|
STUCK BY A DRUMMER
This short work in progress orginally appeared on the RIGHT STUFF message board. Here it is in free-flowing, easy to read format!!
Stuck by a Drummer- The Adventure Continues
I knew I had to let him in. Previous experience had taught me that he was a stubborn individual who would think nothing of pounding on my door until the neighbors reinstituted the Lynch Law. Over a year ago, that determined, no-bullshit attitude had made me weak in the knees: now it just made me weak in the stomach.
"KC, come on!! I know you're home and awake," he called. "Your car's in its parking spot and your lights are on."
"You have the persistence of a fucking ferret," I muttered as I undid the bolt and chain lock. As I swung the door open at last I said,"You'd better have a good reason for coming by at this hour."
Paul Devane brushed by me as he came in, his $300 a bottle cologne making my nostrils tingle. As he paused in the entrance hall and looked all around, I was struck at how much he resembled Billy Zane's character from TITANIC: all designer suits, immaculately styled dark hair, and born arrogance. I did have to hand it to him: he was a handsome fucker who knew how to hook women in with money, cars, jewelry, and first class restaurants. But they were never enough to compensate for his jealous and mentally abusive behavior. That was why we'd broken up. That and the fact that I had a problem with being called a slut because I hung around musicians.
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said, giving my loft a last once-over before facing me. "I came by to make sure you were all right."
I burst out laughing. "Oh give me a BREAK!!"
"It's true. I was always fond of you, KC." His stare now alternated between me and the closed bathroom door, beyond which the shower curtains rattled noisily. "So when I was driving by after a late....meeting and saw a glow-in-the-dark, Hell's Angels type jump through your window, seemingly at your invitation, I had to come by and make sure you didn't need an old friend to talk some sense into you."
"Well, I don't," I said firmly, just as the water in the shower stopped running and the curtain rings squeaked as they were pushed along the pole, "so you can go home now and tell your latest conquest that you made it home safely."
The grin he flashed me was anything but warm. "That's what I always liked about you- you never kissed my ass. I always knew where I stood with you. You've made yourself very difficult to forget."
The bathroom door opened then, releasing a warm cloud of steam. Seconds later, Steve stepped out.
I drew my breath in. He only wore a towel knotted around his waist; he was using a smaller one to dry his coal-black hair. His manly face was pinkened from the hot spray and scrubbed clean of eyeliner (although the bruises and cuts were still fairly livid), and even his muscles seemed thicker and more developed under their wet coating.
"I used the last of your shower gel," he was saying, "but when the shops open I promise I'll-"
He stopped when he saw Paul. His dark eyes examined my face, quickly ascertained that this was an uninvited guest, and become cold and hostile when they settled on Paul again. He stood up straighter, flashing his barrel chest and powerful shoulders, and clenched the towel used on his hair in his fist.
"Well, well, " Paul said suavely. "You've slid, KC. You've gone from sleeping with musicians to slumming it with roadies and deadbeats." He nodded at Steve's hands. "Get those callouses taken care of, my friend. Or get a real job and pay someone to do the menial work for you."
Fury flashed in Steve's eyes but he managed to grin sarcastically too. "My condolences, mate. The clubs are shut up by now and you still haven't found a woman to take home? Have you tried the boy bars?"
I chuckled at the thought, making Paul flash me a disgusted glance. "KC, I am well and truly disappointed in you. This rough character now has you thinking that bathroom humor is funny."
"Whether he has or hasn't is no concern of yours, Paul, and hasn't been for awhile." I opened the front door. "You can leave now."
Paul's lips tightened; I could tell it was KILLING him to be blown off in favor of the rougher, less polished Steve. He was clearly struggling for a dignified retort when Steve strode across the floor, leaving a trail of hot water in his wake, and grasped his upper arm. Paul snarled, "Let go of me, you lowlife!" and tried to jerk free, but Steve held on tight.
"Get out," he said in low, threatening tones.
"Or you'll what?" Paul retorted, looking unnerved but determined to maintain his composure. "Mark up my skin with those disgustingly scarred hands of yours?"
"No." Steve gave him the most chilling smile ever. "Normally, when I don't like someone, I have something done to them that guarantees a slow, painful recovery."
You could have heard a pin drop in my loft for the following minutes, as the two men stared each other down. Then Paul swallowed heavily and said, "Fine, KC, since you insist you don't need protecting from this limey mongrel I will leave now."
"I'd appreciate that," I said, rubbing my arms to relieve the goosebumps that Steve's words had created.
Steve escorted him to the door. Paul paused after stepping into the hallway, as if about to offer some derogatory parting shot. He never had the chance: Steve said, "Fuck off you posh motherfucker," and slammed the door. As he turned back toward me, chest still rising and falling heavily in barely contained anger, I could only say, "Thanks."
"No problem," he said. "I'm gathering that was an ex?"
"Yes...an ex who thinks that his family money talks."
"Money does talk," Steve said firmly. "But how you acquire it is the difference. If it's handed to you along with a big fucking silver spoon in your mouth, you'll let it control you and you're a weak-minded idiot like that ponce. But if you earn it yourself, you're always the boss. Always." He smiled at that.
I smiled too. He was right: there was a world of difference between self-made people and those who grew up in marble halls like Paul Devane had. Paul always acted like he was ENTITLED: to first class service, deference from the masses, even me. Steve knew he DESERVED those things from paying his dues. And Steve never lost sight of his humble beginnings, from the look of things: as if Paul would ever have done my laundry!!
"Are you hungry?" I asked at last. God, he was so handsome to me right now.
"Yes, but I'll do the cooking." Steve tied his towel more securely (damn!!), walked past me, and inspected my fridge- precisely what I'd been doing before Paul's unwelcome arrival.
"You cook too?"
"Honey, I can whip up a gourmet meal with the best of them," he boasted, bending over for something.
I couldn't resist: I whipped the towel off his perfect butt. While he froze in astonishment, I opened my bathrobe and pressed my hard nipples against his sold back muscles, sucking and biting at his still damp neck as I did so.
"Christ, woman," he gasped as my hand slid past his waist and encircled his manhood. He shook in ecstasy as I pumped him, using his own pre-ejaculate to jerk him off. Then he backed out of the fridge, turned around, and knocked me to the kitchen floor. I cried out in unbridled pleasure as his muscular body pinned me to the chilly tiles and his powerful erection plowed into me with unbridled force.
"Oh god, Steve," I moaned into his shoulder as he fucked me mercilessly, "this is perfect- so fucking-"
I stopped when I felt him stiffen and then flood me with warmth. That was when I remembered something I should have remembered before the skin tango started- but now it was too late.
|