Duran Duran Oneshots That Are Mainly Crack Ones

Ballroom Blitz

You can't quite believe you're here. You still can't quite believe you're here for this man, who feels so important. In the background, the support act's songs are throbbing loudly, riling up the crowd before the real concert, and the people are all dancing. They're mostly students, out for a drink. It looks great fun, but that's not what you're here for.

You're here for the band. For the guitarist, specifically. Jimmy Blitz.

Feeling out of place in your large duffel coat, you pick your way through the already-drunk crowd, who are dressed in skimpiest dresses they're legally allowed to wear, or dodgy cheap suits. A couple of people give you odd looks. You may look out of place now, but it's what's beneath the coat that counts.

When you arrive at the backstage door, the guard recognises you straight away and grants you access wordlessly. You know Jimmy would raise hell if he couldn't see you before a show. It makes you feel a little used sometimes, but you certainly notice a difference in his confidence and showmanship onstage after you've paid him a visit - besides, this feels like your duty as his girlfriend. And it makes you feel so sexy, too. Plus, he's supported you enough times.

On his door handle, there's a T-shirt hanging there as a warning - the universal sign to the band that he's occupied.

You find him stretched out on his dressing room sofa when you arrive inside. Straight away, he's giving you eyes.

"Ello luv..." he grins, gesturing at your coat, "what are you wearing all that for?"

Cheekily, you stay silent and flash him a winning smile. He raises an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

Still not speaking, you saunter over, hands on your belt and buttons teasingly. You've got his undivided attention now. His eyes are urging you to take it off, and you reach for the hem at the bottom as if you're about to pull it over your head. But instead, much to his frustration, you simply bend down and slip off your heels. You can tell by the way his hands grip the seat that he wants you. You want him, too.

"Hurry up, luv!" He pleads.

"All in good time, Jimmy. Your college friends out in that crowd can wait an extra five minutes..."

He nods frantically in agreement.

This time, when you reach for your belt, you're doing it for real; no more teasing. The stiff fabric falls away from your body to pool at your feet, revealing something that makes Jimmy's eyes go wide.

Beneath it, what you're wearing barely classes as a bra and pants - it's almost nothing. And every part of Jimmy realises that, too. His gaze is hot. He won't let it go, either, and it makes you feel possibly more turned on than him.

"Come ere, luv," he groans, hands grabbing out.

You're only so happy to oblige.

"Of course..." your voice is as seductive as you can make it.

Expertly, you clamber onto his lap. You've had a lot of practice at this. At first you feel like you're completely in control of him, toying with him, even, until he seizes you by the waist and pulls you in closer, flush against his chest, and you know he's destroyed your composure. His lips against yours are demanding, needy, and he isn't shy with his tongue, either. Both of you have closed your eyes, completely lost in the moment. Jimmy's breathing is harsh but that doesn't stop him from pursuing you further; a hand goes from your hips to the catch of the bra, which disappears very quickly. He groans loudly.

That just spurs you on.

Fighting to be the one in control, you push him onto his back on the sofa and straddle his lap, all while he's too transfixed by your breasts to react. His hands are all over them and it only adds to your need for him. Within moments, you've got his leather trousers down, and you're going for the next layer, too. He's sliding a hand down to guide your pants off your hips to the place he wants them so badly. Off of you. Quickly, every barrier between you is gone and he's pleading with you to get to it. You need this too.

Both of your moans combine loudly when you thrust down hard with your hips, suddenly attaching you together. God, it feels wonderful. You wouldn't do this unless you got something out of it, too.

"Fuck!" He calls out, "that's so good,"

The most you can manage is a brisk nod - you can't take just waiting there. After you've gotten used to the feeling of him, you begin to move your hips, slowly at first, but building up force and speed quickly until you're almost moving the sofa. And it feels amazing. Judging by the noises coming out of Jimmy's mouth, he's definitely loving it, too.

"Don't stop, don't stop!"

"I can't stop." You reply, grasping for his shoulders desperately.

You know he's almost there, and his hand reaching between you to assist you even more brings you to a similar situation. There's no greater moment between you two than right now.

His eyes are closed in concentration, mouth wide open and neck tense. You're hunched over him in a similar way.

Finally, with one last movement of your hips, and one last movement of his fingers, you both cry out loudly and shudder. You grasp his back for support. He grasps your hips so hard to attempt to control himself. It doesn't work.

It feels best like this.

Eventually, you've both ridden it out, and you collapse onto his damp chest which heaves beneath you. You're just as out of breath.

"Thank you luv," he gasps, reaching up to tuck some hair behind your ear, "I really needed that tonight, it's a big crowd."

You grin back as well as you can through the panting.

"Oh, Jimmy, it's never a hardship, believe me."

"You're the best girlfriend I could've wished for. Not just any girl would do this for me before every show." He gushed, emotional as hell after that.

"I love you, that's why," you whisper back, into his skin.

"And I love you."

Suddenly, your fleeting romantic moment is broken by a cry of 'TEN MINUTES,' and a curt knock on the door, which forces Jimmy to sit up abruptly. It's almost time for him to go out. He redresses in a hurry, fixes his eyeliner, coats his hair in hairspray and gives you a long, breathy kiss goodbye, before scampering out of the dressing room to join his band mate Robbie in the corridor.

"Break a leg, love!" You cry out after him, and he waves you goodbye for now.

Quickly, you copy his little routine of redressing and making yourself look innocent and presentable, before leaving the dressing room with the same kind of speed. After all, you've got a show to watch, and you wouldn't miss it for the world.