Tastes Like You

They had agreed to meet up at a club that Chris knew about, was friends with the owner he had said. He would let someone know he was coming and all the "secretive celebrity shit would be pulled." No worries of being recognized.

Marshall could think of a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea, but somehow he found himself nodding along and writing down an address. They would meet again, fuck again, and then it would be okay. He could get him out of his system. The dreams would go away. He would be able to go on with his life and everything would be normal again... Or what passed as normal in his life. A tight frown creased his lips. Fuck. This was defiantly fucked up. What the hell was he doing?

That night he dreamed again.

There is blood on my hands. It's too dark too see but I can smell it and feel the wetness. It's mine. I know it's mine. I'm suddenly aware of someone behind me, before I have a chance to fight I feel lips against my neck, hot and slippery. Teeth grating along my hammering pulse, an arm twists me against a body. I'm panting. So fucking hot. Need this. Need him. Teeth scraping along an ear shell, tugging at the metal earring, warm lips, words, soft and echoing.

"Do you trust me?"

Words they're just words. I'm grabbing handfuls of dark hair and twisting those lips down against mine. Yes. Biting, pulling, tearing, ripping, grinding... Yes. Yes. Exploding in my mind, black stars behind my eyes, wet darkness, clinging heat. Fuck yeah.


The club was skanky and dark, didn't even really look like a club from the outside, Marshall thought. Not the kind of place you'd expect a glittered pop star to hang out in. He was pretty nervous but not willing to admit it. Everything was just pissing him off. It was raining again and he got wet while waiting outside the place to be allowed in. Fucking weather. It put him in an even worse mood.

The club was hot inside and it smelled like sex and smoke. It was a hard-core gothy type club, was Chris trying to shock him? Trying to scare him away? Testing him maybe? Fucker. Marshall thought as he was lead down a back hallway. The walls were painted a dirty silver with broken mirror pieces scattered across it. A tall lanky chick warring a tight vinyl skirt and a skimpy top smiled at him. She was sort of cute, in a gothy sort of way, Marshall thought. She nodded approvingly, her eyes darting up and down his form as she checked him out. She made a clucking noise in the back of her throat and gestured for him to follow her. He was led down some hallways to what was probably the back of the club, to a private room. The girl stopped suddenly and he walked into her. She spun around quickly, pressing herself against him and the wall behind him as she said,

"Well darlin, this is the room. If things don't work out for you tonight you can call me up anytime..." Her hand slipped quickly between their bodies, wildly groping, eyes hungry. Fuck. Not that he wasn't used to this, but he was already kinda jumpy and he just didn't feel... shit! she had a strong grip. "I'm always here... won't be hard to find..." She purred into his ear, putting emphasis on the word hard, as she stroked him somewhat violently. He gasped softly and tried to pull away. Her voice suddenly dropped it's sweetness and became gravely and deep, "Have a go at it with a real man..." Marshall's eyes widened, that was not a woman's voice, and that was probably not a flashlight in her pocket. She... or rather he laughed at him, stepped away from him and in that sweet girlie voice said, "Your friend should be here in a minute or two." Then she left, hips swaying as she walked away.

"Fuck." Marshall breathed as he slumped against the door frame. That was a guy. That was a fucking guy. How the fuck was that a guy? Shit he was hard, slightly confused, pissed off and god damn, horny as fuck... where the fuck was Chris?