Old Murderdolls Stories

100 Forevers

          Acey walked into the dark house, following Wednesday, feeling a little awkward. He was on his way home to New York City after the Murderdolls tour, but his flight from Landis had been delayed until the next afternoon.

          Wednesday had been kind enough to let Acey stay the night at his house. Now, Acey was thankful of course, but being alone with the beautiful singer, even for just a night, was enough to drive him insane.

          At least on the tour bus they’d all been together, and Acey had been distracted enough to keep his hands to himself, keep his wondering eyes off Wednesday. But alone? For the entire night?

          Acey was brought back to his current time and place when he realized Wednesday was talking to him and he blushed and whispered, “Huh?”

          Wednesday looked at him and smiled, didn’t roll his eyes or frown like Acey knew he should have, he just smiled at him.

          “I said the guest room is down the hall,” Wednesday said, and Acey realized, a little dismayed, that he’d been led up the stairs without even realizing it. “You can stay in there. Or, ya know…if you’re freaked out or anything by a different house, you can stay in here with me.”

          Acey’s heart fluttered like a scared bird as he realized he was standing in Wednesday’s dim lit bedroom. He swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to speak.

          “N-no, I’ll be fine in the guestroom.” He cursed his stutter in his head, but Wednesday didn’t seem to notice. Or he didn’t care. The singer just shrugged a shoulder, a flash of disappointment shining in his eyes, completely missed by the jittery guitarist.

          “You can put your bag down in here for now,” Wednesday said, motioning to the duffle bag Acey was pretty much choking the life out of. The guitarist blushed again and set it to the side, then looked at Wednesday. The singer’s brown eyes were so warm, so perfect, Acey thought they might swallow him whole and lead him somewhere…dark and strange, but oddly perfect.

          The singer moved up to him and ran his finger down his throat, played with the collar of his button down shirt. He was so close to Acey, in fact, the guitarist couldn’t remember a time Wednesday had ever gotten this close when he wasn’t on stage, posing for a picture, or drunk.

          “How about a shower?” he asked, brown eyes gazing up, again melting Acey. The guitarist couldn’t speak, only nodded until finally his throat seemed less constricted. Wednesday smiled and slipped past him, rubbing against his body, making Acey shiver.

          The guitarist stood there for a second, then reached down and grabbed his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder and stepping into the dark hallway. He walked towards where he could hear water running and see light spilling into the dark hallway from the open door.

          He leaned against the hallway wall and watched as Wednesday walked out, sweet smile still on his face. He leaned close to Acey, his lips almost brushing his ear, and whispered,

          “I’ll be in my room when you’re done.”

          He walked away, leaving Acey almost trembling. He managed to drag himself into the bathroom and close the door. He dropped his bag and leaned against the door, panting lightly, heart racing. God, did Wednesday have to get so close to him when he spoke? Couldn’t he keep his distance like normal people?

          Acey reminded himself as he pulled his tie off and unbuttoned his shirt that Wednesday wasn’t normal, wasn’t normal at all. And of course, neither was he. Hell, the whole band had been strange, so he should be thankful Wednesday was a fun, playful and sexy kind of strange, not a creepy homicidal kind of strange.