The air hung over the sleepy day, heavy and stagnant. The sun was a merciless presence, baking the ground and creating shimmering waves of heat reflecting off pavement and sidewalks. Flowers wilted under the dull drowsy droning of summertime insects.
Oscar didn't mind the heat but he could feel the sweat that gathered on his forehead and scalp to run down his face and neck. He wiped his forearm across his face and continued to push the lawnmower across the green expanse of his lawn, the scent of freshly cut grass lingering underneath the more powerful odor of fuel and exhaust.
Days like this had a tendency to birth flash thunderstorms and the still air was promising. Oscar wasn't concerned. He had ridden the lightning before; he could do it again. He smiled a little bit, thinking of it and flexed his fingers inside his gardening gloves. Yeah, he might even welcome it.
The sky was clear for the moment, however and Oscar continued his work. He was contemplating taking a break for some water, when he saw his best girl, Savannah, loping on long tan legs across his freshly cut lawn and smiling. By the time she reached him she was running full out. He caught her with his free arm as she leapt onto him, overbalancing both of them. The lawnmower tilted, showing the world its lethal spinning teeth as he struggled to right it.
"Damn it Savannah," Oscar growled as he switched the power off. "What're you trying to do, kill me?"
She disengaged and hopped a few steps back, bouncing excitedly on her toes. Her freckles flared over her face as she grinned at him, apparently heedless of the remnants of fresh cut grass on her feet and ankles. He liked that about Savannah. She was low maintenance.
"I'm so excited! I just called in to the radio, and guess what! I was caller number 9! I won!!"
Oscar rolled his eyes. God, could she tone it down a little? She was acting like a kid. "What did you win?"
Savannah held up her hand, with her middle and index finger extended. "Two tickets to go see Verrückheit next weekend, along with backstage passes to meet the band!!" She bounced again and Oscar watched her chest with interest. When the hell had she gotten those boobs?
"So who are you taking?" he asked nonchalantly, resting his forearms on the handle of the mower.
Savannah gave him a smack on the arm that he guessed was supposed to hurt. "You're going with me, dumbass, and don't even think about trying to get out of it."
Oscar grabbed his arm and pretended to groan in pain. "So who are these guys?"
"They're a new metal band," Savannah said. She pulled her phone out and pulled up a music video before handing it over. Oscar watched with little curiosity. It looked like the typical music video for a metal band. There was a lead singer with a shaved head, his face bristling with piercings, screaming into the microphone. There was a bassist with dreadlocks. Why do white guys think they could pull off dreadlocks?Oscar thought with disgust. The drummer looked a lot like the lead singer, brothers maybe, and a longhaired guitarist appeared on the screen.
Oscar felt a pull off attraction when he saw the guitarist, one that he had only felt a few times before. Every time he showed up on camera, he was swinging his head, throwing a long mane of dark gold hair back, and revealing a handsome, strong-featured face with a slight shadow of a beard. He was built, the muscles of his arms and shoulders left bare by his shirt. Every single aspect of his appearance suggested masculinity and sex appeal. This was a bad man.
"Who is this?" Oscar asked again.
"Verrückheit. They are doing a concert at the amphitheater. Please say you'll come with me."
Oscar played the video again, watched the guitarist. "Sure thing."
Savannah squealed in excitement, bounced up on her toes again and gave him a hug, pressing her lithe body up against his. Oscar hardly noticed.
* * *
As he laid in bed that evening, his body tired from the work he had done earlier that day, he pulled up another music video by the band, watching it and letting it play as his free hand worked his cock. The promise of a thunderstorm had ripened over the evening and had broke that night in a deluge of rain, peppered with cracks of lightning and the answering roars and grumbles of thunder. It all mixed together in him, the eroticism of the storm, the slight attraction that Savannah's ripening body had elicited and the strong pull of arousal from the guitarist as he watched the way his fingers and arm muscles flexed as he played his instrument. Oscar imagined those same hands on his body and felt his cock harden more in his grip as he worked it, writhing in his too hot bed, as flashbulb pops of light lit the room, and the thundering rumble from the storm reverberated inside his chest.
He dreamt of the lightning that night, most of it a memory that stained the deepest recesses of his mind.
He remembered the lightning as it tore through him, how he had opened himself to it, let himself be the conduit. It had roared through him, white hot, leaving the acrid scent of burnt flesh and ozone in its wake. How it shot through muscles, turning them into piano tight wires cutting deep and flared into the marrow of his bones.
Bright lines raced across the gray matter in his head, stealing his sight, his breath and his sanity, holding him in a limbo where nothing existed but the silver white brilliance. He felt his heart stutter and cease, overwhelmed by the ferocity of it, too much power, too much heat, too much painful intensity. Then he was thrown back into reality, the ground thudding into his back.
It might have even hurt, if he could feel anything.
But he was dead, hollowed out by the crackle and pop that had lit him up. In the last few seconds of his life, as the last traces of oxygenated blood flowed away from his mind and his vision dimmed, he saw the lightning again, a flashbulb against the endless blue. A burning whip branched off to reach for him, like the finger of God, touching his heart and jumping it back into rhythm.
A new rhythm.
And leaving him with that last lifesaving kiss, a scar that feathered across his chest and blackened burnt fingertips.
He had ridden the lightning and she was the most beautiful lover he'd ever had.
The next weekend, Oscar sat outside in the amphitheater. It was an outdoor concert and still hot as fuck, but this one was at night, which made it more tolerable. And the passes that Savannah had, snug in their laminated sheet, gave them both a discount on beer, which he wasn’t about to complain about. Oscar had done some more research on the band since Savannah had shown him a video on the phone. He found the music excellent, the lead singer Patrick had a good voice, and the lyrics the same kind of pretentious bullshit you found in most metal songs.
The guitarist, Axel, was hotter in person than he had been in the music videos, which was nearly unheard of. Standing there, amidst the crowd, Oscar watched him. He was playing bare chested, hair pulled back and sweat glistening on his chest. Everything about Axel, from the definition of his muscles, to his stance, to the look when he played his instrument was going straight to Oscar's cock. He didn't mind; it was crowded and dark enough that he doubted anyone would notice. Except for Savannah, but she was used to him being perpetually horny. She looked sexy in her skimpy summer outfit and Oscar was almost a little disappointed that they were such good friends. If not, he probably would have fucked her already.
Christ, he was horny. And the music itself was getting to him as well, digging into his brain, with the suggestive lyrics and the powerful vibrations thrumming out of the speakers. And as much as he was enjoying the show, he was looking forward to the end of it so he could meet the band backstage. He wanted to see how delicious Axel would look up close. There was a dark secret in those eyes and Oscar wanted to explore it.
He took another drink of beer and gave Savannah another surreptitious glance out of the corner of his eye. A dude on the other side of them was also checking out Savannah. Oscar caught the guy's eyes and growled low in his throat, allowing a little rumble of thunder to enter the sound. The guy found it prudent to look elsewhere.
It was a long show, and the crowd was drunk and rowdy by the time it wrapped up. Oscar wrapped a protective arm around Savannah and bullied their way through the crowd to the backstage entrance. The security team looked at their passes and IDs before allowing them backstage, where they were ushered into a spacious room with couches, more alcohol, and blessed A.C. The heat still didn't bother Oscar, but Savannah had fussed much of the night about it. Another handful of fans were there, mostly female, and there was a simultaneous shrill of feminine sound when Verrückheit entered the room.
They looked fresh from stage, most of them changed into more comfortable jeans and T-shirts, but still sweaty from the stage lights and relentless summer heat. Savannah and a sizeable cluster of girls were swarming around Patrick, as expected, and the band was answering questions with considerable good humor.
Oscar, however, could not stop watching Axel. His charisma and sexual magnetism were more powerful up close, if possible, and Oscar noticed that he was watching the gaggles of female in the room with the same indulgent amusement that Oscar felt. A kindred spirit. The guitarist saw Oscar watching and dropped him a casual wink. The lust Oscar felt before hand was continuing to creep through his body, ensnaring him like an aphrodisiac perfume.
Eventually, the meet and greet began to die down, and security showed up to escort the guests out the door. As Savannah and Oscar turned to leave, however, Patrick stepped forward and caught her wrist.
"These two can stay," the singer said, nodding to Savannah and Oscar.
Savannah turned to Oscar briefly, mouthing the words "Oh My God" in his direction, the excitement coming off of her in almost palpable waves. Patrick stepped in closer, bent close to Savannah's ear.
"I hope that's okay," he purred. Oscar knew that only Savannah was meant to hear, but he was able to pick it up regardless.
"No objections," Savannah said, the flirtatious tone in her voice impossible to miss.
"I was thinking that we would like to move to a more private venue." Patrick continued, running a hand up the back of her arm. "Any objections to that?"
"None, what-so-ever," she chirped. Almost as an afterthought, she looked back towards Oscar.
"Don't worry, I'll keep him entertained," Axel said from his vantage point near the wall. Oscar gave him a surprised glance and Axel grinned. The line of his teeth looked lupine, almost wolfish and Oscar felt another knot of that delicious sexual tension tightening in his groin.
Savannah gave him another triumphant grin as Patrick lead her out of the room.
The drummer and the bassist, who Oscar privately christened "the loser with the dreads," had been more interested in the beer than mingling, and they left the room with another bottle in hand.
Axel glanced at Oscar again, and raised an eyebrow. "It appears that we have been left to our own devices."
"Apparently," Oscar said and inwardly winced. He was alone in a room with a sex god and that was the best he could come up with?
Axel lifted up the hem of his T-shirt and mopped the front of his face, still beaded with sweat. "Christ, it's so stuffy in these little rooms." He marched over to the cooler and grabbed a beer, tossed one to Oscar without asking if he wanted one. Oscar caught it reflexively and popped it open. Axel opened another one for himself and took a swallow. "C'mon," he said, nodding towards the door. "Let's get some air."
Oscar's stomach flipped as he followed him, and it had nothing to do with the beer currently residing in his system. Axel was leading him away, like Patrick did with Savannah. Oscar walked with him out of the parking lot, avoiding the groups of anxious fans lit up by the parking lamps, down the gravel maintenance trail and into the woods.
It was dark, scantly lit by the light of the full moon filtering in through the branches, but Oscar could see well in the dark. He led the way, gracefully stepping over roots and brambles that would snare and trip the guitarist. They reached a small clearing, where the trees cleared out and Oscar took off his shirt, tossing it into the grass and enjoying the cool kiss of a summer night breeze across his chest, bringing his nipples to hard points of attention. He turned and saw Axel standing nearby with the moonlight flowing over him like molten silver. Oscar's cock throbbed and swelled inside his jeans and he felt drunk, not only with the alcohol but the heady sexual tension blossoming up between them.
He approached the other man, running a hand up his sweaty chest and felt Axel's arm come around him, pressing him up close to his body. It was solid muscle against him and Oscar felt his excitement creep up another notch as he angled his head up to meet Axel’s kiss. It was hot, wild, a bruising clash of teeth, warring tongues and desperate breaths and groans. Axel's hand wandered down Oscar's back, slipping into his jeans to grasp his buttocks and pull him even closer. Oscar could feel the steel of the guitarist’s erection against his own hard-on and rubbed up against it.
Then the warm heat from Axel's mouth left his and he felt it instead on his neck, accompanied by the sharp bite of teeth, then down his chest, over his aching nipples, then, finally, hot damp through the material of his jeans. Oscar reached down to unbutton them and hurriedly stepped out of them, revealing his erection to the night and Axel's waiting mouth.
The soft, wet heat that constricted around him tore a needy groan from Oscar's throat. Axel had obviously done this before and locked an arm around his waist as he continued his work, drawing Oscar's cock deep into his throat, then retreating to suck and lick at the head before deep-throating him again. Oscar, already feeling his muscles tensing and his balls drawing up, grabbed handfuls of Axel's hair, that long beautiful mane of hair, and gripped it in his hands, liking the feel of it there, pushing his fingers through it to cradle Axel's scalp. There was an appreciative moan or growl from Axel's throat, causing Oscar to catch his breathing and rock up on his toes. He could feel it, he was so close to coming. He spread his legs slightly, dropping his head back and moaning his pleasure into the night. Then Axel barely grazed him with his teeth and Oscar came undone; shaking, gasping and cumming into Axel's mouth, who swallowed him down, deeper than ever.
Oscar groaned, releasing his grip on the guitarist's hair, and dropped onto his knees as Axel stepped away. Oscar could hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled, followed by a zipper being opened. Axel knelt down next to him and gripped Oscar's hips, pushing on his back and shoulders until Oscar dropped down onto his elbows. Oscar grimaced a little bit as he felt Axel's slick, thick fingers probe his entrance, but he was ready, relaxed from his recent orgasm and didn't require a lot of prep before Axel pulled on a condom and slid his lubed up cock into Oscar's waiting ass.
Axel rode him the way that Oscar was expecting, rough and brutal. Axel's hips slammed into his backside with every thrust, rocking his body forward, scoring his knees and hands with dirt and pine needles. Oscar dropped his head onto his arms, gritting his teeth as Axel continued to pound into him, grunting and cursing. He felt the body behind him shift and then there was a hand, grabbing his hair, pulling his head back until teeth were scoring his throat again, sinking into the tendons. Oscar cried out, more in surprise than pain and Axel gave a rather forceful thrust, then released him, only to return to another spot, licking and sucking at the skin.
"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah," Axel dragged his lips against the back of his neck and shoulder. Fingers dug into his skin, anchoring his hips and Axel thrust again. He was looming over Oscar, hips pistoning as he gasped and panted near Oscar's ears until he tensed, crying out, and shaking as the orgasm tore through him.
Axel held him tight as he shuddered through it, buried deep in Oscar's body. As it drained away, he pulled out, gentle now, and walked a few steps away to remove the condom.
Oscar turned onto his back and lay there, panting, trying to recover. Tremors still danced through his legs and abdomen, crawling over his skin. The moon bloomed red above him and a stray breeze danced over his sweat slickened skin. He was about to lever himself up over the ground, when he felt Axel's bulk covering him again.
Axel framed his face in his hands and kissed him, slow and deep. It wasn't the frantic, passionate fueled kiss from earlier but something slow, longing, nostalgic. When he pulled away, Oscar glanced up to see Axel's dark eyes watching him.
"I love you," Axel said huskily.
Oscar's eyes widened. "Uh...oh man. Wait a sec here-" Oscar tried to squirm away but Axel resettled his body over him, holding him in place.
"I love you," Axel said again. "I love all of my boys." Lips brushed Oscar's neck again, lightly, skating over the wounds that his mouth had made earlier. Oscar shuddered and brought his shoulder up to push Axel away. He was furious with himself for letting his guard down for a quick fuck when he knew this guy was trouble.
"Let me up man."
"No," Axel said. He was staring at him again, his eyes darker now.
"Look, dude, this isn't funny. Let me the fuck up."
"You're not going anywhere. You're staying right here."
"Get the fuck off me!" Oscar shouted, beginning to struggle in earnest. Oscar opened his mouth to scream but Axel's hands slid from his face and tightened around his neck and he found himself unable to draw a breath. He flailed desperately at Axel, trying to scratch his face, gouge out his eyes, anything.
But Axel's massive bulk held him down, and Oscar was exhausted, disoriented, confused. Terror spurred his efforts and he fought madly, like a wildcat, but Axel gave him no quarter, and wouldn't let up on the grip around his throat. As Oscar's body cried out for air and his vision dimmed, his struggles grew weaker and less focused.
Axel held him until he stopped struggling and his eyes glazed over and his chest stopped moving. He released Oscar, then bent down and kissed him gently.
Axel got to his feet, pulled on his clothes and left the clearing. He could see the path back by the imprints of his boots in the mud and places where he had to break braches to allow himself passage through the trees. He rubbed a hand across his face. It wouldn’t do to let his band members see that he has been crying.
Oscar lay on the ground, his sightless eyes staring at the blood moon. He wasn't sure if he was alive or dead. All he knew, all he remembered was the lightning.
Had she abandoned him at last?
His sightless eyes stared.
The moon clouded over.
A single streak of lightning broke the night sky.
Oscar's body arched up at the touch, convulsing.
The lightning faded into an afterimage and the thunder rumbled softly.
Axel dozed lightly, fitfully. He was aware that he was on the tour bus, the steady droning and rhythmic motion lulling him as he lay there, but deep enough into sleep for the phantasmal images that made up dreams to dance in his head. They never started with the latest victim, but rather the first, the one he always saw when he locked his hands around a throat, squeezing, crushing. It was never the desire to kill that seized him, just the desire, to keep, to hold, to possess, to make sure they never strayed from his hands. To make them stay.
There was a static buzz of sound, then the sharp squeal of tires and the urgent cursing from their driver. Axel bolted up and saw the flash of sparks in front of the windshield before another sharp jerk of the wheel sent him tumbling back into the recesses of his bunk. A second later, the privacy screen slammed shut and he pushed himself up on his elbows, wide eyes searching vainly in the darkness. He groped for the screen and tugged it, curiosity morphing quickly into panic when it wouldn't budge. He never closed the screen. Axel was a large man, and claustrophobia came with the territory.
Something shifted in the stifling darkness around him and he would have screamed if the cold hands of panic weren’t holding his vocal cords in an iron grip.
Suddenly, there was a small source of illumination, just enough to reveal the face of the person hovering over him. The boy from that evening, the cocky lad that let Axel feast on his cock and lose himself briefly in the warm heat of that tight young body. Pure amazement welled up inside of Axel, briefly blocking out the panic and fear. He was so overwhelmed that he hardly noticed the pallor of his skin or the stench of ozone and burnt flesh that was filling the air.
"You," Oscar said, his eyes glittering. "You picked the wrong guy to mess with."
"You-You're dead," Axel whispered. He tried to scramble back, but he was caught in the limited restraints of his narrow cot. The weight on top of him left him unable to move. Trapped. Confined. It was hard to breathe.
"I was. You killed me. You sick motherfucker."
Axel shook his head, helplessly. Trapped. Smothered. Couldn't breathe. "No, no, I didn't mean to."
"But you did," Oscar hissed back. He rose over him, filling the space and Axel's field of vision. Something bright and white hot arced in between his upraised hands, filling the cot with the same smell as earlier, burnt air and acrid ozone. Axel could feel the hair on his body stand up, the static charge racing over him.
"The lightning is my lover and she saves me." Oscar turned his stare on to him and Axel saw the white-hot death reflected in his eyes. "But she won't save you."