aFireFist
A Life in Hollywood
Chapter 19 - Taylor Swift - Part 2
Osiah stayed back at first, watching from the side as she finished a big number. The band cut out and she called for a quick break, grabbing a water bottle. Then she turned, scanning the side of the stage like she'd been waiting for something. Her eyes landed on him and her whole face changed — a bright, genuine smile breaking through the focused expression. She jogged over, body moving with that easy athleticism, long legs striding, ass shifting in the leggings.
"Osiah," she said, pulling him straight into a hug. It started quick, friendly, but lingered a second too long. Her body pressed against his — perky tits soft against his chest, the heat and light dampness of her skin from rehearsal coming through the sports bra, her toned stomach and hips aligning with his. Her firm ass was right there under his hands if he let them rest low. The scent of her hit him immediately: sweet perfume mixed with the salty, clean smell of her sweat. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, still close, one hand on his arm.
"I heard you got up close and personal with the queen on that Gaga run," she said, teasing but warm. "How was that? She keep you busy?"
Osiah smiled, calm and easy the way he always was with her. "It was good. Solid shows. She runs a tight ship but knows how to have fun with it. Kept things interesting. How's the tour prep been treating you? You look like you've been grinding."
Taylor laughed, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. Her body was still flushed from the run-through, skin glowing under the lights. "Grinding is the right word. Rehearsals every day, tweaking lights, running the dancers until the choreography locks in. My thighs are on fire and my ass is sore in the best way, but it's paying off. The stage is massive. The production is next level. I think this one's going to feel different — bigger, but still mine. The pressure's real though. All the build-up, all the eyes on it. Having you here… it helps. You keep the little things from turning into big ones."
She gave his arm a squeeze, fingers lingering. Her eyes flicked over him with that familiar heat she didn't bother hiding when they were alone like this. "I'm glad you're here. I need someone who doesn't get rattled."
"That's the job," Osiah said, calm and steady as always. "Let me go check in with the crew. See what's actually broken."
He moved into production mode without missing a beat. The lighting director was fighting a cue on one of the bigger transitions — the big drop in the set where the whole stage shifted from a soft ballad setup to the high-energy explosion for the next number. Osiah watched the run-through once from the side, eyes on the console and the stage at the same time. He caught the timing issue immediately — the lights were hitting half a beat late, throwing off the dancers' marks. He stepped up to the console, asked the guy a couple quick questions about the software, and made a few adjustments. A test run later and the lights hit exactly on the beat as Taylor hit her mark and the dancers exploded into the next formation. The guy running lights clapped him on the shoulder, tension visibly easing from his shoulders.
"Man, thanks," the lighting director said. "I've been fighting that for twenty minutes. You see that stuff right away."
Osiah nodded. "Just a timing thing. Keep an eye on cue twelve too — the follow spot was drifting a little on the last run. We can lock it down before the full dress."
The quick-change team was stressed about the tight windows between songs. Osiah headed over to the racks they had set up backstage. Costumes were hanging in order, but the flow was off — one rack was blocking the path for the dancers coming off stage. He helped reorganize the racks, made sure everything was in the right order for the sequence, even held a backup outfit while one of the assistants ran a test change with Taylor during a break. His hands stayed steady, voice low and calm as he gave quiet instructions. "Keep the rack two feet further left. That gives the dancers clear path. And label the quick-change order on the hangers — makes it faster when the adrenaline is high."
Crew members who'd been running hot started breathing easier, nodding and thanking him as they adjusted. One of the wardrobe assistants, a young woman with a headset, gave him a grateful look. "You're a lifesaver. Last tour we had a meltdown during the third quick change. This feels way smoother already."
Taylor caught his eye a few times from the stage during the run-throughs. Once she was mid-choreography, body moving sharp — long legs powerful, ass popping with the beat, tits shifting in the sports bra — and she glanced over, gave him a small private smile that said she saw him working. Another time she mouthed "thank you" after he fixed a lighting cue that had been driving the director nuts. She finished the section, called for a quick water break, and jogged over to the side where he was standing.
"You're making everyone's life easier out here," she said, still breathing a little hard from the dance. Sweat ran down her neck and between her cleavage, making her sports bra cling. "I saw you fixing that cue. The lights looked perfect on the last run. How do you spot that stuff so fast?"
Osiah shrugged, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Just watch the whole picture. The timing was off by half a beat. Dancers were hitting their marks late because of it. Fixed the console timing and it locked in. Nothing fancy."
Taylor took a sip from her water bottle, eyes on him. "It's fancy to me. I get so focused on my part I miss the little things. That's why I wanted you here. You see the whole machine. Makes me feel like I can just do my job and not worry about the rest."
She stepped a little closer, voice dropping. "And yeah… I'm already thinking about later. But right now I need to finish this run-through. Don't go too far, okay?"
Osiah nodded. "I'll be right here. Go kill it."
Taylor gave his arm one more squeeze, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary, then jogged back to the stage. The energy picked up again as they ran the next section. Osiah stayed on the side, eyes moving between the stage, the monitors, and the crew. He caught another small issue with a cable run that was starting to bunch up near the drum riser and had it fixed before it became a problem. The stage manager gave him a thumbs up across the floor.
By the time they wrapped the full run-through, the energy in the building had shifted from prep to pre-show. Taylor found him near the side again, grabbed his wrist lightly, her skin still warm and a little damp from the work.
"Come with me for a minute," she said, voice low. "I need a quick tension release before I go get changed for real. Shoulders and back are locked up from all this. And… I could use more than that."
She led him down the hall to her dressing room — big, comfortable, with a wide couch, vanity lit up bright, clothes racks, a small fridge stocked with water and snacks. She locked the door behind them and turned to him, still in the rehearsal outfit, body still warm and slightly damp from the work. The sports bra clung to her perky tits from the sweat, the tight black leggings outlining every curve of her long toned legs and the firm, round shape of her ass.
"Start with the shoulders," she said, but there was already a smile in her voice that said she knew exactly where this was going. "Then don't stop where you usually would. I need your hands everywhere tonight."
Osiah stepped behind her as she faced the vanity mirror. He put his hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles at the base of her neck. She let out a low, grateful moan almost immediately, head tilting forward, ponytail falling over one shoulder. He worked the knots firmly, feeling her body start to give under his touch. Her skin was warm, a little slick with sweat. He moved down her back slowly, hands sliding under the edge of the sports bra to get at the muscles there, fingers brushing the sides of her tits and feeling the soft weight of them against his knuckles.
Taylor's breathing changed right away. She pushed back into his hands a little, ass pressing against the front of his jeans. "Harder on the right. Fuck, that's it. You always know exactly where it hurts. Right there — yeah, dig in deeper. God, your thumbs feel so good on those tight spots. Don't stop."
He kept going, professional at first, kneading the muscles along her spine, then letting his hands drift lower as she responded. Down to the small of her back, thumbs pressing into the tight spots along her spine, then lower still, cupping her ass through the leggings. He squeezed the firm, round cheeks hard, feeling the muscle from all the dancing and training, the soft give of the flesh under his fingers. Taylor moaned again, louder this time, and bent forward over the vanity, hands braced on the counter, pushing her ass back into his hands.
"Don't stop there," she said, voice dropping, breathy and needy. "I've been thinking about this since I knew you were coming. Touch me. I need it before I go out there and have to be professional for three hours. My body is so tight from all the rehearsal. Make it feel good. Squeeze my ass like you own it. Play with my thighs too."
Osiah hooked his fingers in the waistband of the leggings and pulled them down along with her panties, letting them pool around her thighs. Her ass was perfect — smooth skin, firm and round, the kind of shape that came from moving the way she did every day. He gripped the cheeks hard, fingers digging in, spreading them enough to see her pussy already glistening, lips puffy and wet. The scent of her arousal mixed with the perfume and sweat on her skin filled the small space between them. He ran both hands up and down the backs of her thighs, squeezing the firm muscle, then back up to her ass, kneading and spreading the cheeks again.
"Fuck, look at you," he said quietly, running a hand over one cheek then the other, feeling the soft give of the flesh. "Already soaked. You really did need this bad. Your ass looks so fucking good like this — all spread open for me. And these thighs… strong and soft at the same time."
Taylor pushed back into his hands, ass rippling slightly under his grip. "I've been wet thinking about you all morning. Feel it. Touch my pussy. I'm dripping for you already. Slide your fingers in. I want them deep. And keep squeezing my ass while you do it."
He slid two fingers between her legs from behind, rubbing over her slick folds, spreading her wetness up and down her slit, then pushing inside. She was hot and tight, walls clenching immediately around his fingers. The wet sound was loud in the quiet room as he started pumping them steadily, thumb circling her clit. Taylor's head dropped, hair falling forward, her face visible in the mirror — eyes half-lidded, mouth open, cheeks already flushing darker.
"Yes," she breathed, pushing back to meet his hand. "Fuck my pussy with your fingers. Just like that. I need it hard. Make me cum before I have to go be good on stage. God, your fingers feel so good inside me. Curl them — yeah, right there. Keep rubbing my clit."
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