One Take Only

by Lynsey M. Stewart

“Disappointing.”

  She laughed. “Talk first,” she whispered. “Taste second.” I groaned into her shoulders as she pulled me behind her.

  She tried a number of doors and let out a series of expletives when she found them locked. I was happy to watch this game of sexual frustration play out until we left and found the door to her bedroom.

  “Yes,” she whooped as a we were met with what could only be described as a room for all the crap a porn cinema no longer needed. Cardboard cut-outs of a nurse dressed in latex, rolled-up film posters and a giant set of lips masquerading as a sofa. She smiled softly. It wanted to break out, I could tell, but she bit her lip and waited.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said at the same time I said, “Thanks for inviting me.” We laughed lightly and she bounced on her heels as I fiddled with my glasses.

  “Your speech was–” she folded her arms and held a breath. I wanted to say her speech was a perfect tribute to Elliott, a respectful take on the porn industry, a plea for films to consider the themes she was so passionate about, a raw telling of a woman who needed to find herself, and a fucking amazing declaration of love for me. How could I roll that jumble of thoughts into one sentence? I watched her as she waited for me to finish, her eyes wide and nervous. “It was…” I shook my head, emotion clawing at my skin. “Everything.” She let go of her breath and smiled, nodding in thanks, laughter bubbling through.

  “You brought your camera,” she said pointing to the trusty friend I carried everywhere. “Take any good pictures tonight?”

  “Not yet,” I replied lifting it over my head by the strap and aiming it at her. She put two fingers up in a peace sign and pushed out her tongue. Click. I stood tall and slowly moved the camera away from my face, catching her eyes as I did. “Now I have.”

  She smiled as she clutched her hands behind her back. “Want to take some more?” I nodded, gasped for air as she tipped her head looking every inch the mischievous woman I knew I loved more than life itself. “I know how much you like taking photos of me.” She shimmied a shoulder out of her jacket, looking at me with innocent eyes as she displayed more of her body.

  “How about this?” she said watching my reaction. “Is this good?”

  “Skye–”

  “Are you warning me?”

  “No.” I swallowed hard as she looked at me over that shoulder swept in glitter. A shimmer to her skin. Jesus fuck.

  “Remember when you took photos of me the night we fucked?”

  “Vaguely.” My voice was hooked on my tonsils. I wanted to be calm and cool, but the word made my throat dry and I squeaked my response. She knew, she bloody knew. The naughty look on her face told me everything.

  “You vaguely remember telling me to drop my shoulder?” She put her fingers under the strap and pulled it down slowly, painfully slowly to finally reveal her breast.

  “Baby, are you trying to kill me?” Her eyes widened on the baby word, but her breast was still taunting me, the peak stiff and ready. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want me to devour you in a back room of the cinema with porn stars not more than a few feet away.” She laughed, wrinkling her nose and pressing her hand to her mouth. I couldn’t help but take her in, my eyes searching every inch of her, the skin on show, the parts still hidden that I really wished were not. I wanted her to know how much I idolised her, how vital she was to my life. I opened my mouth to speak, but she pulled the other sequinned cup down and I became suddenly incoherent.

  “You’re beautiful. I said, picking up my camera, capturing her.

  Click.

  She closed her eyes and her mouth lifted like what I’d said was exactly what she’d been longing to hear. “Perfection,” I added, pulling the camera away and capturing her eyes. “Made for me.”

  “Put the camera down,” she said softly. “Drop it. Launch it. Throw it across the room for all I care.”

  “Steady, I’ve just started a new job.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Your boss sounds amazing.”

  I took two steps forward, and her state of undress didn’t override my need just to hold her face in my hands and look at her, really look. I needed to know that I remembered her correctly, that the scar under her eyebrow was really there. Her pink diamond in her dimple wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. I rubbed my finger across the freckles on her cheeks. “They’re still here,” I said on every stroke.

  “Yes, ballsack,” she whispered. “I can’t make freckles disappear.”

  Snark. I’d missed it.

  I kissed her nose. “Still here.”

  An eye roll.

  I traced her lips with my fingers. “Still here.”

  “Bloody hell fire,” she said smiling.

  “Look at me.” A sigh rolled from her lips and her shoulders dropped like her body had been turned inside out. “Do you want me to do this?” I slid my fingers against her nipple.

  “Oh God, yes.” She gripped my shirt and I almost lost it.

  “Is that good? What you need? What you missed?”

  “I missed it all,” she gasped.

  “I thought you wanted to talk?”

  She lay back on a discarded desk and the look of bliss on her face travelled directly to my cock. I felt for my camera.

  Click.

  Yes. I want her like this.

  ‘We can talk if you want to,” she said, her fingers tracing where I wanted my mouth to be. “What do you want to talk about?”

  Click.

  “Shut up and let me kiss you,” I replied.

  “Put the camera down and let me fuck you.”

  I groaned as her hand found my erection. She held the tip through my jeans. “You fucking amazing woman.”

  “I’ve missed this. I can’t even tell you how much,” she said.

  “You think you need to tell me?”

  She shook her head against mine and brought my face to hers. I noticed the tears in her eyes immediately and swept her up in my arms, loving her, giving her what I could.

  Me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said through her tears. “For leaving you.”

  “I understand.”

  “You made me feel so special, but I needed to give that feeling to myself, too,” she continued.

  “I know,” I replied, kissing her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank you for being patient.”

  “Skye, I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, a few months more wasn’t going to make a difference. I want you well. I want you happy. I want you mine.”

  “I’m well,” she replied. “I’m happy.” She smiled. “You were right. I needed help. Thank you for helping me see that. I’ve come to terms with who I am and for the first time in forever…I like myself.”

  My heart quivered into this weird little pattern that felt fucking good because I knew that before Skye could love me, she needed to love herself first.

  “I love you,” I whispered, watching her eyes close before she returned to me.

  “I love you, too.”

  I sat us down on the giant pair of red lips and Skye rolled her eyes as she looked around at the scene before us – porn paraphernalia and giant lips as we expressed our undying love to each other.

  But somehow, it felt right.

  “What can I say?” She smiled as I squeezed her against me, cupping her body and vowing never to let this rainbow syrup, bubblegum-haired woman out of my life again. “I fall in love easily.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She laughed as I shook my head before finally allowing me to kiss her in the way I’d wanted to from the minute she left for Amsterdam. “I’m going to miss our weird conversations about all-consuming self-doubt. Those were my favourite nights.” She pushed me away by my chest then pulled me back again by my shirt. “You often pole vaulted over normal night-out shenanigans to needing a shoulder to cry on, and I was always happy to be that shoulder.”

  “You know how to handle me,” she replied.


  “Christ, do I.” I kissed the mound of her breast. “And it’s been too fucking long.”

  Epilogue

  Three Years Later

  Will

  “I really think we should have had more communication about this,” I said as I watched Skye rifling through cupboards and drawers looking for ‘props’ she’d misplaced.

  “Will, stop pretending that you’re the one in charge here when we all know that the trouser wearing in this house is down to me.” Fuck, she wore them well. Trousers, skirts, dresses, my boxers and right at this moment one of my old gaming T-shirts.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed gave me a fantastic view of the New Laines. It was a busy summer night with late night cafés and bars still open. People were crowding in the streets laughing, playing music, and generally living their best lives.

  Like me.

  When Skye and I moved out of the flat above Turnip the Beet, we knew that this house would be perfect for us. Stace and Matt stayed there and made it their home…for now. Stacey had just discovered she was pregnant, and they would soon outgrow the flat. We lived a few doors down the road from them, in fact, we were so close we could communicate through lamplight like Freddie Mercury and Mary.

  Matt wanted a dressing-up party for his graduation celebrations. He’d finally finished a Psychology degree and Stace had organised a rowdy night. Skye and I had talked (argued) about our costumes. I wanted to go as Batman because I already had the suit. She wasn’t keen. Maybe it reminded her of the first time she met my junk? Getting Skye into a Catwoman costume was definitely out of the equation. I eventually agreed to her choosing the costumes. She said she’d make it worth my while and when I discovered I was going as the joker I could only hope that she was going as Harley Quinn. A sexy Harley Quinn – a fantasy I’d told her about many years ago and had been role played (without costumes) many times since.

  She re-appeared with a grin. “I’ve put your costume in the bathroom.” I stared at her, still memorised by that rainbow syrup that shone through her veins and into my soul. “Go on then. Skedaddle.” She slipped out of my Super Mario T-shirt, which was a move that disappointed me until I saw what she was changing in to.

  Harley fucking Quinn.

  “Oh my,” I gritted out as she pulled on some little blue and red shorts.

  “You like?” She twirled in just those little shorts and it took all of me to stop from pouncing on her.

  “I like so much I’m considering calling Matt to tell him we’ll be a no-show tonight.”

  “Don’t you dare! These costumes aren’t going to waste.”

  “Baby, believe me, they won’t go to waste.” She swatted my hand away and continued dressing. A little top, a leather jacket, awesome boots and all the bloody accessories. I wasn’t sure how we’d both get through the night unscathed.

  This DC nerd was pretty fucking happy.

  After I’d dressed in my Heath Ledger version of Joker, trailed my hands up her fishnets as she painted my face, re-arranged my erection to a safe place and grabbed a piece of her carrot cake – I told you I was living my best life – we made our way to Matt’s party.

  In ordinary circumstances, I would be looking forward to a night of watching Skye dance, fuelled by the knowledge that I was the lucky bastard taking her home with me. Tonight, was different. I was out of my comfort zone and nerves were setting in.

  “How are you feeling, mate?” Matt said, I couldn’t take him seriously dressed as Kristoff from Frozen and even less so when Stacey was stood next to him as Olaf.

  “Nervous,” I squeaked as I took a swig of beer. “Why did I think this was a good idea again?”

  “I think you said something about a romantic grand gesture,” he replied. “But you may have been drunk and we’d just watched Coco.”

  “Oh, yeah. That film is a killer.”

  “Turns you to mush, mate.”

  I’d planned on asking Skye to marry me for what seemed like most of my life. The way we fell into friendship and landed into a relationship seemed to fit us both. We liked to take life a day at a time, no forward planning, no pressure to fulfil stereotypical life plans, but there was this increasing deep need in me to make our life together official. Skye never talked about marriage, or rings or what dress she would choose when the big day arrived. She didn’t even get fidgety when we bought the house together, a joint mortgage seemed enough of a commitment for her.

  I’d gone backwards and forwards about doing this. Weighed up the pros and cons. Would she grab me by my balls for even thinking about proposing to her? She wasn’t a traditional girl and we certainly had our differences. She hated guacamole and I piled it up like a green volcano. She asked Siri to turn down my movie theme tunes and banished my Marvel film posters to the spare room. I hated early mornings and she seemed to thrive on them. Although, I did set the alarm clock to wake me up just as she was in the middle of her yoga workout. Skin-tight leggings, purple crop tops, sweaty taught abs and a bum to cry for.

  I timed my early rise with her early rise.

  Her workout usually ended with a whole different kind of work out and one morning as I nuzzled her perfect breasts, I decided differences we’re good. Differences kept it interesting.

  The name calling continued. I was often referred to as nerdsville. Screw you ballsack, was a favourite but always done with a smile. I called her angel, sometimes dirty angel. Sweetheart. Baby. My world. My everything. Made for me. The one. She pulled faces, rolled her eyes – I still fucking loved that eye roll – but eventually she accepted that I was just a pet name kind of guy.

  Or maybe I just said what I felt?

  She was my one. I never doubted it. Skye did everything she could to make me happy and she was doing a great job of it for herself. She continued her counselling sessions with the bereavement counsellor she met in Amsterdam. She looked after her body and mind, attended groups that Brighton thrived on. Mindfulness, goat yoga, spiritual awakening. She even started a blog – at times tongue in cheek – about some of the therapy sessions she attended and how helpful she found them.

  She didn’t continue her career in porn, instead she concentrated on her thriving dog grooming business. I was grateful. I wasn’t sure I had another male sex scene in me. I liked to think I did a sterling camera job, but it wasn’t something I was jumping at to do again and anyway, I was settled in my job at Upfront.

  “Are you ready?” Stacey asked as she pulled me by the arm. “She’s just nipped to the loo and I thought maybe it would be a good time to do it when she gets back.”

  “Shall I just meet her on one knee when she comes out?” I replied.

  “Don’t be weird. Does outside a toilet sound like a romantic place to propose?”

  “Well, it’s no Eiffel Tower,” I mumbled.

  I was so nervous I could feel the ring in my pocket digging into my leg. The ring. That was a whole other anxiety fest. I didn’t know where to start. Square? Round? Oval? One big stone or one stone surrounded by little suckers? I couldn’t help but think that every time I was handed one and held it up to the light – it wasn’t her. She needed something different, unique and special.

  Like Skye.

  Matt and I trawled the Old Laines and found a jewellery shop that specialised in antique diamonds. I saw it in the window. Emerald green and surrounded with tiny clear diamonds. I’d found it. Unique and distinctive. Perfect for her.

  The proposal was a cluster fuck of anxiety. I couldn’t decide if this should be a quiet spur of the moment thing or an in front of family and friends thing. What would Skye want? The grand gesture idea had permeated and landed me here at Matt’s graduation party.

  Damn beer and damn Coco.

  “Quick!” Stacey shouted, her carrot nose wobbling. I knew she’d picked the outfit to cover the first signs of her bump. “Will!”

  I did it on fright. Stacey’s shout made me lose all clarity of thought and here I was, down on one knee in front of a very startled Skye.

&nbs
p; “Get up!” she said, her face knotted in confusion. The carrot cake I nabbed before we left fell to my arse. Shit. The crowd behind me started to whoop and surged around us to see why the idiot was on one knee in front of Harley Quinn holding a baseball bat with a face I couldn’t quite read.

  “What are you doing? Get the fuck up.” She covered her mouth with one hand, her other holding the bat above her head before she started sobbing. Oh fuck. Was this good sobbing? Or the bad kind? The I-wish-I’d-never-done-this kind or the crap-she-doesn’t-want-to-marry-me kind?

  “Put the baseball bat down. You’re unnerving me.”

  “Oh my God.” A smile broke through her fingers. I started laughing ridiculously, adrenaline fuelled as I offered her a toothy grin that wasn’t sure whether to break out or stay tucked in. I tried to read her. I failed. She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers at me, and those wiggled fingers allowed me to breathe again.

  “Come here,” she whisper-sobbed as she pulled me up.

  “Jesus, woman. Why do you try to kill me in every aspect of our life together?” The bedroom, the kitchen (she’s not mastered cooking yet) her penchant for see-through corsets and now as I asked her to spend the rest of her life with me. She smiled as it hit me in the face again that I loved her more than anything or anyone. Every single piece of her I wanted to be mine.

  “Skye, I’ve loved you for the whole of my life.”

  “We’ve only known each other for eight years,” she replied, rolling her eyes through a smile.

  ‘Just be quiet for once.” I kissed her softly and she thawed completely. “Will you marry me?”

  She peered at the diamond, emerald green sitting on a deep red cushion. She raised an eyebrow. “Good fucking job, William.”

  “Thanks, almost grew an ulcer choosing it.”

  She kissed the life out of me. “Put it on then, Clark!”

  I adjusted my glasses and placed the ring exactly where it belonged.

  The end.

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