slaves & polaroids || a heavy metal fanfic

1

"I promise to not be disruptive or barrage into any dressing rooms," her earnest grip on the security guy's chubby arm made him glance at her sideways, "I just need to have a word with the organizers. Please."

The girl, though pretty enough to be worthy of his patience, was beginning to irritate him. He shrugged off her hand and shot her a nasty glare from behind his aviators.

"I will only be a minute! In and out, before you know it, I oath." She tugged at his sleeve, making the box of gear nearly tumble out of his hands.

The girl recoiled as she anticipated the box's crash landing. Thankfully he quickly steadied his grip on it, but didn't waste any time in telling her off.

"Get lost already! Fuck. You think it's an easy job, hauling around guitar pedals? I don't need you hanging on me like a little brat as well." The security guard's voice sounded like it scraped past a cactus lodged in his throat, coupled with a heavy Texan twang.

He noticed she wasn't in lockstep with him anymore. When he turned around, he saw her standing still in the midst of the swarming crew, rubbing the sweat from her forehead under the blistering Dallas sun.

He picked up on how desperate she looked - oceanic eyes scanning the dusty ground for a sign on what she should do, lips stretched into a grimace with gritted teeth, and a camera hanging around her neck, resting heavily on a generous rack. Desperate, and beautiful. A true English rose, ripe for the taking too. She could not have been past her mid-20s.

The road was going to be unending and lonely. His wife back home would only care about the paycheck he slapped down on the kitchen table, not the amount of chicks he banged along the way. Perhaps he could take advantage of the situation with the hopeful girl and find a way for both of them to benefit.

She eventually looked up and noticed he was still there. Her face lit up with a grin of relief. If she could see his true intentions, hidden behind his sunglasses, she wouldn't have been relieved at all.

"Listen sweetheart, I may not have a dressing room," the sudden smile that came over his face made her heart drop onto the floor of her stomach, "but I can make room for a plus one in my bunk and I'm sure the security company won't mind having a hot piece of ass like you tag along for-"

"Hey!"

The big, bald-headed burly man halted his sentence on the command of the much shorter, much scrawnier, slightly younger man. His erratic eyes flickered between the security guard and the girl a few times, like he was calculating what the next move should be.

When he finally decided, he strode right up to the girl, took off the backstage pass that hung around his neck and put it around hers instead.

"She's with me," he muttered with such nonchalance and confidence, the security guard was too ashamed to stick around for a proper investigation.

The predatorial ass she's just had to deal with became an afterthought as she gaped at her savior. His face still had a glow of youth to it, but his receding hairline gave his age away. He nodded at her in greeting and added a tight smile, before setting his sights on getting back to going about his day. Of course he, for some reason, had every intention of keeping the stranger close to him.

"Only I'm not with you," she lowered her head to reach his ear for a whisper, as he led her away with one hand against the small of her back.

"You might want to keep that between us, darling. These barbarians can be quite crude when they come across pretty ladies sniffing around their stage."

Her voice returned to its normal volume, an edge of surprise added to it, "You're a Brit too?"

The realization must've hit him right then that he was talking to someone from his country, because he chuckled heartily and took a step back.