Chapter Text
no chicks on the bus
Arcane Trickster sounded great! They played a new song! It was a great show!!
You gave all the correct responses and said all the usual things when your friends asked about the concert. Only your friend Teddy picked up a little something in your account.
‘What aren’t you telling us?’ he asked you one night. ‘Something is different with you since the concert.’ As you sat out on your back step with him, just the two of you in the summer evening, you could have said. You wanted to tell, but how did you even begin to explain. Certainly, you could give him details. Just the facts, as they say. You were summoned backstage, followed the band back to the hotel, and traded a significant amount of fluids with the lead singer. A succinct and factual account of the night, but far from the whole story. The rest of that story lay beyond your ability to explain. Beyond your ability to comprehend, so when Teddy asked, earnestly, why you’d been in the clouds for weeks, you shrugged. Teddy wasn’t fooled, and when you told him you were attending a second concert tonight, he gave you an aggressive little squish, and told you to have fun.
Despite preparing for this moment, when the security beefcake deposits you at the stage door and points out across the parking lot toward Arcane Trickster, your legs won’t obey your brain. You stall in the doorway, no surer about your place in this surreal tableau than you were last time.
Across the lot, maybe 40 meters away, the band’s bus is parked along the tall fence. On the other side of the fence, rabid fans still crush in, fingers hooked in the chain links hoping to get a look at the musicians. It’s dark—well past midnight—and only the parking lot lighting illuminates the crowd, casting them in harsh shadows that put in mind a hoard of clambering zombies. You hear people calling out the rockers’ names, crying, and declaring various degrees of undying love, including one offer to bear CC’s offspring. You laugh, remembering that you are these people. You’ve stood at a few stage doors in your lifetime, although you can’t recall ever crying, and you’re pretty sure your tits stayed in your shirt at all times. From their side of the fence, you doubt these fans can see the musicians lingering outside the bus. All this excitement is just for the bus and the promise it holds that somewhere inside their favourite idols are hearing their shouts and cheers. CC must hear the offer of paternity though, as he goes around to favour them with a lewd sort of wiggle before retreating behind the cover of the bus once again—the crowd, predictably, loses their minds.
From your side of the fence, coming out of the stage door into the fenced lot, you can see them all.
Eddie and CC are directing two other men on the proper way to load the gear. From here you can hear them razzing the roadies—both musicians sound quite drunk, but the crew is ignoring them with the practiced efficiency of ones who have worked together for years. Sebastian and a tall, thin man in a suit have a quiet discussion near the front of the bus. That means that the lean silhouette sitting against the rear bumper is the silhouette you’re here for.
The harsh security lighting reflects off the chrome tour bus, and provides an ethereal sort of backlighting. Silver curls are gilded in orange light, and the leather of his coat gleams in the sodium glow.
After so many hours pressed against strangers and surrounded by pyrotechnics, the cold night air feels wonderful when it rushes past you into the overheated building. The chill on your neck is so pleasant you sigh in relief.
And you are discovered.
The silhouette’s face is briefly illuminated by a faint glow. The tip of a cigarette burns just a touch brighter as Astarion drags deeply, before pushing off the bumper and starting toward you. As he passes his bandmates, Eddie calls out to help him settle this disagreement with the roadie, but Astarion doesn’t even pause. ‘Hey, dickhead—’ he starts to call after him, but CC leans in and says something to his bandmate.
Eddie lets out a loud Woo! in your direction, his arm more flopping than waving around in his drunken state.
‘Guitar Girl!’
Astarion turns his head just enough to glance at him, then turns back to you. Astarion shakes his head wryly at the still catcalling Eddie, then takes a final pull on his smoke, before flicking it away. A tiny burst of sparks marks where it hits the asphalt, and Astarion exhales the smoke just as he reaches you.
You realize you’re still standing in the doorway, and when you step out toward him the steel door slams behind you, taking the light with it. In the low light Astarion’s expression is unreadable, but you can see his strange carmine gaze. He scans down the entirely of your form, from eyes to feet and back up again. You feel like you’ve just been licked by some giant beast checking you for tastiness, and you resist giggling, suddenly all nerves.
‘Well, look who’s back for more,’ he says quietly, ‘my sweet treat.’
You’ve thought of little else these past few weeks. At first, just drifting along on the high of the concert and your night with Astarion. Then, as the concert date approached, a touch of anxiety kicked in. Arcane Trickster had no fewer than a dozen concerts since you last saw Astarion. That’s a lot of time for a new distraction to come along. A lot of time for him to come out of whatever strange mood possessed him that night.
The idea that you might arrive at this concert only to find that the rockstar had no interest in talking to you was not far from your mind as you drove out tonight. Not only plausible, but entirely possible. He had no way of contacting you. No name, no number—not that he owed you a gentle let down, you told yourself. Gods, you were a bloody mess driving out tonight.
The band took the stage at just after 10pm, and their first song was the biggest hit from their first album. One of those songs that everyone can sing at least a little of, and even people who don’t follow the band know by the first four bars. The crowd lost their mind, surging forward as one, jostling you from your spot at the rail, back and over to the left.
A great spot to watch the show from, but not where Astarion expected to find you.
And he did try to find you.
His performance was flawless, but even as he delivered, the rockstar scanned the front rows, eyes flicking from one face to the next. If you had any doubt that’s what was happening, it was confirmed when he laid eyes on you in the fourth number. Eight bars of intro, he prowled the front of the stage, still scanning until he finally found you. His eyes widened, and he gave you a wave. The same lame little wave you gave him. You about died.
Every worry you had of standing foolishly alone at the end of the show was gone at that moment.
‘Ok, hey—’ Astarion puts his hands up, trying to quiet the audience. He took a long pull on a dark glass bottle while he waited out the crowd. ‘Before this next song, I want to give a shout out to someone. A fan.’ The crowd cheered. ‘—I don’t know her name, but if she’s out there—’ Astarion made an exaggerated show of peering into the crowd, hand shielding his eyes from the glare, and the crowd laughed, ‘—darling, this song has a whole new life for me now.’ He turned toward his bandmates, and hit three chords. Like they’d done a thousand times before, the other three picked up what he was putting down, and they launched into a song.
Your favourite song.
It was the song you played on Astarion’s lap in the hotel room. The song you played on the rock idol’s own guitar while he fucked you in a room full of unsuspecting people.
Physical responses fired all over your body, and you threw your head back, screaming and singing with the rest of the audience. For hours you watched him move, muscles shifting beneath leather, fingers playing over strings. He teased and played with the crowd, drawing more and more screams with every drop of his voice, every cheeky wink, every ‘accidental’ double-entendre.
While he performed he returned often, checking on you. That you were still there? That you were having a good time? When he casually palmed his cock in your direction, the woman in front of you turned around to see who kept drawing the singer’s attention.
It was you!!
‘You’re hard to resist,’ you confirm. Astarion takes another step toward you, closing the distance, and you back up only to find the steel door at your back. Astarion chuckles a low rumble of amusement, and leans a forearm against the door next to your ear. He dips his head, and you watch the slow-motion approach, flitting between his eyes and his lips, painted with a smirk and parted slightly. You anticipate the kiss, and close your eyes.
‘What’s your name, darling?’
‘Huh?’ you reply stupidly, and open your eyes to find Astarion hovering an inch from your lips. He tongues a smooth fang, and smiles smugly at wrongfooting you.
‘Your name.’
‘Oh,’ you manage, ‘Darling will do just fine,’ you tell him.
‘Oh, but I assure you it won’t.’ Astarion tuts, and shakes his head. ‘There are moments that simply demand a name. Something to moan, or to cry out at that peak of pleasure.’ He steps back and examines his nail polish. ’Trust me, darling, I’ve made do without.’ He catches your eye, and you feel pinned in place by it. ‘But, I mean to have a proper name next time.’
Suddenly, your mouth is dry, and your panties soaked. You can’t even imagine the look on your face, but it makes Astarion laugh—a genuine giggle that cracks his seductive mask. ‘What’s your name, love?’ he drops his act, and you suddenly feel even more destabilized by the warmth in his voice. ‘I’ll call you Darling if you prefer, but before this goes any further, I really must insist.’
‘Well, if you insist.’ You beckon him closer.
‘I do.’ he dons his swagger once again to close the last half step.
You thread fingers through his curls and he shivers when your nails scrape over the nape of his neck. Pulling him in you whisper your name next to his ear.
‘Lovely, darling.’ His smile is lopsided when he steps back and your heart stops just a moment. ‘All clear to proceed.’
Astarion slings an arm around your shoulder, and walks you back toward the bus. He lights another cigarette, that you pluck from his fingers the moment it’s lit, and take a couple quick pulls. You blow the smoke into the dark sky before handing it back.
‘No chicks on the bus!’ CC calls out before you’ve even reached the spot where the rest of Arcane Trickster is standing around an orange plastic cooler. Astarion rolls his eyes, ‘Yes, yes. You and your rules.’
Astarion stoops, and pulls two beer from the cooler, opening one and handing it to you without asking.
‘I’m serious, Ancunín—no fucking on the bus.’
You nearly choke, and force down your mouthful of beer in a painful lump. Astarion’s chest twitches once in a silent laugh. ‘Relax Ceece, no one is fucking on the bus.’ It’s right after he says it that he turns to you and says something next to your ear.
Yes, you nod. You’re game to go to the hotel.
‘What was that?’ CC demands. ‘What’d you say?’
You take another swig of the beer and answer before Astarion can. ‘He asked if I wanted to fuck on the bus.’
Astarion laughs, a surprised kind of snort sending a little beer spraying onto the sleeve of his jacket.
‘Sorry, darling. We keep a strict -No chicks on the bus- rule.’ Astarion gives you a disapproving look, then winks.
Every rule has a story behind it, as you well know, and the way everyone’s head swivels toward Eddie makes you think that he’s the reason for this one. You make a mental note to ask about it sometime, when Sebastian pipes up for the first time,
‘There’s no rules where we’re going,’ he says, dramatically, with a pronounced slur to his words. Let’s go!! Christie is probably waiting at the club by now.’
‘Wasn’t it Krista?’ Eddie asks.
‘Your redhead?’ Astarion adds helpfully, ‘I thought it was Crystal.’
CC laughs. ‘You’re going to want to get that name before you go getting your dick wet, Baz.’ He slaps his buddy on the back.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Baz replies, looking at you now.
Your head whips around, to see Astarion looking incredulously at the bassist. ‘Oh,’ says Sebastian—Baz, they seem to call him, ‘so you can bang anonymous women, but I have to take ID?’
‘Arsehole,’ Astarion says without venom, but you notice his ears a little pinker than they were a moment ago. He’s been talking about you.
That knowledge does nothing to quell the swooping in your belly.
You drink beer quietly as the band decompresses, your head swiveling from one to another, like a tennis match, as they joke with each other. Astarion gathers your hair off your shoulder and slips an arm around it again. You’re surprised by that small touch, but manage to disguise the way your knees nearly buckle. Or, so you believe until Astarion’s touch comes back to tease the the line between your ear and your collarbone. ‘I haven’t even begun yet,’ he says so quietly you could be convinced you imagined it, if your body wasn’t reacting so strongly. Already a distracting ache is building, and you’re anxious to get on with this hotel going.
A van pulls around to the renewed squeals of those few dozen fans that remain at the fence.
The driver sticks his head out of the van window, and waves impatiently, and CC, Eddie, and Baz pile in.
‘Coming?’ CC asks through the open window.
‘Yeah, but no. She has her car.’ Astarion gestures to you. ‘We’ll meet you.’ You watch as the van pulls slowly out into traffic, and the lights disappear down the road. Only seconds after its out of view, Astarion is tugging on your hand. ‘Come see the bus.’
Astarion is giddy as he pulls you up the stairs, and on to the bus. He leans past you to flip a switch, and the door closes behind you. There are no lights on, and the few curtains are closed against prying eyes, but Astarion hits a switch and the front portion of the carriage is illuminated revealing a standard RV-type lounge area. Two long leather sofas and a TV bolted to the paneled wall. A box sits open on a table, full of VHS tapes—some in cardboard sleeves, but most bare recordable tapes with handwritten labels.
Astarion sees you peeking inside, and offers an explanation. ‘Our porn,’ his impish smile is begging you to react. You pull out something called The Flintbones, and another called Girlz in the Hood II.
‘I didn’t realize they made a sequel—’ You flip the second one over to read the back. ‘Is it any good?’ Astarion opens his mouth to respond, then stalls, wide eyed and amused. He takes it from you, and drops it back in the box.
‘Back here is where we sleep,’ he gestures to a series of bunks. ‘This is luxury, believe it or not,’ he says, indicating the beds.
Two high, and two sets on each side, this bus sleeps eight people! You can’t even imagine living crushed in like livestock, sleeping 9 inches from your coworkers, for weeks on end. Suddenly the no fucking rule makes a lot of sense.
Astarion tosses back a curtain on the bottom right bunk at the rear of the bus. As if sensing your unspoken thoughts, Astarion tells you, ‘You can see why the hotel is such a luxury, hmm? It’s not worth packing in and out for one night stands, but when we can get it...’ He gestures to the space he just revealed. ‘...and we have a policy—’
‘No fucking on the bus?’
Astarion claps his hands together, mock delighted. ‘Yes! You’ve heard of it!’
‘This is my room.’ he gestures to the tiny space.
You drop to your knees, and put your hands on the bed, to better look inside. Honestly, you should have expected what comes next. A not-too-gentle shove sends you sprawling into the cubby. Astarion crawls in behind you, and rolls you onto your back, grinning down at you for just a moment, before he recomposes his features into seduction.
‘No chicks on the bus is more of a suggestion then?’ You notice in these tight quarters how good this man smells. He should smell of smoke, and sweat—and he does, you suppose, but the smoke scent isn’t acrid, but sweet, like tobacco flower. The sweat is a heady mix of spice and musk that you’re certain is 95% fuck-me pheromones.
‘Oh no,’ Astarion says, closing the curtain behind himself. ‘CC’s very serious about that.’ Now that he has you here, he seems to hesitate. You can practically see the thoughts pinging about behind his eyes.
You can relate, feeling the weight of expectation hanging between you. You’ve already set the bar quite high for yourselves.
You raise a hand to his cheek and Astarion shamelessly leans into it and nuzzles into your palm. A gentle pull brings Astarion down to you. Your tongue teases against his lips, and when he opens his mouth, you deepen the kiss.
Good thing you’re not claustrophobic. You’re pressed to the wall, and with Astarion lying alongside you, propping himself on an elbow next to your head, there’s just barely enough room in here for two. You wonder how Eddie managed to do whatever Eddie did.
Astarion laces his fingers with yours, and briefly catches your bottom lip between his teeth. Soft little grunts mix with sighs mix with muffled wet suction noises as you get more than sufficient confirmation that he’s pleased to see you.
You don’t notice that he’s pressed your hand over your head, until he transfers your wrist to his other hand. One arm pinned between you, and the other held over your head, Astarion still has a hand free, and it begins to roam.
Your skin prickles with anticipation, and already muscles are tensing and twitching.
‘I’ve been lying right here—for weeks!—’ he says between kisses, ‘—thinking about what I’d like to do to you,’ he sighs, ‘and now you’re here.’
No fucking way. You have no idea how to respond to that, so your godsdamned body decides for you, and lets out a most pathetic little whimper.
Quick fingers unbutton your top, and trace the scalloped lines of your bra as he muses. ‘I have so very many ideas,’ he punctuates each word with a step of his fingers as he walks his touch down your belly, stopping at your navel. ‘Cute,’ he says, toying with the steel ball bearing that tops the piercing. The tug on the bar through your skin makes your hips cant up a little. ‘Patience, darling.’ Astarion presses his palm beneath your belly, guiding your hips back down. He takes a deep breath and resumes his speech.
’I know exactly what I’m going to do with you—to you. I could keep you guessing…but I wonder if maybe I should tell you first, action by delicious action. Let it consume your thoughts, like it’s consumed mine, until you’re aching for me to follow through.’
You swallow hard, and try to ignore the ache low in your belly. You can feel the blood rushing to your core, and the thrum of nerves on edge. Fuck, you want to know. You want to hear, despite being certain that his words alone are capable of sending you over the edge.
‘Would you like that?’ He hums against your skin, and trails his lips down your jaw, then your neck, then across your collarbone. ‘To hear about my fantasy? To know how I intend to make you scream?’ His kisses come more insistent, punctuated with soft grunts that have your cunt absolutely throbbing. He scrapes a fingernail gently over your nipple.
Holy fucking shit! What was that?
Your hips jump, and you huff a startled, breathy -haahh- into his mouth, surprised by the strong surge of pleasure that small action shot through you.
You did not know about that spot—not in that way at least. Most of your partners were content to briefly fumble over your breasts like they were tuning in the radio station. How you reached this age without knowing this about your own body is a godsdamned tragedy.
Astarion looks delighted, and does it again, as though confirming cause and effect. He watches you with sharp interest. ‘Make that noise again,’ he growls against your temple. He runs the edge of his nail across the rock hard peak of your breast again, and watches with greedy fascination as your lips part again in a silent gasp.
‘Make me,’ you respond, breathless.
‘Oh, my fuck yes,’ he groans quietly, repeating the movement, making muscles twitch and ripple, building an empty ache you’re nearly rabid to have filled.
‘You are so perfectly responsive, aren’t you?’ he groans. HIs erection is pressing insistently against your thigh, and Astarion shamelessly rubs against you. ‘This is going to be so—’
‘Astarion Ancunín!!’
The sharp sound of someone’s — Eddie, maybe? — voice startles you both, and Astarion slaps a hand over your mouth, and freezes.
A cool breeze flutters the curtain of Astarion’s bunk, and you picture an annoyed looking rockstar standing in the stairwell at the front of the bus with the door open.
‘Put your cock away, and get the fuck out here!’ the drummer bellows again.
It was Eddie, and he’s standing on the asphalt when the two of you emerge looking sheepish a moment later.
‘I was just giving her the tour, Eds,’ Astarion lies, grinning like a Cheshire cat. ‘Relax.’
‘Nice boner, asshole,’ he grumbles nodding at Astarion’s lap. And then gesturing to you, ‘And you’re buttoned up crooked.’ You think there is a note of amusement in his tone…a small one (very small).
‘We’ll get someone to bring your car.’ Eddie says to you.
‘Get in the fucking van.’
