June 3rd, 1972
I could hear them. Even in my dressing room, with the door shut and locked, a towel stuffed into the crack at the bottom, I could fucking hear them. Screaming. Their gaping mouths and heat-fevered eyes calling out for blood. Calling out for me.
No. Not for me. For Ziggy.
For a moment I froze, eye pencil suspended between my fingers, fallen lax halfway between the makeup table and my face. I stared into the mirror at my snow-white skin, even paler under a layer of powdery makeup. I stared at my mismatched eyes, and found myself wishing that they didn’t look so dead. They were lifeless things lying there in my skull, framed by a thick layer of black and gold.
I was wrenched from my thoughts by a rattling at the door as someone tried to get in. I blinked, pulling myself out of my dark musings, and resumed the finishing touches on the corners of my eyes. Whoever was attempting to enter finally knocked, but I ignored them, reaching for my gold lipstick. I uncapped it, rolled it up, and dragged it over my mouth, completing my transformation.
I stared in the mirror for a few moments longer as the knocking repeated itself. I was no longer human. I had transcended to something other, something unearthly. I pushed my chair back from the vanity and stood, a little straighter than I usually did, my chin held a tad bit higher. I shook my hair out and strode to the door, hardening my heart and pasting a serene, superior expression across my face.
I was not David Jones, as I hadn’t been for a long time now. Nor was I David Bowie, though many would be screaming that name from the throngs of animals that gathered to see the show. They were not really here to see David Bowie. For the remainder of the night, I cast aside my usual skin and donned another. I was Ziggy Stardust, the Starman, come to earth only to be adored and pawed at, to sweep the earthlings into a frenzy, to blow their minds with the help of my little spiders.
Ziggy’s eyes shone with unadulterated sex.
I kicked the towel aside and flipped the lock on the door, not bothering to open it before simply turning and striding back into the lavish dressing room to pluck one of my rehearsal guitars from its stand. I flung myself down on the red velvet couch as Suzi let herself in, and resisted the urge to cringe as the noise from outside was momentarily amplified with the opening of the door.
“I brought you some tea!” She said brightly, closing the door behind her before making her way over to me. She held the cup out, still steaming gently, but I ignored her, strumming lightly at the strings beneath my fingers.
She set the tea down on the table beside the couch instead, then bent over me to inspect my hair and makeup. She reached out a hand to do something, but I leaned my head away and wordlessly evaded her, taking no interest in her resulting sigh.
“I really wish you’d let me at least do touch ups. I know how you like to do it yourself.” She was still looking me over, contorting her body to get a look at my costume since I refused to move. “Heaven knows why. You really ought to let me fix you up before you go on; I am a professional, you know!” She paused, planting her hands on her hips as if waiting for me to respond. I stared down at my Hagstrom and began playing the opening lines of Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide.
“Do you even care that your contours are uneven?” Suzi’s voice was shrill. I leaned up slightly to catch a look at myself in the lighted mirror, turning my head from side to side for a better view. I shook my head no and focused on my guitar again. The next sigh was even heavier than before. “You’re on in twenty.”
She finally turned to go, and I stood up, setting the guitar carelessly on the couch and moving towards the drink table. I flipped a glass and reached for the Gordon’s.
“David!” Suzi scolded, sounding scandalized.
I turned, and the look I gave her was so icy she visibly flinched.
“Sorry, sorry…” Her pretty brown eyes were lowered to the ground, and I shoved a wriggling worm of guilt down into the deepest recesses of my hollow body. “Just… You know you shouldn’t drink before. A-After you can have whatever you want, yeah?” She reached for the door, still not looking up from the orange shag carpet. “I’ll, um… I’ll tell Tony you’re ready.”
She opened the door and slipped out with another rush of screaming and stomping and cheering. The noise cut off again once she was gone. I looked down at the bottle of gin and ran my tongue across the front of my teeth.
I was Ziggy Stardust. I breathed violence. I bled sex. I didn’t feel nerves; such petty emotions were for those poor creatures known as human. I put down the gin.
I stared around at my empty, nearly silent dressing room. The lights were too bright. The carpet too orange. The walls too blue. Ziggy needs darkness and noise, love and admiration. He feeds off of it.
So I walked to the door and I reached out and I grasped the handle. It was cold. I took one breath, then another, and I tried not to think about the audience, screaming like some massive, unbound creature that was waiting to sink its claws into me.
I pulled the door open, and stepped out.
Backstage was a flurry of activity. Peter and some of the equipment monkeys were rushing about, carrying god knows what from here to nowhere. Dean was just coming off stage from sound check, which explained why the screaming sounded particularly ravenous. Mick and Trevor and Woody were all leaning against the wall a few yards away, talking and smoking fags. I hardened my heart all over again when I saw them there. Ziggy didn’t have friends. He didn’t need them. His spiders were just tools, there to elevate him to the next level. I looked away.
Tony spotted me in just a few seconds, and he immediately cut off his conversation with Nigel to stride over to me, plastering a fake grin across his face. “There you are, Ziggy! Great to see you ready to go. You look fucking amazing.” He pulled a pack from his back pocket and shook out a cigarette for me. “You want a fag?”
I reached out and took it, placing it between my lips and leaning forward slightly so Tony could light it for me. His cupped hand smelled of cheap beer and sawdust. I pulled back, taking a deep first drag. “How you feelin’ tonight? You feel good?”
I nodded silently, reaching up to pluck the fag from my mouth and blow out a clean, straight line of expanding smoke.
“Good, that’s great. Top-notch crowd tonight, very excitable. You’ll blow them away, Ziggy, that you will!” I stared into the darkness of the wings, inhaling smoke again. “Right, you will. Yep. Hey, I wanted to introduce you to someone. Think you can meet someone real fast? Won’t take but a minute.” I shrugged.
Tony slung an arm around my shoulders (which was quite a feat since I stood at least two inches taller than him in my bare feet and I was currently wearing heels) and steered me past my band mates towards some kid in the corner who was sitting on a crate. Reading a book.
“Ziggy, I’d like you to meet Brian Campbell.”
Brian looked up from his book at the sound of his name, and I felt my breath leaving my lungs.
He had the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen. Like little crystals of ice.
“Brian’s our new P.A. With things picking up like they are, we needed another one.”
Brian shot to his feet, and I noticed that he dog-eared his page before dropping the book to the floor and holding out one hand to me with a shy smile. My eyes roamed over his face, taking in curved cheekbones and an obscene spattering of pale freckles across the surface of his nose and cheeks. He had blond hair, shaggy and curled angelically past his ears.
I turned to stare blankly at Tony, who at least had the wherewithal to look sheepish.
“It’s um… It’s short for production assistant.” That voice. Young and pure and intolerably silver sweet. He had an Irish accent.
I turned back to Brian and gave him a sharp, flat look. “I know what it fucking means.” I told him with venom on my tongue.
His cheeks turned a delicious shade of pink, and I fought the urge to gag as I shoved a myriad of distinctly un-Ziggy-like feelings down into my stomach, swallowing against them.
“Aw, give the boy a break. He’s brand new! Still a fucking baby.” I tried to ignore Tony’s hand on my arm as I took another deep drag of bitter smoke. “How ‘bout it, Ziggy, can I get you anything? You need anything before the show? You name it, we’ll get it.”
I stared across the wings at Robin who was moving his fingers over his practice keyboard with almost palpable unease. It was only his second night. And we were playing at our biggest venue yet.
“I want my Harptone for the first number. I’m gonna open with Sweet Jane.” When I glanced back at Tony, he was grinning widely beneath his wire-framed glasses.
“That’s the fucking spirit. ‘Ey, Brian.” He snapped at the kid, who was still standing beside us. “Go get the Harptone from Will.”
I stared after that pale blonde hair as he walked off, cigarette left burning towards the filter, forgotten in my hand.
“Don’t worry.” Tony started pulling me towards the spiders. “He’ll be careful with it. If he’s not, I’ll fucking fire his Irish ass.”
I allowed myself to be led towards my band mates, who seemed to straighten and fall quiet as we neared. Mick looked cold and distant, green eyes hard as they avoided glancing in my direction. Woody simply looked a bit uncomfortable, and only Trevor had the decency to pretend he was happy to see me, smiling and nodding lightly as we stepped up to join them.
“How’re you feeling, boys?” Tony asked cheerily, slapping Mick on the back.
“Bloody perfect.” Woody quipped, twirling his drumsticks between nimble fingers.
“Good, good. Great to hear.” Tony clearly didn’t have an ear for sarcasm. “You guys are gonna do so great! It’s gonna be a big, big night.”
My stomach twisted and suddenly all I could hear were the screams. I stared at the wall behind Trevor, eyes going glassy as I tried to focus. I was Ziggy Stardust. Alien Rock God. I lived for the audience. Lived to drive them insane. They wanted to fuck me. Be me. Kill me. And I fed my ego with their desperation.
I zoned out a bit, accepting another cigarette from Tony, who’d taken the butt of my first from between my fingers and flicked it away himself. I hardly heard it when Tony told the spiders that I’d be opening alone, trying not to notice the annoyance in Mick’s tone when he responded. I let the tense cadence of nervous conversation wash over me once they’d moved on to other things, not listening closely to any of the words, just sucking down smoke and trying to be more than human.
After a few minutes, the new P.A. returned with my guitar. He held it out to me, and as I took it he offered me an angelic smile. “Here you are, Mr. Bowie.”
Everyone went still. The voice of whoever had been speaking dropped off with a conspicuous jolt. They were all staring, either at me or at the Campbell kid. All except Trevor, who was staring down at the ground and hiding behind his fringe of soft brown hair, finally looking uncomfortable.
I slung the guitar strap over my head and turned away. “Tell him.” I ordered Tony before walking towards the edges of the curtains, beginning to strum at my strings.
I tried to get out of earshot, but even over the frenzied yells of the beasts on the other side of the stage, I could hear Tony explaining the situation quite emphatically.
David doesn’t like to be called by his name before the shows. David needs to get in character. David should be addressed as Ziggy or not at all until after the show is complete.
The unspoken assumptions were there, bubbling beneath the surface of the tar. David is a star now. He’s a bit eccentric, but we all need to go along with it. His loose screws are what’re making us all a shitload of money, so just shut up and deal with it.
I stood in the wings, staring out at Woody’s drum set and Trevor’s bass as I mouthed the words to Sweet Jane. It wasn’t one of mine, but I knew it by heart. The bloodthirsty animals would like it.
After a minute, Tony appeared at my shoulder again. “Sorry about that, Ziggy. The kid will learn, I promise.” I just nodded, trying to keep my focus where it needed to be. Tony seemed to understand. “Five minutes, rock star.” After that, he left me alone.
I spent the rest of the time fingering numbly, mindlessly, trying to feel careless and invincible. I was above them. All of them.
But the seconds seemed to fly by at an impossible speed and before I knew it, Tony was clapping me on the shoulder. “Ready, Ziggy?” I nodded again, the blood rushing in my ears. “Go blow their fucking minds.”
I stood on the edge of the stage and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the tremor in my fingers. We’d been doing this for six months. Six months already. Stage after stage, song after song, night after night. But this was the biggest audience we’d had to date.
And I never fucking got used to it.
But I didn’t need to. I wasn’t going out there. Ziggy was. So I raised my chin and I filled my heart with poison and my eyes with lust, and I told myself that I would devour them.
When I walked on stage to the deafening sound of thousands of people screaming my name and the name of this body I inhabited, I was Ziggy Stardust.
And I devoured them all.
June 4th, 1972
“And then Lou came in all angry-like, piss drunk, and yells out to the whole bloody room, ‘Who took my fucking cocaine?’” Will, Trevor, and Dean were all laughing so hard, they could barely hold onto their beers. “And,” Woody continued, trying hard not to crack up himself. “The coppers were right outside the door the whole bloody time!” Dean lost it, doubling over on the bed where he was sitting beside Trevor and me.
We were back at the hotel, all crammed into two adjoining rooms for the after party. Everyone got much more relaxed after the shows ended, high on relief and adrenalin and the screams of the crowd. Mick had even sat next to me on the ride back from the venue, complimenting my performance and teasing me about not taking my makeup off when I changed out of my final costume. It probably had more to do with his desire to impress the couple of groupie girls he’d brought along with us to the hotel than with any desire to repair our shattered friendship, but it felt nice all the same.
He was currently pressed into a corner of the room with one of those girls, snogging her sloppily while she pulled on his long black hair and he shoved his hands down the back of her pants. Nobody seemed to care. Half of us were already drunk and Mick had done a line of coke before we even left the stadium. The smell of cigarette smoke had long ago sunk into the sheets and carpet and walls of these rooms, but now the sharp sweet scent of marijuana was threading through the heated air, drifting in from the other bedroom.
I myself was pleasantly buzzed, currently holding my third glass of gin. The boys might joke about my taste in liquor, but we all knew why it really bothered them. Management (AKA Tony) only ever bought beer for the masses. I was special. I got whatever I wanted. So I was leaning against the headboard, sandwiched in between Trevor and Dean, watching everyone laughing and smiling and talking. Enthusiastic conversations and the soft streaming notes of nighttime radio washed over me, soothing my frayed nerves.
I watched as the second groupie, a pretty redhead with pencil-framed eyes and cigarette pants, eyed me from across the room. She’d been kept entertained by Peter up until now, listening to him chatter as he plied her with cheap beer and kept his hand on her waist, but now she saw me looking. Our eyes only met for an instant before I glanced away, feigning interest in Woody’s story, but it was enough. A few moments later I could see her in my periphery, making her way towards me.
One of the equipment monkeys, whichever one had the unfortunate fate of being chosen by Tony to be on David Duty for the night, stepped in front of her before she got too close to the bed, having clearly noticed where her attention was focused. The guy (I think his name was Ned or something mundane like that) glanced backwards at me, a question in his gaze as he held one hand out, stopping the girl like he was a bouncer at a club rather than a skinny little tech boy from Leeds. I let my gaze slide over the girl, considering her for a moment, before I nodded slightly.
Tony set up this system after the first few weeks of tour, when it became clear that too many groupies scrambling for my attention and pawing at me with ravenous fingers made me irritable and flustered. Sometimes I was in the mood for the coy desperation, the shameless neediness produced by the prospect of taking home a little piece of a star. And sometimes I wasn’t. Sometimes I needed time and space to just feel like David. Not Bowie. Not Ziggy. Just me. But tonight I would allow at least one pretty girl to bask in the glow that was my unearthly light.
She slipped past Ned (or whatever his name was) with a shy little smile, but the way she climbed onto the bed and crawled towards me was anything but timid. Her hands landed on my thighs as she leaned over me, a gleam in her pale green eyes.
“Hi, Ziggy.” She breathed, and the shape of her mouth twisted into a light smirk, as if my name was a secret that only she knew.
“Call me David.” I ordered, raising my glass to my lips and taking another sip of dry, bitter liquid. I didn’t reach out to touch her, but that didn’t discourage her from crawling right into my lap and straddling my legs, her painted fingernails scraping playfully along the edge of my shirt collar.
“David.” She repeated with another twist of her lips, a possessive gaze burning into me from under dark lashes. “I’m Genesis.”
I resisted the urge to snicker at her name, which was no doubt a pseudonym. I leaned back against the headboard, giving myself room to breathe since the scent of her perfume was quite strong, something floral and sweet. It was a king bed, but the fit was still tight, Dean’s arm pressed against mine on one side and Trevor’s ankle brushing mine on the other. They had both glanced at ‘Genesis’ with interest when she joined us on the bed, but had already refocused on Will’s story about the time Lou bought a dog off some druggie on the street and brought it with him to a gig, only to have the mutt run on stage in the middle of the show and knock over a bunch of shit. I’d heard the story already. Once from Lou himself.
“Watcha drinkin’?” The groupie asked me cloyingly, clearly trying to maintain my attention as she slid her palms down my chest.
I shrugged and held the glass up, peering down at the clear liquid pooled around three melting ice cubes. “Guess.” I tipped the edge towards her lips and she grinned briefly before leaning in to take a sip. My eyes flickered over her shoulder, catching some movement across the room.
Pale blonde angel curls and lightly speckled skin, sharp edges of collarbone half-visible above the curve of a tight black t-shirt. He held a beer in his hand as he leaned against the wall near the drink table, talking to one of the other P.A.’s. He must have just come in, because I hadn’t seen him since we left the venue. As if he could feel my gaze on him, he turned his head, glancing in my direction. Sharp blue eyes met mine, and his alcohol-flushed cheeks colored a bit more. I felt my mouth curl into a smirk as I watched him, my free hand coming to land lightly on Genesis’ thigh. She hummed against the glass before drawing away, but I held Brian’s gaze. Slowly, beautifully, I watched his ice-clear eyes darken.
He turned away from me again and laughed at something the other P.A. said, a little too loudly, the sound floating above the general din of the room. I suppressed a chuckle, finding the new boy inexplicably entertaining. He bothered me somehow. I wanted to bother him in return. Perhaps it was cruel, the top dog wanting to torment a new kid at the bottom of the hypothetical food chain, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to wipe those pretty little marks from his skin. I wanted to break that smooth silver voice, bring some dark emotion to those bright baby blues.
He was too pure. Too unblemished for a life like this.
“David…” Genesis whined at me, her hips sliding forward as she tried to press closer. Apparently she had said something, but I hadn’t been paying attention. Suddenly, the weight of her body on mine was smothering, the scent of her perfume overwhelming. I didn’t want her anymore. I never had, really.
Without further ado, I hooked my hands under her thighs and dumped her unceremoniously into Dean’s lap. “You’re welcome to stay, darling, but I don’t want you near me again tonight.” I handed my glass to the stunned girl, which she took automatically, then pushed myself up from my seat. I rolled to the opposite side, swinging my leg over Trevor to climb off the bed. I paused for a moment while I straddled his legs, flashing my favorite spider a small smile before leaning in and planting a kiss on his cheek. He just rolled his eyes amiably at me and shoved me off. I swung my other leg over him and stepped gracefully onto the floor, turning immediately and walking to the drink table.
I could tell Brian was watching me out of the corner of his eye as I picked up the ice bucket, gazing down into it. It was half full.
“We’re out of ice.” I remarked to no one in particular.
Tony appeared as if out of the woodwork, having heard me by some disgusting magic possessed only by overbearing managers. “I’ll have someone refill it.” He exclaimed, rushing towards me.
I just shook my head. “No, I’ll do it. Want a bit of air.” I turned, catching Brian’s eye as I moved past him. I allowed myself a small smile, my suspicions that he had been watching me confirmed. Of course, everyone watched me now, so it wasn’t such an unexpected occurrence. That vague sense that everyone in the room knew where I was, was aware of my every move at any point in time, had become almost familiar to me now.
As I made my way towards the exit, I glanced through the doorway that led to the adjoining room. It was darker in there; someone had brought a lava lamp and set it up beside the bed, so the whole room was awash in a green glow, the air heavy with sweet-smelling smoke. Robin was propped up in a chair near the door, his eyes glassy and dazed as he stared at the lava lamp, mouth hanging open. Must’ve been a nerve-wracking night for the poor bastard. I glanced away and pushed the main door open with my shoulder, stepping out into the hallway.
The harsh, fluorescent lighting made the white and gold wallpaper glow with an ugly fierceness. As the door swung shut behind me, the noise of the party was cut off and I was left in blissful near-silence. I could still hear the distant sounds of muffled voices and the buzzing of those horrid lights, but it was better. I focused my gaze on the carpet as I walked down the hall. It probably used to be gold, but now it was just a dull, dirty yellow color that reminded me of piss.
I wandered for maybe two minutes before I found the ice machine tucked away in a little room at the end of one of the halls. I hadn’t seen anyone else except an elderly woman in a dressing gown letting herself into one of the rooms. She had given me a frightened look before ducking inside and closing her door; I’d heard the chain lock sliding into place as I passed. Apparently my hair and makeup, and probably my tight pants, had given her dated sensibilities quite a scare.
I dropped the ice bucket by the machine and leaned back against the opposite wall, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and shaking one out. I brought it to my lips and held it there while I fished out a lighter and lit the tip. The hum of the ice machine combined with the sound of the lights was loud, blocking out any other noises that might have come from the surrounding rooms. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, allowing myself to relax, fag cradled in my left hand.
I blinked my eyes open and glanced sideways. My lips curled up into a small, satisfied smile when I saw him there in the doorway, all angel dust and still-flushed cheeks.
“Hello, Ryan.” I greeted him with a purr in my voice.
“Brian.” He corrected automatically, and my smile widened.
“Whatever.” I brought the cigarette to my lips and inhaled a lungful of smoke, bitter and sweet all at once, holding his gaze the whole time. I didn’t miss it when his eyes flickered down to my lips as they curled around the filter, my cheeks hollowing slightly as I breathed in deeply.
He watched my mouth still as I pulled the cigarette away and released my breath, tendrils of soft grey smoke trickling out from between my parted lips.
A moment passed in silence before he came into the room, crossing slowly in front of me to lean his back against the wall by the ice machine. I could tell from the color in his pale skin and the relaxed, careful nature of his gate that he was at least quite buzzed, but his sharp crystal eyes were still clear and sparkling, full of intelligent intent when they fixed upon me.
“Is it true what they say?” He asked me, lilting accent falling pleasantly against my eardrums.
I smiled ruefully. “That depends. People say a lot of things about me. Care to be more specific?”
He tipped his head back against the wall and looked at me from under his thick, pale eyelashes. “That you’re bent.”
I mimicked his posture, allowing my own hooded eyes to slide slowly down, then back up his body. He was thin, but not scrawny at all. Shorter than me. His porcelain skin sporting constellations of stardust was absolutely ridiculous in its obscene perfection. Worst of all was that beautiful angel face and those eyes that cut, drawing my gaze like a lighthouse.
“You don’t waste time, do you?”
He smiled at that, a slow, almost predatory grin that somehow managed to still look bashful as he ducked his head, golden locks falling across his forehead. “Is that a yes?”
I took another puff from the cigarette, allowing the moment to drag on for a bit. As I blew out a cloud of smoke, I tipped my head slightly to one side. “Why don’t you come find out?”
He wanted to. I could tell he wanted to. But he didn’t just cross the tiny room and put his hands on me already. He had the audacity to look shy about it. I resisted the urge to lick my lips or moan in anticipation as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, one hand rising to run thin fingers through his messy curls, those eyes flickering from me, to the ground, and back to me again.
Finally, he pushed away from the wall. He closed the space between us, slow as torture, and lingered a foot away, hesitating. Then he stepped in closer, his hands finally landing on me, fingers curling around the hem of my shirt, hot breath fanning across my lips.
I allowed myself a small, brief grin before I leaned in, taking my time, and slowly, carefully, bit down on his luscious bottom lip.
He let out a moan that was downright pornographic, and I fought the urge to mirror the obscene sound with one of my own. I pulled back just an inch or two to look into those sapphire eyes, watching as they fluttered open and he gazed at me from under his lashes.
His hands tightened around my shirt, balling the fabric up between his fingers, and he rolled into me, hips pressing deliciously against mine. He was already hard, pressing unashamedly against my thigh, and my breath caught in my throat.
He leaned in slightly so his breath warmed my lips again. “So…” His voice was low, seductive and teasing. “Do I still have to call you Ziggy?” His words were taunting, tone provocative, and a twinge of annoyance shot through me, all the more aggravating because it was laced with arousal. The little shit.
I brought one of my hands to his hip, gripping lightly, tipping the burning end of the cigarette away from him, and let my other slide up into his hair. It was disgustingly soft. Like cat fur and silk. I tangled my fingers in those pale locks and pulled, forcing his head backwards a bit, controlling the distance between our mouths.
“You’ll call me whatever I tell you to.” I all but growled, lips coming down to tease at the skin beneath his ear, tongue slipping provocatively across the pale blue spider webs of his veins. “David’s fine for now.” I breathed, allowing teeth to scrape briefly over the area, drawing another lewd groan from his throat.
“David.” He breathed in response, and I fought against the shudder that ran unbidden down my spine. His voice was too sickly sweet…
I licked a hot, wet stripe up to his mouth, and then I was kissing him, our lips moving together in a way that was much too sinful for such a pretty young thing like Brian. I used my hand in his hair to tip his head to one side, slotting our mouths together so that I could slide my tongue into the warm, inviting space between his parted lips.
He tasted of cheap beer and the sweet corruption of innocence. He kissed like a wanton whore, tongue moving with slick skill against mine.
I pulled away before I could get too lost in the feel of him, too swept up in the pleasure of his taste and his smell, all the things that were too quickly overwhelming me. I tightened my fingers in his hair, holding him back when he tried to chase my mouth, nipping lightly at his bottom lip again before separating completely.
His eyes were hazy with want now, their crystal clarity clouded by lust, by me. But as I looked at him, slowly unthreading my fingers from his silken locks and trailing them down the back of his neck while my other hand brought the still burning cigarette back to my lips, his gaze cleared a bit. His mouth was smeared with gold, leftover remnants of Ziggy still clinging to this body.
Gold suited him.
Brian leaned away, putting more space between our faces while his hips pressed more insistently into mine. He released his hold on my shirt, leaving it rumpled as one of his hands found my belt loop and latched on. There was no doubt that he could feel me now, pressing hard into his hip, but I didn’t mind. That face, that mouth, those eyes, they were worth it.
Said eyes were suddenly twinkling with a mischievousness that I would have found concerning if it wasn’t so damn attractive on him. He brought his free hand up to pluck the fag from between my lips with easy dexterity. He brought the filter to his own mouth and held my gaze as he took a drag, the corners of his lips curling upwards with smug satisfaction. I let my newly empty hand fall back to his hip, gripping lightly, enjoying the feeling of him against me.
“Wow…” His words fell gracefully from his lips with a pale trickle of smoke. “You really like to tell people what to do, eh?”
I felt the set of my jaw tighten at his snide comment, and I wanted to wipe that smirk off his pretty little mouth, but I held myself in check. Instead, I took my fingers from his neck and stole back my cigarette, taking one more long, slow drag before dropping the burnt-up thing to the ground and rubbing it out with the tip of my shoe. The movement succeeded in pressing my thigh more tightly against Brian’s cock, and I watched with enjoyment as his pale spider lashes fluttered, blue ice clouding once again.
“How old are you, anyway?” I asked easily, planting both hands on his hips so I could slip my fingers beneath the edge of his t-shirt, tracing over smooth, soft skin.
“Seventeen.” He answered thoughtlessly, as if it didn’t matter in the least. I looked him over, eyes roaming every curve and plain of his body. I could do seventeen.
“Alright.” I stated simply.
He grinned. It was a not a chaste grin. It was a grin full of promise. The promise of many sordid details to follow. “So you wanna shag?”
I smirked at him, amused by his blunt vulgarity. “Sure, love.”
He glanced around the small, dingy room we were nestled in, his gaze lingering on the doorway, where anyone in the hall could walk by and see us plain as day. “Here?”
My smirk widened into a grin, and I rolled my hips once against his, just to hear that sweet gasp break from between his lips, before I let him go. I stepped out from between Brian and the wall and moved to the doorway in two short steps. I kicked the doorstop out from its spot and let the heavy wooden door swing shut. Then I pushed the doorstop around with my foot until it was wedged under the edge again, where it would stop the door from being opened.
I turned back to my eager angel with a smug smile, but he wasn’t looking impressed by my devious stroke of genius. Instead, he was looking at me with unveiled desire, as if I had just ripped my shirt off and told him I wanted his dick in my ass rather than having performed the simple act of closing a door. It was a look that sent white-hot pleasure trickling through my veins, making my skin tingle with anticipation.
The boy certainly didn’t waste time. In the next moment he was moving towards me, crowding me back against the door and fitting one thigh between my legs, his hands landing on my chest and his mouth crashing into mine with all the eagerness and none of the clumsiness of a sex-starved virgin. I grabbed him about the hips once more, holding him to me (as if he needed any encouragement) as I ground our hips together, pulling a delicious lust-addled moan from his mouth into mine.
I was getting the impression that Brian knew a bit about what he was doing. His tongue was making quick work of me, practically fucking into my mouth with enthusiastic and undeniable talent. His fingers, meanwhile, were slipping down my front to tug my shirt dexterously out of the way so that he could palm across my bare stomach, dragging a breathy, half-aborted groan from my throat as his thumbs dipped below the waistband of my pants.
We had fallen into a sort of messy rhythm as I rocked against his thigh, and each press of friction and filthy slide of his tongue on mine was contributing to the buzz of pleasure rolling through my body. His fingers curled unashamedly over my waistband now, swiping unerringly close to my base. The pressure was building quickly. Too quickly.
With a grunt of effort, I raised one hand to tangle in his hair again, grabbing hard and wrenching his mouth away from mine. I trailed my lips down his jaw and set to work sucking dark bruises into the exposed skin of his throat. I wanted to mark him. I wanted everyone to know what this perfect little angel had been doing.
Brian seemed to like my rough possessiveness, if the short, shallow breaths he was panting were any indication.
“David…” He moaned, breathy and desperate. I bit into his skin, sharp and hard, as my hips snapped forward against his, drawing a high whine of pleasure from him. God, but he was a hot young thing, driving me crazy like this even when I was taking back control.
“You like that, eh?” I mumbled into his skin, scraping teeth and tongue over the dark, purpling marks that now marred the pale perfection of his throat. “Want people to see my marks on you?”
His breath caught, he shivered against me, hands now grasping at the top of my pants as if he needed something to hold on to. “Yes.” He gasped. “Fuck. Yes.” His voice shook, sending hot chills down my spine. I hummed into his neck and nipped at the tender, red and blue skin.
Brian pulled away from me with a short, reluctant groan, only putting a few inches of space between us. I let him go, but kept my hand in his hair, watching as his heat-fever eyes glanced down, his fingers scrabbling at my pants, undoing the buttons with desperate speed.
And then he was dropping to his knees in front of me.
My jaw dropped with a forceful exhale of pleased surprise. He glanced up at me once, eyes full of allure and a twisting smirk of knowing satisfaction. And then he was dipping one hand into my open pants, wrapping warm fingers around my base and pulling my hard length free of the restricting fabric. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the head of my cock, tongue swiping quick and insistent over the tip.
I sagged against the door with a gasp and a low moan, caught off guard (although I shouldn’t have been) by his decisive willingness. I let my eyes slip shut, biting down hard on my lower lip so that I wouldn’t make any more embarrassing noises. It was difficult to hold myself in check, especially while he slid his lips down over my length, jaw opening wide to take me into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth, tongue stroking at my sensitive underside. In just a few seconds, he had taken me down to the hilt, my tip resting heavy against the back of his throat. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning then, my hips jerking forward in a short, uncontrollable movement. He didn’t even gag.
Brian definitely knew what he was doing.
He started moving then, pulling back and bobbing forward again, sheathing me in slick, impossible heat. Over and over. He used his tongue like a pro. I couldn’t even think clearly enough to figure out what exactly he was doing, but whatever it was had my stomach twisting in violent, urgent pleasure. His hands gripped at the back of my legs, fingers digging into my thighs, and my breath was coming in labored, hitching gasps. Fuck, whatever he was doing to me…
I tightened my hand in his hair, just remembering that it was there, and pulled, trying to slow him down. He did slow at that, but he also moaned, the low vibrations around my cock sending shots of tingling heat all through my body. I blinked my eyes open and swallowed thickly, looking down at the extremely arousing view. I took deliberate, heavy breaths, trying to slow my racing heart as I guided Brian into a gentler rhythm.
“Are you always… Such a good little cock slut?” I asked him, voice rough with pleasure. “Or is it- Ah… Mm. Just for me?”
He pulled off my cock with a wet pop and leaned back on his heels, taking a moment of thoughtful consideration. My eyes roamed over his face hungrily, taking in his flushed cheeks, red and swollen lips, shiny with spit, mussed hair, still gripped messily in my long fingers, hooded eyes, clouded even now with a carnal desire that made me want to groan. God, he looked good like that.
“A little of both.” He answered simply, a brief grin flashing over his features.
And then his mouth was on me again. I relaxed my hold on his hair, letting him set the pace now, and tipped my head back against the door with a dull thud. I couldn’t stop the quiet, breathy sounds that were falling from my lips each time he swallowed me down. I couldn’t quite bring myself to care. It just felt so incredibly good. And when the pressure started building in my stomach, I allowed my hips to cant forward, fucking into his capable mouth with each wonderful bob of his head.
My other hand, which had been hanging limply at my side up until this point, came to Brian’s head as well. I wasn’t really guiding him; he’d set the perfect pace. But I threaded my fingers through his silk locks, combing over them with gentle tugs, trying to focus on that tactile sensation so that I could hold off my climax, enjoy this spectacular blow job for a little while longer.
I wasn’t counting on him liking the near-gentle petting. He moaned around my cock again, his hands gripping tighter at the backs of my legs, and shoved his mouth down onto me until my head hit the back of his throat. And then he swallowed.
I came with a strangled moan, my hips jolting forwards as the pleasure washed over me in waves. And fuck me, he was swallowing down everything I gave him.
I came down slowly, almost feeling light-headed after having my brains practically sucked out through the tip of my dick, and couldn’t suppress a small shudder at the feeling of his velvet tongue still moving along my overly sensitive skin. I was leaning heavily against the wall, legs almost shaking with the effort to remain upright. I let my eyes drift open to look down at Brian, meeting his gaze; he’d been watching me. His eyes were still full of something hot and needy, and he was licking up the length of my softening cock in slow, gentle swipes. I swallowed heavily, surprised to feel the stirrings of more arousal at the sight of his beautiful face looking like that.
I relaxed for a few more seconds, resuming the movement of my fingers to card through his softer-than-heaven hair a few more times, leaving it thoroughly messy in the sexiest way. When my breathing had evened out and my heart rate slowed a bit, I dropped my hands with a sigh and leaned my hips back, moving out of his reach so I could tuck myself carefully away and button my pants back up.
Brian’s hands slid down the backs of my legs before falling away, and he stood with a soft hum, wiping the back of one hand across his mouth, leaving it mostly dry of the glistening saliva that had previously clung to those talented lips. I let my gaze trail over him, lingering on his heated eyes, flushed skin, bruised neck, and the obvious bulge of his clearly desperately hard cock outlined in the tight denim of his pants. He looked like a sex-crazed angel, utterly debauched. He was beautiful.
“Right, then. Thanks, mate.” I turned to open the door.
“Wha- Hey! Hold on a second.“ His indignant exclamation stopped me, and I turned back to him with a sly grin.
“Yes?” I crossed my arms over my chest, watching with much amusement as his eyes grew wide with disbelief.
“You’re just gonna leave me here? Like this?” He gestured vaguely towards the bulge in his pants and my grin widened.
“Feel free to stay, love. I’m sure you can take care of that, er, little problem, before returning to the party.” I turned to go once again, but paused with one hand on the doorknob. “Oh, and could you fill the ice before you come back?” I nodded over my shoulder at the forgotten ice bucket, sitting on the floor half-full of melted water. “Thanks, Ryan.”
I kicked the doorstop aside and let myself out, practically glowing with self-satisfaction, the image of that flushed angel face staring at me, stunned, still floating in my mind. I got halfway down the hall before I remembered something.
I turned back and was pushing the door open a few seconds later, smirking when I caught Brian frozen against the far wall, one hand down his pants and blue eyes wide with shock and faux innocence.
“I forgot. What were you reading?” I asked casually.
“Back at the stadium. What were you reading?”
“Oh…” He blinked at me. “Picture of Dorian Gray.”
I considered that for a moment, then nodded shortly. “You should jam the door shut.” I advised him with a small, taunting smile before ducking out into the hall again.
As I walked down the too-bright hallway, staring at the piss-colored carpet, I thought about the new P.A. and his too-pretty face and his too-sweet voice and his too-bright eyes and too-talented cock sucking. And he was reading Dorian Gray. I was fucked.
If this boy stayed on tour for any considerable length of time, he was going to be the death of me.