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“Matt, your flirting is appreciated and unnecessary.” Alex is smiling and it’s brilliant and warm and low and well, just so her and she’s not like anyone else here. Dear God, she just breathes in and out and it’s like. Fuck. He is staring. He should move away. Step back, Matt! Back to his date. Amelie. Marjorie? But his foot inches forward, instead, nestling itself between her two feet — heels not too high, practical – ready for dancing, or running. Or walking away from the party and heading for the tube station. He laughs, low, and grips his drink.
“I know, Kingston,” Matt says, his other hand already twirling her hair. Like no time had passed. Loose and in large ringlets tonight and he can’t tell if she had a stylist’s help – there were pictures tonight, but nothing major… New Year’s Eve in Islington post-doctor doesn’t really command major press. He misses it. He does. Ridiculous. Thought he couldn’t shake it fast enough… but he was wrong.
The bar is private-party-only so not exactly full – yet – not until the entire crew arrives, but it’s starting to hum and after a performance Matt is always well, just ready… ready for anything until exhaustion hits, milking every last bit of adrenaline. Especially when he has the chance to be among friends. The Almeida is a bit divy, really, but he loves it. He does. And loves this production. And loves this party. And this cocktail.
“I’ve just missed you,” he rushes.
“Yes. Yes, you have,” she replies airily. But she looks right at him. Pointedly? Maybe. Matt can’t tell, though. He hopes… but here – damn – here is her date.
"Charles!" Matt enthuses, ridiculously overfriendly, hand outstretched and grabbing too tightly and he’s glad he’s like that so much of the time since he would rather not give Alex the satisfaction of knowing absolutely that he was… What? Nothing, really. Put out, maybe. It’s just he never sees her and that man is old enough to be her father. Ok, his father… well, maybe not his, but someone’s handsome and much older father. Yes, Charles reminds him of a fucking *father*, in the generic. And Matt looks down to check his BAND shirt – fuck – and of course all the men here are wearing suits. He should have worn a suit. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a lot of amazing suits. Bespoke. But that’s who he was on stage this run, and now, well, he wanted to relax. Band shirt.
Would Alex have preferred him in a suit? Is he too close? He’s too close. Right, then. One step back. “So what did you really think? Truth, Alex.”
She’s a brilliant stage actress. Brilliant. God… her Lady Macbeth. He’s just learning. Should get back to Amanda. (Amanda?)
“You were brilliant darling. You know it. I’m so proud of you. I’ve already told you that. Four times. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were fishing.” She gives him a wicked smile.
“Off-season, sadly.” In his head he says this with a laugh, but it actually comes out as incredibly morose and, as a consequence, a pretty inappropriate observation.
He paints on a smile. “Drink, Kingston?”
“Umm… I have one already” – she points to the two matching white wines Charles has placed on the bar.
Oh, right. “Oh, just me, then.”
“You’re holding one.”
Honestly.
“Guess maybe that’s one too many!” he tries to laugh, but he meets her eyes and he knows his look is sad and that he doesn’t mean the drink.
“Bye, Charles.”
“Give my love to Fiona,” Alex says with a wink.
“It’s Amanda,” he says.
“Not, it’s really not,” Alex corrects softly as Charles slips a wineglass into her hand and his arm around her shoulder. And now Charles is placing a kiss on her fucking neck and Matt can’t even say goodbye to her and turns on the balls of his feet, pointedly 180; an intruder in a private moment.
What is he even thinking? It’s my party, he begins to hum, old-school, as he walks away, trying not to go too quickly. 11:55 p.m. Star of the show. Big night. He doesn’t even know his beautiful, lovely, talented date’s name. It’s not Alex. He takes his mobile out of his pocket and pretends he’s taking a call. “My mum” he mouths to Amanda, adding an exaggerated eyeroll for effect, as she tries to wave him over.
He ducks into the kitchen, instead, tucking himself almost entirely in a supply cupboard. He can’t find the light, though, so leaves it open. Could he just leave?
“Darling?”
Oh. God. “Alex?”
“I’m terribly flattered you’ve got that right.”
“Oi, come on, Kingston. Not fair. I’ve only just met her. I’ve been distracted.”
“You’ve been something, Matt. And you need to snap out of it. Everyone here wants to see you. These things are only ever part party – you’re here for the show.”
He shifts his jaw slightly sideways and meets her eyes then lets his gaze slide: “No, I’m hiding in a bar kitchen, hiding from my date, five minutes to New Year so I don’t have to see you getting a hickey Kingston.”
He doesn’t look up but hears her sharp intake of breath. He’s embarrassing her. But she’s closer now; he can smell her perfume. She’s edging him further into the closet. And she’s pulled his head down into her neck, cupping it gently, running fingers through his short hair experimentally. He feels about 6 years old. Fuck. And he knows he just shouldn’t say anything else because – fuck - he is wrecking everything, but here his mouth goes: “I’m in a band shirt.”
And then she is really laughing. It’s a lovely laugh and he is just fucked because honestly this is his worst New Year’s Eve ever.
“Yes. Yes, you are.” But she’s not pulling away. Quite the opposite… she’s advancing and there is so little space behind him and nowhere to go. Unless. No….
And now her hands have left his hair and she’s gripping the front of that t-shirt and unmistakably snaking her leg between his and he can’t help but push into her, past a barrier, already getting hard and knowing she will soon be able to tell.
Alex lets out a small moan. Oh yes, she can tell.
She reaches for his hips and pulls his cock to her cunt, no mistaking what she wants. And then just waits. “Matt?”
And his hands, hands that have been so stupidly at his side all this time finally start to work in concert with his heart and wanting there to be no mistake he brings his fingers up to twist her nipple through the silk of her dress. But he stops, just holding it now, like a string of want between them.
“Fuck, really, Alex?”
“Just promise me you are not going home with Amanda,” she says in a smiling voice.
“Amanda who?”
“Good answer.”
In the distance the party is counting down to the new year, an unmistakable mix of footsteps and uncorking and crystal and shouts of ‘thirty seconds’!!! and Matt spins Alex until her back is to the brooms and they push into buckets and he can finally close the door and it’s dark and it’s her: Alex in the dark. And her hot mouth has found his and he’s pulling at her dress, unbelieving of his fortune, and now she’s unzipping his pants and her touch is electric but her hand tentative. He has to ask, so breaks the kiss:
“Alex – you sure you’re ok? What about Charles?”
“He’s not you,” she whispers into his neck.
“Oh FUCK, Alex” and his hands are on her waist and grabbing her hair, bringing her lips to him for another kiss and her fingers, no longer tentative, grip his cock and pull him out of his underwear and he kicks off his pants and over shouts of “happy new year!” and “where is Matt?” he runs his fingers inside Alex’s underwear, feeling her hot and wanting.
“The thought of him touching you…”
“shhhh… the only time he did I…”
He enters her with two fingers and brings his lips to her nipple, biting and wetting the fabric, making a small ‘go ahead’ sound. But instead of continuing she stills his fingers and brings them to her mouth, sucking, and kicks off her underwear and lines herself up against him. She grabs his eyes and that fucking band shirt and Matt hikes up her thigh and slides into her, starting slow but now grabbing her firmly around her back with one hand, making marks on her thigh with the other, and slamming her into him…
“…the only time he did I ..” she continues, gasping…
“Fuck, baby…”
“… I was thinking of you.”
“Alex…” his voice is quiet and needful and reverent and surprised and he’s still fucking her, rhythmically, deeply, but brings his thumb to her clit now…
“Oh, Alex, I always think of you, too…”
… to press and circle, and catch her eyes.