Vince goes to visit one of Nikki's old band-mates, and gets a hell of a lot more than he bargained for...
As the singer drove along in his convertible, his hands shook as they clutched the steering wheel. He didn't know why he was going to see that freak, but he knew that it couldn't be good. Any idiot in the world could see that Blackie Lawless was one of the most sick, twisted motherfuckers anyone had ever met. The whole world knew it – it was widely known that he had taken to torturing helpless women up on stage during their concerts, something that had made him public enemy number one in the eyes of Tipper Gore, head of the Parents Music Resource Center.
When Vince reached the house, he sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he took his key out of the ignition of his car. He hated to admit it, but a part of him really was nervous. He'd never met the guy, and Nikki had never said much about him, other than the fact that they had both been strong personalities, thus making the prospect of being in a band together rather difficult. As he made his way up the steps, his pulse quickened, his heart pounding in his chest. He paused on the top step, his finger hovering hesitantly over the doorbell. A lump began to form in his throat, and it just wouldn't budge, no matter how much he tried to wish it away. He took another deep breath, and decided to stop prolonging the agony, pushing the doorbell quickly.
He stood there for a moment, anxiously tapping his foot, briefly wondering whether or not he had time to run for it. Before he could even move an inch, the door opened, and the person he was dreading to see, clad in all black leather, was looking down at him, an amused smirk on his face, towering above him. Damn, that fucker was tall. Sure, Vince normally felt short in comparison to Nikki and Tommy, but Blackie was a different story completely. He was 6'4” in bare feet, and he was never seen in anything but boots.
The bassist quickly glanced over the blond, his arms crossed over his chest, chuckling softly to himself. Vince was so much prettier than he remembered; all the pictures he'd seen all over the metal magazines did not do him justice. He looked so sweet and innocent, with his fluffy white hair, his bleached denim jacket, and his black leather pants that left very little to the imagination. He beckoned the blond inside and shut the door behind them. The singer looked up, and when he saw the grin on Lawless' face, he instantly went into defense mode.
“What do you want with me?” he asked, trying to sound tough but failing, his voice cracking slightly, his body trembling out of fear. You're not afraid of him, Vince told himself, although, in reality, he was.
Blackie laughed and uncrossed his arms, placing his hands on his hips. “Sixx didn't tell you?”
“N-no,” the singer stammered, his voice faltering as he practically cowered beneath the taller man. “T-tell me w-what?”
The older snickered, an evil smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Your little friend Nikki and I agreed to a trade, maybe a year or so ago.”
“A trade?” Vince inquired nervously. He didn't know what was going on, but he sure as hell didn't like where it was going. “What kind of trade?”
“Yes, a trade, blondie.” The bassist, still clearly amused by how oblivious the younger was, laughed to himself before continuing. “You see...” He removed his hands from his own hips before placing them on Vince's, pulling the singer closer, making him feel increasingly uncomfortable. “Your feisty little friend had a bit of a crush on our guitar player, Chris. He begged and pleaded with me to let him have him. 'Just for one night,' he said. So, like I told you, we struck a deal.”
The blond squirmed, but Blackie just tightened his grip on his hips, laughing at his feeble attempt to escape. “What exactly did this deal entail?” Vince asked defensively.
“Oh, not much,” the taller replied with a snicker, looking down at the singer. “We came to the agreement that he could have his night with Holmes...providing that I was allowed a night with you.”
Vince swore he felt his heart stop. That freak wanted a night with him? What the fuck did that mean? The singer wasn't even sure that he wanted to know. Fear raced through his veins, and it showed. Blackie laughed once again as he saw Vince's eyes go wide. Damn, that fucker needed to stop laughing. It wasn't funny in the least.
“Don't look so scared,” he said, visibly entertained by the trembling singer. He was having exactly the effect on the little blond that he wanted. He pulled him closer, their hips touching, and gently trailed one fingertip alone Vince's jawline. “I don't bite,” he whispered, grinning that devilish grin, with a wicked glint in his eye. “Hard.” Before the singer could protest any further, Blackie pulled him by his hair and caught his mouth in a kiss.
The blond singer struggled against the older man, trying to push him away, but simply wasn't strong enough. Blackie broke the kiss and snickered to himself, still keeping a firm grip on Vince's hips. “Now, now, my feisty little friend,” he said teasingly, as if wagging a disapproving finger in the younger's face. “Need I remind you that we had a deal?”
“And what if I refuse?” Vince asked in response, with a sudden burst of confidence. But that confidence was quickly torn to shreds as the older man's mouth formed into a smirk, and his fingers tangled in the singer's blond tresses, gripping tightly and yanking him closer roughly. “You don't get a say in this, blondie,” the taller man snarled, looking at Vince with a spark in his eyes. “I can easily kick your ass into next century. So we can either do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way.”