#eccentric musicans

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Chapter 8 - Strip

In which bodies and secrets are laid bare.

I’ve been waiting for this chapter… I’ve had it in the back of my mind for James Conrad for… maybe four years? God bless @lokislastlove for making me finally write it.

BIG trigger warnings for the aftermath of abduction and abuse. It’s not particularly explicit but I want you to be forewarned. 18+ only, of course.

Breakfast the next morning was actually at 1pm, which you had come to accept was Billy’s way. Still, you thought scones and clotted cream were pretty tasty at any time of the day. Nigel was starting up about what to do that night, and you broke in.

“So, my brother Matt is going to be in town tonight, we might be heading out on our own.” You watched Conrad’s brow rise as he looked at you, but he was silent.

“Oh I know Matthew,” Billy drawled. “I am certain he will wish to accompany us tonight. This new club is quite enticing.” He was sipping his tea with pinky stubbornly extended as you stared at him.

“What? How- how would you know my brother? I mean-”

“We’ve done business before,” Billy said, flapping his hand in a dismissive way. Chancing a quick look at Conrad, you could tell he was also wondering what kind of business that might be.

“Yeah, okay…” you said doubtfully, “I’ll just see how he’s feeling when he shows up tonight.”

Business? Matt had business with Billy? There was no context in which that statement didn’t alarm you.

“So what’s your brother like?” Nigel was hanging dangerously over your shared balcony to keep from blowing cigarette smoke onto you. He was wearing a carelessly unbuttoned white shirt, his signature leather pants and at your stern ultimatum, underwear.

“He’s… quirky,” you said, “He’s always flying around the world on mysterious errands and adventures. We don’t see each other as often as I’d like, but I love him. We’ve been through a lot together.” You were buttoning up a black silk blazer over a black lacy bustier and checking that you hadn’t missed a spot when shaving your legs.

“Quirky?” Nigel laughed, ashing over the railing, “Mysterious trips to foreign lands? Sounds like a drug dealer.”

“Very funny,” you snarled, awkwardly turning back to finish your makeup and ignoring the chill that went up your back. After all this time, you really had no idea what Matty did with his time. None at all.

James watched everyone prepare for a night at a club he hated. He could not hate this club more, but not enough that he could morally step away from his duty. But he was mentally crossing off musicians from the list of clients he’d be willing to work with from now on. Putting his life on the line for a drug-addled lunatic like Billy was making him question his life choices. He noticed Nigel peek out into the main room of the suite and grin, retreating back into Maila’s room.

He knew that they were not sexual with each other, but it was their intimacy that caused the resentment he’d been fighting. That the drummer could stroll into the privacy of her bedroom, that he could watch her get ready for the night, dance with her, whisper secrets together.

Maila dressing… James smothered a groan, keeping his expression impassive as he pictured the glow of her skin in the lamplight, brushing her hair or running a finger over her mouth to smooth her lipstick…

Stop.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the image, trying to concentrate on his actual purpose for being here. But he could see Maila and Nigel in the other room.

“Matt’s here?” Maila’s hand paused, mascara wand poised in midair.

“Yeah,” said Nigel, lighting up on the balcony again. “He’s talking to Tommy.”

James had never seen her move so fast, mascara wand thrown on the counter and he heard her voice, a little high and strained.

“Matty!”

Stepping in just after her, he watched a beautiful young man, inches away from Tommy, staring at him avidly. “Glasgow Smile, huh?”

His friend raised a brow. “You gotta thing about scars, mate?”

“These are amazing…” Matt - he presumed - drawled reverently, pale blue eyes alight. He was almost as tall as James, with dark hair and fair, perfect skin. A hint of fashionable stubble and a very expensive suit, no tie. He was still leaning in too close to Tommy, who finally put up one big hand.

“This is goin’ on your face and shoving you away unless you back up by yourself.”

“Hey, Matty,” Maila stepped between them, subtly pushing her brother back a few steps. “No hug?”

“Hey, sis,” hugging her briefly, he put an arm around her shoulders and looked at Tommy again. “You are goddamn beautiful, man. A work of art.”

“Matt,” she was rubbing her eyes, careful to not smear her impeccable swoop of eyeliner. “Please don’t be weird in front of my friends.”

He laughed delightedly, “Yeah, okay.”

Based on Maila’s expression, James thought he was not the only one who was unenthused about the evening. She was sitting between her brother and Billy, who were leaning over her to talk in some kind of animated shorthand that involved uttering half a sentence before the other started laughing. Maila sat with perfect posture, knees together and a polite expression. James knew her ‘tells’ now, how this expression meant she wasn’t comfortable but wasn’t planning on making a fuss about it. He hated seeing it on her face, hated the fact that she ever had to be in an uncomfortable position ever again.

Speaking of uncomfortable…

“Where is Roderick?” queried Billy, preening in the mirror over the minibar in the SUV.

“Who?” said Lea and Nigel together.

Billy looked at them with deep disappointment. “Roderick, as you surely recall, is our Lighting Director.”

Tommy chuckled until he realized he was serious. “Boss, ya’ do remember that the Lighting Guy is the one who snuck you out of the hotel and when things went all wrong with the knife weildin’ arseholes he took a runner and left ya?”

Billy drew his hands to his chest. “Roderick left me?”

“Yes,” the entire group spoke together.

“Well, that’s certainly rude,” he sulked. “So, where is he now?”

James spoke firmly. “He has been sacked. I have an associate keeping an eye on him while we investigate if he had anything to do with the other attempts. You will recall it was the lighting array that nearly killed you and Maila.”

“No shit?” Matt leaned forward, glaring at his sister. “I didn’t hear about this one.”

“Then she probably didn’t tell you about the attempted poisoning,” Billy offered helpfully.

“Are we there yet?” Maila sighed.

Club Naakt was a spectacular church remodeled into a nightclub. The exterior glowed with a dozen spotlights and music roaring through the outside speakers. James frowned. He’d already cleared a section for Billy and his entourage, and the second-story dance floor was only for the VIP guests. That cut down on potential danger but not all factors could be controlled.

Though it was much more difficult to hide a weapon when everyone was in their underwear, or less.

“Ohhh,” said Lea, “that’s what Naaktmeans in Dutch, huh?”

“Yes!” Billy said jubilantly, drinking from a bottle of Absinthe while eagerly peeling his pants off his skinny legs. “At first I had intended to go au natural, but then I remembered that a man of a certain age finds that his tackle is hanging somewhat lower than he might wish for optimum viewing by the ladies. Not that I amthat man, of course,” he hastened to add, voice muffled as he pulled off his silk shirt, “but I would not wish to make other guests resentful, or jealous.”

“Mighty thoughtful of ya’,” Tommy said with a straight face.

James just barely heard Maila mutter, “Oh, thank god.”

The waiters, dressed as scandalous versions of angels and demons, brought numerous ice buckets of champagne, oysters, Blini with Caviar, luscious, tiny bites of Beef Spiedini and Togarashi Seared Ahi.

Maila was already popping a Salmon and Caviar Puff Pastry Tower in her mouth. “If I have to take my clothes off,” she hissed to Marcelle, “I’m going to need to drink. A lot.”

“Line your stomach,” Marcelle nodded wisely, “you can drink half a gallon. Are you wearing that black lace bustier I tried to make you use onstage?”

James leaned in slightly. He was very, very interested in learning if she was wearing the black lace bustier. He watched her finish off another flute of champagne and seize one of the Ahi bites. “Yeah,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

Matt didn’t need any encouragement to strip down and after kissing his sister on the top of her head, he whooped and headed to the dance floor with Nigel - wearing black bikini underwear that really, really didn’t need to be so form-fitting - and Billy, still wearing his cowboy boots and some billowing boxer shorts. There was already a gaggle of pretty girls in various stages of undress happy to join them.

Tommy turned to James with a grin. “Well? You take the lead here, mate. Take ‘em off.” This unfortunately led to a series of shouts from the rest of the group.

“Take it off! Take it off!”

“You’re fired,” he gritted to the Scot, who simply grinned unpleasantly and settled in a corner where he could survey the entire VIP section.

Pulling off his blue suit jacket, a muscle ticked in James’ cheek as he rapidly unbuttoned his white dress shirt, irritably pulling it free from his pants. There was a little sigh of appreciation that ripped through the group as it came off, the blue and purple lights sending a sheen of color over his chest and arms.

“You beautiful bastard!” blurted Billy, taking another gulp of Absinthe.

From the corner of his eye, James could see Lea, Maila, and Marcelle lean forward as one when he loosened his belt and pulled down his zipper.

That’s it, he vowed, no more musicians.

Tossing his dress pants irritably over his jacket, he strode over to the dance floor to cover Billy, refusing to look back when one of the women sighed, “Oh, my god.”

He was circling Billy, refusing to dance, even when one girl and then another would undulate invitingly and then slink away at his cold expression. It didn’t help when his employer danced around him in a circle, gleefully singing Adam Ant’s tune.

Goody two, goody two, goody goody two shoes

Don’t drink, don’t smoke, what do you do?

Subtle innuendos follow

Must be something inside…

And then he caught a glimpse of Maila in the VIP area, taking a last gulp of champagne and standing to remove her silk jacket, displaying the aforementioned bustier, beautifully shaping her waist and cradling her cleavage with black lace. Her hands paused at her skirt, then swiftly removed it with the air of ripping off a bandaid.

He’d seen her wearing less, even her stage costume was alarmingly scanty, but there was something about this woman in her underwear… slightly vulnerable, but refusing to cringe. She strode onto the dance floor to the cheers of Matt and Nigel, swirling her hips as the music segued into - appropriately enough - “Strip.”

It’s at times like this, the great heaven knows

that we wish we had not so many clothes

So let’s loosen up with a playful tease

like all lovers did through the centuries

We’re just following ancient history

If I strip for you, will you strip for me?

We’re just following ancient history

If I strip for you, will you strip for me?

A-ha-ha

As the rest of the group finally stripped and joined them on the dance floor, Tommy shamelessly pulled off his leather jacket, jeans, and t-shirt, his boxer briefs getting a cheer from the tipsy women.

“Lighten up,” he shouted into James’ ear. “We’re here. Everyone’s naked or gettin’ close. So no one’s packing a weapon.” His amused gaze dropped lower to his friend’s midsection for a moment. “Well, maybe ye’ are.” Laughing, he dodged a swipe and danced off into the other corner of the triangle they’d established around Billy.

James Conrad knew he was attractive to women - to a good section of the male population as well - he’d been naked or nearly so countless times without concern. But the sense of being bare as a bodyguard to this eccentric lunatic who was currently sandwiched between two women put his heartbeat into overdrive. He didn’t need weapons to protect the man - in fact, using a gun meant he’d already lost. But the swirling lights, countless moving bodies, and the hypnotic, repetitive dance music were… distracting. It was easier to blame the club interior than the real issue, he admitted as he circled Billy again.

Maila.

Hands over her head, eyes closed and head thrown back blissfully. She had her own constellation of admirers, though her brother and Nigel were doing a good job of creating a perimeter around her. She’d finally let go of her reservations and god - this woman! Lean muscles flexed and tightened in her thighs, hips thrusting and swirling into a figure eight.

Focus, you arse, he thought bitterly. You’re on the clock.

Still, when he’d herded a sweaty Billy and his entourage back to their safe haven overlooking the dance floor, he nodded to Tommy. “You got this for a moment?”

His friend, who’d also watched Maila climb the iron stairs to the rooftop lounge, scoffed. “Get out of here, ya’ horny bastard. This is gettin’ annoying.” Tommy resigned himself to another session of uncomfortably close scrutiny from Matt and his eager questions.

The rooftop was blessedly cool, a light breeze coming in off the canals and candlelight flickering among the white drapes flowing back and forth. He found Maila lounging on one of the wicker couches. She was holding a wine glass and had thrown her jacket over her pretty undies, an action he observed with some regret.

Her eyes opened to see him there, lingering at a polite distance. “Come sit down. You must be worn out, chasing after Billy.”

James did, enjoying the relative quiet, the dance music dulled to a rhythmic thumping under their feet. “It’s nice up here,” he offered.

“Mmm…” she agreed, eyes closed again. “The scene here is so over the top. It’s exhausting.”

“Your brother’s quite… fascinated with scars,” he ventured. “Does he practice scarification?”

She gave a short, humorless chuckle, looking back out over the city. “No. But his compulsion to view the scars of others is quite… uh, obvious, isn’t it?”

Taking another sip of his drink, he smiled in a noncommittal way. She was actually speaking to him, he wasn’t going to break the spell.

The wind blew one side of her suit jacket open, and he was treated to another view of her lace corset and undies. “It’s from the time before you rescued us. Did you ever read the follow-up report? From the medical exams?”

He thought of her sweet expression as a twelve year old in the picture holding her violin, and then the blank look she’d worn when he scooped her up off the warehouse floor and took her to freedom. The only thing he’d asked post-mission was if the twins were okay, a rather feeble inquiry because of course they wouldn’t be. But he’d been told they “survived.” He’d left it at that, already in the middle of researching another extraction.

Clearing his throat, James looked up again. “I didn’t.”

She nodded, “I didn’t think you had. You probably remember the militants kept us for nearly three weeks.” The corner of her mouth curled up, “So many negotiations, and there was press coverage by then so they were enjoying getting their propaganda out.” The hand bringing her glass of wine to her mouth shook slightly. “We were both um, we were hurt. To motivate my parents, I guess. The State Department. Just for fun, who knows? But it was years before Matt would look at me. He was so sure that I got the worst of it and that it was somehow his fault.”

He knew what had happened to her brother, the desperation to find them before he would suffer more. But looking at this beautiful woman, so perfectly composed with that little Mona Lisa smile, what in god’s name had happened to her? She was pulling off her suit jacket, pulling up her hair to expose her back. Taking the wordless invitation, he leaned in close, his hand just hovering over but never touching the silver lines making a map of pain over her smooth skin.

“I’ve… um, I’ve always regretted that I didn’t try to talk my mother out of the revisions. So many visits to the plastic surgeon. I think the procedures to hide the scarring hurt worse than when those men gave them to me.” Her voice was detached, even a little dreamy.

The lights strung overhead on the patio lit up the delicate marks criss-crossing her back, down to the base of her spine, and as he knelt, striping the back of her thighs. His hand hovered over them, feeling the warmth from her skin.

“May I touch you?”

She heaved a sigh, something like relief. “Yes. You’re not like, you know, Matty, right?”

James gave a soft chuckle, standing up. “No. But these are marks of courage. And they are beautiful.”

Maila pulled away a little. “Don’t do that- it’s so condescending and our therapist always used to say that, and-”

His fingers, rough and calloused from years of battle, settled gently on her collarbone, the softest touch. He shrugged off his jacket and took her hand, directing it to a cluster of scar tissue just under his ribs. “A bullet. Hollow point so it disintegrated into a dozen pieces in my abdomen. I was in the field and we didn’t have a medic, so my First Lieutenant removed them.” James could feel her cool fingers trace the scarring, a touch featherlight. He lifted his left arm. “This one…” he gently moved her hand. “This was a knife- a KA-BAR. He was trying to get it under my ribs and up to my heart.”

Her lovely face creased in sadness. “I’m so sorry.”

James covered her hand, resting on his heart with his own. “Does it disgust you?”

Now, he’d offended her. “Of course not!” Her wide eyes looked up at his. “How could you think that?”

God, the tenderness he felt for this woman… “Then you must accept that I find you to be utterly beautiful. Powerful. Brave. You were then, and even more so now.” His breath was heavier in his chest, slower, as he carefully, slowly, drew the back of his fingers up her arms and over her shoulders. Her lids dropped to half-mast, a shaky breath drawn as he slid one hand into her thick hair, and the other carefully cradling her cheek, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.

“May I kiss you, Maila?”

She opened her eyes again, staring into his. Open, painfully stripped of her little shields and barriers. “Yes, please.”

“Thank god,” he muttered, bending down to put his mouth against hers.

I’m building a Blood and Music playlist on Spotify, if you’d like to listen along…

So I wanted to add the smut here. God, I really wanted to add the smut. But the intimacy of sharing their most vulnerable parts seemed more personal. So smut up next. I swear.

Alerting mutuals who I think might be interested, please let me know if you’d like on or off this list. Thank you!

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