Turned at a Concert

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SLOW BURN.

Keegan had a dark side that not many knew about. He was a popular kid in high school, and now as an adult, he was considered tidy and scrupulous - from an outsider's perspective. When people saw him, they would peg him as a Christian, a mama's boy, a player, a simple 9-5 office man. He looked like the type of guy you'd find at a country club golf course. Of course, all that changed when he got some alone time.

Truthfully, he hated his job. He hated wearing sweltering suits and throat-constricting collars, ugly ties, professional shirts that were in constant rotations between his closet and the dry cleaners - a tedious task he deemed unnecessary yet had to perform - and the awful-fitting slacks that blistered his heels. In his dream life, Keegan would wear black band tees and jeans every day, and he'd never have to roll down sleeves to keep his many (secret) tattoos covered. But alas, that was only for the weekends, where no one could see him release.

It was a Thursday when his life changed. Attending a rock concert on a Thursday spelled recipe for disaster, but Keegan was at his wit's end with his boring 9-5. So what if he came to the job exhausted and hungover; he could just scroll on Facebook instead of working, and his manager wouldn't know the difference. So balling up his tie at the turn of the clock, he eagerly made for his car, quickly buying the ticket online and screenshotting the receipt.

Three hours later, Keegan was pulling up to the venue's parking lot. He was freed of choking professional wear at last: all but unrecognizable, his favorite metal band glared off his chest, vivid designs sharp on black fabric, and his hair was a jagged mess. Perfectly friendly concert attire. He moved quick through the line, and although self-conscious that he'd come alone, he felt at ease enough inside.

The place was hot and humid with a thick crowd already. Now, this came Keegan's secret love of these concerts; the closeness of the crowd, the envelopment of people like him, gothic girls in black skirts, muscular men to fist-fight in the pit; there was something undeniably arousing about it. Keegan enjoyed being the largest man in the crowd, for the girls usually flocked towards him, and the men in the pit tended to square up. Here, there was no managers or white shirts, no bitter coffee and Mormon expectations. He was free to fight and fuck as he pleased.

He'd hooked up with a fair amount of girls here. Tonight, with the first band's theme being entirely centered on sex and drugs, Keegan found himself trying a little harder than usual to find a potential match. He sang along, he eyed various dyed heads; jostled on all sides by the crowd, he found he could let himself be pushed and shoved, and that closeness, it was enough to incite the lust inside. He even let a man bowl into his chest for no other reason than the contact. Of course, the guy backed down when he was faced with Keegan's height.

But when the final band came onstage, he realized this night might not go as planned.

It was the lead vocalist. He'd never heard of this band before, never seen them, but the minute the singer stalked onstage, a lasso of stilling intrigue lashed around him. From the crowd, he met his eyes - one in a ten thousand chance - and saw dark brown irises framed by smudged liner, a typical rocker getup, but this one made it different. Sprawling tattoos gleamed on him from hands to neck. He was shirtless, tan, thin, and wiry, but undoubtedly muscular. The vocalist held Keegan's stare for two long seconds before looking away.

"Let's get this shit started," he said into the mic. Dark and quiet. But the crowd - which had doubled since he appeared - roared its fevered approval. Keegan was silently impressed at the hold this man had over them, despite his low-key stature, so foreign from a star's usual zest. He could speak a simple flat word and have the crowd bouncing.

The music started. Already, Keegan could feel the difference. It vibrated the floors, the riffs thick, refined, unapologetically stoic. It was just his taste, he realized. How had he never heard of this band before?

He bought a beer, and another, and another. By the time he wormed back towards the stage, the main vocalist had met his eyes a total of ten times. This may seem an indifferent amount to the outsider, but in the world of heavy metal, this was an uncanny, spectacular number. Singers tended to avoid the eyes of their fans. But Keegan was no fan - yet. Their music grew swift on him. He sang lyrics he didn't know, bounced through the crowd to an unfamiliar beat. Throughout it all, the main vocalist continued to catch him with a brooding stare.

A fourth beer down, and Keegan was feeling himself. The music grew closer, the crowd, friendlier. Body after body collided with his chest - he knew they did it on purpose - and just as often, he felt something spark an inferno through him, a playful, lustful wash through his veins. He dared to meet the handsome singer's eye as often as possible. And after the twentieth chance contact, he knew it wasn't just a coincidence.

But then something happened halfway through the leading act. Keegan had made it to the very front of the stage, half-drunk and grabbing it's metal surface for stability, when the singer abruptly halted. The vocals to the song cut off. Glaring into the crowd, he shouted something.

It took a second for him to lift the mic to his lips so all could hear. "Out," he was demanding. "Get the fuck out of here. You, in the red shirt - yeah you, fuckass. Get out."

Keegan knew it was his cue, as unofficial venue security. Elbowing through the crowd, he sought the man in question - a sheepish, sweat-faced moron - and promptly dragged him by the elbow towards the exit. He wasn't coherent enough to know why the singer wanted him out, or why the crowd was parting for him, or even, subconsciously, the number of eyes that were taking in the scene, placing him as a major character in this happening; only that it was the right thing to do. Thrusting the man with all his might, Keegan beat him out the door and made back for the stage.

"Take that as a warning for all of you!" The vocalist was bellowing to the crowd. "We don't tolerate that shit in our crowds. You hear me?"

It took all but microseconds for the crowd to scream, to roar their response. Keegan himself joined in. It took a surprisingly swift amount of time to wade back to the front of the crowd, where he was free to sing, to dance, and more importantly, to gawk the vocalist down, without a drunken care in the world. So what if on weekdays, he was straight; something was happening here. And he intended to find out what.

The concert ended. Keegan half-wished it wouldn't, even though he'd gotten what he came here for; several girls had eyed him all night, and some even dared to venture close enough to touch. Oddly enough, Keegan wasn't engaging them. He leaned at the stage even as the fans melted away, and eventually the girls as well.

Senses tingled in his skin. And sure enough: the time came.

"Big guy," the main vocalist - a euphoric, stunning voice - called to him, and him only. "What're you waiting around for? You gonna help us take this down?"

He was kicking his foot towards a hefty subwoofer with an inquiring glance. Buzzed, boozed up, Keegan had to blink twice to realize he'd been directly addressed. "You want me to what, now?" He asked incredulously.

"If it's not too much for you," the singer said dryly, "Come take this shit."

Keegan knew an invitation when he saw it. As the singer lifted the subwoofer, arms straining, he was right at the end of the stage, ready to take it in his arms. "Bring it out the back to the van," the vocalist instructed, that calm, melodic voice.

"Yes, sir," Keegan automatically responded. He was too drunk for nervousness, too bold to do anything but obey. He marched for the back doors and stowed the black boxes in the back of the directed van.

"Another one," the handsome singer called when he returned inside. This time - when he dropped the box into Keegan's arms - he felt their arms brush. A volt of something foreign, yet not displeasing, sang immediately through his skin. He was fighting with himself on what to name this new sensation as he brought the next subwoofer out.

Soon, he was bringing speakers, and then, he was trusted with drums, with chords and instruments, guitars and keyboards. The band was testing his strength; by the time he returned, the entire stage had been cleared, and the drummer was winding up the last of the wires.

"Mind giving me a hand down?" The singer grunted. Dark hair in his eyes, he watched Keegan approach.

"Yes sir," He replied. And his palm met the vocalist's.

It was warm and sweated from the excursion of the concert. A fluid momentum, and he was on the ground, and Keegan realized - with a fiery jolt - he was absolutely towering above him. He watched something shock to life in the rocker's eyes as he tilted his head up to stare.

"Oh," he said, in a suddenly small voice. "You're... pretty tall..."

He must've come up to his elbow, or less. Keegan was stunned at the difference; onstage, he hadn't seemed so short. For a moment he was wordless. "Nice to meet you," he managed lamely. "I'm Keegan."

The singer eyed him for a long, long moment.

"Angel." He extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

Keegan shook Angel's hand. Although it was the fifth contact they'd made, he felt same sudden, adrenaline chill race up his forearm. He watched Angel's dark eyes traverse the expanse of his veined skin before looking away.

"Thanks for tossing out that douchebag earlier," the vocalist told him. "I can't stand his type. They'll grope every girl from here to Chicago."

So that was the reason he'd wanted him out. Keegan nodded, reassured that he'd done the right thing. "I'm glad you called him out for it, man. Those assholes get away with too much."

"Right?" Angel offered him a friendly grin. "Well, I'm glad you were there to step in."

Keegan couldn't get over their height difference. He shadowed the little singer. Hands warm, chest tingling, something was purring inside him. "Of course," he responded. "It's no problem, sir."

He watched Angel's fine lips twitch in a smirk.

"Keep calling me that," he decided. "I think I have more work for you, if you don't mind."

Keegan felt his own smile darken. "Yes sir."

-

Angel was a natural charmer. He was fluid, he was kind, yet sharp in all the right places, funny at just the right moments. It was no wonder he was a rock star; Keegan was drawn into every word he spoke, allured at every movement he made, every time his dark, black eyes met his own. Something dangerous smoldered within them. All that he knew - he was horny. Angel's very presence was an aphrodisiac.

Maybe it was more than their conversation topic, which was sexuality. Maybe it was the way his soft hand continuously found itself on Keegan's tattoos. Maybe it was his eyes; maybe it was all of him. No matter what, Keegan's arousal was building.

"So," Angel was saying, tatted elbows on the bar. "You've never had a threesome? Never?"

Keegan wasn't sure how their conversation had gotten here. "Never," he said. "But I've always wondered what it's like." He watched Angel's eyes shamelessly roam his body, and the flame in his stomach spluttered a little higher.

"Would you rather it be with two girls, or with another man?" Angel asked quietly.

Keegan found himself short of breath.

"...It depends," he said, truthfully. "If it were with another guy... it would have to be just the right one."

"Oh?" Angel inquired. He swiveled then, turning his bar stool to face Keegan's much more intimately, his thighs spread. "What kind of guy would be the right one?"

Keegan prayed his discrepant hints had been led in the right direction before responding.

"...Someone shorter than me," he responded quietly. "With brown eyes... and lots of tattoos." He dared to let his eyes roam. Down Angels' inked arms, up his bare, muscled torso. To the lines of his abdomen and beyond. "Curly hair, a nice smile... and he'd have to be a fan of metal, too."

Angel had watched his eyes roam, and to his delight, to his passion, he was returning the stare.

"I think I know a guy like that," he said huskily.

Keegan felt himself shift forwards. "Maybe you could introduce me."

His heart was pounding. His buzzed veins, alight. And in Angel's dark, smoldering eyes, he couldn't be mistaking the same emotion glowing within.

The singer moistened his lips in a slow, methodical bite. "Come with me, then," he whispered. "I think you'll like him."

"Oh?" Keegan felt something burn in a trail up his chest.

"Mm-hmm." Angel's eyes dropped. Straight, direct to the front of Keegan's jeans. Then back up. "Follow me?"

Keegan was short of breath, but he replied nonetheless: "Yes, sir."

-

They staggered along. Down past the green room, down to areas of the venue that Keegan didn't even know existed, despite his years of presence. Down a side door, beneath the wood stage, into a dim, obviously ancient series of broom-closet changing rooms, Angel led him along.

"They told us these are from when the bar was a brothel," the singer told him, as they opened a seemingly random booth. "These walls are historic."

"I bet they are," Keegan said with little interest in the surroundings, when he abruptly grasped his neck in two hands and yanked him - yanked with all his might - into a violent, passionate kiss.

All in the world burned away as Angel kissed him back. It was slow, it was forceful, it was consuming; everything around was gone and dead, and all was left was the feel of Angel's hot lips pressed to his, the taste of sweet booze soaking his tongue, dancing in tune with Angel's heavy breaths, the fact that this was a man, so distant from his usual hookups, so flavorful, so fiery in everything he said and did; Keegan's jeans were straining in a vicious arousal as he hooked Angel into his arms and slammed him down on the old padded bench-bed.

"Mmm," Angel's encouraging, violent moan was the guttural growl he needed to hear. He was leading him with his hands; pushing at his broad shoulders, cradling his head in his hands, towards the skin of his neck; greedily, Keegan lapped him up, the salt of his sweat and the taste of his skin. He soaked it in, he lusted for it; as he bit at Angel's hot throat, the singer groaned again, this time pushing him lower, guiding him to the place of pleasure that needed urgent attention. "Go down on me," Angel whispered fervently. "Down, baby."

Keegan was at his waist before growling his response: "Yes, sir."

He hungrily sucked and lapped at the solid arousal through his jeans before Angel had a chance to pull them away. The scent, the musk, the sweet, intoxicating flavor; he couldn't get enough. Angel unhooked the button of his jeans at last, and Keegan didn't spare a moment before his erection struck his cheek; he dove onto it with the lust of a mad man.

It was hot, it was burning with desire in his mouth. Smaller than his own, yet just as hard; he took it's short length with ease, and he was so caught up in the taste, the delicious, euphoric lust, diving his cock down his mouth and tongue, he barely took heed of what he was doing to Angel. The singer's hips bucked into his throat, and he only let him, he silently begged for it, wanting him to use him, wanting to be used. Angel's fingers hooked into his hair. When he began to thrust into Keegan's mouth, the lust, the indulgent lust - it was insurmountable. He let him control him as he pleased; he opened his throat up, he let him pound his cock through his booze-numbed lips, delighting in the throbbing sensation, drowning in the knowledge that he was giving another man such pleasure, such mindless, wild arousal. There was nothing he wouldn't do for him in that moment. He hugged him as close as he could, and he took his cock dutifully, eagerly. Angel was gasping for breath before long, his hips stuttering.

"Oh, fuck," the singer cried out; yanking Keegan back, he shoved him off, and he watched his erection dance and twitch, silky with saliva, against the skin of his tatted abdomen. "Fuck, fuck..."

There was nothing Keegan wanted to do more than let him ride his throat to orgasm, but Angel seemed to have other plans. Breath tight, he commanded Keegan, forcefully, on what to do. To which he could only moan his "Yes, sir"'s and obey.

The singer had tattoos from his waist and beyond. Soon, Keegan was shrugging off his pants - at his orders - and positioning himself, so hard, it was almost painful, against his thighs. He was a stallion, he was an animal, practically bucking at just a touch, just a breeze; it was only Angel's firm authority that kept him from mindlessly plunging his cock inside. Even then, it was hard to obey. Keegan's mind was fogged with an insane lust. With a small bottle Angel procured - the little slut, he was prepared for this - Keegan used the last of his self-control to lubricate himself and be positioned, at Angel's command, right at his tight entrance.

Slow, the singer commanded him, the indentured, willing servant. Go slow, go slow. Keegan was thoughtless in his lust, but this order, he forced himself to obey. "Yes, sir," fell from his lips like a prayer as he found the right position, as his throbbing cock pushed up, and he forced himself - he tortured himself - by going so painfully, agonizingly slow, every second was an eternity. Until finally, Angel's heavy gasps soothed, and his hands, digging like talons into his hips, lessened, and Keegan felt the glorious sensation of his cock sliding deeper, deeper inside, until he was buried to the hilt into the singer's hot hole.

He moved at Angel's command. His hips thrust at a slow pace at first, until his slickened hand found the singer's still-hard arousal, and he gripped it with expertise. Only then did reality catch up to him - as delicious pleasure slid up his cock with every wet thrust, and he watched his hand massage up and down another man's solid erection - only then did it sink in, what he was doing, how insanely fucking hard he was, pumping his cock into another man's ass and using his hand to get him off in the same motion.

Angel's hot moans vibrated against his chest. He was moving himself to Keegan's rhythm; if he stalled his hips, Angel would push himself right back, grinding himself into Keegan's talented hand, rocking himself back onto his cock, delightful electricity building in two places at once. Keegan's breath tightened as he forced himself to watch the singer pleasure himself. He kept his hand moving, and Angel clutched his forearm, watching the tip be enveloped, just as Keegan watched Angel rock his hips and move his pounding cock back and forth within him.

He was so focused on his task that he barely realized the zaps of lust building. Even more, Angel's strained breaths, the wild jerks of his hips growing out of control; Keegan could not help himself from pumping into him with a newfound, feverish excitement, as Angel's cock strained and hardened in his hand. He was getting close - he knew it - even before the singer gasped out, "Yess, yes, oh, fuck yes, baby - just like that - keep going, I'm gonna cum-"

Keegan was too maddened with lust to respond with his usual yes, sir, as he quickened his pace, as he watched desperately the precum build on Angel's tip. He wanted to see him cum. He needed it. Any moment now, any second. He hugged the singer to his chest, he rubbed his slick hand up and down, watching the swollen tip of his cock vanish beneath the skilled movement of his thumb and forefinger - and then with a jolt of Angel's hips, and an immense clench straight through his arousal, throbbing against the walls he penetrated, he felt it - Angel cried out, and white squirts of cum burst from his cock and spurted against the leather bench. The sight of his cum - the throbbing of his muscles contracting around Keegan's cock - it was too much. He felt his own orgasm surge and, without warning, without anticipation, burst in a shocking electricity, flooding into the hot, wet sheath his cock was enveloped in, filling and filling and draining out. Keegan's hips pounded like a stallion as he rode the orgasm out, until he was struggling for breath, and Angel, a mess beneath him.