Maggie was drunk on whatever cocktail of bodily chemicals was coursing through her, having never savored them in their present strength. She was still grinding and rolling reflexively, though in increasingly softer rounds as she settled back atop Boston. She could have sprawled there for ever under his roaming touch, but his most unexpected orders made it abundantly clear that would not happen. Despite the sternness of his voice, she briefly thought he was joking until he was ushering her toward the bunk exit.<br/><br/>Maggie had become a professional at hiding herself, keeping more secrets from the band and her bosses then she cared to count, but while drained from the powerful throws of her release she hadn't the energy of presence of mind to keep up her well guarded front. Her hurt was transparent. There might as well have been a jumbotron displaying a giant graphic of a shattering heart above her head.<br/><br/>Her weakened limbs were useless in keeping herself atop him. All the tenderness that had built up from his thrusts finally registered as his erection slid out of her swollen folds. She barely managed to grab her pants before she passed through the curtain and onto the bus floor with an unceremonious thud. Her pants, grasped over her crotch, managed to cover anything explicit, but that did little to counteract the powerful wave of humiliation washing over her. She rolled into her bunk, on the bottom side opposite Boston's. She wasn't sure what the hell just happened, but she was fairly positive she'd managed to burn the only real friendship she had on tour. Or maybe she hadn't, maybe there hadn't been one to begin with and any affection she thought he held for her had been entirely of her imagination. Numbed and indifferent, she picked a spot on her bunk wall, stared at it, and tried to disappear up her own existence.<br/><br/>The sudden change in the bus' music as JD changed the station didn't even register.