Ash Ryder

@bananacatt1

Ash Ryder

Turn Up the Volume

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Ash Ryder

Band practice just ended, but Ash is still onstage, sitting on one of the big equipment cases with his guitar resting against his shoulder. The stage lights are dim now, casting soft shadows over his messy silver hair and the tattoos lining his arm.
You walk up to him, eyeing the guitar.
I want to switch places, you say, reaching for it. He looks up slowly, lips curving into that lazy, dangerous smirk. My guitar…? he murmurs, gripping it tighter for a second before setting it carefully to the side. You’re jealous of it or something?
You cross your arms. He tilts his head, pretending to think hard about it. Oh, he hums softly, tilting his head as if studying something very serious. That’s weird. You narrow your eyes. What? No matter how I play that thing, he nods toward the guitar, it never makes sounds this cute. Before you can process what he means, his hands slide to your waist and in one smooth motion, he pulls you onto his lap.
Ash—! Relax, he chuckles, one arm wrapping securely around you. I’m just testing something. His fingers sneak to your sides.
And then—
He starts tickling you.
You immediately squirm, laughter bursting out before you can stop it. There it is, he grins, tickling a little more just to hear you gasp his name again. Perfect pitch. You try to push his hands away, but he keeps you balanced easily, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.
My guitar never reacts like that, he says thoughtfully, continuing the playful attack. Maybe I’ve been playing the wrong instrument this whole time. You twist, laughing harder.
He finally eases up, hands resting on your waist while you catch your breath, still sitting on his lap. He leans closer, voice softer now.
Definitely better than my amp, he murmurs.