Take Another Piece of My Heart Colored Panties

Title: Take Another Piece of My Heart-Colored Panties
Author/Pseudonym: ScrewTheDaisies
Rating: NC-17
Archive: The Art of Slash (www.theartofslash.com)
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction, which means that, while the characters may be based on real people, the story itself is completely untrue. The story was written for the entertainment of the author; no impeachment of or malice toward the people mentioned herein was intended.
Fandom: Megadeth
Pairing: Dave Mustaine/David Ellefson
Summary: A pair of red panties consumes and reveals two men


*******

When I let myself into the hotel room we were sharing, Dave didn't bother stop what he doing, which was deeply inhaling a pair of scarlet women's panties. How appropriate: red panties on Valentine's Day.

"Where'd you get those?" I dropped two Hefty bags half full of laundry behind the room's one chair.

"Chick threw 'em on stage last night."

That was better than what I'd assumed, which was that some chick had left them behind after...you know.

"So what's up?" I asked, feeling better about the whole panty- sniffing thing now that I knew some drugged-out groupie wasn't going to stumble out of the bathroom. "You up for a late breakfast?"

"Nah." Dave tossed the back of his hand toward a pile of crumpled chip bags and a half-empty container of Oreos.

I shook my head. The only thing you could definitely expect from Dave was that he would be contrary to what you expected. Only the day before he'd been eating bean sprouts, drinking tomato juice, and lecturing Nick about the nitrates in the hot dog he'd ordered. Now he was ODing on junk.

"Mmm. Breakfast of champions." I bounced on the end of the bed. "So are you gonna lie around and sniff women's underwear all day?"

"If I want."

He was dressed at least--must have had to put his clothes on to wander to the gas station for his "breakfast." From the looks of the bottoms of his feet, he'd wandered over there barefoot.

"Hmm. Sounds like fun," I said. I picked at a hangnail on the side of my thumb.

"Where the fuck have you been anyway?"

"Laundry." Chewing on the side of my thumb--trying to rip the hangnail off and knowing I'd regret it the minute I succeeded--I nodded toward the bags I'd dropped.

"You do mine, too?"

"Yep." OW! Fucker. Blood welled in raw, shallow hole the removed strip of skin had left behind. I shoved the side of my tongue in my mouth again and ran my tongue over the sore spot.

Something soft hit my upper arm and dropped to the bed. I looked and saw the dark red panties lying on the chintzy hotel bedspread.

"Whyn't you put 'em on?" Dave said.

The hangnail--or, rather, the wound that used to be a hangnail--was forgotten. I cleared my throat. "What?"

Dave's toe nudged my hip. "Put 'em on."

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked, trying to play it off. Why _would_ I do that? ...without first having drunk a bottle or two of something strong, at least.

"'Cause." Dave hooked the panties on his big toe and delivered them to my thigh. "I want to see you in them."

My heart banged against the inside of my chest.

Sometimes when Dave was pretty far gone and it was four in the morning with no one around, sometimes he wanted me to.... He'd....

I stared at the underwear slipping off my thigh.

He never made me do anything I didn't want to. I only acted reluctant because he'd change his mind about me if I let him think I wanted it as bad as I actually did. But still, the things he had me do were nothing. Bullshit. Jerk him off, mostly. Once he'd wanted me to lick it. After five or six passes with my tongue, he grabbed his dick from me and shut himself in the bathroom. A few minutes later, the shower had come on, and after another twenty minutes, he came out, dripping wet and wrapped in towels, and fell onto his stomach on own bed, face turned away from me. I watched him long after he'd fallen asleep, the feel of his warm skin still on my tongue.

Dave wasn't that far gone this time, though, and it wasn't four in the morning.

His foot kicked me in the kidneys. "Get up. Put 'em on."

I laughed, picked the panties up, stretched them between my hands. I doubted I'd fit in them anyway. They'd probably come away in pieces if I tried to get them over my thighs.

"You're losing your mind." I said as I sling-shotted the panties back to him.

He balled them up and pitched them back. "Humor me."

I caught them, almost surprised myself by it.

Dave gave me another kick in the side. "Put 'em on."

I pulled myself away from those blood-red panties and met his eyes. And those blood-red lips.

"Come on." He shifted against the headboard, making himself more comfortable. "Put 'em on." He scratched his stomach lazily through his white t-shirt and then, apparently not satisfied, teased his t- shirt up to expose a band of skin and scratched some more. He didn't bother pulling the shirt back down after he'd finished.

"I saw that," he said.

My gaze had been fastened on the tawny hairs climbing his stomach. At his words--they had a low, teasing sound to them: a dangerous sound--I pulled my eyes up to meet his. "Huh?"

"You were looking at me." He brought his hand to his stomach again, drew a finger slowly along that line of dark blonde hair. "And you're doing it again. Only, last time you were licking your lips."

"Fuck you I was."

"Put the panties on."

I watched his hand slide lower. The tips of his fingers disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Fuck. I _was_ licking my lips. I stood, the panties clutched in my hand.

"You're still fucking looking." Dave pushed his hand deeper into his pants. Then, as I watched--what was I gonna do, turn away?--he tipped his chin up, pressed his head against the headboard, and let a soft sound pass out his open mouth. In his pants, his hand had made a fist.

My nostrils prickled. My chest swelled as I pulled in air. Fuck.

"And you're _still_ fucking looking," Dave said, lowering his head. Leveling his gaze. Grinning. Sneering.

The panties were hot in my hand, soaking up sweat.

"You want to see it?" Dave drew his lip under his teeth and lifted his hips, just a little. Then he dropped them back down and smirked. "You know you want to. _I_ know you want to." His other hand slid up under his shirt, ambling toward his chest. "You never fucking fooled me. Put the fucking panties on. You want to anyway, and when you do, I'll let you see it."

Again he shifted his hips. His hand moved under his fly, sliding deeper, going for balls.

"Fuck, David, stop dicking around. You want me. And I want you in those fucking panties. Now. Strip."

This was so far from Dave's normal approach that I didn't know what to do. Typical Dave was to stumble with exaggerated drunkenness between our beds on his way back from the bathroom, land on my bed-- and half on me--and then pretend to be too out-of-it to move. Typical Dave was to then continue to pretend to be out of it as he humped my leg, fumbled for my hand, pushed my hand into his briefs.

I held my hand over the bed and peeled my fingers open. The panties fell toward the bedspread, fluttering as they fell a fall that went on and on as though the world had been switched into slow motion mode. Finally, they landed.

I tugged my shirt out of my pants and drew it over my head. Let it drop to the floor. Dave watched me. I sat on the end of the bed to pull off my sneakers. I was sockless--underwearless, too, it being laundry day. Standing again, my back to Dave, I popped the button on my jeans. As I took a deep breath, I imagined I felt his gaze sliding down my back, down the curve of my spine, down...and then imagined him lifting his chin as he tried see down into the waistband.

After drawing the zipper down and spreading the fly, I pushed the fabric open to let the waistband drop a half inch in the back, showing him more, imagining his shoulder's coming off the headboard as he strained to _see_ more.

I eased the jeans down over my hips. At mid-thigh, they picked up speed on their own and slipped to my ankles. Holding them down with one foot, I stepped out with the other, then switched. My cock, heavy and hard, bounced as I moved. I caught it in my hand, ran my fingers down the shaft. Gathered the courage to turn around and pick up the panties. There were too many variables here. Too many things "off" about this situation. This was _not_ Dave. But...fuck....

I wanted him.

When I turned, the first thing I looked for was his eyes. I wanted to see what I could catch there. He lifted an eyebrow and directed his gaze toward the underwear. Then he brought his gaze back up to my face. His expression dared me.

The panties were still warm from the heat of my palm. I shook them out, bent down, lifted my foot. I'd never done anything like this before, had never seen flimsy, feminine fabric slip over my toes, hook around my ankle. It looked...strange. It was one of Those Things Normal People Don't Do. But for Dave...for Dave's cock....

I can still, if I close my eyes, remember the taste of his cock from that one time. The taste and the heat and the solidness of it against my tongue.

Pulling the panties up over my thighs, I remembered my earlier misgivings concerning their fit. They came up just fine, though. A little snug, but fine. The only thing that didn't stretch to fit was the tiny triangle panel at the front. The head of my cock either poked up over the narrow elastic waistband or peeked out the leg opening. I adjusted it so that it did a little of both at the same time; that was the closest I could come to tucking it away.

A drop of precum darkened a spot in the scarlet fabric to almost black.

I looked up from the underwear to find Dave's gaze fixed on my crotch. _Now who's licking his lips?_ I almost said.

Dave pushed off the headboard and crawled toward me, reaching for my hips, pulling my crotch and the panties into his face. I watched the sides of his ribcage expand as he filled his lungs with the smell of the panties. Of me.

His grip tightened. With one, strong move, he dumped me on the bed, pushed me onto my back, wrapped his arms around my waist. Tight. He rubbed his face over the panties, my bulge, the moist, spreading circles of precum.

Falling onto the bed with Dave's hands all over me was like falling into a dream. I never really felt the bed, only the falling, and the hands holding me.

I reached down and touched his hair.

He dragged his mouth--his lips and his teeth and breath--across the thin fabric that strained against my cock. The cloth caught his breath, hot and damp, and held it close to my skin while he turned his face and rubbed his cheek along my cock. His arms hugged my waist even more tightly.

Then his mouth came back, hovering, breathing that hot air on me.

"Are you a dirty bitch?" he asked. His lips brushed my cock as his mouth formed the words.

I swallowed and said, "Yes," in a voice that threatened to break.

"Say it. Say you're a dirty bitch."

"I-- I'm a dirty bitch." I pressed my hips up, pushing against Dave's mouth.

"Who's dirty bitch are you?"

"I'm your dirty bitch, Dave."

"Yes, you are. And what's my dirty bitch gonna do for me?"

My fingers curled in his hair. His voice, his words had wrapped my brain in wool. I itched to be touched. And that hot breath kept collecting in the panties, burning me up.

"Anything," I let out, and this time my voice did break.

His strong arms rolled me over. I ground myself against the mattress almost without thinking. I felt him grab the panties and drag them down under my ass cheeks. The thin elastic waistband pulled tight across my cock. Oh fuck yeah.

Then he dropped on top me, forcing the air out of my lungs. He shoved his rough jeans against my ass. "You like your new underwear, bitch?" His hot breath dampened my cheek. His hand pushed between us. His fingers bruised my ass. "Answer me, bitch."

I rubbed my forehead against the pillow. Then I said, "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I like my new underwear." I felt like I'd been picked up by a tornado and dropped in a completely fucked-up world. What the fuck was Dave on? What had he gotten into while I was at the Laundromat?

He bit my shoulder. His beard scraped my back. His hips slammed my ass again.

"Fuck, you're a good bitch," he groaned. "I wanna fuck you, bitch. I want to fuck until you can't walk. Have you ever been fucked?"

I forgot to put my voice behind my answer. It came out as a rasping "No."

"You want to be, though, don't you? I've seen the way you look at my dick. You want it shoved so deep inside you you can taste it. Admit it. You want to be fucked black and blue." He slammed his hips against me again. "Admit it."

I'd never been fucked. Not that I hadn't _imagined_ being fucked...and by Dave, especially. Yeah, especially. Especially when Dave brought a groupie back to the room and pounded the fuck out of her. Slap, slap, slap, his pelvis smacking against her ass loud enough that neither he nor the chick could hear me jerking off in the next bed over as I imagined what it felt like to stretched and filled and pounded like that. By Dave.

"Fuck me," I said into the pillow. I turned my head and said it again. "Fuck me."

"I'll fuck you all right." He rolled off me and slapped my ass. "Go find something I can slick my dick up with." Then, nudging my hip, he said, "I wanna watch you prance the fuck around the room in your pretty panties."

I pushed onto my elbows. My head hung down. My hair spilled over the pillow. "What'll we use?"

"I don't know. Figure it out." He tugged the back of the panties up as high as they'd go, then rolled onto his back.

Peeking over my arm, I watched his hand slip back into his jeans.

"Hurry up," he said.

My eyes skated over his chest, up to his throat. I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"Hurry up before I take care of the fucking problem myself."

That got me going. I stumbled to the bathroom where I knocked over bottles, razors, plastic drinking cups, prepackaged coffee filter packs...finally I closed my hand around a tiny bottle of hair conditioner with the hotel's logo imprinted on the front.

When I passed the bottle to Dave, he nodded and said, "This'll work." Then, with a nod toward the empty half of the bed, he said, "As you were."

The bed was still warm from my lying on it. As I stretched out, I felt my heart beat against the mattress. A lump of trepidation formed in the middle of my throat. I'd imagined this, but I'd never imagined _this_. The walk to the bathroom had given me a moment to cool off a bit. Was this good idea?

Dave straddled my thighs. I felt the panties being raked down again, felt the pressure of the waistband pulling against my cock again. I listened to Dave shake the bottle of conditioner then tamp its open end against his palm: pop, pop, pop.

I was going to get fucked.

Stretched, filled, pounded, and fucked.

My fingers curled, dragging the sheets into my palms. I closed my eyes and saw the familiar image of Dave giving it a chick. Smack, smack, smack. This time it was going to my ass he was plowing into. Smack. The skin on my ass prickled in anticipation while something heavy and full and older than time itself lifted deep in my gr


"Fuck!" Something--the conditioner bottle, I quickly realized--hit the far wall with a plunk and dropped to the floor. Dave's weight on my legs disappeared abruptly. My heart gave three solid, panicked beats before I dared to look over my shoulder.

Dave slammed his back against the wall opposite the bed. "Fuck," he said again, but quieter. He slipped down the wall until his ass hit the floor, then he dropped his head onto one of this knees.

"Dave?"

The only answer was the rhythmic pumping of one of his fists at his side.

I pulled the panties back up over my ass, rolled over, sat. "Dave?"

Still just the pumping.

I stood and started to cross the room.

Dave, without lifting his head, said, "When we check in at the next place, I think we need to change the room arrangements. You...uh.... You room with Marty. I'll take Nick."

My chest caved as the air rushed out. "What?" What the fuck was going on? "Why?"

He lifted his head. His gaze passed over me, focused on a spot on the floor. "Because I don't want to fuck Nick." And then he pushed himself to his feet, careful to keep his eyes away from me.

"But--" I swallowed. My head buzzed. My fingertips buzzed. I rubbed them over my jaw to distract myself from the buzzing.

I wasn't getting enough air. My mouth was open and nothing was going in or out. And I couldn't think for the buzzing.

He was walking awrom rom me. Fuck.

What the fuck had just happened?

"Get some fucking clothes on," he said.

I turned toward him. What the fuck did Nick have to do with anything?

"But I _want_ you to fuck me," I said. It slipped out of my mouth while my brain was busy working out the Nick thing and as soon as I said it I _got_ the Nick thing. He wanted to fuck me, but he didn't _want_ to want it.

"That's the other fucking problem." He scooped up my jeans and threw them at me.

I caught them against my chest.

"It's your fucking fault," he said. He dropped a knee onto his bed, started to crawl up it.

The jeans dropped to the floor. In two strides, I was on the bed with him, grabbing him by the hips, pulling him back. He whirled on me--he's too fucking fast. One leg came across me straight out and I hit the floor on my hip and wrist. Before I had a second to shake off the pain, his body hit me, flattening me against the coarse carpet. His forearm came down across my throat, holding me so he could look me in the eye when he said, "Don't ever fucking come at me again." His lips were wet with spittle. "Don't you fucking _ever_."

He leaned on his forearm to emphasize his point before jerking away, but he didn't get far before I lunged up and hugged him around the back of his neck with both arms. I pulled myself up--there wasn't any pulling Dave down--and pressed my mouth against his.

Dave grabbed my hair and tried to yank me away from him.

I winced and gasped against his lips but didn't let go. And as I recovered from that gasp, he kissed me back. Hard. Closed-mouthed. Brutal. He pushed me down to the floor, ground his hip against my panties. Let me drag his shirt up and over his head and then pulled it off his arms himself and tossed it aside.

"Fuck me," I said against his mouth when I had it back. "I want you to fuck me." I rolled over under him, pushed up onto my elbows and knees, pushed my ass against him. "Fuck. Fuck me."

"I--"

I looked over my shoulder. His hands hovered on either side of my ass.

"The shit won't come out of the bottle," he said finally, and then his voice slumped. "I mean, in anything more than a fucking drop."

Fuck. That was what set the panic off? Fuck. I pressed my forehead against the carpet. "Get me the bottle." I'd get the shit out if I had to suck it out.

He padded away. A few seconds later, I felt the plastic bottle tap my arm. I took it and rolled onto my back. While I pressed the open end flat against my middle finger to block the hole and shook the bottle in exaggerated strokes to force its contents down toward the opening, Dave dropped to his stomach, laid an arm across my thighs, and started rubbing my cock through the panties.

I dropped my head to the floor and forgot what I was doing for a minute. Hot breath collected in the silky fabric again. And then I felt the pressure of lips. Fuck. They pulled at my cock through the panties. Fuck. I had to hurry up before _my_ problem was solved. I wasn't sure I could go through with being fucked without the mind- fuzzing, pain-numbing effects of raging horniness. I lifted my head again and shook the bottle over my open palm. Squeezed the fucking bottle. A dollop reluctantly plopped out and then another. Several shakes later I had what I guessed--what was going to have to be-- enough.

"Come here," I said.

Dave lifted his eyes and, seeing the conditioner puddled in my palm, sat up.

"Open your pants."

He did, and then he took his cock out for me. I rolled onto my side and grabbed it with the handful of conditioner. I drew my hand and the makeshift lube up his shaft and round and round his straining head. His cock burned in my hand and slipped through my fingers.

I turned over, put my ass in the air again. "Fuck me already."

The back of the panties came down again. God, that fabric felt good pulling against my cock. He kneaded my ass. One of his thumbs slipped over my asshole--by accident, I think. I clenched. Fuck. What was I doing here? I had to be out of my mind. And then a finger slid over the hole, on purpose this time it felt like. It left for a second and came back wet. Dave pressed it against the opening and waited.

And waited.

Fear turned into longing and longing into frustration. It was as though the finger was pressing a button that charged me up. The longer it stayed, the hotter I became. Finally, suddenly and surely wanting it even more than I'd thought I would, I pushed back against his finger. The tip slipped in. My jaw softened. Yeah, this was what I wanted. I pressed back more, dug my fingers into the carpet. I'd imagined it--and imagined it a lot--but imagination, it turned out, fell far short of reality.

"That okay?" Dave asked. The tip of his finger--in, probably, to the first knuckle--twisted.

A formless noise sprung from my throat. My lips pulled back. My eyes narrowed and what I could see of the room in from of me might as well have been blacked out because I couldn't process it.

Fuck. I needed more. Digging in, I pushed back until his palm cupped my ass. Then I started fucking his finger. It wasn't a decision I'd made; my body just grabbed itself and started moving. I couldn't _not_ move.

And then, with one hand holding on my ass steady, he withdrew his finger. As soon as his hand stopped holding, started moving again, bumping back against his leg. My arms trembled from frustration and anticipation. And then his cock, hard and smooth and insistent, pressed against the entrance: a massive bullet imbedding itself in my body. There was a flare of pain, and then a strong urge to force him back out of me, and then....

He was in. Inside me. Locked together, we moved against each other like cogs in a machine, and he. was. in. me. Crouched on my knees and elbows, I closed my eyes and saw him in my head--watched him-- fucking me just as I'd watched him fuck all those women all these years: body arced, lip pulled in a sneer, hips pumping. His fingers held my hips, jerked me back to meet him every time he thrust forward. Smack, smack, smack, skin hitting skin. Going deep every time, shoving his rod to the hilt, grunting "uh" every time he slammed in....

He banged into me hard enough to make my knees slide on the rough carpet. I pushed up from my elbows, braced myself on my hands, and slammed him back. And then again and again. I felt him fold over me. His arms slipped around my chest. He pulled me up against him. Reaching over my shoulder, I slid my fingers into his hair, tipped my head back against him, heard his panting and Uhs near my ear. Bang-uh, bang-uh, bang-uhh. The Uhs grew more and more throaty, stretched out longer and longer. I caught my cock in my hand and started stroking, wondering how long I was going to last. Two seconds? Three?

His teeth sunk into the side of my neck. His chest pressed strong against my back, supporting me. He was in me and around me all at once. His fingers pushed into my mouth, fucking me, filling me, stretching my jaw, closing the circuit between ass and mouth. I pulled his hair as I came, tugging it with each shudder that ripped through me.

When the haze lifted, the room was still and silent. He'd come, too, and I'd missed it. His arm across my chest tightened once more, briefly, and then fell away. He slipped out of me--I _hated_ that feeling. I'd never felt anything so horrible in my life as him leaving me. I've never felt more alone.

I glanced back, saw him wiping his dick off with the shirt I'd been wearing. Then he ripped open one of the bags of laundry I'd brought back. I started to pull the underwear up over my ass, suddenly realized the game was over, stopped...damn it. I pulled the fucking things off and wadded them up. Then I sat there on the floor, leaking on the carpet--not that it mattered since I'd already shot my load across it--and wondered what the fuck would happen next.

He didn't leave me to wonder long. Dressed now in jeans and fresh shirt, he said--without looking at me--"I'm going to find some lunch. While I'm gone...." He stuffed his wallet in his back pocket, glanced around the room like he might be forgetting something. "While I'm gone, you should go ahead and switch with Nick. I don't care what you tell him, just--" He coughed, and the rest rushed out: "Just don't be staying in my room when I get back."

I'd expected this. As the elation of orgasm had ebbed away, reality had rushed back in and what Dave was saying didn't come as a surprise. I'd always known he'd resent me if I showed him I wanted him.

I hated him.

After the door to our room closed, I got dressed and packed my shit, what shit wasn't in a Hefty bag already. Then I stopped to I look the room over before leaving. The shirt I'd pulled off him still lay on the floor. I scooped it up and shoved it into one of my bags.

Many hours later, after the show, after we'd come back to the hotel, after Marty had started snoring in the bed next to mine, I leaned over the edge of my bed and pulled the crumpled shirt out of my bag. It was so many hours that it might have been four in the morning and I wondered--if it was--was Dave lying awake thinking about what we'd done? I buried my face in his shirt and drew in a long, deep breath. Closing my eyes, I tried to tell myself that the price had been worth the ride.

Fuck, he smelled good.

I doubted he missed the shirt--he couldn't ever keep track of whose was whose anyway--but I bet he'd noticed the panties were gone.

They felt good against my hard my cock as I reached under the sheets and pulled the back of them down.

What'd you get for Valentine's, David? Fucked.

No, I got more than that. Dave admitted his weakness. And, really, it's not me he resents; it's himself.

And if he thinks moving me to another room is gonna to keep him from wanting me again, he's in for a big fucking surprise. Tomorrow during sound check, I'm gonna walk right up to him, throw an arm over his shoulder, and say with a little tease in my voice, "Guess who's wearing his Valentine's panties?"

I expect he'll punch me right then.

But come one of these four o'clock in the mornings, these heart- colored panties and the ass buried in them will be all he can think about.

That, my friends, you can take to the bank.

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