So. This one was particularly fun to do. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it too. Feedback appreciated, also on Rockfic, yadda yadda yadda.

Oh, uh, if you know anything about my fics you’d know what will be going on here, so if you’re not into it, look away. If you don’t mind it, read on. Bon apetit.

GOOD BOY/BAD GIRL

One drink, Grohl. That’s it. Maybe two. Okay, three. Then you’re done. Back to your room like a good boy.

But this isn’t the place to go if you want to be a good boy.

As Dave reached the glass doors - cloaked by a thick dark curtain - and pulled the handle, the wall of noise that greeted him could have swayed him off his feet. It was a nondescript club from the outside, so discreet in its signage that he’d almost missed it. Once he was inside, however, there was no mistaking its raucous grit, the sea of sweltering bodies writhing beneath the flare of LED panels and the clinking glasses keeping an awkward rhythm with every pound of the bass drum. Strangers who, in a fraction of a second, could become the most intimate friends or the most vehement, irrational enemies. Booths lined every wall on the ground and upstairs floors, figures hidden in shadow, the lights dimmed above every table to afford each guest their privacy. This was the place you ended up when you wanted to lose yourself and find someone else.

He scanned the room, doubtful he would find a familiar face but hopeful for a friendly one. A bevy of beauties eyed him from across the bar, some young enough for him to be their father and others more advanced in years, but the best he could muster was a brief flicker of recognition before turning back to the bench and staring at the display. He could approach them if he wanted to, open with casual banter and idle chit-chat, be the star, put on the show. He could have his fill and be on his way. But that novelty would eventually wear thin. Now and then, he wanted to be entertained. He wanted to be looked after. No catch. No expectation. A little reprieve, a taste of anonymity in a world where everyone knew his name.

The hint of perfume piqued his senses first, a curious blend of apple, coconut, jasmine and a musky tone that was somehow familiar but that he couldn’t quite identify. From the corner of his eye he caught glimpses of a bouncy blonde mane, jangly silver jewellery, black nails drumming on the granite bench top, a perfectly painted red pout…

The figure leaned against the bar, wiggling her hips a little and letting her skirt sway around her thighs, not unlike a peacock shimmying its feathers. He kept his eyes pegged on the row of spirits on display at the bar and willed them not to stray over to the lady urging his attention. Let her wait. Let the tension build. If she was worth it, she would show him what she was made of.

But the muscular hand that draped over his and the hirsute forearm that followed it were not those of a lady.

“See anything you like?”

Dave finally turned his head and trailed his gaze up the arm, taking in the cropped jacket adorned with badges screaming various punk slogans and the platinum wig dropping limply over the angled shoulders before coming to rest on the face, recognisable to him even behind all the expertly applied makeup, the features angled into a sly, tantalising grin. Dave blinked rapidly, taken aback, and felt a smile form across his face.

“I do now. Jesus fuck, Taylor, look at you!”

Taylor chuckled and curtseyed mockingly. “I have looked at me. So did everyone within the six blocks it took to walk here in this get-up. Got a few offers, too. Apparently I’m a hot piece of ass.”

“But you were saving yourself for me?”

“I was saving myself for you to buy me a drink first. Then…hmmm, I don’t know, let’s see if you know how to treat a woman.”

“Tease,” Dave sneered. He glided an open palm along the tiny curve of Taylor’s waist. “You look gorgeous. Where did you even find this?”

“Remember that cover shoot I did for the drumming magazine when ‘Everlong’ cracked the Top Ten?” Dave nodded. “Well, I was supposed to return the outfit when we were done but let’s just say it got lost in transit.” Taylor winked, batting a tinted eyelash. “Hey, it’s more comfortable than the heels and the tits I had to wear in the other video.”

“They were nice tits, though.”

“I know - you took every chance you had to cop a feel.”

“Guilty.” Dave’s hand wandered along the path of Taylor’s torso. “So what’ve you got under there?”

Taylor pursed his lips tauntingly, contemplating a response, and then changed his mind. He faced the bar and waved one lacy gloved hand to summon the bartender. “Sir!”

The barkeep sauntered over, not making a secret of his appreciation for the sight he beheld. “What can I get you?”

Taylor glanced at Dave, who gave an open-palmed shrug. “Whatever the lady wants, she should have it.”

“I’d hoped you’d say that.” Taylor nodded at the bartender and cast him a flirtatious peep. “We’ll have champagne. Got any strawberries hidden away back there?”

“We’ve got a lot of strawberries for you, miss,” the bartender smooth-talked.

As he busied himself behind the bar, Dave propped an elbow on the bar top and smirked. “Floozy.”

Taylor feigned indignation and smacked Dave’s arm, causing it to slip out from under his chin. Dave snickered as he caught Taylor’s adorned hand before he had a chance to snatch it away again, toying with the lace looped over each finger. He’d remembered every detail, preserved every piece of the picture right down to the last inch of fabric and bead. As a man, yes, he had to concede, he was stunning. But as a woman, he was heavenly.

“Why don’t we get one of the booths?” Dave suggested once they were provided with their refreshments and they started walking away from the bar.

“What, and put Baby in the corner?” Taylor joshed. “I thought you’d want to show me off.”

“Oh, I do, but then I’d have to fight off all the other guys wanting to get up in this. Tonight I want you all to myself.”

Taylor mused for a beat. “Okay. For tonight. But just so you know, this girl isn’t easy to tie down.”

“Well, this is new.” Dave spread Taylor’s long, slim legs across his lap and admired the fishnet stockings. “Didn’t you have plain skin-toned leggings before?”

“These were my own idea,” Taylor admitted, delicately turning the champagne flute in his hand. “There was just something missing before that I couldn’t put my finger on.”

“I could.” Dave looped a finger through the netting, staring at Taylor through the dim lighting as his other hand began slithering a slow, deliberate path up his calf, around his knee, dipping into the contours of his inner thigh and slipping beneath his skirt…

“I believe there’s something else missing, too,” Dave purred.

A tiny smile curled at the corner of Taylor’s glossed lips. “That’s partly what made the walk here so exciting. Also waiting here. Knowing that with one false move, anybody could see it.”

“So long as nobody could have it.”

“Well…maybe somebody could,” Taylor murmured.

Dave gently brushed the edges of his fingers against him first –petting, tracing the length, pressing a digit against his balls and encouraging an involuntary twitch. His free hand tucked behind Taylor’s back and scooted him closer so that his legs were sprawled completely across his lap and his ass pressed against his thigh, bringing the hand forward again to spread one leg wider for better access to what he desired. As Dave wrapped his fist around Taylor and pumped slowly, Taylor kept hold of the flute and with another covetous palm he teasingly massaged Dave’s leg, slinking down into his thigh and twisting to cup the outside of his stiffening groin. Stares were unbroken. Intentions were wordlessly declared. Movements were almost oblivious to the casually-glancing patron, but then they had a feeling nobody would have stopped them. They were used to an audience.

Taylor brought his legs together and retrieved his hand. With a lascivious wink he lifted his boot and prised Dave’s knees apart, stepping between them and lowering himself onto his knees.

“Hold.”

Dave obliged, pressing his lips together in heightening anticipation as Taylor took his time working the fastener on his trousers. The long eyelashes of his private partner fluttered, the pupils dazzling in the glow of the whirling club lights. He wrenched the trousers from the hips in an achingly slow movement and rested them at Dave’s ankles before kneading the bare thighs with the contrasting textures of smooth palms, calloused fingers and the occasional drag of acrylic nails. The tips of his wig touched eager skin and a stifled, breathy giggle escaped, dissolving into a contented sigh.

The champagne flute slipped out of his hand as Taylor took a sip, holding the liquid in his mouth as he carefully placed the glass on the table. A brief flash glittered in his eyes, an invitation, a dare. Scooping the synthetic hair to one side, he held Dave’s gaze while he lowered his head and meticulously, without spilling a drop, slipped his lips over the head of his cock. Dave exhaled deeply and let his head drop to the back of the lounge, the sensation already maddeningly beautiful. Taylor took him in further, lower, until he was filled. He drew up, lips tightly sealed around the shaft, and down again, finding a pleasant rhythm and raising Dave’s hand to wind around the nape of his neck. Neither knew which was more intoxicating – the other man, the realisation of long-time fantasy, the thrill of possibly being caught or the bubbles fizzing and tickling every inch as Taylor encased Dave in his mouth. The combination of all four sent their senses reeling.

It was a scramble for Taylor to rise to his feet and swallow the champagne, a light dribble falling from the corner of his mouth with a self-conscious titter. It was another scramble for him to yank off his boots and discard them in the corner of the couch, leaving only the allure of his fishnets. He straddled Dave’s lap and mouths and tongues collided ravenously, breaths huffing and arms winding around hips and shoulders. The DJ seamlessly segued into an electronic rock track, its thumping drum beat and rippling guitar effects providing the perfect soundtrack. Dave was still slick from Taylor’s mouth and the champagne and so, flipping his skirt to cover their waists, he rested a hand on Taylor’s hip and gently guided himself in. Taylor let out a long hiss but never once asked him to stop, bracing his legs against his partner and bringing himself down further until they were completely entwined.

Slow, steady rocking, every moment and motion magnified. Foreheads brushing together, breaths heating clammy skin, sighs and moans melding into one melodious hum. Taylor folded one arm around Dave’s neck while the other pressed into the lounge, his hips grinding and rolling in even, indulgent circles. Dave’s hands firmly braced Taylor’s hips, occasionally skimming his fingertips along the netting or smoothing a palm along his back with each rise and fall. A pulse began to build, a delicious throb that craved relief with each stroke. But time lost all meaning, one song melded into another and pleasure verged on delirium as their bodies locked together.

Taylor arched back and braced himself against the edge of the table, his jaw dropping as their pace and volume increased. Gritting his teeth, Dave kept his hand on one of Taylor’s hips and slipped the other beneath his skirt to stroke him frenetically. The champagne flute wavered and tap-danced on the table top and teetered closer to the edge before it fell to the carpet with a muted thud, but neither saw or cared as they galloped towards the brink themselves. Dancers leapt off their feet and stamped together in a wild collective awakening, the music rattling from every corner, careening towards its climax. All energy in the room undulated as one, all bodies electrified and begging for precious release until finally it hit like a tidal wave. None could tell one exalted cry from the other as the unseen tryst in the booth stiffened; trembling, groaning, eyes squeezing shut, tumbling through the swell until it gradually began to ebb.

A long pause before unwinding to catch their breath and drink in the sweet perfection, jittering with each aftershock. The boots remained as they were, the flute retrieved from the floor as Taylor poured another serve and readjusted his outfit. By the time Dave pulled his trousers over his hips Taylor had settled back between his thighs, his back reclining against his chest. Dave crept his fingers along the midriff of his fairest and intently watched him bring the flute to his mouth, the blonde flicking his tongue along his lips before speaking.

“So will you respect me in the morning?”

Dave wrinkled the corners of his mouth so that his eyes glinted. “Oh, you bet. A lady should be treated right. You might even get a champagne breakfast.”

Taylor gave a throaty chuckle. “Good boy.”

“Bad girl,” Dave murmured, and they tilted their heads so that their lips met once more.

THE END