fandomhighdorms | Behind the Dorms, Sunday Afternoon

Jonothon Evan Starsmore, the stunningly handsome and ridiculously wealthy rock-star descendant of the late Jack Starsmore, heir of the vast Starsmore Fortune, esteemed leader of the mighty and powerful Clan Akkaba, and wielder of Mysterious Powers of Which He Never Spoke, lifted his guitar and took a pleased look around at his surroundings. The stage was set. The band was ready (even if they were all nameless, faceless individuals. The focus wasn't on them, here.)

No, no, the focus was on Jonothon, his hair perfect, his face perfect, his chest? Dare I say it? Perfect, as if sculpted by the hand of God himself. It would have been a shame to put a shirt on it, in spite of the time of year. And anyhow, this particular corner of the island was unseasonably warm. It would be a shame to not take advantage of the sunny sky, the green of the grass and the leaves in the trees, the warmth the day had to offer... and other types of heat, at that. Perfect chests were for showing off, and Jonothon would like to encourage all of his audience to partake in that very same mindset.

But all of that hardly mattered. What really mattered, here, was that there was to be a concert today. And, perhaps afterwards, Jonothon would let his most avid admirers backstage for a personal tour.

[Open! So very, very open.]

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Deirdre's face was contorted with grief. She turned slightly, while staying in his embrace, to make sure the camera could see how hard she was acting!.

"I'll be here every second of it, Jonothon," she said, in a voice choked with feeling. "And when all you can sing is 'Legacy', I will listen and applaud every single time. We'll make it a hit, and you'll be more famous than ever."

"I shall have to change my band's name," he sighed, looking dramatically to the heavens. "I shall have to call my band Chamber, for we shall truly be a chamber of emotion, the like of which the world has never seen."

Yes. Yes, that suited perfectly.

"And we shall make it work. We shall make it work, you, and me. Together."

"Just the two of us," Deirdre vowed. "No one else. No distractions from our goal."

Someone had been giving Rebekah the stink-eye backstage, yo. But it didn't matter, because Jonothon was entirely Deirdre's body and soul!

Which was why with her next breath she said, "We should have a child, now. Before..."

It was a beautiful idea. It was a glorious idea. It was the sort of idea that made Jonothon's chest sweat and his heart melt, and his mouth go dry, and tears well up in his eyes, and he pulled her closer.

"We should. We must. Before..."

Before the unthinkable.

"Before," she purred, eyes large and wet. "And we'll be so, so happy."

"The... the three of us."

Or four. Or five. Provided she didn't miscarry their triplets again.

He ran his hand down her arm, and then leaned forward to steal away a kiss. The sort of kiss that most people only dream of. And it was beautiful.

It was. It was so beautiful that things got fuzzy and faded to black rather quickly, despite the broad daylight.

This may have been because the network censors feared they'd get started on making a child right there and then.

Behind the Dorms, Sunday Afternoon

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