let's hear it.

[Riel]

let’s hear it.

He inhaled deeply, drawing the tobacco smoke and countless other toxins into his lungs. Held it there for a minute, and released it in a long stream all over her face. She gagged a little from the acrid taste and turned her face away, but he gripped her by the jaw and forced her to look him in the eye.

“Why won’t you look at me, baby?” he asked her, his voice mocking and derisive. When he said that her eyes dilated noticeably; rage at the term of endearment. She opened her mouth to spit at him, but he clapped his hand over her lips before she had the chance.

“Don’t do anything stupid, damn it. I don’t want to hurt you that badly,” he said, placing his face a few bare centimeters from hers. She would have slapped him, if she wasn’t handcuffed to the dumpster that was in the alleyway. He could smell the stench of fish, pizza, spaghetti, and presumably numerous other foodstuffs, and he was slightly farther from it than she was.

Alright, shit, I’m sorry. I always had problems with this.

Fucking exposition.

He was hanging around backstage, strapping on his bass and making sure that he looked presentable enough. He and his band were playing a small gig at a local venue; it was going to pay a measly thousand bucks each, but that’s what you get for agreeing to do a hometown show. Anyway, he was standing there and was just about to step forward when she rounded the corner.

Descriptions. She was wearing a slinky little white tank top over black skin-tight jeans that matched the ones that he was wearing almost identically. Her nails were painted what appeared to be a deep blue that complemented her baby blue eyes, which were framed by pale skin pulled tightly above high cheekbones. Her hair was done in the oh-so-popular style of late; blonde on the top, black in the back.

He was wearing, as mentioned before, black skin-tight jeans. A red hoodie was zipped up over a black tee shirt adorned with a rather obscene saying- HIDE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING CHILDREN. Which was okay by itself, but it was also done in a rather flamboyant hot-not flamingo- pink. His brown eyes were given prominence by his own strong cheekbones and jawline, aided even further by the ‘guyliner’ that he wore.

At the sight of her, he stopped moving forward for a second. He flashed the smile that had gotten him so many cheers in the past, had lifted so many shirts and dropped so many pairs of jeans. She didn’t buy it, though. Just walked up to him, drew him forward, and whispered:

“Meet me outside after the show. Bring handcuffs.”

Which, to be perfectly honest, was freaky as all hell. Confused, he smiled again, nodded, and walked out on stage. To preserve his well-known showmanship and appease the crowd, he pulled his hood-it was up before, if I didn’t mention that- down, grabbed the microphone, and gave his usual welcome.

“Thanks for coming, you pieces of shit!” Applause. No joke, the crowd applauded being called pieces of shit. “Who wants us to make some noise?” More applause. The crowd ate him up; several women were already loosening their shirts and undoing their belts ‘just one clasp, Jennifer, goddamn’ as they prepared for the jam session.

Thirteen songs and fifty-two minutes later, he walked backstage again. Taking a second to clasp hands with the other band members and wipe the sweat from his face, he walked out the back door and saw her already against the dumpster. Being the deviant that he was, he did have the handcuffs with him. Don’t judge.

So, that’s where we came in. She was handcuffed to the dumpster, he was roughing her around a little bit, et cetera et cetera blah blah blah. I’m going to go ahead and assume that you have some sort of vague guess about what happened after that. If you need a clue: moaning. Lots of it.

Anyway, when they were done he was zipping his pants back up while she was doing her best to look pretty and not perturbed at all by the fact that she was still handcuffed to a dumpster. Walking forward, he gave her a kiss on the lips before smiling at her again.

“How long do you think it will be until someone finds you out here?” he asked. When her eyes got wide with fear, he bent in for one more kiss and “Ow holy shit what the fuck are you doing you crazy bitch?”. She had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, and she smiled at him while he swore.

“Let me out of these handcuffs, you sack of shit,” she said, looking at him with some mix of disdain and love. Naturally, he couldn’t argue with that, so he let her out of the handcuffs and twirled them around his finger as she put her clothes back on and made herself presentable again. When she was done, he looked at her and asked the question:

“What now?”

Instead of answering, she just grabbed his hand in her own, intertwined fingers and all, and they walked through the door and hung out with the rest of the band. She introduced herself as his girlfriend, and he didn’t offer a single word of protest to the title.

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I'm back, babes! Works better with the indent (makes the jumps in time more noticeable) but that's okay.