hollywood & vine

[avenwilder]

@avenceliaupdates: Celia & Aven moments (Variety’s Actors on Actors Interview)

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Aven really, really didn’t want to fucking go, but it was better that he did. Otherwise, things might … devolve even further. He likely would’ve ruined all of the progress they’d made by giving in, asking her to go back to his place. It was better to leave things like this.

‘You aren’t so terrible, Aven Wilder.’

Just when Aven felt the disappointment from her hand leaving his thigh, she was brushing it over his t-shirt.

God. He really didn’t want to fucking leave.

“Mhm. Glad I could prove you wrong, then.” He paused, smirking. “Glad you proved me wrong, too.”

He couldn’t help the wink that followed.

Eventually, Aven did stand, putting the guitar away. He decided to leave Celia with the pick. He had dozens of them at home, in his wallet, in his car. They were everywhere. 

“I have something else today. A stupid meeting with my label. I wish I didn’t. I might miss it if I don’t hurry.”

He wasn’t technically late, but he would be if he didn’t head out soon. Aven gathered their trash. 

“But I will text you. Or, actually, you text me. I need your coffee order for tomorrow morning.”

No, he wasn’t picking up coffee for anyone else. Just Celia.

Aven lingered for just a few more moments, before finally taking a few steps back. 

“Nothing too fancy, alright? I don’t know if I can pronounce all the words.”

.

Old Celia might have gotten a bit testy— might have demanded to know what, exactly, she had proven wrong to him.

But current Celia ( older and wiser and hornier after several weeks and a guitar lesson ) was merely preoccupied with the wink. It was obnoxiously attractive. Made her mouth purse in a way that was contemplative and perhaps a bit hungry.

“Hmm. Have fun with your label.”

And just for interrupting the end of their lunch, preventing any further lessons, his management company had very solidly landed amongst Celia’s shit-list. It was a long list, one that had been compiled because of grievances both big and small—but her irritation smooths when Aven extends a rather gentlemanly offer.

‘But I will text you. Or, actually, you text me. I need your coffee order for tomorrow morning.’

What was more important to Celia than her quiet morning rituals? Her black, bitter cup of morning joe? It was pointedly thoughtful. She smiles then, and for once does very little to temper it.

“I’ll text it all phonetically.”

And with that, she offers one last smile, pockets the pic that had been held by both their hands.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

There was no denying the attraction between the two.

Stephen would be pleased to find that they’d … resolved their differences. That’s what he’d wanted, right? That’s what Aven had wanted, too, but he hadn’t expected to land a date out of it. (Though, whether or not the party was considered a date was still up in the air. For now, Aven was considering it a date — thanks to the hand on his thigh; the fact that she hadn’t moved away despite their guitar lesson being very much over.)

The idea of Celia in a sleeve was hot, too. She didn’t strike him as the type for piercings, or tattoos, but maybe he was wrong. He didn’t know her all that well yet. Regardless, Celia was very much the type of woman that Aven was attracted to, with or without piercings and tattoos. He liked tall, slender women. Typically blonde.

“Maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to give you a tattoo.”

Aven had no experience with tattooing, but he figured he could master it with some disciplined practice.

Finally, Celia was saying yes. She was agreeing to go.

The event wasn’t work related, and it hadn’t been under the pretense of easing any onset tension. Aven had wanted her to go, and she said yes. There was still the possibility that she could ghost him, cancel last minute, but Aven was confident that she was as intrigued with him as he was with her.

It was a little scary. Very exhilarating.

“Good.”

Aven was feeling a little emboldened by her decision, so he cupped at her chin, gently rubbed his thumb there, before finally letting go.

‘I haven’t seen you preform yet, anyway— other than simplifying a song down for me.’

“Well. Maybe I’ll play something just for you, then.”

Aven grinned, feeling very satisfied with himself. Maybe she’d be a little nicer to him in the mornings. And maybe he could tone it down a notch or two in return.

Aven’s phone unfortunately reminded that he had other plans that day — important ones that would be very difficult to move around. He gave her fingers a final squeeze, shifted in his seat a little to pocket his phone. He didn’t want to go yet.

“Thanks for letting me show you some guitar. And for actually showing up to lunch. I like you outside of work.” 

.

Perhaps later she’d change her mind, but after the guitar lesson, after all this searing tension, Celia has a difficult time recalling why they had even been squabbling on set at all. Maybe it was just the sexual tension.

Or maybe it was her perfectionist tendencies too, and Aven’s propensity to open his mouth, but that didn’t really matter now.

What mattered was the way he’d grabbed her chin. The way Celia had rested her palm against his leg, an action reminiscent of placing your hand on a red-hot burner.

‘Maybe one day you’ll trust me enough to give you a tattoo.’

That was funny. Celia smirks then, but not particularly unkindly.

“You’re nuts.”

It was just her imagination, of course, but Celia could picture Aven as the type to repeat his kindergarten escapade. Homemade tattoo. Inking some friend or fellow band-member in a tour bus or a bar, laughing and grinning boldly as he did. His hand pressed against bare skin. His hand gripping the gun.

That was unfortunately a bit hot.

What he said next was even hotter, cooking Celia’s brain to catastrophic temperatures.

‘Well. Maybe I’ll play something just for you, then.’

Celia wasn’t sure what to do with that— again, she was trying to determine how much of his flirtations were simply reflexes, how much of it was .... specific, to her. All she knew was that her abdomen felt tight. She had never really had a song chosen or dedicated to her specifically.

Maybe this night — this concert, party, unidentified date/not-date —would end up being the first. At the very least here they were electing to spend time with one another outside of work.

‘I like you outside of work.’

“Thank you for inviting me. After everything.”      

It probably hadn’t been easy, being the first to extend the olive branch, especially when Celia wasn’t always so gracious. But she’s glad he did. There was some understanding now, wasn’t there? Tension, and attraction, and hopefully a bit of understanding for the next time they were on set. Maybe that’s what the hand squeeze was saying.

“You aren’t so terrible, Aven Wilder.”

And with that, Celia removes her palm from his thigh, uses that same hand to straighten his t-shirt obnoxiously. Part of her thinks instead about ripping it off—

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Aven thought that he’d recovered well. Celia didn’t seem to have an idea of what was going through his mind, and more importantly, she hadn’t explicitly said no. It seemed like she was considering it — however ridiculous and egotistical the reward might’ve sounded. 

“Yeah. A night with me. Pretty valuable reward, I think.”

Aven had a lot of confidence, but he wasn’t airheaded enough to believe that his presence was equivalent to a reward. It was just another attempt to get her to go out with him again. Maybe a little more … informally — as in, not as costars having lunch, but as a date, maybe? Maybe.

‘Mmm. Is there a musician dress-code for this sort of thing. Will I have to pierce my nose?’

Aven smirked. The words left his mouth before he’d even had a chance to think. 

“Hmmm. Would be kinda sexy if you did, actually.”

Celia was already incredibly attractive as it was. But imagining her with a nose piercing? A leather jacket, maybe some torn jeans or a mini skirt to match? He was nearly drooling at the thought.

And then — her hand was on the inside of his thigh. Aven couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his throat. It was like a jolt of electricity running up his leg, straight to his fucking hurt, which he was sure had skipped a few beats. In fact, he was likely close to flatlining. Had a simple thigh touch really effected him so badly? Apparently so.

She seemed entirely unfazed by it. Did she know? Did she know that Aven wanted her? That he’d thought about his mouth on her neck only moments before? 

His face was bright read, but his expression remained cool and … seemingly unaffected (but there was certainly a glint of curiosity in his eyes, a fraction of surprise and excitement that lingered there). 

Well. Fine. Two could play the game.

Aven rested his own hand on top of hers, which was still on his thigh. He squeezed her fingers. Now they were both very aware of her hand’s placement. God. She was hot. She was fucking hot. There was some insane, lust filled side of Aven that desperately wished they were at work so that he might get to kiss her again. Things were still … very new and uncharted for them outside of work. A kiss wouldn’t make sense here. But at work? At least Aven could do it all under the pretense of rehearsing. 

His other hand found her chin, tilted it towards him. Their faces were very, very close to each other. 

“So. You wanna go with me?” 

.

His hand was on hers. An unmistakable acknowledgment of the placement of her palm. 

This all felt very private — certainly they weren’t alone in this park, but Celia feels as if their world had zeroed down to an incredibly small circumference. The remnants of their meal, the table. Aven, and Celia twisting in her seat to see him.

Everything was small and magnified all at once. Aven wasn’t shying away from anything either. ( Not that he ever really did.)

‘Hmmm. Would be kinda sexy if you did, actually.’

Hah! Celia laughs then, whether at the prospect of actually piercing her nose for him or the image of herself with a small gold stud, she wasn’t sure. At least Aven thought it was hot. It wasn’t really Celia’s style, but she didn’t like to look out of place at events—it was important to match the occasion, match the feel. Certainly she’d have to go a bit grungier for this.

“And then that would mean I’d have to get a full sleeve done as well. Don’t exactly have time in my schedule to fit that in.”

She wondered what tattoos Aven had.

Celia, if she were perhaps drunk or emboldened, could kiss him like this. He was staring at her rather intently; he probably wouldn’t mind, in fact, he might be thinking about it too in that moment. But doubt still occupied so far corner of her mind. She wasn’t used it, was always the pursuer, confident her co-stars or co-workers desperately wanted her. The tabloids exaggerated. The tabloids also contained a shred of truth.

The truth now was she was unwilling to take a gamble on a kiss until she could determine the depth and motive of Aven’s flirting.

But there was no way in hell she was going to shut this down either— not when he fucking grabs her chin, electricity sizzling down her body from the contact. Jesus, fuck.

The bench beneath her seems a lot less solid than before.

You wanna go with me?

“Yes.” Her eyes fix on his, subdued and burning all at once, flicking up and down before settling back on his face. “I’ll go.”

“I haven’t seen you preform yet, anyway— other than simplifying a song down for me.”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

There was certainly a lot of heat between the two. Aven had just spent the last several moments pressed against her, teaching her how to play the guitar. It’d been a very involved lesson. He hadn’t hesitated in guiding her hands to the appropriate chords, nor in the way he rested his hands at her side … for no particular reason.

Technically, Aven could have gone back to his normal seat. Across the table. Technically.

Despite all of his confidence, Aven felt quite unsure when thinking of the reward. Maybe she wouldn’t want to. He’d take the rejection like a champ, brush it all off like it was no big deal. He could do that. He was an actor now, wasn’t he? But he couldn’t quite control the way his face would flush in embarrassment. That was the main issue.

He had to really sell this reward.

“Well. There’s this thing coming up…”

Yeah. The reward was an invitation. It hadn’t sounded so ridiculous in his mind. Regardless, he pushed on. It was too late to back out, or to think of something else. Something more appropriate, or desirable.

“My friend, Bash, he’s got this … massive party planned. He booked this insane venue for his sister’s graduation. Anyway, Bash is also a musician. He’s got a band, and they’re performing that night. They asked me to do a couple of songs at the beginning of the party. Y’know, a quick set, to get it all started, and — anyway. You could go with me.”

The more that Aven spoke, the more he realized that it wasn’t really a reward. It was a stupid idea, and he had to fight off the urge to immediately backtrack. He bit his tongue to refrain from saying things like ‘You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. It might be kinda lame, actually. I don’t know why I thought that’d be a good reward…’

Aven Wilder didn’t back track. No. What the fuck was he doing? There were women who would kill to be at a party with him. Fuck that. Where was his confidence? He was going to find it again.

He reached forward, brushed her hair to the side. He searched for her gaze, flashed her a grin that completely contradicted what he was feeling.

“You could get all dressed up, go to a free concert that also happens to be party. I could show you off.” 

.

Celia very nearly holds out her hand in expectation— make some dry comment on how he was about to empty the contents of his pockets into her hand.

But she was curious.

And she kept staring at his face, a contortionist twisted in her seat, wishing she had another excuse to get his arms atop of hers. And then she got annoyed at herself for wishing that. And then she got annoyed for not knowing what Aven was thinking — perhaps this was just a part of his usual flirtations, something as instinctive to him as breathing.

Celia waits, with baited breath, as Aven speaks.

‘Well. There’s this thing coming up…’

A concert. A party, technically, with a private performance by none other than her co-star himself. Truthfully, Celia wouldn’t have been able to guess that reward if she had fifty years.

“The reward is a night with you?”

Her eyebrow rises, arched with surprised, studying Aven’s face as if to guess the truth and intention behind it.

An earlier Celia might have called it arrogance. She might have been annoyed, truthfully, found herself put off at the idea of attending a party of rowdy musicians she didn’t know. She still wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from this night: was Aven even considering this a date?

But Celia feels something inside her flickering, sparking, like a flame that had caught tinder, and now it felt very impossible to ignore the ember.

‘You could get all dressed up, go to a free concert that also happens to be party. I could show you off.’

Now that certainly sounded more date-ish. Or, at least it seemed as if Aven implied it? He was going to be showing her off.

Earlier Celia would definitely be scandalized there. But now, something tightens in her belly, more curiosity, dissecting the idea of being seen on his arm— how she might feel to know others were speculating about them. Her lip curls.

Aven and Celia? Were these two sleeping together?

As of today, ( and some unidentified point pre-revelation ) Celia wishes they were.

“Mmm. Is there a musician dress-code for this sort of thing. Will I have to pierce my nose?”

He was touching her hair; brushing it from her cheeks, really, and Celia finds herself inhaling cooly, long and drawn-out and pointed. She shifts, ever so slightly. Leans forward, plants a hand along Aven’s seat only to realize she had accidentally placed very close to the inside of his thigh. Shit. Well. She doesn’t move it without fear of drawing even more attention to this accidental placement.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Aven blinked, and there was a handful of blonde hair in his face. Celia had apologized, but Aven hadn’t taken offense to it whatsoever. If anything, Aven just felt like he’d … sort of melted in a way, for half a second. The scent of her perfume and shampoo had already dazed him earlier — now it was even stronger than before. He sighed.

His face was bright, bright red. He tried to play it off. 

The guitar. Right. The song, the lessons — the entire reason they were sitting so closely together. Aven had to pull himself back into the present, attempting to will the redness away from his features while she played the guitar. For a moment, he simply stared at the back of her head, wondered about the spot at her neck where she applied the perfume…

No, no. That wasn’t focusing on the present. Jesus.

Celia played well. She’d improved. And even if she hadn’t, all Aven wanted was for her to try. It felt extremely satisfying. He’d never felt this for any other … student. Just Celia. He figured it had a lot to do with the fact that, at one point, they couldn’t stand each other. There would still be days when she’d get annoyed with him. Aven would feel frustrated with her perfectionism on set. But at least they’d built something over lunch. Maybe an understanding? 

“It sounds perfect. No improvisational rifts needed.”

Aven smiled, drumming his fingers along her sides while he sang along quietly.

“Well. Celia. I think you’re very wrong about not being musically gifted. You did really great. Seriously.”

There was no sarcasm in Aven’s voice. He truly meant it. There was no telling how much Celia actually enjoyed the guitar, or the lesson, but Aven thought that he’d like to do it again sometime.

“And if you’d like — I think you’ve earned that reward.”

.

If anything, Celia has a newfound appreciation for musicians—riffs and chord changes and pics and bright lights and microphone feedback and roaring crowds all sound like a nightmare. Hectic sets were one thing. A concert? Celia realizes now that would never be something within her ability. But maybe Aven —with his bright, boundless energy and tapping limbs —found it exhilarating. Maybe it was a perfect fit.

For Celia, she will just have to be content with her performance for one. Her hand rests at the chords.

“Hmmm.”

A wordless sound escapes her, somewhere between irritation and satisfaction. Was she getting steadier? Yes. But it just didn’t sound ... right. It wasn’t perfect, not matter what Aven said.

Those facts do nothing to cool her warming cheeks, however.

“It did not sound perfect.” She twists in her seat, warmed by the praise, smiling, assessing Aven with a skeptical eye. “But I’ll take a compliment from a professional musician.”

He was almost over-complimentary— perhaps he truly did want a truce on set, and maybe friendship, but a part of Celia hopes its for another reason. She hopes every inhale, sigh, every expansion of her chest affected Aven the way it had her. She hopes his face heated when he placed his hand over his own. She hopes he sat there, burning, fully aware of every contact point of their bodies.

Celia hopes so, because those thoughts consumed her entire performance.

‘And if you’d like — I think you’ve earned that reward.’

“What is my prize?”

She shifts, this time tucking her hair behind her shoulder with a more gentle motion. As always, Aven had her guessing. Maybe it just had to do with his quicksilver nature — always moving, shifting, twitching, smiling, bouncing around like the hands her drummed at her sides.

All that had irritated her in the beginning.

After this lunch together, it was something about him that made Celia’s blood run hot.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Celia was being much too hard on herself. For a beginner, Aven thought that she was doing great. Learning guitar wasn’t easy, nor was it something accomplished over night. She’d already made significant progress compared to most. Aven had been lucky. He had a great teacher in the form of his father. Not to mention that Aven spent hours simply watching his dad write and work on music. If the roles had been reversed — if Aven was being quizzed on antique furniture or books, he would’ve failed miserably.

“Are you kidding? You’d be the main attraction. The whole place would sell out with people hoping to see you.”

That was true, Aven thought. From his observations, she seemed well liked among audiences, even despite all of the ridiculous tabloid articles.

“If anything, I think you’d find a way to charm the room. They wouldn’t care if you played all the wrong chords. They’d still be in love with you.”

He was being 100% serious too, hypothetical scenario or not.

Celia was quick to correct any mistakes. She’d definitely struck him as the overachieving type. The kind who didn’t like to be bad at anything. He knew this must’ve been a challenge, so he appreciated the fact that she was trying.

Once Aven felt like she’d mastered that portion of the riff, he moved onto the next one.

“Alright. Last riff. Gotta make it count, Romero. How bad do you want that reward?”

He grinned, repositioned himself one last time. There was no denying their closeness now. She was flush against his chest. His hands had been resting at her side. They couldn’t have been any closer if they tried, and it was a little devastating to think that soon enough, he’d run out of excuses to touch her at all.

This time, Aven remained silent. He took his time in guiding her hands to the appropriate spots, grabbed hold of her fingers to show her which strings required attention this time. It was nice just so sit there for a few moments, listening to the careful strumming of the guitar, smelling her perfume.

“Okay. This is all you now.”

Aven let go of her hands, placed them back at her side one last time.

.

Main attraction. A dry chuckle practically rumbles in her chest as she knocks her hair back with a gentle flick! realizing a moment too late she may have very well hit Aven in the nose with it.

“Sorry.” Fanning her silk-spun waves was a favorite flirtation of Celia’s — however hitting her potential suitors with it in the face was not. But the hands at her waist distracted her. As did Aven’s words. It was funny, the idea that his fans would be interested in seeing anyone but Aven during one of his concerts. She hadn’t been, of course. However she liked to imagine there was a lot of infatuated shrieking, shirt-tearing, general hysteria that erupted whenever he took the stage. There was no way anybody would want to watch her stumble through her chords.

But it was a kind lie. Aven was doing more than his fair share of assurance here.

‘Alright. Last riff. Gotta make it count, Romero. How bad do you want that reward?’

To be frank, Celia had her doubts about existence the of this alleged reward. Pocket lint still seemed likely. And most importantly, she wasn’t sure she was playing well enough to deserve one. The arts had always been a bit sacred to her— if they were not done well, then they at least deserved effort, and despite her honest attempts, it felt as if things ... weren’t clicking. But she was a bulldogged perfectionist. By god, she wanted the reward. By god, she wanted to do at least moderately well in front of Aven, who played the guitar as if it were an extension of him.

Celia felt his fingers guide her own, and for a moment the fierce anxiety fades and mingles with desire; they were so goddamn close. Breathing into each other, feel the music notes travel up their arms ... it was ... thrilling, and centering, all at once.

“Very badly. The bonus I’ll get selling your pocket lint will be enough to fund my next vacation.”

And then it was all her. Celia crushes her molars together in concentration, jaw tightening and slackening as she exhales, mind set only on the chords, the transitions, the strumming. It wasn’t easy. It was stressful, really, but then Celia starts to feel little pinpricks of satisfaction at a correct note, chords that ran together less choppily than before. She hums wordlessly, try her very damnedest to emulate the song running through her head.

Show me a garden that's bursting into life

She was mainly focused on the notes, the chords. But there was also Aven’s firm chest behind her. The warmth that spread into her back. She hums again, the midst of her concentration, tempted to turn around and face him. Wanting very badly to.

“—Don’t expect any improvisational riffs...”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Aven enjoyed when she turned towards him. This was a good thing, right? If she hated him so much, if she was that annoyed with him, she would’ve separated by now. She wouldn’t still be entertaining all of this. He grinned.

Pocket lint? Now there was an idea.

“No… but I do think you could sell the lint for a decent price. Someone might pay like… fifty bucks for it.”

The focus was back on the guitar lesson now. Her fingers had deviated slightly from their original position, but before Aven could intervene, Celia was already correcting herself. A part of him was glad that she couldn’t see the way he smiled — Aven was sure that he hadn’t stopped since the lesson began. There was no denying the heat in his face, either. It seemed like she had a good understanding for now, so Aven’s hands rested at her sides now. It was very … nonchalant, barely noticeable to anyone that might’ve been watching. The touch was light as a feather, and he was showing an expert level of restraint. All Aven wanted to do was apply pressure. Squeeze — even if it was only to get a reaction out of her. 

He cleared his throat.

“Well. The secret is — you get pretty good at this part, and then you add the lights. It’s not so bad.”

Aven was pleased with the progress, and with the fact that she was making an effort. At this rate, she’d know what her reward was in no time.

“This is sounding good. And the next part — it’s not so bad, but you’ll be pushing two fingers down on the chords instead of just one. And you’ll be plucking at two different strings.”

Aven would let her decide when she was ready for the last part. He couldn’t help but lean forward, rest his chin on her shoulder, his lips right by her ear.

“Who would I need to talk to about booking you for my next tour?”

.

And the ridiculous thing was it was no exaggeration. Well— not much of one. Celia could actually imagine one of Aven’s fans forking over cash for some certified Wilder lint. There’s the urge to roll her eyes, but unfortunately this lesson has brought several things to the forefront of her attention that makes her sympathize with his groupies.

Chiefly: the crooked grin. Bold, and a little bashful in a way, teasing and sincere all at once. Then there was the way his way hair coiled perfectly at his forehead. And then there was the peak of his nose, the handsome roman slope that fit perfectly on his face.

Celia was not going to admit this out loud, but there were certainly many things about Aven worth being a fan of.

‘This is sounding good. And the next part — it’s not so bad, but you’ll be pushing two fingers down on the chords instead of just one. And you’ll be plucking at two different strings.’

It really was not sounding good. This had to be another of his delusions, but Celia finds it hard to talk at all when his hands come to dock at her sides. Barely there, really, but they felt so warm. Every movement of his, every movement of hers echoes with a greater intensity.

Plucking at two different strings was tricky; doing it with his hands at her waist was like flying a plane through a keyhole.

( And then his chin, on her shoulder? It reverberate right down her core ).

“That’s cheap, Aven.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Bringing me out first to make yourself sound even more impressive.”

Her finger slips; the chords twang, and she’s already correcting it, but frustration boils inside her again, ever the girl used to perfect grades and perfect results. ( Aside from woodworking ).

“I think you’d love to see me demoted to the lint-selling booth.”

She snorts again, a ghost of laughter, and for a second she falls quiet, focuses on being perfect for the next five seconds before they advance to the next step.

Even then, Celia tries not to think of how her elbow fits into the crook of his arm.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Well. The idea of a reward certainly intrigued her, it seemed. And it intrigued Aven, too. He’d lied a little bit. Even if she didn’t get the riffs, he’d give her the reward anyway. He wasn’t that cruel. And, really, it’d be more rewarding for Aven anyway.

“Can’t say. I need to see some improvement first.”

That was a little cruel — to make her wait, but he was confident she’d catch on quickly. Plus, Aven still wasn’t sure what she fully thought of him. Maybe she wouldn’t be interested in the reward. Maybe she’d bomb on purpose. Thankfully, the remaining riffs didn’t require a lot. Just a few different strings that needed to be plucked, a few fingers that needed to be moved around. It was very easy.

“The verse riffs are easy. It’s what you’ve been doin’ already. You’ll just pluck different strings after a certain count, and move your right hand fingers to a different spot. But we don’t really need to worry about the counting and the moving yet. It’s easier if you just learn to play them individually.”

More excuses to touch her, to lean in even closer.

Aven’s left hand found the guitar pick. He guided her to the appropriate strings, gently used the pick to show her the motion (even though it was exactly the same as before). With his right hand, he repositioned her fingers to the correct chords.

“So that would be the second verse riff. It happens right after the first one. Again, your right hand isn’t going to move. You’ll just be plucking with this hand. Exactly the same as the one from earlier.” He squeezed her fingers, hesitating in letting go. Every time he touched her hand, her side, his chest seemed to tighten in a warm, unfamiliar way. It was a new kind of feeling. A good one.

.

‘Can’t say. I need to see some improvement first.’

Celia exerts the extra effort required to twist around in her seat and get a good look at Aven through at least one eye.

Oh, yes. He had to be enjoying this.

“Forgive my skepticism. I just think it’s entirely possible you’re going to hand me pocket lint.”

Celia returns her gaze back to the guitar, noting, with mingled confusion and pleasure, the way the column of her spine tingles when Aven shifts closer to her. Perhaps he was trying to distract her. Celia very might be projecting these evil tactics onto Aven, who, throughout the entire lesson had been a patient teacher, but the fact remained she found it hard to focus when their hands met.

‘So that would be the second verse riff. It happens right after the first one. Again, your right hand isn’t going to move. You’ll just be plucking with this hand. Exactly the same as the one from earlier.’

It wasn’t easy to follow— Aven had done his very best to simplify the instructions, but Celia’s brain began smoking the minute multiple chords and riffs became involved. One of her fingers begins to slide off the chord, and the sound trembles. Immediately, she’s snorting in irritation, forcing her finger back into the correct position while ruminating on the way he’d squeezed her fingers. Ugh. Perhaps if her teacher were uglier this would be easier.

In fact— perhaps there would be less tension on set! Was that the problem? Was the degree of their fights and squabbles all because of her underlying sexual tension? Because she thought he was too hot and hadn’t realized it? Or was it truly because of their difference in personalities? Celia blanches, and refocuses her efforts on the riff.

At least it was (sort of) resembling music now. She breathes, in, out, very aware of how her back expands into his chest.

“I don’t know how you do this with a thousand lights in your eyes.”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Aven didn’t think that he was exaggerating at all.

She was doing well for a beginner, for someone who claimed to have absolutely no musical talent. Everything between the two of them in that moment was charged, and Aven found it difficult to know when to stop. Should he keep going? Keep flirting? Was the charm working? He’d seen hints of warmness on her face, but it was difficult to know when she was facing away from him.

His gut told him to keep going at precisely the exact moment that an idea popped into his head. A good one.

“Mm. Well. If you do well enough, there’s a reward involved.”

He grinned, absently tapped at her side with a single finger. (He’d been resisting the urge to press down with his palm, letting his fingers brush freely at her sides)

“Only if you show progress, though.”

He had to make it challenging, right? It was a really good reward — at least Aven thought so. It was certainly one that he would’ve worked harder for.

“Like, let’s say — you learn the verse riffs. You’ve got one already, so that’d be … two more to go.”

.

Celia straightens, perfectly vertical, at the mention of any sort of reward. Quite honestly, she didn’t trust it! It would be just like Aven to employ some sort of trick.  Especially if he found it funny.

But Celia is unable to deny the flicker of curiosity in her chest, the blaze of heat that warms her like a furnace. Progress was required to unlock the reward. She doubts she’ll be able to achieve something substantial enough, but the bulldogged perfectionist in her cannot help but take the bait.

Her head swivels coyly in his direction.

“...What’s the reward?”

If he hands her the crumpled napkin from earlier, she’s going to shove it down his mouth.

“And what are the verse riffs?”

She hopes Aven can detect the healthy skepticism there— if she’s being honest, he can probably detect the smile too, the curl of her lips that sits somewhere between enjoyment and exasperation. They were very close, after all. It would be easy for him to feel every tensed muscle, every exhale, every shift of her body in this seat. She could feel his finger tap against her side— as if Celia were the instrument now.

He’d done an excellent job of playing Celia just right to rile her up.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

There it was.

Despite whatever else was on his mind, there was no denying that Celia had caught on. No, it wasn’t perfect quite yet, but they’d get there.

Aven couldn’t help the satisfied grin that spread across his face.

“Attagirl.”

There was really no need for Aven to continue sitting so closely to Celia. He could have guided her from across the table, maybe, or right beside her. Definitely no need for his chest to be pressed against her back — and yet … neither of them moved, or remarked on it. It made Aven wish so desperately that he could read minds. What was going through hers? Was she annoyed? Mildly entertained? Flustered, in a similar way that he was?

Now Celia was questioning how often Aven did such a thing, and there were several ways that he could’ve responded. 

Dishonest: No, not really. Just a few times, but never like this.

Truthful: Yep. Easy way for me to get laid.

Both made him sound a little bit like a douchebag.

“I’ve done it enough,” he replied with a simple shrug. “Don’t think I’ve ever had a student catch on as quickly as you, though. Were you hopin’ for extra credit?”

Well. That was true, Aven thought. But only because we’d ditched the guitar by now.

.

Celia thinks Aven’s excitement is a bit premature —truthfully the chords lacked confidence and harmony— but the elated approval, the attagirl has her mirroring the smile she could feel on his face.

All of her felt a bit warm.

Sitting there on the bench, her back flush with Aven’s chest, Celia was highly aware of how all the space seems to have melted between them, how her ears were carefully perked for his answer. It was a bit of a loaded question, wasn’t it? Was this a flirtation?

Is that what you’re trying on me?

‘I’ve done it enough,’

 ‘Don’t think I’ve ever had a student catch on as quickly as you, though. Were you hopin’ for extra credit?’

In a rare show of her hand, the strumming stops. Maybe it was the all the heat that had rushed to her cheeks. Maybe it was the way her head, stilled, lifted, digesting all the information in meticulous thought. One: this had worked on girls. It was a flirtation tactic, surely, and it had been successful. Two: he was trying it on her? So all that twitchy heat she felt, all the tension at their closeness ... it wasn’t imagined, nor one-sided. Something flips in Celia’s stomach.

Extra credit.

“Were you? You’re definitely exaggerating my progress...”

Here she was: his best student, apparently, and to be quite honest Celia is having trouble repositioning her fingers to the chords. Everything felt hot. Everything felt ... close. She straightens, leans back ever so slightly into his chest under the guise of adjusting her grip. He was quite good at his. Celia wasn’t used to being flustered.

“I have perfectionist tendencies is all...”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Once Aven let go of the hand that was strumming, he rested his palm flat against her side. Maybe that was a little bold, but he wasn’t quite sure where else to put it.

‘It’s still doesn’t sound as smooth.’

“You’re new at this. It’ll take just a second.”

She leaned back slightly to ask him a question. Meanwhile, Aven did everything in his power to hold his breath. His fingers flexed slightly at her side. Yeah. Good thing they weren’t at his house. Real good thing. His hand might’ve wandered. His mouth, too, with her neck only a few inches away.

She’d asked a question, and he thought he’d heard it. Something about the chords?

“No.” Why did he say no? What had she asked? He tried to recover. “The chords are pretty easy.”

Was the answer close enough? There was no chance that he hadn’t heard her, though, considering how close they were. He was having a hard time processing anything during that moment. They’d kissed on set, embraced, but somehow none of that held a candle to the present. This was real. Aven hadn’t realized he had such a passion for teaching.

Aven had used this technique on women in the past, but this time around, it seemed very different. Very charged, and … hot. He really needed to stay on track.

He cleared his throat.

“So, we’ll put one finger … ” Aven guided Celia’s hand, feeling the neck of the guitar until he found the appropriate fret. “… Here.”

And that was it. The first part of the intro rift.

“So your left hand stays still, right here. All you’re doing here is putting pressure on the second string of the neck. Just like this.” He pushed down on her finger. “And with your right hand, the one holding the pick, you’re plucking away at the two strings, like we were just doing.”

Hopefully that made sense?

“Wanna try that for me?”

.

If Celia retired her brain and simply listened to the urgings of her heart and her ... passions, then she would have spun around in her seat and kissed Aven once he placed his palm against his side.

It would be very easy. She’d just have to crane her neck.

But Celia does nothing, because she’s still unsure of what Aven is feeling about this little lesson. The palm had certainly been forward. And when he answers her about the chords, his response is almost... flustered? Certainly distracted. With all of his earlier flirting, was it so crazy to believe the lesson might be the cause?

Then again Aven also seemed to be a natural flirt.

Whatever the reason, he assures her the chords will be simple enough.

‘So, we’ll put one finger … ‘

Aven was touching her hand again. Celia’s never been instructed in guitar, so she isn’t sure how much physical contact is usually involved, but as her fingers skim over the chords, she can’t but appreciate its literal hands-on nature. The sleek wood of the guitar was cool. Aven’s hand was a contrasting heat.

 ‘… Here.’

Despite her distraction, Aven was a capable teacher. Even Celia’s clumsy digits managed to find the proper placement, and the strumming she produced was starting to sound less like a cacophony of tinny shrieks and more like ... music. Sort of. Music was a generous word. Which annoyed her, because Celia was accustomed to perfection.

‘Wanna try that for me?’

As instructed, Celia plucks and applies pressure, dutifully ignoring the goosebumps that were now rising up her spine.

“Do this a lot, do you?”

For a while there’s just her quiet inhale and exhale, the sound of something nearly approaching a song.

“Give guitar lessons? You seem pretty adept.”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Despite being mere inches away from her face, Aven found it difficult to read her. She looked … focused? Embarrassed? Irritated? Aven, on the other hand, was at a disadvantage. He was very readable, thanks to the flush on his features. It was her goddamn perfume! And her eyes! And hands! Pretty much all of her, actually. His heart was racing, and his face and ears felt warm.

Very briefly, Aven had toyed with the idea of just inviting her over to his place. He’d pondered over it last night, immediately after she’d requested somewhere quiet. My place is quiet, he’d thought to himself — even typed it out on his phone, only to delete the message before ever hitting send. In hindsight, it was a very bad idea — primarily because if this were happening at his home — on the couch, or the little patio area outside — Aven would have kissed her right now.

He swallowed.

‘….It doesn’t sound the same.’

“You’ve barely tried.”

Aven couldn’t help himself from pushing forward — all for the sake of holding the guitar better. Celia’s back was practically against his chest now, and Aven marveled at how nice that felt. She was small, petite in comparison to Aven. He was athletic and muscular and he figured if someone were standing behind him, they might not have noticed Celia right away. His mind was on the verge of wandering, but Aven forced himself to reign it all back in. For the sake of her lesson — for the sake of the public, too.

“C’mon. It’s close.”

Aven placed his hands firmly over hers. He guided her fingers, and the pick, over the two strings. He hummed along by her ear, hoping that made it easier to follow along.

“Just like that.”

Aven didn’t want to, but he let go of her fingers, giving her the opportunity to continue strumming.

.

‘You’ve barely tried.’

Their on-screen kisses were tallied into the dozens, but somehow, this moment, Aven shifting against her back, was outrageously more ... intimate. His fingers folded over hers. His hands moved hers in time. Aven’s arms stretched over hers like a jacket, and the hum of him in her ear causes a near-indecipherable shiver.

This was a problem.

‘It’s close.’

That was 100% a problem.

Celia must sit there and take a purposefully shallow breath, because anything deeper might reveal the uneven staccato of her heart. Jesus. Could he tell? It irritates Celia to think Aven might be able to pick up on her reaction, might feel a shaky inhale and guess the reason correctly. What if he knew how hot Celia found this? There would be no end to the teasing. She tenses. Breathes again, and this time devotes her attention to plucking at the aforementioned strings. The resulting sound sounds a bit more like music. But it’s hard to pay any attention at all to her progress when Aven’s chest feels so warm. And firm. And broad.

“It’s still doesn’t sound as smooth.”

For a moment she’s afraid he’s going have a good chuckle at her voice — the little break in the beginning, the slight tremor there, an indication of some sort of strain or distraction. But she simply moves her arm again, listens to the thrum of the strings. Lifting and lowering her fingers over the chords was probably going to be a much more difficult task. Trying not to wonder what Aven was currently thinking is even harder.

She raises a long, slender digit, then another, head inclining towards Aven as she speaks.

It was probably better she couldn't see his face fully.

“Do I ever have to touch any of the chords?”

It’s a passing thought, but Celia cannot help but think how the closeness and coordination required here was similar to what went into filming a love scene.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

Aven could certainly sense Celia’s apprehension. Understandably so. She seemed like a perfectionist, the type who couldn’t stand to be bad or mediocre at anything. She was certainly out of her element, but that was okay. He’d wanted to see this side of her.

When she finally took the guitar, Aven relaxed his shoulders. Alright. She was at least entertaining the idea.

‘Alright. Which— where does this finger go?’

Aven scooted forward. Despite all of his advances and teasing, he did have to be close if he was going to help her with this. He placed his hand on top of hers.

“This one — it goes right here. And you’re not going to move it during this beginning part. We’re just going to focus on one thing at a time.”

Despite having positioned her in the right spot, Aven didn’t move his hand. Instead, he reached around her, guitar pick still in his hand. He plucked at the same strings as before.

“See? You’re already doing fifty percent of the work.”

Aven was … extraordinarily close to her. Their faces were inches apart. If there were paparazzi discreetly camped around the corner, they were certainly capturing all of this. Aven was beginning to realize that he’d overestimated his ability to stay on track. Her perfume, or shampoo —  it was intoxicating. In a very good, but dangerous way.

He gently placed the pick between her fingers, guiding them to the two strings.

“You’re just gonna go up and down, like this.”

.

All that worrying about making a fool of herself, all that fretting over holding the guitar and looking stupid was for nothing.

Not because Celia had just discovered her hidden talent.

No.

When Aven scoots up behind her, reaches around her to pluck the guitar, Celia realizes she has a bigger problem on her hands.

This was fucking hot.

God. Weeks of denial, weeks of shoving down the very obvious answer to all her questions. When Aven smiled at her on-set, when the pair twined their arms around each other and kissed as David and Ava and she felt something funny in her abdomen, when he was practically breathing on her neck during a guitar lesson and goosebumps sprang along her arm, this was all because she ... found him attractive.

Oh no. What a realization to have in the midst of this.

Celia tries gamely to focus on the instruction, but her mind keeps wandering and slipping away from its usual focus. Did Aven think this was hot? Surely he had to be aware of their proximity? He flirted with her often— was he feeling a genuine thrill when he guided her hands to the pick?

She moves her arm, attempts to mimic his earlier movements.

“....It doesn’t sound the same.”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Hack of a casting director.

To be honest, Aven had enjoyed Mr. Stamper’s classes, but he didn’t want to correct Celia. It was nice to hear her come to his defense, especially when he was sure she’d questioned his inexperience before. It was okay. She’d made assumptions — so had he. Turns out, they were both pretty wrong about the other.

Aven couldn’t have been happier about that.

“I’m literally going to show you the easiest song in the world, Celia.”

Aven was known to push boundaries, and he was not taking no for an answer. He pulled out the guitar pick, holding it in between his lips while he snapped the capo into place. The guitar was tuned. The capo would simplify the chords significantly.

There was no way that Celia could let him down. Even if she did fail miserably, Aven just wanted her to try.

He removed the pick from his mouth, positioned both hands accordingly.

“Look.”

It was so simple. One finger pressed against the neck of the guitar, while his other hand picked at only two strings. The song was (hopefully) very easy to identify. It was a classic from the mid 2000s, and one of Aven’s favorites. He played the first few riffs only for the purpose of showing her just how easy it was.

“We’ll do it all, everything, on our own…”

Aven stopped, smiling, confident that she could catch on.

“See? That’s it. You’ll move your fingers on this side — ” Aven held up the neck of the guitar. “— and sometimes change which strings you pluck here, but that’s it. And I’m gonna show you.”

Aven got up from his seat, walked around to the other side of the table. He took a seat behind Celia. He held the guitar between them, silently encouraging her to take it.

“C’mon. Please.”

.

“I’m literally going to show you the easiest song in the world, Celia.” 

Easy by whose standards? Aven was underestimating just how bad she was. He prepared the guitar with a few fluid adjustments, began to pick out a tune that Celia recognized almost immediately.

“We’ll do it all, everything, on our own…” 

“Chasing Cars?”

Celia smiles then, momentarily forgetting the apprehension that seemed to flood her body at the mention of lessons. It was good song. A really good song, one that Celia remembered listening to on an airplane as a child and feeling small. She wondered when Aven had first started listening to it.

See? That’s it.

That’s it? Celia makes a noise in her throat, trying her best to follow the fluid movement of his fingers and already feeling flustered. No. She was simply going to make a fool of herself. Then Aven would probably have enough material to amuse himself for weeks, and Celia wouldn’t be able to look at a guitar without cringing. She was an actress, through and through. No triple threat talent here.

But Aven remains insistent. He rises out of his seat, moving to sit behind Celia and offer her the guitar, practically pleading with her to take it.

Please.

I’m gonna show you.

Oh.

Celia stares down at the glossy wood, hands frozen in the air as if she’d been instructed to grab a rifle. Oh. This was going to go badly.

But she simply ... couldn’t ignore the way Aven had asked. Not with how well lunch was going. Apprehensively, with frozen breathe, she attempts to situate the guitar into her lap, exhaling at last after mimicking Aven’s earlier placement. Well. It hadn’t shattered into pieces on her lap.

Her fingers hover over the neck of the guitar, ring finger brushing cautiously against the taut strings.

“Alright. Which— where does this finger go?”

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Making Celia smile felt nice. Aven liked making people happy — especially in the form of compliments. Sincere ones. Aven didn’t know Celia all that well, but he had watched some of her work before filming started. She was talented. There was no doubting that.

“The other guys could sing and act a lot better. I went to a private school with a bunch of other kids who had more famous parents than I did. Anyway, some of ‘em had already been on Broadway, or had roles in films and stuff.”

Aven thought she was just being nice — calling the injustice he’d endured in high school bullshit. It was still a good feeling, either way. Bullshit or not. It made his face feel warm.

‘I never really did a musical beyond eighth grade. Not all of us have the musical genes.’

“Hm. I don’t believe that. The no musical genes part.”

He couldn’t picture Celia being bad at anything. She had a nice talking voice. She could probably sing, or at the very least, play an instrument with some guidance — which he was more than happy to assist with.

Aven was done with his food. It’d been delicious, and he made a mental note to try out that restaurant again — once he was less distracted. The food had been great, but again — secondary. He pushed his plate and utensils back in the bag. 

“But I’m glad we’re talking about it.“

Aven wasn’t sure if she’d noticed the guitar case at his feet. It had been propped against his leg, beneath their table, for most of the conversation. He’d wanted to keep it a surprise, if at all possible. Aven reached down, popping the case open. Very carefully, he revealed his beloved Martin guitar. He repositioned his seat, allowing enough space so that he could comfortably hold the instrument. His thumb strummed over the strings softly, playing nothing in particular. He tapped against the wood a little excitedly.

“I believe I promised you some lessons.”

.

Celia tsks, unconvinced by Aven’s explanation. Certainly there were other young musicians at that school, ones who were talented as well. But all of them had been better than Aven? For over three years, they were all more suited for the role than him? She prickles a bit at the thought.

Broadway might have been tough to beat, but Celia has seen him in action for weeks.

“Well, seeing as I’ve acted across from you for this whole project, I think I have a better idea than that school’s hack of a casting director.”

She drains the last bit of tea. It was funny— at the start of this project, Celia had been practically fuming at her manager for putting her alongside someone so untested. Aven was a musician! He was probably brought just to appeal to his fanbase! Looking back, it was an almost embarrassing assumption to have made, and Celia was never more glad to be wrong.

Certainly there was still tension between them on set— banter that sometimes simmered into snapping. But they had bonded, too. Now Celia would always be the first to attest to his acting skills.

He, however, has a very misplaced faith in her vocal chords.

She waves her hand as if to dispel him of the notion. There wasn’t a single musical gene in her body: it couldn’t be coaxed nor coached out of her, and nothing short of a miracle could fix it.

So when Aven produces a guitar like some tuxedoed magician, Celia’s eyes widen in a bit of shock and horror.

“Oh my god.”

“Aven, I mean it when I say I really cannot play. You probably shouldn’t have such an expensive guitar around me.”

Despite herself, Celia can’t pull her eyes away from Aven’s hands. They rested on the guitar so comfortably, coming to reset to their natural position as if he was cradling an infant. The noise he coaxed from the strings seemed to come effortlessly too. It was clear he was incredibly familiar with this instrument, and Celia stares with a preoccupied sort of fascination.

[celiaromero]

avenwilder​:

~

Aven understood not wanting to lose momentum by walking away from great opportunities. He felt the same. Getting involved in acting had always been a dream of Aven’s, and to land such a monumental, massive role with an acclaimed director, opposite of Celia Romero — it felt like an improbability. So rare. It wasn’t lost on Aven how incredibly lucky he was.

“I was just thinking that you’d make a great Ophelia. Or Juliet, or Helena. Anyone, really.”

Perhaps one day he’d find a way to finance that — a film or theatrical production. Or even a re-telling of sorts, all from Ophelia’s perspective.

This was nice. Sharing things about each other. Even Celia couldn’t deny that, right? She’d been smiling, laughing. It was nice getting to know her. The food had been great, too. Aven forgot he’d been excited to try the restaurant, but it was all secondary in his mind. Celia — their conversation — was his primary focus.

“Yeah, actually. My senior year of high school, we did two musicals. Rent and Once.”  

Musicals certainly weren’t for everyone. People either felt strongly against them, or they were fanatics. Aven personally enjoyed them. It felt more challenging than film. It was terrifying and euphoric — perfect for Aven Wilder.

“I had been auditioning since Freshman year. I was turned down every time, for the fall show and the spring show. I think the director felt bad for me, because I just sadly hung around and helped with the props and lights and stuff. Anyway. Senior year. I was Roger in Rent, and Guy in Once.”

It didn’t matter that they were amateur productions. Aven had remembered feeling so proud and excited. 

“How ‘bout you? Any musicals?”

.

‘I was just thinking that you’d make a great Ophelia. Or Juliet, or Helena. Anyone, really.’

Celia had practiced many smiles throughout her career; quiet, enigmatic ones that belonged on magazine covers, broad, beaming smiles during interviews. But the one she gives in that moment is wholly unrehearsed. It was surprised, and pleased, and it burst out of her like the unexpected squeeze of warmth in her chest.

It was funny how a compliment from Aven produced that. Perhaps a few weeks earlier she might have felt suspicion, or confusion, but now she just felt warm.

This was nice. Celia hadn’t expected this lunch to feel nearly so ... nice.

‘I had been auditioning since Freshman year. I was turned down every time, for the fall show and the spring show. I think the director felt bad for me, because I just sadly hung around and helped with the props and lights and stuff. Anyway. Senior year. I was Roger in Rent, and Guy in Once.’

“But you can sing.” Confusion colors Celia’s voice, eyebrows drawing together in something like indignation. “You’ve made a whole career out of it, how were they not casting you in all the school productions?”

It made no sense.

Celia’s mouth purses slightly, eyes narrowing as if in disapproval of this unnamed drama teacher. Whatever someone thought of Aven, no matter how well they meshed with him personally, it would be rather stupid to deny his musical talent.

“That’s sort of bullshit.” She shakes her head. “Those are two very good musicals, though. I can see you in both roles.”

Her face smooths out into a smile, and for a minute she wishes she’d been there; Falling Slowly was a personal favorite, and some part of Celia very much wanted to hear him perform.

“I never really did a musical beyond eighth grade. Not all of us have the musical genes.”