His over sized shirt was unbuttoned and had fallen open to reveal a large tender piece of his flat smooth chest. That made my blood race in my veins (This chapter told as an excerpt from Nikki's d...
Somewhere in L.A.
You know Mick keeps wishing me a good night of fun and yet I’m not sure if I am ever going to get to the actual fun, or is this where my fun will end, just silently stalking. Am I having fun? I guess so. Well let me recount to you diary what happened and then I can better judge for myself.
As I walked down the deserted striped concrete, the houses became less strong structures and more of a hybrid between natural wilderness and city stone. Vines clung tightly to the facades of what were once residential homes. They were gnarled and half dead things that looked like they had choked the life and inhabitants out of their dwellings. The shudders, shingles and all that shit were scattered in loose disheveled herds around the houses and streets. The street was barren terrain. It seemed that the cars had been scared off long ago by the savage landscape and had retreated back to the safety of the flashy Sunset Strip.
Even the lights didn’t seem to reach the depths of which I was walking into. One abandoned streetlight flickered off and on with dim blazes of light and short sharp clicking sounds. When lit, the light burned barely above that of the cinders on the end of a lit cigarette. The yellowish glow was an acidic poison to the surrounding environment, casting menacing glowers over its surroundings. I must have looked like a cadaverous demon when I passed under its sharp eye. It literally went out right as I stepped into the eye of the light beam. That was kind of cool.
The night had a nice bite to it when the wind blew rustling the trees slightly with its invisible caress. I wasn’t cold at all despite being barely dressed. My blood was churning hard and fast in violent hunger as I continued tracking down my prey. The torrid currents of red flooded my vein propelling me forward as if I were a hungry tiger on the haunches of a sweet ripe gazelle.
It felt good to be shrouded in the blissfully dead night. I always loved the night more than the day. It was more welcoming somehow. At least to me, is that weird? Whatever. The crisp air held a small scent of nearby fire, which heightened my drunken lust deep rousing in my belly. As much as I enjoyed the scents and feel of my powerful body gliding through the shadows I was starting to growl in disgust as to which house was the hellhouse I wanted. All the houses looked like the same damn carbon copies of the last crack house I just passed.
I didn’t feel like getting the wrong house and ending up in an actual crack dealer’s joint. Not that I couldn’t use some good stuff, but not tonight. Tonight I wanted to be alert. I wanted my pound of sexy rhythm guitarist flesh and I wanted to pound it. Blackie was right. Keep my head clear, my body calm and this little hunt as he put it will be my conquest. Calm, that’s what I had to be. Calm.
By a sheer stroke of luck, my prized doe was perched atop the front porch. There was a soft melancholy shrug to his shoulders. His fingers crawled over the strings with somber strokes. I knew right away those weren’t the focused somber fingers of a musician. They were the wounded skilled fingers of a man. Something had upset him. I frowned at the thought of someone hurting my prize before I had the chance.
He halted his playing; lifting his cigarette from his lips and exhaled softly. A feint trail of smoke swirled from his lips up into the midnight air. He stared at the plume of smoke but never really seemed to see anything. He replaced it between his thin red lips and began to strum mindlessly again.
I had intended to pin him down and feast on his body ravishing it. It would satisfy my ravenous gnawing hunger, but instead I lurked into the shadows to better watch and study my prey. His back was curled over his guitar in his lap leaning forward just enough for the long fringe of his hair to fall into his eyes only allowing his pale nose and cigarette to peek out beyond the ragged strings. His oversized shirt was unbuttoned and had fallen open to reveal a large tender piece of his flat smooth chest. That made my blood race in my veins - how I wanted to tenderize all his flesh with my teeth, tongue, hands… Dammit! Hang on…
…Okay, diary I think you can guess why I had to stop writng for a minute. Anyways, back to my little posession. He was a mix of emotions, tender to look at and sexy as hell, but dismal all at once. I wanted to rip that guitar out of his hands and dominate his lap.
It was then I heard a soft rustle in the grass. I turned my head sharply, eyes narrowing at what might be hindering my ability to watch my prey or what fiend might be coming to harm him. A tall blonde holding what looked to be a bottle loped sloppily through the shrub covered front yard. It was the Gunner’s bassist, Duff. Pausing a moment, he set his bottle down, pulling off his cowboy boots and his padlock necklace. Somehow he became more graceful and silent without those effects. I crouched low; my guitarist didn’t flinch or appear to have heard him at all.
He leaped like an overgrown monkey onto the railing behind my undisturbed prey. Slowly easing himself down onto the cracked old wood, he prowled nimbly along until he was a few feet from the hunched musician. In one swift motion he flopped into the guitarist’s lap, wrenching away the guitar. My prey gave a start but Duff quickly clasped a large hand over his mouth while squirming to be fully in his band mate’s lap.
“Chill man, it’s me.” Duff had a smile that was cute if not a little catlike. That pissed me off. My guitarist batted away his hand. That made me smile.
“Duff what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His tone was cold. Was he devoid of emotion or was he like Mick and deep inside he was one of the nicest, funniest people on the planet?
“Trying to get your blood moving again.” Duff said grinning with mischievous eyes. “Besides, you left the party early and you looked so sad while you were there.”
“I’m fine man.” He replied pushing the blonde puppy off his lap. He went to grab his guitar, but a large hand encircled his wrist. Bringing it up over his head, Duff pushed him onto his back, pinning him to the porch. The wood creaked and groaned with their weight, masking my groan of frustration.
“I’m fine, fine, fine, fine.” Duff said in a singsong voice. “No, no, no, no you’re not. You’re not even properly drunk.” He pulled the bottle from behind his back and proceeded to pour it over the dark haired man’s mouth. Despite the guitarist’s protests some went down his throat. He coughed slightly and Duff smiled. “Now that you’re drunk let’s play a game.”
“Okay let’s play the one called Duff gets off of me.” He replied without annoyance.
“Uh-uh. That’s no fun.” Duff shook his head. “Let’s play tease Izzy until he smiles.” The blonde’s grin grew huge as he squirmed over my prey. He nipped at his skin, kissed him on the cheek and forehead, pulled goofy faces, even tickled his ribs a bit causing him to laugh as he wiggled and withered under Duff’s hands. He smiled a sublime smile. I gnashed my teeth together to keep from screaming. Duff was the one playing with my prize, not me. I loathed Duff in that moment. I should be the one touching him. I should be the one making him wail and scream. Oh he will scream. He will be screaming my name before I’m through with him.
“All right! All right! I’m smiling! I’m smiling!” He screamed as he tried to fend off the attacks. Finally the teasing stopped as my prey breathed hard and shallow. I was a little more satisfied with myself that the play ended, but a new emotion was building in me. One darker than any other I had felt that night, death.
“You’re an asshole, Duff.” My prey said with a quiet touch of warmth in his voice. Duff hugged him.
“You’re welcome, babe.” He kissed his forehead once again. “Now come o,n let’s go jam before everyone comes home with hangovers and headaches.”
“You don’t have one yet?” He asked as Duff helped him to his feet.
“Nope. Haven’t drunk enough for that. That was just for you, Isbell.” They walked into the house arm in arm with a guitar and an empty vodka bottle.
I didn’t watch them jam together, because I would have ripped Duff to shreds. So I slunk home to lick my wounds. I wanted my prey tonight, but really I think I’m starting to enjoy my little game of cat and mouse. I think I’m going to draw it out a bit more. Get calm. Be cool. The more I wait, the more I crave and the better it’ll be on both sides. But I do need to step up this game a bit…and I know exactly what my next step will be…well I’m not going to tell you right now diary, haha…