He’s felt the eyes on him all night. Dark, blazing, hungry. When he stepped
out on stage, they burned brighter than the spotlights, greedier than any pimp’s
wallet. In reply, he toyed. Kept his act straight – hah! Didn’t
give in to the siren cry demanding he shake his ass in that direction and that
direction only.
**
It’s like standing in the corona of the sun. Hot, white light and movement that stays even when he closes his eyes. Burned impressions that’ll stay with him forever, he thinks.
He didn’t know what to expect when he walked into the bar this evening, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Not his scene. So not his scene that he damn near walked out during the first act. ‘Cept people kept saying stay. Just wait ‘til she comes on, then you’ll know.
Now he does. And his eyes are still burning.
**
The music works through him. Or that’s the way it seems. Picks him and carries him forward like being possessed by something out of space and time. If anyone asked him the lyrics he’d be hard pressed to write them down ‘cos they’re not something he knows, they know him.
<I>You give me fever, when you kiss me
Fever when you hold me tight</I>
And, fuck, he wants that tonight. Wants to feel the burn.
**
Watches half the set through strobe lighting that doesn’t so much show as tease. Then it all changes. Lights lower, redder, gas-giant burn. The music throbs and he throbs along with it. The way that ass sways, a hand’s breadth away that might as well be a fucking universe for all the good it does him. He’d swear he can taste the satin, scarlet turning black as it gets wet under his tongue. Slit from there to there showing so much, but never quite e-fucking-nough. His hands itch to rip it further. That extra inch, ‘cos everyone knows it’s that last inch that really counts.
Instead he takes another sip of his drink and feels it burn its way into his belly.
**
He’d kind of expected a knock on the door. Is kinda disappointed when it doesn’t come. But he’s in a hurry, so maybe he misses it.
Heads outside, the night’s sultry heat smacking him hard as he opens the door. It’s almost too wet to breathe and it leaves him gasping and wishing for something wetter. The parking lot’s dark, full of humped beasts cast aside by their owners who’ve got better places to be. And he’s walking the white lines when he feels those eyes on him again, that tight white feeling when you know you’re being watched.
He turns, slow, canting a hip and putting on a show. And hears the gasp. Oh yeah, this is gonna be good.
**
Without lights, it should be dark, but somehow there’s a corona around the figure in the lot; an aura that’s got nothing to do with refracting wavelengths and everything to do with lust. He hurries after, helplessly trapped in that body’s gravitational field. And finally, finally, comes close enough.
They’re eye to eye, put there by six-inch heels that stab him in the groin every time he looks down. Blonde hair, swept up and back held in place by diamonds and jet. Sweat prickles on his back as he reaches out, touches his finger against crimson lips and watches it disappear into a mouth too sinfully pretty for that. Eyes, heavy darkened lids at half-mast, the trace of tongue tickling and he’s caught, burning up in a night’s heat that shouldn’t let him feel as dry as he does.
He opens his mouth to speak, ask, maybe. But a scarlet painted nail across his lips calls him to silence, and that seems right somehow.
Instead he watches.
**
It’s all about the show. Feeling the pulse of the music as he turns, bends, pulls his skirt up just enough to reveal silk and lace beneath. And christ he’s hard at the thought of getting this one.
As he grabs his ankles, he looks back and sees sun-tanned hands grappling with a belt, attempting to loosen pants that are suddenly two sizes too small. He smiles. Small and maybe a little smug, because someone likes what they see and that’s always good.
He turns again, straightens up and keeps the dress high – all the better to seduce you with, my dear.
Hands stutter and stall so he takes over; rubbing his palm over damp denim in slow circles that earn him glazed eyes, hitched breath and twitching hips.
**
The gasp hardly sounds over revving cars and throbbing base, raised voices and chatter from far far away. His ears are operating under twenty tons of water, only the pressure’s from the inside and pretty damn soon he’s gonna pop.
Nails scrape over his flesh and his belly shivers. He drops to his knees, gravel grating, oily water soaking into harsh damp denim. His mouth drools as he leans forward, rubbing his cheeks against satin, feeling the hard bulge pushing at the cloth. And he wants. To taste, touch, feel and fuck. He wants so damned much that his heart’s in his throat as he tugs at a hem and slides the dress high. His hands skate up silky nylon, scrape over lace that digs into thighs leaving indentations that he explores with his tongue as his fingers outline the straining cock above.
Fresh sweat heat, unmistakable musk, and his hunger grows. Enough to make him surge upwards and take a spongy head between his lips. Enough to make him suck and lick on silken cloth and silkier skin. Enough to make him groan when an answering surge thrusts into his face.
**
It’s good. More than good. It’s sending goosebumps over his skin that are more hot than cold. It’s making his muscles tremble and all he wants to do is fuck that face, hard and deep.
Carding his fingers through short dark strands of hair, he tugs gently and utters the first words spoken between them. “Open up for me, sweetie?”
**
Oh yeah. That he can do.
Pulling back, he sits on his haunches and watches as fingers tipped with blood red tease aside lacy cloth revealing the prize. Clean and smooth like everything else, and he lets his head get tipped back, meeting those sultry eyes for a second before returning, open-mouthed, to where he needs to be.
The first thrust makes his eyes water but in the best possible way. His tongue gets in on the action, working hard up against the underside of the solid shaft fucking his mouth. His lips, taut, tight, testing. The slightest hint of teeth gets him fingers yanking at his hair. Makes him buck his own hips in response. Makes him fumble with his buttons and reach inside, grabbing round the base of his own cock and squeezing hard ‘cos he don’t wanna come too soon.
**
He can feel every ridge and bump. Hot, wet and suck. Running pressure tracing up and down and fuck, he just stares. Watches his dick track in and out, in and out. Lips swelling around it, throat convulsing in a squeeze that makes him thrust and grunt and fuck all the harder.
Pale, crystal wet eyes stare back. And below. Below he sees solid flesh being stroked by a fierce fist. He smiles around the urge to bask in pleasure and lifts a foot, presses his pump into a hard, pulsing groin and feels it jump. Feels the hot wet fluid bathe his toes. The fist gives up and grabs his hips, yanking him forwards until his shoe digs point first into yielding muscle and his cock gets swallowed whole.
He can’t stop it. Can’t stop the wrap around of fingers that push inside him. Can’t stop the pressure in his balls. Doesn’t want to. Just humps, thrusts, heaves, takes, and enjoys the rush when it comes.
**
Sharp, leather, sliding up his dick and when he comes it’s over a crimson shoe. Cinderella. Prince Charming on his knees in a parking lot spilling in his pants over a six inch stiletto. Nostrils flaring at the scent, he grabs and tugs and swallows, finds clenching muscle and worms his way inside. Gets a mouthful of spunk for his trouble and his cock jerks again in sympathy with a smothered cry.
**
Could have been a scream. Would have been if his fist wasn’t in his mouth and he sags back a little, bracing against the scalding metal behind. Watches as lips are licked, his panties are rearranged, his dress smoothed down. Watches as muscled thighs push the man to his feet.
“Tomorrow?”
“After the second set,” he whispers in reply, then watches as a broad back vanishes into the heat soaked night and car pulls out of the lot spraying water from under it’s custom tyres.