She laughed breathlessly, her ability to draw in a deep breath limited by the constriction of being slung over Victor’s shoulder. He turned his head and bit her behind, making her shriek and giggle like a maniac. “Shit,” he said. “The door is closed.” He released his grip on his jeans so that he could open the door, and they slid down to his ankles. “Oh, goody,” she seized onto his arse. “Someone skipped their underwear this morning.” He laughed, stepping out of the jeans, and kicking them into the room. “I went for a swim,” he told her. “They are out on a chair, drying.” He lowered her onto the bed and laid his body out over hers, as he kissed her, his tongue stroking against hers. “I do like it when you wear skirts,” he reached between them, pulling her underwear to the side so that he could slide against her intimately and she drew in a shaking breath. “I probably need a shower,” she said. “I have been dancing all afternoon.” “You taste salty,” he dragged his tongue along her

Alexei opened the door to her room and did a quick tour of the interior. “All good,” he told her.“Thanks Alexei,” it no longer seemed odd to have him check her room before she entered it. “Where is the damn light?” She felt for the light switch and could not find it. It seemed that every hotel kept their light switches in different places, designed to baffle her in the darkness.“Here,” he turned on the switch. “Ah, no that is the bathroom one.” At least she was not alone in her bafflement.“It is okay, hotel lighting always makes my eyes funny after a busy day,” she told him. “I will just be brushing my teeth and going to bed anyway.”He shrugged. “Alright, I will see you in the morning?”“Thanks. Goodnight,” she saw him to the door and waited until he got onto the elevator before closing and leaning back against it with a sigh. It had been a gruelling day that had begun very early in the morning with a red-eye flight, followed by radio interviews for the commuters on their way to

The seating arrangement was meant to be cosy and confidential. To the viewer it probably looked so. There were fake walls on three sides to give the impression that they were in a sitting room and not a studio, and she was certain that the green screens behind the windows would be filled with a pretty garden view and the sound-track augmented by birdsong by the time the show aired. The couches were possibly the most uncomfortable ones she had ever sat upon, Mirage thought. But maybe that was in her head because of her dread of the topic she was there to discuss. Kelly certainly appeared to be comfortable on them. But Mirage was glad that Vice had selected trousers, and not a skirt, for the interview, as the angle of the seats was such that she would have been fighting to keep her hemline decent. The last thing she needed was to flash a camera whilst she was there to discuss a sex crime committed against her. The combination of clothing that Vice had thrown together was stylish, rela

“Bloody hell,” Vice declared as he opened the door into their house. “I don’t think I have ever been so glad to get home. I think I am drunk off the smell of house.” “What does house smell like, exactly?” Mirage giggled. “Hmm,” he drew in a breath. “Ghosts of your perfume, furniture polish, and Victor’s gym socks.” “Hey,” Victor protested. “My gym socks are a refined vintage.” “Keep telling yourself that, whilst the rest of us gag,” Vice replied. “I smell,” Mirage stepped in. “Vice’s aftershave, and Victor’s shampoo, and staleness.” “I smell,” Victor followed them into the hall leaving the driver to unload the boot. “Vice’s toy room,” he added optimistically. “What does my toy room smell like?” Vice asked with a sly grin. “Lube, vinyl, and leather.” Victor replied readily. “Is that wishful thinking?” Vice asked conversationally as he claimed a suitcase from the front door and placed it into the front hall. “Factual thinking,” Victor decided. “Unpack, shower, food, wine, and

Victor leaned against the bench as he waited for the coffee to percolate and watched his partner at work. Vice was bent over the control board his headphones on, his posture hunched, and his eyes closed as he nodded along with the music. Vice’s cheeks were dark with stubble, and he had shadows under his eyes. He looked as if they had put in a few hard nights partying, rather than at the control board and in the attached recording room. They were both looking a bit rough, Victor thought wryly. The last few days they had been putting in hard hours in the studio, getting as many tracks down as possible. Their mornings were early, showers perfunctory, and days long. Mirage had taken to bringing their meals to the studio and collecting the plates afterwards to ensure that they ate. But the hard work was gradually paying off. The album was shaping up, and it was solid. It did not have the magic of passion behind it that Mirage’s did, but they were convinced they were doing their best work