Gorilla and the Metalhead Pt. 12

Five minutes later, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered. Eternal's social pages had created a serious buzz, and the room was full.

Ass To Mouth took to the stage, and as Carlos plugged his guitar in, the room hummed with pre-gig excitement.

"Thanks for welcoming us, Atlanta!" boomed Carlos. "We love playing in our home town, and Eternal is the best metal venue in the entire fuckin' world." He paused as the crowd rose and fell on his words. "But we've got a serious treat for you tonight. Boipussy are gonna fuckin' rock this place tonight, and I've already rocked their lead singer." There was silence, the crowd weren't sure what Carlos meant. "Me and Ace from Boipussy just fucked out on the loading dock, and his ass is already full of my seed. So I wanna see some hot fuckin' sex out there, Atlanta!"

The crowd lost its mind. A2M barrelled headlong into their set, playing paint-stripping metal for 45 minutes. Halfway through their set, Carlos stripped his sweaty t-shirt off and threw it into the crowd. He looked back over his shoulder at Pete as he pounded the living fuck out of his borrowed helldrums.

As they left the stage, Carlos knew they'd given Atlanta a huge Friday night, but more was still to come.

The house lights came back on for a few moments in-between bands. Some of the crowd went outside for a smoke, others went to the bathroom, and the rest crushed against the bar in search of more alcohol. For a few moments, Adahlia, Angelique and Shadow were worked off their feet serving thirsty, sweaty customers.

Backstage, Ace greeted Carlos, who'd had the sense to bring a spare t-shirt. "Fuckin' hot set, dude. We gotta tour together." He leaned forward with an open mouth, and Carlos returned his kiss.

"You press all of my buttons all at once," Ace whispered, running his fingers through Carlos's thick, long Mexican hair. "Your dick felt so good in me. Where the fuck have you been all my life, bitch?"

There was no time for Carlos to answer that unanswerable question, because Boipussy were due on stage.

Lust is overwhelmingly powerful, sometimes irresistibly so, Carlos thought to himself; but lust is not the same thing as love. In any case, tonight wasn't a night for philosophy, it was a night for debauchery.

"Rock the house, dude," Carlos grinned, raising his metal horns. "Get your ass on stage. I've talked you up, don't let us down."

Ace inserted his buttplug and hoisted his tight jeans. The house lights dimmed again, and Boipussy took the stage. Their entire set was balls to the wall metal, and the crowd went berserk. The room was caked in sweat, and walls of steam rose from the moshpit. Pete watched their performance, paying particular attention to the attractive singer as he thrashed and writhed across the stage.

And as soon as the house lights came back on, there was another stampede towards the bar. A DJ was on for the rest of the night.

Boipussy ran offstage where a case of ice-cold beer was waiting for them. Their bass player always drove their truck, because he didn't drink, but the other four band members eagerly replenished lost liquids. Ace lowered his jeans to retract his plug. He lobbed it onto his guitar case.

Carlos walked over to Ace, a beer in his hand. "Hot set."

Ace grinned. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it. You fuckin' rocked the joint too, bitch. I said it before, but I fuckin' mean it -- we need to hit the road together."

Carlos drank to that. "Amen to that, dude. We should talk about that later. Not tonight, but yeah, we can hatch a plan. All the boys in A2M have regular jobs, so we need to think about that."

Ace agreed. "Yeah, we're in a similar position. We planned our current tour -- well, really, it's a mini-tour, only like 6 or 7 nights -- very carefully, finding dates when everyone was available."

Carlos nodded. He knew the logistical nightmare Ace was describing, having done something similar with his own band just a few short months ago. But he knew the huge payoffs from all the hard work it takes to plan a tour even a small one, which include winning new fans and scoring shitloads of no strings attached sex. He looked forward to a time when he could hire a management team to do all the organising, and all he had to worry about was writing tunes, making records, playing shows, and fucking hot men.

Carlos drained the last of his beer. "Back in a second, Ace." He went to the cooler and pulled out two fresh beers. He spied Pete sitting in a corner, chatting to Boipussy's drummer. They were probably talking about drum stuff.

Carlos walked over to Pete, and the drum-related conversation stopped. Carlos handed Pete one of the beers. "Hey, come with me, dude, I want you to meet someone." Pete stood up and followed Carlos across the room.

"Hey, Ace, this is our drummer, Pete." Ace and Pete shook hands like gentlemen, and they mumbled polite hellos to each other. Ace couldn't help noticing how cute Pete was -- his shoulder-length red hair, his freckles, and his fat, wet lips. "Not only is Pete the best drummer on the planet," Carlos continued, "he sucks the best dick in the world."

"Well," Pete said humbly, looking at Ace, "I don't know if that's true, but I've been told I'm good at it."

"If you'll excuse me for a moment," Carlos announced, "I need to make a quick call." "I'll be back in a second." He headed out to the loading dock and speed-dialled Gorilla's number on his cell.

The line rang, and rang, and rang, until Carlos got Gorilla's voicemail. The pre-recorded message was stock-standard: "hey this is Gorilla, leave a message and I'll call you back." Carlos hung up and tried again. This time, Gorilla answered.

"Hey dude," said Gorilla. He'd been asleep, and Carlos's call had woken him up.

"Hey, big guy. I'm sorry to ring you so late ..."

"The life of an up-and-coming rockstar," Gorilla interrupted. "I get it." He yawned, propping himself up on one elbow. "How'd the show go?"

"You first," Carlos volleyed. "How was your day?"

Carlos heard Gorilla's sigh. "I only have two types of days. Days spent at the wheel, and days spent taking some rest. Today was the former, and I'm in Jackson, Mississippi. I was meant to be here yesterday, but I got sent on a wild detour."

"From Oklahoma? Fuck, that sounds like a long drive."

"Ten hours at the wheel, plus an hour at the warehouse each end ... I don't know how much longer I can cope with this."

"I woke you up, didn't I?"

Gorilla grunted.

"Ever since the fire went out," Carlos sang.

"Huh?"

"There's an obscure song by INXS called 'Jackson' that has that line. I don't think they wrote it themselves, I think it's a cover, but I don't know who the original songwriter was."

"Johnny Cash wrote it," Gorilla yawned.

Conversation felt stilted, and there was a pause on the other end of the line. Carlos heard the soft rustling sound of bedsheets. He realised Gorilla was in bed. "Hey, did I wake you up, big guy?" he asked.

"No, dude, I'm wide awake. After a gruelling 12 hour day, I enjoy nothing more than to stay up late watching ... umm ... women's tennis."

Carlos laughed. "Bullshit, dude, you wouldn't watch women's tennis if it was the only show on the dial. You'd probably rather watch paint dry or grass grow. You're so full of shit, but you made me laugh."

At the other end of the line, Gorilla smiled. "So tell me," he said, "how'd the show go tonight?"

"Fuck, man, I've never seen something so awesome come together so quickly. Eternal got the word out online, we played first, then Boipussy smashed the fuckin' walls down. I wish you could've been here for it."

Gorilla wasn't so sure about that.

"I'm calling you from the loading dock. I can't talk for long, we need to pack up and lug out."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Are you on the road again tomorrow, big guy?"

Gorilla couldn't be bothered going through the charade of rustling paper. "Yeah. I've got a couple of shorter runs over the next two days. Heading to Birmingham tomorrow, and I should be back in Atlanta on Sunday afternoon."

"Fuck, dude, can't wait to see you!"

"Thanks, man, but I don't know how much of me you'll see. I need a fucking rest, dude, I feel so worn out, especially after today. I'm taking a few days of my vacation leave in Atlanta. How do you feel about that? Is that OK with you?"

Carlos beamed. "Fuck, dude, of course it's OK with me, big guy!"

"I'll be staying in a hotel, but not the fuckin' Sleep Inn, I've seen enough of those shitty places to last me ten lifetimes. I'm gonna stay somewhere nice. I don't want you to offer to put me up."

"Why?"

"Because I know your apartment is the right size for one person, and not two," Gorilla answered, "because I know you've got a new job and I don't want to get in the way of that, and because I don't want to impose. Besides, I've saved up more than enough money to treat myself."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I am. So long as you don't mind me camping out in your shitty town for a few extra days?"

"I'm looking forward to it already. I think I know where your depot is, should I meet you there?"

"Nah ... don't make a fuss ... let me finish my shift as reg'lar, let me check in, and I'll call you." Gorilla paused for a moment. "Don't get me wrong, I wanna catch up with you, but I need some fuckin' rest, and Atlanta is as good a place to sleep for a week as any."

Carlos understood. "Drive safe until Sunday."

Gorilla grunted.

"I'll let you get back to sleep, dude."

"Thanks for the call, buddy. And have a good night tonight." Gorilla signed off and the line went dead.

Carlos headed back into the green room. He felt on top of the world.

*

Carlos pushed open the door to the dressing room and strode in. He hoped to see an orgy in progress, but at the very least, he expected to see Ace's pants pooled around his ankles with his cock fucking Pete's face. He didn't see either of these things.

The only people in the room were Pete and Ace. Everyone else was out on stage, packing up after the gig. As lead singer, Ace didn't usually bring much gear to a show (all he needed was a microphone and stand, which venues always supplied), and Pete played tonight on a borrowed drumkit.

Carlos saw Ace and Pete sitting side by side on a couch, each with a beer in hand, chatting about music. They stopped talking when they saw him. Pete waved. "Hey, Carlos."

Carlos walked over and pulled up a stool. "Hey. How's it going?"

"We don't have anything to pack up," Ace explained, "so we're just hangin' out together." He pointed to his drink. "Free beers are going down nicely. Out on the stage, amps are being unplugged, axes are being stacked into hardcases, and our drummer is dismantling his kit, but Pete and I currently find ourselves at a loose end. If you'll pardon that expression," he grinned.

"In my experience, there's nothing wrong with being at a loose end," Carlos smirked.

"I know. You've already found yourself at a loose end today," Ace volleyed. "Though hopefully it wasn't too loose for you?"

"Hmm. You've got a thing for thick buttplugs, so I'm going to choose not to answer that question."

Ace laughed, and Pete connected the dots -- Ace and Carlos had somehow managed to squeeze in a quick fuck earlier tonight. Carlos had boomed this news out to the crowd before Ass To Mouth launched into their first tune, but vocal foldback near the drum riser has been a perennial problem at Eternal, and Pete hadn't clearly heard what Carlos said.

Carlos walked across to the chiller to grab a fresh beer. After lifting the lid, he returned to his stool. They talked for a while about how they each got into metal, how they decided they wanted to become musicians, and which bands they loved and which they hated. (Sorry, Def Leppard. Everyone hates you, including the author. You don't even qualify as metal. You suck.)

Carlos snuck away to take a piss. As he walked towards the bathroom, he noticed Eternal was still packed, having turned into a goth/industrial club for the rest of the night. The dancefloor was full of emos, goths and metalheads sweating to the DJ's deep beats, but the band stage had been cleared. While Carlos was gone, Ace and Pete locked eyes, and Ace leaned forward to kiss Pete's cheek. "I like you," he said. Pete responded, and as Ace felt Pete's long, fat tongue swirling around in his mouth, shockwaves travelled down his spine to his cock. "I think you're cute," Ace said.

"You wanna stay at my place tonight, Ace?" Pete whispered, his eyelids droopy with lust.

Ace nodded. "Yeah."

Carlos returned to the green room with an empty bladder.

"Hey, Carlos," said Ace. "I'm gonna be staying here tonight."

Carlos raised his eyebrows, seeking further information.

"Pete has graciously offered me a place on his couch for the night. I'll catch up with the band tomorrow."

Pete dropped a hand onto Ace's knee before looking up at Carlos. "You can come over for a beer, if you want to, Carlos." He turned towards Ace. "And you're welcome to sleep on my couch if you want to, Ace, but you're even more welcome to sleep in my bed. Like, I mean, if you want to, that is."

Wordlessly, the three men stood to leave.

*

Ace told his bandmates not to wait up for him, and Pete arranged to leave his van at the Eternal loading dock overnight. After a quick chat with Adahlia, thanking her and everyone else at Eternal for the opportunity to play tonight, they prepared to leave. Adahlia reminded Carlos that he was working tomorrow night, and that his shift started at 4pm. She knew these three metalheads were about to fuck each other's brains out, and she desperately wished she could watch them, quietly, in a corner. If she could, she'd probably fap herself to death.

They jumped into a cab. Pete and Ace sat next to each other in the back seat, and Carlos sat in the passenger seat. Pete gave the driver instructions and they set off. Pete and Ace sucked face in the backseat. The driver watched them in his rearview mirror -- he could barely keep his eyes on the road. He knew that after dropping his passengers off, he'd need to pull over and jerk himself off before accepting his next fare.

They arrived at Pete's building, and Pete paid the fare electronically. He swiped his access credentials for the building and took his guests up to his floor.

"I don't think I've ever been to your place before, Pete," Carlos admitted as he looked around. "It's really nice."

"Thanks," Pete replied. "And yeah, you haven't," he continued, returning from the fridge with three cold beers.

"Where do you keep your drums?" asked Carlos.

"There isn't enough room here," Pete responded, "so for the most part, I store them where we rehearse. Besides, a drum kit is too noisy for a building like this. I'd get complaints. I've got an electronic kit in my spare room which I use for practice, but it's not the same as playing on a real kit."

"You buying this place?" Carlos asked.

"Hell, no. I'm renting, I imagine you're the same ..."

"Yeah, and my landlord's an absolute cunt," Carlos interrupted, opening his beer. "I can see two possibilities for me in life," he philosophised. "One: I rent forever, because I'll never earn enough to buy a cardboard box in a sewer. Two: I'm an internationally famous rockstar, and I own a mansion in California and ten other places strategically located around the world."

Ace looked out the window, down at the twinkling lights of Atlanta's inner-city traffic. "Shut up about property. Complain about your balance sheets some other time. It's Friday night, we've just fuckin' rocked the house, and we've had a few beers." He paused before pulling his t-shirt over his shoulders. His long, blonde hair fluttered briefly before falling across his back. "Do I really have to be the one who gets this party started? I'm the fuckin' guest!" he protested.

Pete stepped forward. "Come here, sexy," he whispered. He gazed deeply into Ace's eyes before burying his tongue inside his mouth. Ace moaned as his cock pressed against the fabric of his jeans. Ace looped his hands around Pete's back to pull him close. Pete dropped a hand down to feel Ace's tight crotch. "Mmmmmm," he moaned. "You feel good, Ace." He gave Ace's cock a subtle squeeze through his denim. "You're making my mouth water."

Pete kissed Ace's neck, sucking hard as he tasted the salty sweat caked on his skin. Ace threw his head back in bliss. "Fuck, Pete," he seethed.

Carlos watched. His dick was hard, but for now, it stayed in his pants.

"I wanna suck your dick, Ace," Pete whispered. He sank to his knees on his living room carpet, unbuckled Ace's jeans, and pulled them down. Ace's thick, white cock jumped out of his undies, waving and bouncing in front of Pete's hungry lips. Pete touched the tip of Ace's dick, noticing the small amount of precum that had already leaked out. He put his wet fingertip to his mouth and looked up at Ace with the grin of a truly skilled cocksucker who was about to go to work.

Pete gave Ace's cock a couple of tender strokes before impaling his face on it. As a tsunami of sexual pleasure washed through Ace's brain, he nearly fell over as he felt Pete's fat, wet tongue swirling around the head and shaft of his dick. Pete's juicy lips closed tightly around Ace's shaft, sucking it hard into his throat.

"Fuck ... fuck ... you're so fucking good at this, Pete." Every synapse in Ace's brain was on fire. He knew he wouldn't last long. It wasn't possible.

Pete licked and cupped Ace's balls, hungry for their contents. He reached back and tickled Ace's anus with his finger as he sucked, licked and stroked his meat.

Ace felt his knees beginning to tremble. "Fuck, Pete, you're gonna ... fuck, dude, can I cum in your mouth?"

Pete looked up, making eye contact with Ace. He hummed his agreement and stroked Ace's shaft like lightning. He felt Ace's balls begin to tighten, and a thick spray of semen shot onto Pete's fat, hungry tongue. Ace roared as his knees buckled.

Pete looked up at Ace, his mouth open wide, brimming with cum. He washed it around his mouth, and a small amount of Ace's load spilled beyond his lips, dribbling down his chin and neck.

Ace looked down. Pete gulped. He opened his mouth wide, showing his tongue, proving he'd swallowed.

"Fuck, Pete, that was the best blowjob I've ever had." Ace looked across at Carlos. "How long was it?"

Carlos pretended to check his watch. "About a minute."

Pete grinned like the cat that got the cream, which was true in more ways than one. "I've never had a gag reflex," he admitted. Ace's cock was still in his face, slowly deflating. "There are videos of me eating hotdogs in a single gulp."

Neither Ace nor Carlos had any immediate response to this statement, but they both wanted to see those videos. Pete briefly sucked on the tip of Ace's cock to get the dregs of his load.

Carlos unzipped his pants, and Pete scooted across the carpet in search of a second load. Pete sucked Carlos's fat Mexican cock deep into his throat, and Ace moved over towards Carlos.

As Pete tried to suck Carlos's soul out of the end of his dick, Ace tongued and sucked one of Carlos's nipples while he tweaked, teased and pinched the other one with his fingers.

Carlos knew how Ace had felt just a moment ago. "Wait, stop, Pete ... your mouth is too much ... fuck ... I need to sit down."

Carlos flopped down onto the couch and Ace sat next to him, continuing to tease his hard, erect nipples. His long, brown hair cascaded down the back of the couch as Pete kneeled in front of him, his fat dick buried in Pete's throat. His head lolled back in bliss and his eyes were closed.

Ace whispered in Carlos's ear. "How does it feel, bitch?"

Carlos reopened his eyes and gazed at Ace. "Like heaven." He looked down at Pete. The combination of his cute sexy red hair, his beautiful freckles, and his plump, wet lips had pushed Carlos right to the edge. "You're so fuckin' cute, Pete ... I can't hold out any longer."