Don't Walk Away
one.
I couldn't stop staring. Not when the concert started, and not now that it ended. My eyes were glued to his limber frame and I wasn’t ashamed to say that I didn’t care. But, now the concert was over. I was supposed to be home an hour ago, my phone on silent so I 'missed' any calls from my parents. I was too caught up to care. I fingered the hard case that held my phone protectively, my eyes locked on the male that emerged from the back of the stage.
He was beautiful, just like everyone said he would be.
Black shaggy hair and bright shining brown eyes circled heavily in black eyeliner, most of it wiped away after the sweaty gig he had just played with the rest of the band, whom were taking photos and signing shit at the merch table behind the stage. Tattoos running up his arms like vines on an old tree, only peeks of untouched skin were there if you looked hard or long enough. He smelt like sweat, sex, and vanilla, and to be honest I don't think I ever smelt something as great as that before. His smell covered everything, including the bar, which I couldn't get away from; my hands gripped the can of Monster.
God, I wish I had the courage to talk to him.
I had seen girls fling themselves on him, desperately calling him 'Ronnie' and begging for a signature, their hands all over his chest, back and shoulders. He would never turn them down, no. He loved his fans. Loved them now more than ever. He sauntered around the pit like a local god, smiling, chuckling... God he had everyone wrapped around his finger. They all cherished him and drooled over him like a hot piece of meat. Which, in honesty, he was; a hot piece of ass which any girl - or guy - wanted in their bed. I wanted him in my bed. But he would never notice me, the little girl with blonde highlights in her hair, loyally wearing a Falling in Reverse shirt with her black skinny jeans.
An elbow caught my side, something I had become accustomed to from the pit; I ignored the pain swelling from the constant bashing and sipped my energy drink.
"One shot, please."
I almost dropped my Monster. It was him.
I glanced meekly at him, his long legs holding his equally long torso, which I'm sure was covered in tattoos, his arms draped over the edge of the bar as the tender scrambled to find a brand Ronnie would like and promote. He wore a sleevless, no brand black shirt and a pair of bondage pants, strips of leather swaying around his knees, the stence of sweat, vanilla and sex rolling off of him in drowsy waves. I nearly fainted. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head. We locked eyes. I swear to God, I think he was eye-fucking me, right there in that crowded bar area.
"Want one, sugar?"
He was beautiful, just like everyone said he would be.
Black shaggy hair and bright shining brown eyes circled heavily in black eyeliner, most of it wiped away after the sweaty gig he had just played with the rest of the band, whom were taking photos and signing shit at the merch table behind the stage. Tattoos running up his arms like vines on an old tree, only peeks of untouched skin were there if you looked hard or long enough. He smelt like sweat, sex, and vanilla, and to be honest I don't think I ever smelt something as great as that before. His smell covered everything, including the bar, which I couldn't get away from; my hands gripped the can of Monster.
God, I wish I had the courage to talk to him.
I had seen girls fling themselves on him, desperately calling him 'Ronnie' and begging for a signature, their hands all over his chest, back and shoulders. He would never turn them down, no. He loved his fans. Loved them now more than ever. He sauntered around the pit like a local god, smiling, chuckling... God he had everyone wrapped around his finger. They all cherished him and drooled over him like a hot piece of meat. Which, in honesty, he was; a hot piece of ass which any girl - or guy - wanted in their bed. I wanted him in my bed. But he would never notice me, the little girl with blonde highlights in her hair, loyally wearing a Falling in Reverse shirt with her black skinny jeans.
An elbow caught my side, something I had become accustomed to from the pit; I ignored the pain swelling from the constant bashing and sipped my energy drink.
"One shot, please."
I almost dropped my Monster. It was him.
I glanced meekly at him, his long legs holding his equally long torso, which I'm sure was covered in tattoos, his arms draped over the edge of the bar as the tender scrambled to find a brand Ronnie would like and promote. He wore a sleevless, no brand black shirt and a pair of bondage pants, strips of leather swaying around his knees, the stence of sweat, vanilla and sex rolling off of him in drowsy waves. I nearly fainted. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head. We locked eyes. I swear to God, I think he was eye-fucking me, right there in that crowded bar area.
"Want one, sugar?"
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new story! x