She moans softly as the guitarist hammers out another riff, her nipples pucker against the blue cut off T-shirt, and I realize she’s not wearing a bra. I lean into her so my mouth is next to the shell of her ear. Lord knows she wouldn’t be able to hear me if I wasn’t this close.
“Braless today?” I ask as my hand reaches up to her rib cage. I trail my thumb against the underside of her breast, affirming my assumptions.
“It’s too hot for a bra.” She whimpers. I place my knee in between her legs, bracing it against the speaker. My thigh nudges against her center, and a low exhale leaves her.
“You’re a scoundrel,” I laugh against her ear. “Panties? I ask, my hand trailing down the front of her reaching the bottom of her skirt.
“Find out for yourself.” She exhales heavily, her tongue making contact with my neck. She licks up the side of my neck before settling against my earlobe. I feel her teeth before I notice the sting of her bite. My dick thickens in my leather pants, and I’m thankful they have strings and not a zipper, this would be painful as fuck with a zipper and no underwear.
My hands creep under the bottom of her skirt, a thin layer of fabric separates my fingers from her wet pussy. I push the fabric to the side, and I’m going to give whoever the lead singer of this band is all the money in my bank account right now, as long as he keeps singing. His deep rumble causes the speaker to vibrate, and Bristol to lose her ever loving shit. Two of my fingers run through her folds before I set up camp against her clit. With the microphone the roadie gave me in my other hand and while making small circles against her sweet spot, I place the head of the mic against her wet channel. The band playing is wrapping up, and the entire band is playing at the same time, each instrument causing the bass from the speaker to vibrate harder. I push the microphone against her with more force, her body welcoming the large head like it welcomes me. With slow in and out motions and my fingers against her clit, Bristol comes apart, the sounds of her orgasm almost louder than the band on stage. Once the last of her post orgasm quakes have left her body, I pull the mic head away from her along with my fingers. She whimpers slightly, the overstimulation causing her to shiver again. I take a step back from her and inspect the microphone, her juices coat almost the entire windscreen, and the moisture gleams against the lights.
Bristol reaches for the drenched windscreen, but I pull the mic back.
“At least let me clean it off.” She sighs.
“Nuh uh, I want to be able to taste you all night.” I smirk, feeling pretty damn satisfied with myself. My dick throbs in my leathers, but he can wait. She needed this. Now not only is she tequila drunk, she’s post orgasm high.
“You assholes ready?” Boston says as he approaches. “This place needs a better layout, I thought I was going to piss my pants.” He laughs. Boston has never been one to read the room, but right now, I wish he was.
“I’m ready.” Bristol says, her voice thick from her arousal.
“Damn, ready for what?” Boston laughs harder. “That sounded a lot like a girl in a porno, you trying out new voices, Pistol?”
She clears her throat, obviously embarrassed by her voice giving away how hot she just was.
“Ready, and no I’m not trying out new voices, but be careful Bos, I might try your mom’s.” She laughs, and all is right with her world again.
Our names are called by the announcer, and I grab my guitar from the stand, Boston grabs his bass and throws the strap across his chest, Bristol grabs her sticks from the little pack and twirls them in her fingers.
“Ready?” I ask, more to Bristol than Boston.
“Let’s do it!” Boston says, again not reading the room.
“Yupp!” Bristol answers with a nod.
I take the steps to the center of the stage, waving at the fans and reveling in their excited screams.
“Hello New Mexico!” I yell into the mic, her scent hitting me as soon as the mic gets close to my face. Fuck, this is going to be harder than I though, pun intended.
“You guys ready to party?” I ask, and they as usual lose their minds. I turn to Boston, and he nods, plugging his bass into the amp. I look at Bristol as I hold the mic close to my mouth, she nods, and I give her a wink before I let my tongue meet the head of the mic. Her taste hitting me hard, honey and something that is exquisitely her. Her cheeks blush, but she smiles. The crowd roars as I turn around, no doubt they just saw me lick the microphone.
Bristol claps her sticks together, counting us in to Riot Act. I start singing and playing the guitar, doing both proving more and more difficult with each show, but I refuse to have someone stand next to me that isn’t Alex.
The girls in the front row try to garner my attention, throwing panties, bras, and phone numbers, but I don’t pay too much attention to them. I smile and shoot a few of them winks, but the woman I want is sitting behind me, and I can taste her anytime I want right now.
Two songs later and I’m pouring sweat, my fingers move quickly against the neck of the guitar, and I’m trying to perform for the crowd too. At the last notes of Nightmare, I let out a long exhale. My heart pounds against my chest from exertion.
“Pistol, pistol, pistol!” The crowd screams as I take a deep breath and turn towards the girl in question, and she smiles brightly. Her face is drenched in sweat too, and like me, she pants but the smile holds.
“Damn, I need to up my cardio.” I laugh into the mic. A few women offer to help, and I suppress a laugh when Pistol shoots them a glare.
“Alex’s song, Alex’s song!” Comes from somewhere in the back of the crowd. Panic rises up as I look across the audience to see who’s saying it. I use my hand to block out the sun that’s shining directly in my face. I search for the voices, but the people are being too loud to pinpoint the exact location. I squint into the sun and scan as many rows as I can see. The amphitheater we’re playing at is tiered so I can really only see the front and some of the second row.
“Rhyit, look.” Boston says into his mic, pointing to a group of people several rows back. I follow his hand to their location as they continue to chant. More people have joined in on the request, and the theater is booming in unison asking for Alex’s song. If I didn’t think I’d be mauled to death, I would hop down from this stage and seek them out. An audible gasp leaves Bristol as she spots the group too. I continue searching for a moment and then I spot them. My jaw hangs as I find them. There’s at least ten people in the back wearing Alex’s promo shirt with his face on it, and a low rumble leaves my chest as I stare at them. When I get to the last one, I notice his hands are in the air so I follow them up and and up. Alex’s smiling face sits on a cardboard cut out, standing at least five feet in the air. I feel like someone has punched me in the gut as all the wind is knocked out of me. I stare at my friend for a moment, is this what Larkin meant when he said the fans wanted to mourn with us?
“I miss him too, guys.” I sigh into the mic and pull my bottom lip in between my teeth as I feel the familiar burn at the back of my throat. A collective aww sounds throughout the theater, and I try to fight back the tsunami wave of grief that floods me. “Alex’s song isn’t done yet, I’m sorry.” My chin wobbles as the apology leaves my lips. “You’ll get it, I promise, I just don't-” I stop, clearing my throat from the ball that sits in the back, “know when.” Tears burn against my eyelids, and I look away from the crowd, not wanting them to see me breakdown. I miss him so much, we’ve tried to carry on as usual but none of this is business as usual. None of this is normal. He would love to see all these people out here to support him, but instead he’s gone and all we can do is mourn him. My heart cracks audibly against my chest at the thought. I stand in the middle of the stage, my back turned towards the audience and stare at the spot he would be. The same place he always stood, with a happy smile and totally random guitar riffs.
“How about Pistol?” Pistol says into the mic near her drum kit, her voice soft as she tries to keep her emotions at bay. My eyes widen, tears stinging at my lower lids, she just offered to play a song that hurts her to hear, for me. At the mention of Pistol, the audience cheers, and I mouth a ‘thank you’ to her. She nods, acknowledging my appreciation for her, for saving me from the emotional onslaught that comes with Alex’s song. I know this song is just as hard for her, and the fact that she so selflessly offered it up means more to me than she will ever know.