He flicked the match with his thumb and sat there listening to the crackle of his own cigarette. The flame got halfway to his finger before he blew it out. With that, Nic Ridgefield crushed the charred stick under his cowboy boot and started strumming. He hadn’t played acoustic guitar in ages, and it felt good. Felt almost as good as the two soft gray hands rubbing his bare black shoulders.
“What’s got you bluesin’ babe?” Lita whispered, the hippie-punk nuzzling against his neck.
“I just don’t know anymore.” Nic sighed, still strumming.
“Bout what? Bout leaving Hell Patrol, bout joining us over on the Force?”
“Nah, that shit’s easy.” the black wolf chuckled. “Boys and me still play in the band fine and the Commissioner ain’t one to fuck with that Knox cat. I just don’t know, y’know? Like you want to put your finger on it but you just can’t for shit.”
Lita smiled, leaning in as strands of mohawk brushed against her lover’s snout. “Well, you know my city-slickin’ thoughts on that.” She cut herself off as she kissed him. “Once you know, sort it out and move on. Don’t sweat the stuff you can’t pin down.”
Nic nodded and kept on strumming. “I think it might be this.” he pondered. “Maybe it’s a song I forgot to write. People have killed themselves for forgetting a good idea.”
“Alrighty, I’ll go get the tape deck. Don’t want to clean that kinda mess up.”
“Nah, when I know it, I’ll run for it.”
Lita slumped back on the bed and shook her head.
“Why you always get into THESE kinds of funks?” the punk grumbled. “Can’t run off and make some, you always gotta have one.”
The strumming stopped and Nic slowly turned towards her. His eyes narrowed and the light of the moon cast her lover’s shadow over her.
Then he started jamming on the low E and his eyes widened.
“Ight, get me the tape deck.”
Lita leapt up, bolted down the hall, grabbed the tape deck and hit record the second she stepped back in the room. She held it to the guitar, and Nic jammed out the bass lick. It was a wicked little groove that got the hippie-punk’s head a-bobbing. When he finished, she hit stop, ran it back and the two listened to the lick. Nic’s boot got to tapping as he took another puff of his cigarette.
“Did we get it?”
“The lick, yes.” Nic nodded. “What’s halfway up my craw, no.”
Before Lita could slump to the floor, Nic set the guitar down, set the tape deck aside and yanked her onto the bed.
“I didn’t say we couldn’t have fun while I’m in my funk.” he growled playfully, nipping at her neck. “Just that I’m having one’s all.”
Lita grinned. “That’s all I wanted to hear, big guy.”
The two spent the rest of the night playing nothing but passion on each other. By the night’s end, the lovemaking hadn’t pinned Nic’s unknowable down, but he knew every hour he spent with his favorite bitch was the kind of medicine he needed to clear the block.
“Maybe it was just wanting to right a funky song.” the dark cowboy chuckled, cozying up to his woman.
“Helps if you write what you know.” Lita teased between nips. “Maybe you just didn’t get enough lovin’ in ya to write it.”
Nic thumbed the tufts of the punk’s cheeks. “Well, how ‘bout another crash course then?”
It was one she gave gladly. Always.