by Sol Crafter, Diana Sheridan, Talya Andor, Lacie J. Archer, Angel Propps
Brow arching, he popped open his can and took a long draw. "No?" he murmured, tongue poking out from between his lips.
My cock took notice of that flash of unconscious flirtation and I took a gulp of soda, forcibly dragging my thoughts away from getting him naked as quickly as possible. "Nope, just simple, normal, everyday conversation here, no ulterior motive to be found." I nudged his shoulder with mine. "The opening band?"
Rolling his eyes, Garrett settled into my side and said, "I think they definitely show some promise, and enough that I plan on asking them to play The Pit on their own within the next couple months."
"Yeah?"
Nodding, he trailed his fingers almost haphazardly up my leg, skirting around the obvious bulge of my arousal, and mused, "I wonder, what would it feel like to be handcuffed, and entirely at your mercy?"
"Garrett!" Soda burning my sinuses, I coughed as I twisted to face him. "I already want to rip your clothes off you, and I'm trying my damnedest to ignore that desire so we can talk and clear the air so we don't have a repeat of this morning. And I know myself, if you're naked, we sure as hell aren't going to be spending much time talking."
Wild, blue eyes lifting from his perusal of his jeans to stare at me, he rasped, "Why can't it? Why can't we clear the air, and work past my inability to submit, at the same time?"
Feet falling to the floor, I shoved my can onto the coffee table, hauling him into my lap. Knees to either side of my legs, he chewed on the inside of his cheek at my silence. Did he mean what that sounded like? Was he seriously asking me to take him? Giving a quick shake of my head I asked, "Garrett? If you're saying what I think you are, you need to tell me. I refuse to assume I know what you mean after the horrid job I did earlier."
Stealing a quick kiss, he squirmed free of my arms and climbed to his feet. Teeth continuing to worry his cheek he backed towards the partially closed door leading to my bedroom. "Follow me, and I'll show you exactly what I mean," he said, his worn leather jacket dropping to the floor.
*~*~*
I rose onto my toes, looping my arms around Rich's shoulders. I loved the fact that he was taller than I was. As ridiculous as it sounds, it made me feel cherished and sheltered when I was wrapped in his arms, his heart beating beneath my ear. Tracing my tongue along his collarbone, I tugged at his curls to get his attention.
"Take me to bed, Rich, I want you to make every inch of me yours. Want you to show me what it feels like to be worshiped by someone, to feel you moving inside me," I whispered past the fear choking me.
New fire in his kisses, Rich nudged me up onto the mattress. Lips brushing over my forehead, he left me sitting on the bed and moves towards the bathroom. A soft sound of confusion escaped me; he tossed me a kind look and murmured, "I'll be right back Garrett, just need to grab something to help ease the way."
Cheeks bright with heat I flopped backwards. Fighting against the edges of panic, I stared up at the ceiling. Was I ready for this? I could still tell him I'd changed my mind. I knew he wouldn't get mad, but, I didn't want to disappoint him by practically demanding we take this step, then backing down in a fit of nerves. I trailed my fingers over my ribs, absently following the lines of my abdomen.
Panic settling like a stone in my chest, I curled my hand around my erection. The head was slick with pre-cum beneath my thumb and I sighed with pleasure. Biting down on my lip, I stroked myself slowly. A warm chuckle pulled my gaze away from the ceiling. I looked down my body to find Rich at my feet. Adoration filled his stare. I fidgeted, holding my other hand out to him, silently asking him to join me.
The mattress shifted when he climbed up to kneel above me, watching my hand glide over my length with hungry eyes. A small tube dropped on the pillow beside my head as he dipped his mouth to mine. Slow burn filling my limbs, I abandoned my cock in favor of mapping the lines of his body with my fingertips. Tongue stroking over the roof of my mouth, he lifted his head. Meeting his eyes, I breathed, "I trust you."
Glowing, he seized my lips once more, kiss brutal and demanding. I answered his fierce hunger with my own, raking my nails down his back, arching upwards, seeking his heat. Hips meeting mine he tore away from my mouth with a gasp. Knot of panic still tugging at the back of my mind I clutched at him; I had to do this for him, and for myself. His mouth trailing down my neck, and over my shoulder, I yelped at the sharp bite of his teeth against the tender flesh on the underside of my arm.
Feeling the hot press of his lips against the already fading sting, I writhed under the continued torment of his addicting kisses moving over my body. Dropping my hands from his hair to fist them in the blankets, I panted. The tip of his tongue dipped into my navel and he laughed at the strangled sound I made.
Levering myself up on my elbows to stare down at him smirking between my legs, I whined, "You're trying to kill me through this torture, aren't you Rich?"
Teeth scraping over my inner thigh, he laughed again when I whimpered. "Never Garrett, I'm simply taking my time in showing you my adoration of every inch of you."
The wet heat of his taunting mouth closed around the head of my cock and I jerked, my head slamming back into the pillows. "Rich!" Hell, that was nice. I liked him with his mouth wrapped around me. Light touch urging my legs apart, he swallowed more of my length. His fingers reached up to caress my cheek, and I couldn't help but watch them drift over to grab the lubricant, my panic flaring in my stomach.
My fear was forgotten the next second, when he took all of me down his throat. I tangled a hand in his hair and rocked upwards, seeking his heat as he released me. Chuckling at my needy moan, he buried his nose against the sensitive skin beside my pelvis. Deadly tongue tasting my skin, I tensed at the barest of touches to my ass. Fingertip cool and slick as they moved lightly over my pucker, he nipped at my thigh.
His shadowed green eyes lifting to catch my slightly terrified stare, he murmured, "Deep breath Garrett." Lips trembling, I did as he said, sucking in a shaky lungful of air. Oh god, was I really going to allow him to do this? I'd never, not since—
Air exploded from me in a gasp, thoughts scattering. I squirmed at the feeling of his finger pushing inside me, his tongue making a valiant effort to distract me from the sensation.
"Ng, Rich, feels odd." I fidgeted, chewing on my lip, taking in the slow in and out movement of his digit. Breath stuttering in my chest, I grunted at the increased pressure of another finger working its way inside me. The slight burn of pain making me frown, I mumbled when he pressed a kiss to the base of my cock.
Nerves leaped to attention at the touch of his fingers on something inside me. I cried out. Third finger stretching me, he stroked across that bundle of nerves, making me more forgiving towards the pain his actions were causing. Slow, steady strokes filling me with longing, my hips hesitantly meeting his thrusts, I whispered, "Rich, please, need you."
Readily submitting to the possessive kiss he pressed on me, I groaned when he pulled his fingers from me, leaving me feeling bereft. I heard foil being torn out of place and I blinked. What? I pushed myself up on my elbows, watching Rich slide a condom over his length. Right, safe sex; fuck, where had my mind gone?
Hand stroking his sheathed cock a few times, he caught my eyes. Lifting my legs to hook loosely over his shoulders, he brushed a kiss against my calf. Eyes serious, he whispered, "This will hurt a bit, Garrett, and for that I'm sorry, but try to relax and breathe through it. It gets much better, I promise." Gaze locked with his, I hissed at the sting of pain that shot up my spine as his cock breached me for the first time. Stilling, he waited for my breath to stabilize.
Clenching at the blankets, I fought the desire to squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to see the play of emotions in his eyes as he filled me, even if he was blurred by a film of tears. Mouth parting when he was buried completely inside me, I let out a shuddering groan. Oh fuck, he felt amazing, like he was meant to be where he was.
Bent almost in half, I answered the soft caress of his lips over mine, slipped my tongue
into his mouth, finally giving in to the need to close my eyes. Safe in my darkness, panic under control, I drank in the feeling of him touching me; lips, hands, cock. Air becoming a necessity, I dropped my head back onto the pillows. I reached up to cup his cheek with a hand, smiling as my eyes fluttered open. Arching my back, I tugged on his hair, mutely begging him to move.
Fingers gentle on my hips, he rubbed his nose against mine as he shifted. I whimpered at the feeling of him sliding free of my ass. I didn't want him to leave; I rather liked the sensation of his girth stretching me. Smirk curling his lips, he tightened his grip and thrust back inside.
Mouth hovering over mine, he panted, "You feel so good Garrett, so hot and tight around me."
Shifting to meet his next thrust, I wailed when he hit that spot in me. Fucking Hell. I clung to the bed in a desperate attempt to ground my spinning senses as he set a steady rhythm, making me moan with every inward stroke. Wrapping a hand around my erection, he matched his strokes to his thrusts. "Rich, Goddamn, Rich, I love you," I stammered, face blazing at my admission.
Lips taking mine, he devoured my cries hungrily, his movements growing faster and more erratic. Releasing me, his voice tight, he growled, "Love you so much Garrett."
Screaming his name, my orgasm crashing over me, my vision sparked. Hand continuing to stroke my twitching cock, he buried his face against my throat. Pounding into me a few more times, he cried out my name when he found his release. I wormed a hand between our bodies, tangling my fingers with his sticky, cum covered ones. Kiss sloppy against my lips, he squeezed my hand.
Chest heaving, I caught his eyes, panting. "Please, don't ever leave me, drummer mine, I like the feeling of wholeness you bring to me."
Forehead dropping to rest against mine, he cupped the side of my face. "Anything you ask of me, is yours for the taking, my beloved Fancy."
1989
The night air was soft and warm; the breeze ran off of the ocean and lifted some of the terrible heat and smog that had been lying like a wet blanket over LA for weeks. The balcony was deep in shadow, the party that was going on inside the apartment could be heard through the thick curtains, but the two women on the balcony could not be seen from inside or heard above the loud music that was beating from the speakers.
They stood there, glaring at each other, neither of them moving. Tension lay thick on the air between them, and the moonlight glinted off the strings of the guitar that one of them held by its neck.
"Give it back; she gave it to me, not you!"
"Why did you have to come along and ruin everything, Lila?" the other woman spat out. "She loved me until you showed up, you whore! You think you can have everything you want, but you can't have her, you just can't! I'm not going to let you have her!"
"She never loved you, and she never will. Give me back the damn guitar!"
Lila's hand reached for the guitar just as a hand was placed on her breastbone, and she was shoved backwards. Her body arched tautly like a bow and then she fell backwards, striking the flimsy railing that ran around the balcony. Her feet scrambled against the slick concrete of the tiny balcony, fear widening her eyes as the other woman spoke again.
"She belongs to me. You can't have her."
Lila opened her mouth to scream, but there was no time. The railing separated from the building and she was hurtled over the edge and into the air. For a moment she had time to hope—the apartment was on the fifth floor, it was possible she could survive—but then she saw the jagged hunks of concrete rising up to meet her and she managed to say two words: "I curse …"
She didn't have time to speak, but she had time to feel. The sharp points of asphalt struck her, tearing into her flesh, and her rage and hatred became a palpable thing. Looking up, she could see, through the darkness, the outline of the guitar still cradled in the arms of the woman who had murdered her.
Blood crawled across her vision and her body went numb. She felt grateful for that loss of pain, even though she knew it meant that she was dying. There was a long light approaching, and she waited for it to envelop her and take her away.
Rikki Sinn was feeling the power that came from having recently signed a multi-album deal, and the Corvette was just one of the things he was busy blowing his advance on. He was already drunk, and so he almost didn't notice the still figure sprawled onto the ground until his headlights picked it out. "Look, some girl got drunk and passed out!" he exclaimed gleefully to his companion. "It's going to be that kind of night!"
They got out of the car and picked their way across the uneven terrain. Rikki was still laughing when he stopped, his booted feet a bare two inches from the long blond hair that had fanned out around Lila's still face.
"Hey," he said weakly. "Hey, that's Lila!"
He looked up to keep himself from seeing the dead woman. On a balcony above him, he saw a faint shadow against the moonlight. He frowned, certain that there was someone up there, but before he could yell for them to bring help, the figure vanished, and he shook his head, wondering if he were simply hallucinating.
*~*~*
The next day the news reporters were out in full force. The general consensus was that Lila had gotten drunk and gone out on the balcony for some fresh air. It was speculated that she had stumbled into the railing before falling to the ground below. There were plenty of guesses, but no real answers about what had happened.
So instead the reporters discussed what a waste it was, the amount of alcohol in her system, the drugs in the back pocket of her jeans and the rising young band whose apartment had been the scene of the party. The band was ecstatic at all of the press, so ecstatic that they had to be reminded not to smile at the funeral.
All over Hollywood, people either prayed nobody would remember that they had been there because it would hurt their career or they prayed that everyone would say they were there, because they needed publicity and any publicity for them was good publicity.
Overnight, Lila's record sales shot up. Before her death, she had been a minor pop-rock songstress with a pleasant one octave range voice and moderate guitar skills. After her death, she became a legend—at least for a short time, anyway.
Of all the photographs of her, the one that got used the most was an album cover that pictured her dressed all in black leather with her blond hair flying in a stiff breeze and her stiletto shod feet planted on the edge of a high rooftop. Since it was well known that Lila had dabbled in the occult, some speculated that she had foreseen her own death, but eventually that and all the rest of it died in the wake of new stars and new scandals and even more violent deaths.
As Lila had once said, the music business, it's a real killer …
Kara South woke up with a scream locked in her throat and her heart thudding triple time against the walls of her chest. Sweat drenched her, and the sheets had somehow migrated to the floor. She started to reach for them, but then she yanked her hand back, suddenly sure that there was someone under the bed.
She sat up, resting her back gratefully against the coolness of the bare wall behind her. She reached a trembling hand out toward the tiny table that served as a nightstand and grabbed the soda bottle that sat there. The warm fizziness of it just made her thirstier, but the sweetness helped to settle her stomach.
The dreams of falling were common; she had been having them her whole life, but they had increased in frequency ever since she had arrived in Los Angeles.
"It's just the stress of being on the road all the time," she told herself as she carefully stepped out of the bed and made her way to the bathroom that sat in one corner. "It will get better."
She washed her face and then looked at herself in the mirror. Dark purple shadows lay under her dark blue eyes, her always pale skin looked wan and peaked, and her face wore a strained expression. Her long brown hair hung in unruly curls and her full bottom lip looked like she had bitten it at some point.
Her delicate collarbones looked too prominent under the thin straps of the tank top she wore and her
pajama bottoms hung on her narrow hips. She knew she had been losing weight ever since she had moved out of her parent's home four years before to pursue her dream of becoming a singer, but that weight loss had accelerated lately.
Light glowed from the living room and she walked toward it. To her relief Dean, her bass player, was sitting on the swaybacked couch watching some fuzzy channel on the ancient television.
She sat beside him and he silently offered her a beer. She took it and swallowed a large gulp down, the bitterness dissipating the knot that had been lodged in her throat.
She had started her band when she had been sixteen, and she was the only original member still left. Six years had passed since the day that she had opened her front door to see the first of what would become a revolving door of a lineup staring back at her. She often joked that the only thing that outnumbered the amount of crappy gigs she had done was the amount of people who had been in the band. Most of those people had been less than stellar, some had been outright crazy, and more than one had left because they had become disillusioned with the reality of being in a working band.
Kara could not blame them there. She had slept on more couches than she wanted to remember, knew how to cook Ramen noodles at least twenty ways, including on the dash of her van (it was rather like making sun tea but it usually had less than spectacular results), considered a motel room a luxury, even when it was shared amongst five people, and had seen nights when the audience consisted of two people and their share of the take had been five bucks.
She had hired women that she had hoped would be her friends and men she had had to tell, repeatedly, that she was a lesbian and that that was not a situation she was looking to change but a personality trait. The current lineup consisted of Dean, his brother Goochie, who was her co-guitarist, and Joe, a drummer that had been friends with the others for years.