Skin Before the Flame - Brat 32

A misunderstanding, an interruption, and a song that was always about her.

Dev

She let me in without much more than a nod, already moving back toward the canvas propped against the wall. Barefoot, hair twisted up in one of those messy knots that wasn’t messy at all–just effortless. A slouchy cardigan hung off one shoulder, slipping further every time she reached for the top of the canvas. My brain kept snagging on that strip of bare skin, the pale curve from neck to collarbone, remembering how it felt under my lips.

But the rest of her?
Closed off.

She was leaning over the half-finished piece, brush moving in short, deliberate strokes. Not looking at me. Shoulders a little too tight. Movements a little too sharp.

I clocked it.

“You angry with me?” I asked, before I could think better of it.

“No.”
Still no eye contact.

“You ran out of the pub, without saying anything.”

She shrugged. Kept painting. “I just… I have to get my school stuff nailed down.” She paused, as if chewing over whether to say it, then added, “Plus, I didn’t think it would matter that much,” she said lightly, still working. “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of company.”

I tilted my head. “Company?”

“You know what I mean.” She dipped her brush, not looking at me. “No shortage of women falling over you, is there? They’re probably all a lot more experienced than me. Probably a lot more interesting, too.”

That last bit came with a quick flick of her eyes toward mine – just long enough to land the hit – before she looked away again.

It caught me wrong. Not blow-up wrong, but enough to put heat in my chest.

“If you’re talking about sex when you say ‘experienced,’ that doesn’t make them more interesting,” I said, my voice lower now. “That’s not what I look for in a person.”

She gave a small shrug. “Doesn’t stop you letting them hang off you.”

I’d never heard her use that tone before.

Then, it hit me: the girl in the bar. She had been hanging off me…and no, I hadn’t stopped her. Hadn’t thought anything of it. That’s just been my life for the last 8 years.

But looking at it through Sadie’s eyes, right after me pressing her up against the wall and kissing her in the studio…fuck.

“Being polite to fans and wanting to sleep with someone are two very different things.”

I stepped closer as I said it. It wasn’t enough to crowd her, but enough that I saw the tiny hitch in her shoulders.

She didn’t answer. Just kept painting, kept avoiding my eyes.

I let the quiet stretch. Moved another step.

Another.

Until I was close enough to smell the faint scent of her shampoo under the sharper tang of paint.

She still didn’t look at me.

There was nothing sexual about it at first – just that sudden, quiet ache in my chest. That need to be near her. To anchor myself to something real.

To her.

I took te final step, slow, careful – like getting too close might spook her or wake me up.
And then I bent my head.

One soft kiss. On her bare shoulder.
A whisper against the skin of her neck.

“I didn’t want her… you know what I want,”

She froze.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Her shoulders softened.

I kissed her again, a little higher this time, just beneath her hairline.
Another.
Then one on the edge of her jaw, barely a brush, like a question.

She turned slowly, and I felt the shift in her body before I saw it – her breath, the way her weight adjusted, the almost-imperceptible draw toward me.

I placed my hand gently on her jaw. A pause. A promise.
When she kept turning – into me, into the space between us – I lifted my other hand, cradling her face like it was something fragile and holy.

Her eyes met mine.
I didn’t rush. Didn’t ask.
Just let the moment stretch long enough for her to feel it – to know it was hers as much as mine.

And then I kissed her.

Softly.
No tongue.
Just open-mouthed, reverent. A slow press of lips against lips, like a sigh I’d been holding.

Her hands slid up, palms flat against my chest, and her mouth began to move under mine.
I deepened it, just a little.
Mouths parting, breaths catching.

I licked gently into her, tentative. And when her tongue met mine?
Fuck.

That sharp spark of pleasure right low in my belly. I hummed without meaning to, low and quiet into her mouth – and she answered with the softest moan.

That did something to me.
Lit something up.

Her arms came around my neck. I slipped one hand into her hair. My other arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer.
I needed to feel her – all of her. Not just her mouth, but the weight of her body against mine, the curve of her hips, the heat in her skin.

She melted into me with this breathy little exhale that went straight to my spine.

We kissed properly now.
Open and hungry and real.

She moaned into my mouth – soft, surprised, like it caught her off guard.

The noise that came out of me was embarrassingly caveman, but at that point I was past caring. Her fingers clenched at the back of my neck, and I thought I might actually lose my fucking mind.

Then–

The front door banged.

We broke apart like we’d been doused in cold water, both breathing hard, her lips swollen, eyes wide.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I muttered, still so full of wanting her I could barely stand upright.

The footsteps came closer, and then Sam appeared in the doorway, a tote bag over one shoulder and that easy, grounded smile she always seemed to wear.

She clocked the scene instantly – Sadie flushed, lips swollen, me still too close.

“Ohhh,” she said, drawing the sound out like she’d just spotted a rare bird in the wild. “So this is where all the sexual energy in the house is coming from.”

Sadie groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Sam.”

“What?” Sam grinned, setting her bag down. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just… potent.” She gave a little shiver. “About time we had some heterosexual sex in the place. I’ve been wondering why the plants are thriving.”

I barked a laugh before I could stop myself. “Guess I’m doing my bit for the ecosystem.”

Sadie shot me a look that was equal parts embarrassed and fond.

Sam wandered into the kitchen, talking over her shoulder. “I’m making blue lotus tea. You two need grounding. And maybe hydration.”

“Tea?” I said to Sadie, still catching my breath.

“She’s on a whole herbalism kick,” Sadie murmured, smoothing her cardigan back up over her shoulder like it was armour. “Just go with it.”

A few minutes later, Sam was back with three mismatched mugs, steam curling over the pale blue surface of the tea. She passed them out, then nodded toward Sadie’s canvas.

“Alright, art show. Let’s see what you’ve been working on.”

I followed them over, letting Sam steer the conversation. She asked questions, offered warm, thoughtful observations, and every so often, shot me a little smile like she was quietly approving of my being there.

Sadie still wasn’t looking at me much, but the tightness in her shoulders had eased. And as the three of us stood there in the soft hum of the flat, sipping tea and looking at her work, the sharp edge between us dulled into something I knew I could work with.

My eyes drifted past her to the far wall, where a battered acoustic guitar hung on two old brass hooks.

Inspiration struck.

“Whose is that?” I asked.

“Jasper’s,” Sam said. “He’ll let you play it. He likes showing off that actual musicians have touched it.”

I lifted it down, tuned it by instinct, and sat on the edge of the armchair. My fingers found the shape of a song I’d been working on all week – another one I’d told myself wasn’t about her.
It was.
Of course it was.

The first chords rang low and warm in the quiet flat. Sadie looked over and then her whole body hit pause, like a current had just run through her.

I kept playing, kept my eyes mostly on the guitar, but I saw it happen:
She grabbed her sketchbook from the table without a word, flipped to a blank page, and began drawing. Lines poured from her pencil as the words poured from me, both of us moving to some pulse only we could hear.

“You paint the weather I can’t name
Sky before the storm, skin before the flame
You keep your distance but I feel you all the same
And I don’t mind, I don’t mind”

Halfway through the chorus, I glanced at Sam. She was watching us like she’d just stumbled into a private ceremony. She met my eyes and her smile turned knowing, like she understood exactly what was happening between us and wasn’t about to break it.

I went on playing, the song carrying itself to the last lingering chord.

Sadie’s pencil slowed, then stopped. She didn’t look up, but I could see it in the curve of her mouth – she’d heard me. She’d felt it.

✦

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