souls of black | fever in, fever out

chapter 122: blood on the dance floor

we's gettin' naughty here, gang.
big ol' smut warning~

That fine drizzle of rain welcomed the circus on the third day there in Seattle, such that Sam didn't want to return back to the Bay Area or to Catalina for that matter. Therein lay a feeling about the Emerald City that something was about to happen. Something huge and beyond what they all expected. The fact that she learned about Metallica touring there in the month before and the whole entire set being a literal flame only added to the feeling. A premonitory feeling that they were all upon a shift of a tide of some sort.
The next morning, as she slipped out of Joey's hotel room on the second floor and past Alex's room next door to the elevator, and she made her way down to breakfast, she overheard Anthrax speaking amongst themselves about it there in the lobby.
"Alright, gang—we've reached the end of the line," Scott declared. "We're facing on a new decade after this. Who knows where we go from here, really."
Even though he hadn't been there for his own band for a time, Sam couldn't help but feel that he was completely right. If Anthrax didn't get it after all the nonsense they had been through, Sam guessed that it would be Testament to take the reigns for the ride straight into the next decade, the Nineties. If not Testament, then the door was open for the Cherry Suicides. One of those three had to get it if Metallica hadn't already.
Only a few months left of the decade and it was officially anyone's guess from that point onward in the music world.
She sat there at Testament's table with her cup of coffee right before her: she set her fedora there on the seat next to her in anticipation of Alex showing up. If Joey showed up there in the lobby first, she would have to run over to Anthrax's table on the other side of the room. But she had faith that Alex was coming, however.
All the while, she sat there next to Greg who appeared to be growing the first beginnings of a beard. Every so often, he showed her a little glimpse with a raise of his eyebrow.
She still owed it to him, but she was really doing it to settle the bet with Alex.
If she did it with Greg, Alex had to be there right before them, just to punish him for being such a bad boy. It seemed unlike her to think these things but she was in the thick of it all, right within the heart of it all.
She moved her fedora out of the way once she recognized that little plume of silvery gray in the doorway.
He showed her a little smile as he took his seat there, and she eyed his little black button up shirt, the lapels of which were covered in slight little wrinkles and a bit of dust.
"Is that new?" she asked him.
"Jesus, Alex, there has to be an iron in your room of some sort," Louie said from her left.
"I dunno if there is, though," Alex confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.
"C'mon, you dusty boy," she encouraged him, and Eric and Belinda both chuckled at that.
"Dusty?" Alex laughed himself.
"Yeah, dusty—" She brushed off the shoulders of his shirt. "You're all dusty and messy and slovenly."
"I ain't slovenly," he insisted.
"Shut up and drink your medicine," she teased him as Chuck passed a little white cup of coffee past Tiffany and Louie, and across the table over to him. Alex picked it up without a moment's hesitation and took a hearty swig of it.
"Medicine indeed," he noted.
"So—Souls of Black," Chuck declared, "I hope we can actually do this and get on Clash of the Titans. If we get it, I foresee us being on top of the world afterwards."
"Who else is on the bill?" Eric asked him with his eyebrows knitted together. "You told me just a little bit ago and I can't—for the life of me—remember it."
Sam giggled at him and he showed her a smile.
"Brain's fried from touring," Greg cracked as he took a sip from his coffee.
"Megadeth is gonna be there—and I think Anthrax, too? Someone else will be there, too, I forget who, though—so that leaves one spot wide open. I hope we get it good."
Sam pictured them on the same bill with Anthrax and Megadeth, and with Joey and Alex jamming together on the same stage. One could only hope, and she could only hope for herself. If it happened, she had faith that the two of them could look at one another in the eye and not feel a need to kill each other.
If there was one drawback with that whole tour for both Practice What You Preach and State of Euphoria, it was the fact that the two of them never seemed to be in the same room together, as if they did that all on purpose. Joey always hung out in his room and Alex always did as well. If Testament got that final slot for Clash of the Titans, then they had to have a reconciliation of some sort.
It would be the Nineties at that point anyways.
To leave behind the old decade in favor of a new one seemed perfect to bury the hatchet between the two of them. It just made perfect sense as they would be given a big reset button. If they buried the hatchet, then she wouldn't have to sneak around as much with Testament. But then again, if that happened, she probably wouldn't see Alex as much in the meantime. She would have to return to Joey and give all the love in the world.
That is if Alex's hand on her knee underneath the table and out of everyone's sight had anything about it. She jerked her knee inwards but his expression never changed for a second. She glanced down at his hand there in between their knees: his fingers bent a bit as if he was ready to touch her again.
Eric made a joke about undoing Belinda's bra right there when Sam felt his fingers once again.
During the whole road trip up from the most southern tip of Los Angeles to Lake Tahoe, not once did he employ that trick on her. But then again, they were both alone on that trip: here they were with the rest of the band as well as Belinda and Tiffany. His pinky and ring fingers caressed over her knee, and she nibbled on her bottom lip at the feeling there. It was amazing to her that he could do that without the ceiling lights reflecting so much on his watch face.
She wondered what he wanted.
But then again, Greg was right there.
She still had to do it with him.
She still had to settle that bet.
Alex was still a bad boy for thinking these things.
That cool demeanor hid something and she had cracked into it by some black magic. She nibbled on her bottom lip again as his middle and index fingers joined onto her knee right then. She thought about the drink he had mentioned before, the virgin screaming orgasm. A part of her wanted him to have a full on screaming orgasm right then for touching her with everyone there and for giving her such a bet to sleep with Greg.
"Alex—a word?" she offered him once she polished off her cup of coffee.
"Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing," he confessed. He slid out of there first and allowed her to put her hat back onto her head.
Sam led him over to the front doors where it was pouring rain outside. Once she ducked around the corner and he followed suit right behind her, she turned around and put her hand right on the crotch of his jeans and fondled him there. She leaned into his face and put her lips to his; he jerked back and looked on at her, baffled.
"You're a bad, bad boy," she taunted him in a hushed voice.
"Thought I was a good boy?" he recalled with a shake of his head. She gripped harder on his crotch: he wasn't firm, but she could feel him in there.
"You're a bad boy and you ain't getting your milk and cookies for it," she teased him, to which he pouted his bottom lip at her.
"Please?" he begged her with a little tilt of his head.
"You ain't getting it," she scoffed at him.
"I want my milk and cookies, though," he begged her.
"You'll get your milk and cookies when you behave," she insisted.
"How do I behave?" he asked her. She gripped even harder on him. "Ow—ow—ow—"
"What's the matter?" she teased him.
"It hurts—"
She loosened her grip and stroked him with the pad of her thumb.
"Come on—" she encouraged him to the closet right behind her. Just like with Cliff, except this time it was in a hotel rather than the subway.
They slipped inside of that cramped closet and he closed the door part of the way. Through the darkness, she held onto him once again, that time with more force. He groaned in pain from the feeling.
"Ow—ow, Samantha—Samantha—you're hurting me—"
"You like a little pain, though, don't you?"
"I do—just not this much, though."
She let go and then slipped her hand down his jeans.
"You're a bad boy," she whispered to him: the edges of her nails grazed against his skin just a bit, enough to bring a soft groan from the inside of his throat. She pressed her fingers a bit harder on his skin. "You're a bad boy—trying to get me to get down with Greg,"
"Oh, shit," he breathed out, and he snickered at that.
"Bad, bad, bad boy—I ought to just bite you right now."
"Why you wanna bite everything, Samantha," he scoffed. "Bite everything and hurt me."
"'Cause you're a bad boy."
"You call me a bad boy again I'm not gonna give you your milk."
"Oh, you're really bad for that." She held onto him and squeezed him extra hard. He showed her his tongue and he pinched his eyes closed. She moved her chest closer to his so her breasts brushed against him. He gave her a soft pained whimper as a result. She kept her mouth closer to his, but she never touched him or kissed him for a second.
Alex shuddered a bit at the feeling between his legs. Sam ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she felt something wet on her finger.
"I thought you said you weren't going to give me any milk," she whispered to him.
"Hurt me," he begged her in a little whisper. "Hurt me for that—god, please—do it. Do it!"
She dug her nails into his skin a little bit, but it was enough to coax a gasp out of him. He pinched his eyes shut and he parted his lips as if he beckoned a kiss from her.
But she resisted. She need not give that to him as of yet.
"What are you," she whispered to him.
"I—" he breathed, and his chest heaved from the feeling. "I—I—"
"What are you," she insisted, still with her voice low.
"I—oh, god—Samantha—"
"What are you," she breathed right into his parted lips.
"A bad motherfucker," he blurted out in a husky voice, and she paid him with a delicate kiss right on the lips.
"What are you," she breathed again: she held onto him so tight that even in the dim light, she could see his face turned bright pink.
"A bad motherfucker," he repeated, and she did it again.
"For real, though—what are you?"
"A bad, bad boy who wants his milk and cookies from his mama," he pleaded to her.
"Oh, you'll get it," she vowed. "You'll get it when the time is right."
"Isn't the time right now?" he asked her in a small voice.
"You need your cookies, though. Can't have either one without the other."
"I'm gonna get so fat hanging out with you..." His voice was mellow and husky, as low as she had ever heard it before.
"I'll keep you going, baby," she vowed to him in a light airy whisper. She put her other hand down his pants for the second part. Alex closed his mouth as she fondled him in the space right between his thighs, right there in the darkness like she did with Cliff. He tilted his head back and groaned in his throat at the feeling.
"Swear to god, you're gonna make me come right in my jeans," he moaned in a pained whimper.
"You should have," she told him.
He whimpered through his gritted teeth. She felt his hand move up her back towards the hooks on her bra, and she wagged a finger at him.
"Don't you dare," she teased him.
"Why can't I?"
"Don't you dare!" she teased him again and she giggled at him.
"But—but—"
"Don't—"
"Sam? Alex?" Tiffany's voice floated in right then.
"God damn it!" Sam groaned.
"Just as I was starting to feel better," he said, still in a husky voice, albeit one that was a bit lower so she wouldn't hear them. "Pick up where we left off later on."
"Deal, baby." She put her lips to his one more time before they bowed out of there. Tiffany had disappeared around the corner but Alex straightened out his shirt and that was enough for Sam to put on a scene for when she came back there. Even though Alex came in his pants, she didn't get any of it on her hands.
"God—such messy boys!" she declared as Tiffany returned to them in the opposite direction.
"Oh, there you guys are! Breakfast is ready."
Alex let out a low whistle as he tugged down his shirt over his belt and the button on his jeans, which was undone for the entirety of breakfast. Joey still hadn't gotten up at that point, either: Scott, Dan, Frank, and Charlie all congregated around that table all by themselves on the far side of the room. Sam paid hardly any attention to the conversation at the table before her as she looked on at them.
She thought of going up to Joey's room and waking him up with her lips around him, but then again, his door might have been locked at that point. There was no way she could do it with him even if she could. Alex said something about Sam herself right then, but she still paid more attention to the table on the other side of the room.
"We've got to record that album, though," Chuck pointed out.
"Samantha wants to go there, though," Alex insisted.
"Don't even know if it's open, though, Alex," Tiffany joined in. "It is Saturday after all."
Sam herself turned to them with the tines of her forks nestled in her lips.
"Talking about the sound garden," Louie explained from across the table.
"Tell you what—if there's time over Thanksgiving, we'll come on back up here," Chuck concluded.
"You'd do that?" Sam asked him, and he nodded his head at that.
"Aw, Chuck, you're too kind."
Since it was their final day there in Seattle, Sam decided to hang out with them all the way until they landed in San Francisco together. She would head on back to her father's house and sleep there for a long time given the sheer extent of the tour and she wasn't in school, either. But there was still one thing that she had to do before they did anything more.
And both Alex and Greg knew it themselves.
Indeed, once they had cleaned their plates, she put her fedora back onto her head and Alex led her back to his room, complete with a gesture to Greg to join them. But he lingered back for Chuck and Tiffany, however. As a result, Sam and Alex awaited them there at the elevator doors: she eyed the slight curve underneath his shirt and she wondered if it came from all of the ginger snaps or just from eating a hearty breakfast, but he looked good with it there. He tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and gave his lush dark hair a little toss back with a flick of his head.
"Man, you look—so utterly gorgeous right now, Alex," Sam noted. "Really gorgeous."
"You think so?"
"Absolutely—decadent—" She lowered her gaze from his chest to his stomach and then his hips and his legs. "Absolutely gorgeous, my sweet friend." She flashed him a wink and he returned the favor with a mischievous little smile: the smile disappeared when something behind her caught his attention. She turned and followed his gaze to the tall guy on the other side of the hall there with a diaper bag over his shoulder. She kept her eye on the thick dense mop of dark curls upon his head as well as his straight nose and the cupid's bow in his mouth.
"God, where's my wife," he muttered, and then he looked on at Alex.
"You that guy who threw a jug of cider at Scott last night?" he demanded.
"Yeah, 'cause they sucked," the guy sneered at him: he was tall, taller than Alex who was rather big himself, and made Sam feel rather minute in comparison.
"You must be that little brat from the Bay Area," he scoffed.
"Me?" Alex chuckled.
"I've seen you up by the sound garden," he said in a singsong voice. "And I've seen you at that theater, too. Total brat."
"Yeah, like you would know," Alex laughed at him.
"You guys are such rock stars," he spat back.
"We ain't rock stars," Alex insisted. "If you knew anything 'bout us, you would know that we're not rock stars. We're just a bunch of guys who happen to play rock n' roll."
"Rock n' roll if it was on a butt," said the guy, and Alex rolled his eyes at that.
"They're not rock stars," Sam joined in right then. "Poison are rock stars. Led Zeppelin are rock stars. And not to mention, you say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is a bad thing," he said to her with a little gyration of his head, "it's all hollow and soulless."
The elevator doors slid open and he brushed past them both without pardoning himself, and he closed the doors before anyone else could stop him. Alex looked over at Sam with a disgusted look on his face.
"Had to have been the rudest person up here in Seattle so far," he told her: for a second, he raised his gaze to right behind her again. "Everyone up here has been real nice to us all so far."
"Wow, what a prick," Chuck declared from right behind Sam. Alex sidled closer to her so he was out of the way of the elevator.
"Called us 'butt rock', too," he remarked as he smoothed the front of his shirt once more, "—whatever the hell that even means."
"Joke's on him, though—you guys are butt rock," Sam pointed out and she slapped Alex right on the seat of his pants.
"We're more like booty rock," Louie joked.
"Ass and titty rock!" Chuck joined in and they burst out laughing.
"Vagina rock," Alex said under his breath, and Sam slapped him on the seat of his pants again.
"Stop spanking me!" he exclaimed, and the whole room froze right then.
"What?" Chuck couldn't keep a straight face upon saying that.
"—is what she said—in her sleep last night," Alex stammered with a gesture over to Sam; all the while, his face turned bright pink with embarrassment and Sam chuckled at that.
"Dreaming about literal butts last night, Sam?" Eric teased her.
"Literal butts with a nice sheen on 'em," she went along with it. "A nice sheen for a nice seat on the rock in question."
Alex and Eric laughed at that; the former then gestured for Greg to follow them into his room there next to the elevator.
"Oh, yeah, that's right! I was gonna help you guys." He raised his eyebrows upon his saying that.
"Help with butts?" Eric joked.
"Help with butts, yes!" Sam cracked back, and she bowed back into Alex's room with him and Greg both. She kept the door ajar behind her by about a half of an inch; she turned to the table underneath the mirror and she spotted a bottle of tomato juice next to a bottle of vodka and a high glass.
"Bloody Maries, Alex?" Greg joked as he took his seat there on the edge of the bed.
"Yes!" Alex exclaimed. "'Cause it puts hair on your chest. Let's see—the bartender told me how to do it... you guys get yourselves ready in the meantime."
Sam turned to Greg and the warmth crossed her face as a result.
"He told you, didn't he?" she said.
"I never forgot!" he admitted.
"So you wanna—do this on the bed or the floor?"
"Whatever makes you most comfortable," he said as he leaned back on the bed. There was a clinking of Alex's glass and he stirred his Bloody Mary.
"I'll watch," he announced as he put his feet up.
"What!" Sam demanded, mortified.
"I wanna watch," Alex repeated, nonplussed. "I wanna watch you guys do it. I am a bad boy, after all."
Sam turned to Greg who raised his eyebrows at her. She hoped that his incoming beard was freshly trimmed as she reclined back on her elbows.
"Well—Frankie and I did watch Charlie and Marla perform oral when they were together," she recalled, and Alex almost gagged on his drink at that.
"That wasn't you, that was the booze, I swear," he promised her with his head bowed a bit. "Bit of extra pepper on that..."
Sam turned to Greg, who undid his jeans for her. She peeled off her top and she climbed on top of him. He smelled of French toast and cologne.
"C'mere, Greggy—" she beckoned him. She pressed her hands on either side of his face and she put her lips onto his and he was quick to set his hands on her back and unhook her. Her bra slid down her arms so he was face to face with her chest. The strap nearly caught on the fire opal bracelet that Chuck gave her but she shook her hand about to rid of it.
"Right there—right there—right on my tit—right there! Yes!"
"Should I use my teeth?" Greg asked her.
"Do it, Greg!" Alex cheered him on from the other side of the room.
A bit of nibbling from him: the first bristles of his beard grazed against her skin, such that it tickled her.
"Lemme get you below the equator," he begged her with a twinkle in his eye.
"As long as I can get you below the equator," she retorted.
"You dare me to do it? 'Cause I dare you to do it."
"Dare to!" Alex cheered her on in a hushed voice.
"Gladly!" Sam said, triumphant over both princes. She let Greg caress over her breasts some more with those callused bass player fingers: long and lanky much like Alex's fingers. The rough skin tickled her more than those first sprigs of hair on his face. The thought of it against the skin between her legs tickled her a bit.
She leaned back towards his belt and she undid the buckle for him. She glanced up at Alex, who sipped on his Bloody Mary through a straw with his eyes hooded and his face blank. He then flashed her a wink; meanwhile, between her legs, Greg undid her jeans for her.
She kept her eyes locked on Alex as she put her lips around Greg's head. She wondered if a little deep into her throat would get Alex going, or perhaps the vodka in that Bloody Mary would do the job better than she ever would.
That smooth velvet tongue caressed over her and the hair that made up his beard brushed against her skin and it made her gasp. But she continued on with the job. She kept her eyes locked on Alex's face as she sank further down towards Greg's body.
"A little blood for your popsicle there?" Alex offered her at one point.
"Joey can never know about this," she proclaimed as she kept her tongue around that erection.
"What if I knock you up, though?" Greg asked her.
"You ain't knocking me up, Greggy," she pointed out, "not with the way you licked me just then."
She gasped when he touched that little bundle of nerves at the way back there. That spot that Joey knew how to touch so well. But Greg was touching it.
Greg was touching it and Alex was watching them all the while: and the only thought that swam through her mind was where they would go from there. She was about to get off right then and there, all from Greg running those fingers on her clit. She was about to get off and also get off: she rolled right off of him onto the foot of the bed, out of breath and with her mouth filled with his taste as well.
She rolled her head over at Alex, who flashed her a wink. Completely naked, she sat upright and strolled over to him.
"We've got our very own stripper, Alex," Greg pointed out as Sam leaned forward into Alex's face. That drink was already getting to him a bit.
"You smell like tomatoes," she told him as she ran her fingers through his hair.
"I'm spicy," he said.
"You cheeky bastard."
"I'm spicy!"
She took a seat on his lap and she put her bare breasts right up into his face. Alex raised his eyebrows at those tight nipples.
"Do I owe you anything, Alex?" she teased him.
"Do you owe me anything? No?"
"I feel like I owe you something, though."
"You don't, though."
"What if I do?"
"You don't, Samantha, I promise."
She eyed the crotch of his jeans.
"Don't even think about it," he nudged her off.
"I'm thinking about it," she said.
"Yeah, she's definitely thinking about it, Alex," Greg added from behind them.
"Bloody Mary and blood on your denim—bad boys need a little lap dance before they get their milk and cookies."
Greg cackled at that as Sam lifted up and ran her bare ass across Alex's lap.
"Yeah, you like a li'l blood on the dance floor, don't ya?" Alex teased her.
"More blood to paint with, of course," she retorted as she took a seat on his lap: she could feel him having risen up right underneath her. He took another sip of Bloody Mary with a hooded look to those deep eyes.
"I see you turning into a little fat rat," she teased him.
"Little fat rat—little fat rat with his hair all over the place," he retorted, and then he shrugged.
"Why'd you shrug?"
"'Cause I could," he replied in a broken voice. She stood up from his lap and then he stood up. With his free hand, Alex undid the buttons on his shirt and showed off his hips to her. Sam set her hand there just to feel him.
"Nice curves, Alejandro," she teased him.
"Nice curves... says the girl with the nice full curves," he breathed out; Greg was still right there behind them. She stooped over for another vampire bite on Alex's skin. She stroked him first with her fingers and then nibbled on him.
"Imagine me as a little fat rat and you're doing this to me," he said, and she ran her tongue over the spot to which he writhed about a bit.
"Does that tickle?" she teased him.
"You have no idea," he said.
A pinch and a poke, a nibble and a lick, and then she rounded it out with a few little kisses. Alex once again had another little bruise on his belly, right above his belt. The mark of the mistress.
Alex finished the rest of his Bloody Mary and then he checked his watch.
"We better get going," he told them. "Don't wanna miss that plane."
Sam ran her fingers through her dark hair and then she turned to Greg, who had put on her bra over his still clothed body.
"Greg—Greg, why are you wearing my bra?" she asked him in a broken voice.
"Why the hell not?" he blurted out as he tossed her panties to her. Her jeans still lay on the side of the bed right next to him. Sam raised an eyebrow at him and the pale washed out tone to his skin.
"You better not get any puke on that thing or I'm going to—literally kill you."
"Kill him after you blew each other into next week," Alex muttered under his breath.
"That's hot," Greg added to that, but Sam rolled her eyes at that as she put her panties back on, followed by her pants.
And the whole entire time, she kept her shoes on.