His Job

2006


Early morning sunlight peeked through the slats of the mini-blinds and fell across his face in bright lines, finally rousing him from slumber. Growling softly, he threw an arm across his wife’s side of the bed, intending to pull her closer to him and breathe in the flowery scent of her hair while he tried to fully shake the last vestiges of sleep.

Her side of the bed was empty.

Odd. He normally woke before her and had to coax her into the day. Teece had never been much of a morning person. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking around the strange hotel bedroom. She must be out in the sitting room area of the suite, having a morning Dr. Pepper and groaning about the early hour.

It made no sense that she was up already. She’d been shooting in Vancouver for the last few months, to her it should feel like - he glanced at the travel clock on the bedside table - just after 7 am, and she was NEVER awake this early unless she had to be on set.

The bedroom door was open slightly, so he called out to her. No answer. Where the fuck was she? Maybe she was somewhere going over her latest script. She was on a break from Battlestar Galactica, but shooting began again on Monday.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed his jeans off the chair by the dresser. He pulled on his jeans, not bothering to zip them up or even mess with the button. Running his fingers through sleep tousled hair, he stepped through the sliding doors and out onto the balcony.

New York City might be called ‘The City That Never Sleeps’, but Vegas never closed, but the hotel where he and the guys were staying was well away from The Strip, and Jon’s balcony had a desert view, if you paid no attention to the interstate running across it in the distance.

A March morning would be chilly anywhere else but the desert. He stretched and ran his fingers through his hair again. He had to be at sound check late this afternoon, but the rest of his day was free. They’d been in Phoenix on Thursday for the show there, then hopped a plane yesterday morning for Vegas. TC had met him here last night.

Last night.

A smile stretched his full lips. They hadn’t seen each other since before his birthday, and they’d more than made up for it last night. There had been wild moments, tender moments, even a few funny moments when their laughter had filled the room.

He heard a door slam, then her voice. “Jersey?”

“Out here,” he called out, hoping she’d join him on the balcony.

“Your coffee’s in here,” she yelled from the other room.

Was that impatience in her tone?

TC looked up as he walked into the room. God, he was beautiful. In tour form, his abs were chiseled perfection. Blond hair was sticking up in several directions, even though it was obvious he’d tried to tame it with his fingers. A shadow of whiskers marked the elegant line of his jaw, so she could tell he hadn’t shaved yet. His jeans were undone and she could see the thin line of hair that trailed down from his belly button to the heaven hidden by the denim that hung loosely from his hips. He was so beautiful, that she almost forgot she was aggravated at him.

Almost.

“You’re up early,” he commented as he moved across the room toward her.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “already been to the gym. Did ya know this place has a boxing bag in there?”

He smiled as he kissed her cheek. “Yeah, that’s why I picked this hotel. I knew you were meeting me here, so I called ahead.” Stepping past her, he headed straight for the coffee.

TC’s lips spread into a smile, before she could stop herself. He remembered details like that, the little things. He was a detail kind of guy.

That’s why his lapse last night had her so aggravated at him. The absent minded lout.

“I needed the workout this morning,” she told him with a shrug, then started toward the bedroom.

“Where're you going?” he asked, just a hint of hope in his voice. “I thought we’d have breakfast together.”

“I already ate. Gonna hit the shower now.” She never stopped walking. “Thought I’d do a little shopping today,” she called out through the open bedroom door.

With a gob-smacked look on his face, he stared at the open door. He watched her shadow move around the room as she stripped for the shower. What the fuck?

Quickly, he stood up and stomped across the room, reaching the door just as she closed the bathroom door between them. Shit. He crossed the bedroom and opened the bathroom door just as she closed the shower door. He could see her hazy form through the mottled glass.

“All right,” he growled. “What the fuck did I do?”

“Nothing,” her voice drifted over the door of the shower.

He leaned against the door frame, crossing his ankles. “Bullshit. Teece, I know when you’re pissed, when you’re totally over the top mad, and when you’re slightly peeved.”

Through the glass he could see she had her back to the spray, her head tilted back as she got her hair wet in preparation to shampoo the long tresses.

“And?”

And what? He’d lost his train of thought, watching her silhouette through the glass. “Huh?”

“What’s your point, Jersey?”

She continued with her everyday, normal shower routine, scrubbing the shampoo and lathering up her hair, making him harder with every move, and she wasn’t even trying.

“Point?” he paused, shaking his head slightly. “Oh yeah. You’re slightly peeved. So what the fuck did I do?”

“Nothing,” she answered as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair.

His head dropped back as he looked at the ceiling, begging for divine intervention. When he looked back at his wife, she had already put the conditioner in her hair and moved on to the soaping up her body step. Jesus! He couldn’t take this torture much longer.

“Damn it, Teece.” He was losing his patience. “We’ve only got this weekend, then you’ve got to be back in Vancouver for shooting, and I’ve got promotional shit to do. Let’s not waste it arguing. Please.”

He watched the suds slide down her long tan legs while she rinsed both herself and the conditioner from her hair. “Who said I was gonna waste anything? And, I’m not the one arguing.”

She wasn’t fooling anybody. He knew she was ticked off about something, and even though she said she wasn’t going to waste any time, he knew how this would work. He’d been through this shit before.

Quickly, his mind began to spin, mentally going over every detail of the night before. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done. Hell, all they’d done was make love several times during the night and slept. What the fuck had he done? Had he talked in his sleep, saying something he shouldn’t have?

“Fuck, Teece. What did I do?” he almost whined. “And don’t say ‘nothing’ again. I know it was something.”

The shower door opened and she stepped out with the steam. Dripping wet, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and stepped forward to poke him in the chest with one long finger. “That’s just it, Jersey. You did NOTHING.”

What the fuck was she talking about? “Huh?”

“Here’s a tip for you, Stud,” she drew out the word, letting the sarcasm sink in. “When you’re in bed with a woman with long hair, a woman that you’ve specifically asked to wear her hair down when she comes to bed...,” she took a breath.

He was nodding as he followed her reasoning, with her so far. “Yeah?”

“When she goes down to give you a blow job,” she paused to make sure he was listening, “you have just one job, aside from enjoying it.”

His eyes went wide with an unspoken question, but she didn’t wait for him to speak it. She answered him. “You’re supposed to keep her hair out of her face.”

This was what she was pissed about? Seriously? “Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it? Damn, Jersey. Have you ever...” she realized how stupid what she was about to say was, and just grabbed a towel and walked away from him.

Jon chuckled softly, knowing what had been about to come out of her mouth, and followed her into the bedroom, watching her delectable ass as she walked away, drying herself off as she went. “No, I’ve never been giving a blow job and my long hair got in the way.” He laughed then, knowing he shouldn’t. Knowing it would just make it worse. “But, I’ve been in a similar situation. There was a time when my hair was almost as long as yours.”

She spun around to face him. “You can be such an ass,” she growled softly. Quickly, she finished drying off, tossed her towel over the chair, and grabbed the jeans she’d laid out on the bed. Stiffly, she dressed in a hurry. Then, she marched back into the bathroom to quickly towel dry her dripping hair.

He watched as she twisted it up in some sort of bun and stuck a large clippy thing in her hair to keep it up there. “Teece,” he said softly, “this isn’t a big deal.”

“Maybe not to you,” she threw over her shoulder, as she stomped from the room, heading for the door of the suite.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Out,” she yelled just as the door slammed behind her.

“Fuck,” he swore softly to the empty room.

*************************

Three hours later, Jon was at the venue going through sound check. Since his previous plan of spending all day in bed with his wife had been ruined by said wife’s pique, he’d called all of the guys and told them that he’d moved up the time for sound check.

Richie stood toward the back of the stage watching Jon having a heated discussion with Obie. The singer sat on the edge of the stage with his legs dangling, occasionally waving his right arm around to make a point.

“What do you suppose crawled up his ass and died?” The guitarist didn’t notice David’s approach until he spoke.

“Don’t know,” Richie answered with a shrug. “But, I’d lay odds it has something to do with TC.”

“Good luck finding someone to take that sucker bet, even in Vegas,” David laughed.

Obie walked away, and Jon looked over his shoulder to glare at his band mates. “You assholes don’t know shit.”

Tico joined the discussion. “You mean it doesn’t have to do with TC?”

With innate grace, Jon put his left palm flat against the stage, and in one fluid move jumped to a squatting position, then stood up. “Who says something crawled up my ass and died?”

As if in slow motion, three hands went up into the air.

“Assholes,” Jon growled, and turned to stomp away.

Tico’s words stopped him. “Kidd, just take the blame, admit you were at fault, apologize and move on.”

Richie nodded in agreement. “Yeah, brother, you’ve been married awhile, you should be good at the blame game by now.”

“Dude, you can’t leave it at that. What did you do?” It would be David that was either brave enough or stupid enough to ask.

“Yeah, Jonny, spill. Tell us, so we can ALL laugh at your ass,” Richie teased.

“I’m not gonna discuss this with you fuckwads.”

“C’mon, Jonny. What’d ya do? Lose your wedding ring?” David asked.

“If only it were that simple,” Jon grouched.

“It’s worse than losing your wedding ring?” Richie exclaimed. “Damn, man.”

Finally Teek’s curiosity won out against his better judgement. “What’d you do?”

With a little more coaxing from the group, and a lot of hedging from Jon, the whole story was finally told. The first reaction was stunned disbelieve. Three pairs of eyes were wide in amazement.

It was Richie that spoke first. “Seriously, man? You didn’t know?”

David jumped in then. “Geez, Kidd. The first rule of blow job etiquette is: ‘If she’s licking the grapes, hold back the drapes’. “ Even Teek nodded in agreement.

“I am NOT believing this shit,” Jon grouched. “You fuckers are taking HER side?”

“Rules ARE rules,” Tico said with an all too serious tone.

“But have you guys seen how much hair that woman has?” Jon was pleading for understanding.

“Stop being a pussy, Kidd,” Richie ordered. “You play guitar, you shouldn’t have a problem gathering that mess up into a hand full.”

Jon glared at the unrepentant trio. How could they turn on him like this?

“Jonny, ya know they DO make ‘tie backs’ for those drapes,” Richie pointed out, trying to sound like he commiserated. No sense in pissing off the boss. Any more.

“Ah,” David said quickly, “but Jonny doesn’t want her to use the ‘tie backs’.”

“Fuck off, assholes,” Jon swore, and stomped off the stage.



By show time, they were all speaking again. In a much better mood, Jon was even taking their good-natured ribbing in stride. Mostly, because TC had seemed to be over her mad and was teasing and extremely affectionate in his dressing room before the show.

Jacking his energy level up, Jon was shadow boxing in the hall when she walked up behind him and lightly ran a fingertip across the back of his neck, brushing the stray tendrils of blond hair to the side just before her lips touched bare skin sending tremors down his spine.

“God, woman,” he groaned a warning.

“Have a good show,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his nape. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” he said softly, turning around, but she was gone. He knew where she had disappeared to; she’d already told him that she would be watching the show from behind the barricade, on Richie’s side of the stage.

When the guys took the stage, the roar of the crowd was deafening, and as always took his breath away for the merest second while he soaked in their adulation. It still amazed him sometimes that these people loved him and the guys this much. He smiled at them just as the spotlight fell on him on the satellite stage, then he and the guys launched into Last Man Standing.

He got a little carried away with the set list. He added to it throughout the show, even coaxed TC up on the stage to sing Who Says You Can’t Go Home with them. The show lasted three hours, one of the longest shows they’d ever played.

When they took their final bows and walked off the stage, the adrenaline still rushing through their veins, TC met him at the end of the ramp. She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, bending her knees to pick her feet up off the floor so that he could keep walking while she rained kisses all over his face and neck. Jon walked toward the dressing rooms with his arms full of sweet smelling woman, but couldn’t keep up with the rest of the guys.

TC stopped the kisses to tell him, “That was an awesome show, Jersey!”

He tightened his arms around her waist. “Thanks baby.”

The other guys rounded the corner up ahead, leaving the couple alone in the hallway. Jon stopped walking, and TC put her feet back down to stand on her own. His lips met hers again, and this time he took control, his tongue pushing past her lips to tangle with hers. Strong hands cupped her ass, while he held her tight against him.

“Great show,” Obie’s voice came from behind them, breaking the couple apart just before he reached them. “You coming to the after party, Boss? Or,” he smiled knowingly at TC, “will you be otherwise occupied?”

Jon raised his eyebrows, and TC let out a husky chuckle. “He’ll be there,” she paused, “at least for a few minutes.”

“Just let me get a shower, Obe.”

Somehow, he made it to his dressing room without mauling his wife. Once there, she pushed him into the shower, telling him they had to hurry so they could make an appearance at the party. Jon was so happy that she was over being peeved with him that he did as she asked.

Twenty minutes later, Jon and TC stepped into a room filled with people. From members of the road crew to the band members, all were members of the Bon Jovi family, there to celebrate the last show of this leg of the tour.

With his arm around her waist, he steered her toward the corner where the other members of Bon Jovi were holding court. There was a lot of good natured teasing and even a few ribald comments thrown around. Through it all, Jon stood with a smile on his face and an arm around his wife, knowing that when he’d stayed long enough to qualify as ‘an appearance’ the two of them would sneak off to their hotel suite to do a little making up in private.

Jon should have pulled TC by the hand and left sooner.

A bit of a lull fell around the group as each man finished up conversations with people around them who then moved off to mingle elsewhere, leaving the band mates alone with only TC in their group.

Richie caught Jon’s eyes, and the singer could tell by the twinkle in his friend’s chocolate brown orbs that there was about to be hell to pay. But, before he could stop the guitarist, Richie had deftly slid his hand under the heavy mass of TC’s hair and with a quick twist of his wrist had the silken length knotted in and around his fist in one big hand full.

“See, Kidd,” Richie crowed triumphantly, “easy peasy!”

Pure panic washed over Jon’s face making him look like the proverbial deer in the headlights, while first questioning shock, then dawning understanding fell over TC’s face making her eyes immediately lightened to a pale icy green.

“You told him?” she demanded, even as Richie’s hand in her hair kept her head still.

Jon took a step back, while Richie, feeling the heat of her anger, quickly untangled his hand from her hair and took several steps to the side trying to distance himself from the war zone, having only then realized that he’d gone way too far.

“Who else knows the intimate details of our sex life?” she asked softly, her voice menacing. She turned to glare at first David and then Tico.

Both men waved their hands placatingly in front of them, and wisely did the only safe thing to do in the situation.

They lied.

Walking backward quickly, both men were quickly assuring TC that they had no idea what Richie and Jon were talking about. Once they were several steps away, they turned and almost ran for the relative safety of a group of roadies only feet away.

TC spun to face her husband. “You son-of-a-bitch.” Turning toward the door, she almost ran from the room.

Truly repentant, Richie quickly apologized to Jon. “Ah shit, Kidd. I’m sorry. I didn’t think...”

Jon briefly closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Rich. Really. I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut.”

David stepped back up to the duo. Trying to lighten the mood, he told Jon with a teasing grin, “The good news is you probably don’t have to worry about the drapes issue again.”

“Not now, Davey,” Richie warned.

His shoulders drooping, Jon just turned and walked away.


*************************

The hotel room was dark when Jon let himself into the suite, but he knew she was there. She wouldn’t leave without getting to give him an earful. He found her out on the balcony, leaning against the railing at one end with her arms crossed over her chest.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she spoke first. “I can’t believe you told Richie.” Her voice was deceptively soft.

“Teece,” he began.

“Don’t ‘Teece’ me,” she interrupted without raising her voice. “Jon, what goes on in our bedroom should be private.”

“Hey Pot, this is me, Kettle,” he said sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Oh don’t even try,” he told her with a grin. “I know that Linda knows shit about me. She’s not too good at hiding that knowing little grin she has.”

“I don’t tell her anything but good shit,” she argued.

“Teece, a blow job IS good shit. Hell, men brag about that shit. It’s the top, baby!” He chuckled softly. “We’re guys, Teece. We rub it in when one of us gets laid and the others don’t, when one of us gets blown and the others’ wives aren’t even around.”

She remained silent; her bottom lip poked out in a definite pout, and he knew he was making progress. If she wasn’t throwing barbs his way, he was close to the end of the tunnel.

“If it’s any consolation,” he whispered softly as he moved in to slip his arms around her waist. “They were on your side.”

“They?” she began.

He quickly interrupted her. “They quickly schooled me in ‘blow job etiquette’, even if they were a bit crass with the schooling.”

“Crass?” she asked, a smile creeping into her voice.

“You don’t wanna know, baby. Trust me.” He kissed her cheek softly.

She uncrossed her arms and slipped them around his neck. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“Well, I’ll tell ya,” he told her with a grin, “but you gotta promise not to tell anyone I told ya. It’s secret guy shit, ya know.”

“Oh,” she said with a solemn nod, then promptly ruined it with a giggle while drawing an X on her chest with one finger, “I promise.”

As if intoning a great secret, he whispered softly in her ear, “Davey says that it’s the first rule of blow job etiquette. ‘If she’s licking the grapes, hold back the drapes.” A throaty chuckle floated through the air at his words. “The others agreed with him, even though I tried to explain just how much hair you have. Rich even called me a ‘pussy’.”

She gasped softly. “No, he didn’t.”

He nodded gravely. “Yes, he did.”

Raising up on her tip toes, she pressed her lips to his. He took over, pulling her tighter against him and slipping his tongue past her lips, tasting her fully. Without taking his mouth from hers, he pulled her through the glass patio doors and into the bedroom of their suite.

With a kiss here, a caress there, and teasing passion everywhere, clothing fell in soft piles in a trail toward the bed. When the back of her knees hit the side of the bed, TC plopped down on the soft mattress. Jon bent at the waist to place a trail of searing kisses down the side of her neck to her collarbone, then across to one diamond hard nipple.

She lay back on the bed, pulling him down with her. Twisting slightly, she rolled them over, but only because Jon allowed her to, even helping with the motion. His head landed on the pillows, and she bent to place a hot kiss in the hollow between his pecs.

Trailing her lips down his hard body, TC murmured softly against his heated flesh, “You’re so in luck, Cowboy. Because, I’m going to give you a chance to show me what you learned today.” She had reached the muscled ridges between his navel and hip bones, her lips just a breath away from the tip of his cock. She blew gently across the tip, then tilted her head just enough to look up at him across the muscled planes of his abdomen.

“Sweet Jesus,” he groaned softly at the wicked little grin she flashed at him.

When her pink tongue darted between her lips to circle the tip of his dick, he reached down with one hand to gather up her hair. It was like trying to nail Jello to a tree! Every time he grabbed a handful of the silken mess, ten more handfuls fell to take it’s place.

His head fell back against the pillows in frustration. Letting out an exasperated little groan, he muttered, “There’s just too damned much of it.” She ran her tongue along the vein from root to tip, and he was no longer capable of coherent speech. Briefly, he wondered if he couldn’t put two words together, how he was supposed to gather up the miles of caramel silk that lay across his stomach, groin and thighs, and wasn’t even sure he really wanted to. To be honest, it was just too delightfully erotic as it caressed his hot skin, gently tickling and tantalizing places her tongue hadn’t gotten to yet, while one small hand stroked his balls causing the muscles in his thighs to tense.

“Oh, God, Teece,” he groaned.

Quickly, he flipped them over so that he rested between her satiny thighs. He held himself above her with this elbows locked, rotating his hips to grind against her. Slowly, he lowered himself so that he could drink again from her lips. Then with one hard thrust of his hips, he entered her, just as his tongue dove into the welcoming warmth of her mouth. Swallowing her moan of pleasure, he slipped into the rhythm that matched their heartbeats, as she hooked a leg around his waist and met each of his thrusts with one of her own.

All too soon, they were gasping each other's names in a litany of prayers, and a chorus of religious sounding phrases that were anything but divine.

Laying side by side, their breathing heavy, TC let out a little chuckle. “You get some points for effort there, Stud.”

A bark of laughter left his throat, as he threw an arm up over his head. “Teece, let me ask you a question.”

“Shoot, hot shot.”

He could hear the arrogance in her words and almost laughed again. He rolled to his side and raised up on his elbow, pillowing his head in his hand. Looking down at her, he let his hand coast across the dewy plain of her stomach, then trailed just one finger across her pubic line. “When my lips are teasing you here,” he drew lazy circles around her clit with his index finger, grinning when her hips moved in tandem with his movements. He looked down at her. The pearly white of her teeth flashed in the darkness as they gripped her bottom lip. Her eyes were closed, and her chin was jacked up toward the ceiling. “Can you do complex algebraic equations in your head?”

She moaned softly and shook her head from side to side. “Hell, Jersey,” she gasped, “I’m not even sure I could tell you my name.”

He grinned with arrogant satisfaction. “Okay then, Pot. Don’t ask Kettle to try and nail Jello to a tree when you’ve got your mouth around his dick.”

Her husky laughter filled the room. “Deal.”