Written for Chrissy for the 2007 xmas_rocks exchange
| This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made. |
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Hands slid over his body, fake and painted fingernails catching lightly, trying to hold him there, pull him in like a fish on a hook. Any other night he would have given in a hundred times by now, let the scantily-clad (if clad at all) busty blondes or brunettes or redheads pull him in and act out their rock star fantasies. Not tonight. Tonight, not just anyone would do. Phil had spotted his target slipping under the stage just after the opening act ended, a slim brunette with hips swinging so temptingly he almost considered going to get his kicks right then and there. Viv could handle two or three songs on his own. But he'd shouldered his guitar and done his job, knowing it was all part of the game - build the anticipation until you can't take it anymore, until you're convinced one more second without relief and you'll explode. He played, his mind flickering between the music and the audience and his brunette under the stage so rapidly the audience all had the same dark hair and pouty red lips, the guitar writhed and twisted under his fingers like a slender body wracked with passion. And then it was over, and they said their goodnights to the audience of clones, and he was under the stage dodging the fingers and lips and breasts of a thousand desperate women, and then he was right in front of his target, and he'd won the game. Lips crushed against his, lips he'd kissed a million times but could never get enough of. Red, bright red, painted once upon a time for the rest of the world and now they were only painted for him, the lipstick smearing against his own lips, marking him. That body, slim and warm and mostly soft, pushed against his, heat and pressure making Phil dizzy as his hands slid over familiar territory, over curves and muscles and lines he'd memorized eons ago and would never forget. Jeans blocked sensation and were quickly discarded, an indistinguishable pair of groans joining the chorus of bimbos and bandmates behind them as skin brushed against skin and sent electricity charging up their spines. Painted lips slid down to his neck, his chest, teeth flashing and leaving little marks along his body, gripping his nipples lightly and tugging, sparks flying through him and out of his mouth as gasps and moans. He was pushed against the wall, grateful for the support as the lips slid lower and his knees buckled. Brown eyes peered up at him through long, dark lashes, innocence mixing with a devilish gleam to let Phil know the game wasn't over, and he definitely hadn't won. A tongue swirled in his bellybutton, dragged down along the trail of hair to his groin, then up along the line of his thigh, teeth catching a bit of flesh at his hip and pulling until he yelped. A giggle, tickling along his skin, and then the lips and tongue slid back down, teasing along the edge of his pubic hair, and then up the other side to bite at his hip again. Phil shuddered, wiggling his hips to force the lips where he wanted them to go, fingers clutching at the wall as he begged with his body for what he was too incoherent to beg for with his mouth. Another glance up at him, angels and devils dancing in big brown eyes, and then a wink and oh holy fucking Jesus Christ. Heat engulfed his cock, heat and wetness and softness surrounding him, flowing through his veins and into his bones and everywhere it could reach. Hips thrusting forward, desperate for more, greedy mouth taking him in. Sensations flickered and shifted - now suction so hard he thought the very soul would be ripped from his body, now a tongue fluttering along the vein at the bottom of the shaft, every quick meeting of tongue and flesh knocking a moan from his lungs - and then a surge forward, and his entire cock was wrapped up in that mouth and holy Hell. His world had been reduced to heat and wetness, to fire racing through his veins and his lungs compressed with pressure, fingernails scrabbling at his thighs and hair tickling his skin. The sounds of his bandmates and their groupies faded into the background, the only sounds registering in his ears his own moans and the slick wet sounds of a desperate mouth around him. The heat pulled away, almost all the way off, lips latching onto the tip of his cock and suckling hungrily, tongue flickering in the slit. Phil writhed and tried to plead, words twisted into moans and gasps and desperate whimpers. The lips slid down and clamped under the ridge, suction increasing as a rough hand wrapped around his aching shaft and stroked him firmly. He was going to die. Pleasure built and pressed in around him, against him, filling him inside and crushing his bones, squeezing his lungs and forcing his gasping breaths back out. His fingers tangled in dark hair, tugging as he tried to thrust his hips forward, blocked by a deceptively strong hand that had slid from thighs to hips to hold him down. Frustrated whimpers caught in the back of his throat, adding to the pressure, hips twitching in desperation. Teeth scraped against the ridge lightly, the suction grew, the hand squeezed, and the pressure released. Phil wailed and shuddered, breaking the grip on his hips and jerking forward, the intensity of his release banging his head against the wall as the very life spurted out of his body. The brunette moaned and swallowed greedily, tongue sliding out to lap up anything he'd missed as his hand squeezed and pumped to make sure he got every last drop. When he was satisfied, he slid up Phil's body, once again crushing their lips together, smirking when Phil pushed him away and struggled to breathe. "Hey, Collen." "Lewis," he managed between pants. "Your lipstick's smudged."
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