his delicious mouth in the process. "Almost as quickly as you relieved me of it." With a deft twist of her hands, she rolls the delicate, frilly garment up and slips it into the pocket of her robe, then helps him slide his arms into his shirtsleeves.

He smiles at the playful peck on his lips, and as he starts to button up his shirt, he chuckles when he sees where Fritzie's bra ended up when she'd tossed it away -- its strap had caught on the hi-hat stand of Frankie's drum kit.

"I almost feel as if you should leave that there until Frankie gets back."

"Mm, it's rather like a calling card, isn't it? 'Came by while you were away; will come again when I hear you're back!'" It's anyone's guess whether or not she meant for 'come' to sound so suggestive, or maybe it's in one's own imagination due to Fritzie's natural affinity for the word.

"Then I think you should leave it," he says, pulling her robe closed around her, loosely knotting the belt at her navel, his fingers unabashedly grazing against her belly through the thin fabric. "Or at least for tonight's show. Let people wonder what's been going on here while they've all been away."

"Not that they don't do enough wondering already, but a visual confirmation is always a treat. Alright then, I'll leave it." She takes one of Herman's wrists and buttons his cuff. "It'll probably get me bigger tips, going without a bra. Who knows, maybe I'll give up wearing one altogether?"

"Well, you wearing a bra and you not wearing a bra would get you big tips either way." He smirks a little. "Just don't ask me to choose."

"Of course not. I would never require you to make such a burdensome decision." She winks. "Though perhaps next time we play together I'll leave it on, just so you can say:-" She assumes a bored, blasé air and waves her hand indifferently. "'Oh, I've had her both ways, it's of no consequence to me.'"

"I look forward to the day when I can indeed say that," he chuckles. He then proceeds to gather up the sheet music scattered on the floor. "It looks like a very small tornado passed through here..."

Fritzie giggles girlishly. "A torrid tornado of turgid torment, as the Victorian smut writers would have said. They were very fond of alliteration, you know." She bends to retrieve a sheet of music that had flown further than the others.

"I believe they were also paid by the word, so I'd say that was a prime motivator behind the abundance of alliterative adjectives." He taps the edge of the stack of sheet music on top of the piano, straightening it out, and smiles at her over his shoulder, eyeing her shapely form as she bends down.

"Mmm, as unromantic as it is, money motivates above all else." Standing upright, she glances over the music thoughtfully before passing it along to him. "This is what you were working on, before you were so brazenly interrupted?"

He takes the sheet and looks it over, frowning a bit. "Actually, I'm not sure what this is. It might be part of another piece. Or just a product of my subconscious."

She raises her eyebrows, looking interested. "Is that so? Quite intriguing. Your fingers must have reached an entirely new level of cleverness, to be able to work without any conscious direction." Leaving off teasing him, she peers over the edge paper, looking more closely at it. "Seems like it could be a very pretty little number..."

He smiles wryly, though it grows softer when she peers at the music. Shrugging lightly, he returns the sheet to the stack and holds it to his chest like a schoolboy with his books. "Perhaps. I'll look at it later with fresh eyes. Besides, I don't think I can work at all now -- too distracted. But in a good way."

Fritzie, in another fit of helpless affection, charmed by his unwittingly defensive stance, slides a forefinger under his chin and kisses him again, her teeth lingering at his lower lip when she pulls away. "You really are unfairly lovely. But I'm afraid we should part ways for a time now. I promised myself a couple of hours of sleep before the show tonight, and I know you must have something important I'm keeping you from, besides your music."

Her kiss is like a sip of tart wine, and he wants another drop of it but he knows he shouldn't.

"Yes...yes, you're right," he says, nodding agreeably. "I'll see you later tonight, then. I hope you have a pleasant nap."

"Oh, I believe I'll have very pleasant dreams." With a sly look at him over her shoulder, she leaves him onstage, disappearing into the wings on her way to the dressing room she sleeps in.

Herman watches her leave, easing himself down on the creaky piano bench. He sits there for a few moments, lost in a contemplative reverie. The utter silence of the room is deafening, just as the noise was only a few minutes ago.

He turns in his seat and stares at the keyboard. Middle C and its surrounding octaves. Right there. He reaches out a hand, it hovers over the keys -- he can almost feel some kind of warmth radiating from them like a blush.

It's then that he notices a line of white film on the dark wood panel, dried and flaky. It's his turn to blush. He doesn't know if it's his or Fritzie's, but he rubs it off with his thumb. Though he can't help smiling in a secretive way as he does it. And as if closing the book on this particular chapter, he slides the lid down over the keyboard.

He sits there a while longer.

Then he decides it's time for a hot shower.

He gets up, sheet music tucked under his arm, and after a glance back at the quiet piano, he leaves the stage.

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[timed to some weeks before christmas]

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