3.
The venue vibrated with the pounding sounds of Hands Like Heroes instruments, strumming and banging with unrhythmic clatter, random strings of songs that sent the overcrowded room un complete uproar. They teased and strummed for what felt like forever, each sound that boomed off the walls feeding on hysteric reactions from screaming fans. I slowly found my way to the bar at the side of the club, pushing passed endless sweating bodies, heaving and shoving me with the sounds that corrupted any moral thought they had left.
I rolled my eyes, perching on a stool at the end of the bench as I waved down a bartender, desperate for a liquid crutch to get me through the night. He nodded, pouring colourful shots for a group the most stereotypical fan girls, wearing outfits that would insinuate they’ve come here on a break from their street corners. Heavy eyeliner encased half of their faces, neon hair stuck to their foreheads from sweat as they bounced around the room with eager squealing. It was hard to believe that the show hadn’t even started yet. I rolled my eyes once more with an audible sigh.
After cashing up the screeching women, the bartender found his way to the end of the bar, wiping the busy benches on his way down.
“What can I get for you?” His voice boomed over the thudding of the bands setup, his trained eyes watching intently for me to mouth my order.
“Hard Gin and a ticket out of here.” I slightly joke. The man laughs, deep dimples forming on his cheeks as he pours my order.
“They’re not all bad,” he retorts and I raise an eyebrow toward him, calling his bluff as I pay for the overpriced drink.
He laughs once more, looking back at the stage - the endless crowd of people jittery bodies - before returning back to me.
“Some of the crew may have a bit of a douchebag streak, but you can’t fault their music.” He shrugs, leaning onto the counter as we watch the band torment their fans.
“The venue is never as busy as it is when these guys are in town,” he continues and I take a long swig of my drink, waiting for Beckett to finally arrive.
“And for what it’s worth, Ace is actually a pretty cool guy when he’s not in Hands Like Heroes mode.” He smiles, and just as I began to spit back in complete disbelief, the lights dim to almost a complete black and the crowd roars in bone-shattering screams. We both face the stage, thrown into a shocked silence as a single, red light beams down onto the centre of the stage.
The crowd wails, delirious moans and cries enveloping the space as Ace Beckett stands in-front of the crowd, all of his chiselled features shadowed beneath the light, his tight clothing hugging his toned chest in ways that had my thighs squeezing together, betraying my agitated opinions. Eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses, he smiles, a sinful grin crawling over his face as he looks over the crowd with the cockiest stance I have ever witnessed.
He leans toward the microphone and all of a sudden, the entire room falls completely silent for the first time tonight.
His grin deepens. He knew the kind of power he held over these delirious people. The silence thickened as his fans hang onto their breaths, waiting for his deep voice to fill the room.
“I’m feeling real, real good tonight,” He purrs, a low growl encasing his words.
The crowd erupted into ballistic, wild howls, like rabid dogs chasing their food. The women screamed, weeping with unapologetic squeals, all sense of morality leaving their bodies at the sound of his words.
He smiles again, utterly stoked within his element, looking down at the sea of people below him and lowering his glasses only slightly as he searches around the room. His dark eyes skim the venue and I watch intently, arms crossed as he teases his audience. He looks toward the bar and I could’ve sworn- our eyes locked. A shiver trickles down my spine, hairs on my neck standing on end at the intensity of the moment.
“You know, I’ve been told that I’m a man who takes what he wants, when he wants it.” He smirks into the microphone, strolling along the edge of the stage, unwavering from my sights as he lets the insanity of the crowds squealing and cooing to further prove his point. He pauses, letting the echoes of his fans simmer before continuing. I swallow, hard, a slither of daring lust dancing along goosebumps that covered my pale arms. Finally, he looks away and I feel as though a physical shackle had been lifted. I look around the room, recovering as I wonder how long we’d been staring at each other, making sure nobody caught me in my indulgence. Alas, the entire room faced the stage- not a single soul in the building daring to stray their attention away from the godly figure.
“I mean, what I want is to rock until this fucking roof caves in,” he laughs, “And I’m not gonna stop until I’m damn ready,” and with the string of his last words, the rest of the stage lit up, the band strumming and banging as loud as they could as they catapult themselves into their first song. His hundreds of admirers along throw their hands in the air, shouting and crying aloud all over again. They jumped around, shoving into each other and screaming along to Aces’ lyrics. I prayed for their coarse throats by the end of the night.
Approximately eight songs and far too many drinks later, I could feel enough warmth on my cheeks to let my hair down a little more and decided that these shoes had too much sex appeal not to be danced in and there was no way I was going to let him ruin my night with his obnoxious smile and ridiculous arms and tight shirt that clung to him in all of the right places and… I had to physically shake my head to stop imagining him any further before I escalated it too far. I left the thought at the bottom of my glass of Gin after tipping it back and slamming it onto the bench.
The bartender wasn’t wrong; these guys really did know how to put on a performance. Their sets were tight, the faultless tunes seeming so effortless as they play around on stage like a bunch of high-schoolers in their personal garage. The crowd fed off their energy - I fed on their energy- and the atmosphere, to my demise, was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Ace had a way with his ora, that oozed playfulness and confidence throughout the entire room. He was flirty, daring, with an incomparable set of lungs that forced my mind to trail off into provocative territory.
The bartender huffed out a knowing laugh and tossed his head to the dance-floor, beckoning me to just enjoy the show.
I nod back, ready to give into the atmosphere; despite wanting Ace’s head on a stick. Bee-lining it to the main floor, I let the music carry away any further thoughts of the cocky douchebag and allowed myself to get lost in the pool of sweating, uncoordinated bodies of blurred faces and eager hands. Too soon, the band finished an entrancing number that had me sweeping my hands through my hair and fluttering my eyes shut, letting my body rile and grind and get lost in the magical sounds filling the venue.
“We’ll be back real soon, you crazy fuckers.” Aces voice snapped me back into reality, a crash of heated shyness crawling up my neck as I realise just how much I’d given in to the music. I trail back to the bar, about to nestle back into my stool, when a thick, warm hand envelopes my wrist.
“Outside. 5 minutes.” I hear his voice commanding in a soft whisper against my ear, sending goosebumps to dance down my spine. I wasn’t sure how he’d found me amongst the rowdy crowd, or how long he’d been watching me dance before coming after me.
None of that had mattered, though. The moment his cool, even voice slithered words of command down my skin, I would have done anything he wanted without question. I hated myself for it. Working up the courage to leave the security of colliding bodies and dark, streaming lights as filler music blinded people from their idol standing mere feet away from them, I decide to follow what the alcohol was calling to me. One foot in-front of the other, I smoothed down my skirt and lead myself down the hall, to the back doors of the club.
I stepped outside.
I rolled my eyes, perching on a stool at the end of the bench as I waved down a bartender, desperate for a liquid crutch to get me through the night. He nodded, pouring colourful shots for a group the most stereotypical fan girls, wearing outfits that would insinuate they’ve come here on a break from their street corners. Heavy eyeliner encased half of their faces, neon hair stuck to their foreheads from sweat as they bounced around the room with eager squealing. It was hard to believe that the show hadn’t even started yet. I rolled my eyes once more with an audible sigh.
After cashing up the screeching women, the bartender found his way to the end of the bar, wiping the busy benches on his way down.
“What can I get for you?” His voice boomed over the thudding of the bands setup, his trained eyes watching intently for me to mouth my order.
“Hard Gin and a ticket out of here.” I slightly joke. The man laughs, deep dimples forming on his cheeks as he pours my order.
“They’re not all bad,” he retorts and I raise an eyebrow toward him, calling his bluff as I pay for the overpriced drink.
He laughs once more, looking back at the stage - the endless crowd of people jittery bodies - before returning back to me.
“Some of the crew may have a bit of a douchebag streak, but you can’t fault their music.” He shrugs, leaning onto the counter as we watch the band torment their fans.
“The venue is never as busy as it is when these guys are in town,” he continues and I take a long swig of my drink, waiting for Beckett to finally arrive.
“And for what it’s worth, Ace is actually a pretty cool guy when he’s not in Hands Like Heroes mode.” He smiles, and just as I began to spit back in complete disbelief, the lights dim to almost a complete black and the crowd roars in bone-shattering screams. We both face the stage, thrown into a shocked silence as a single, red light beams down onto the centre of the stage.
The crowd wails, delirious moans and cries enveloping the space as Ace Beckett stands in-front of the crowd, all of his chiselled features shadowed beneath the light, his tight clothing hugging his toned chest in ways that had my thighs squeezing together, betraying my agitated opinions. Eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses, he smiles, a sinful grin crawling over his face as he looks over the crowd with the cockiest stance I have ever witnessed.
He leans toward the microphone and all of a sudden, the entire room falls completely silent for the first time tonight.
His grin deepens. He knew the kind of power he held over these delirious people. The silence thickened as his fans hang onto their breaths, waiting for his deep voice to fill the room.
“I’m feeling real, real good tonight,” He purrs, a low growl encasing his words.
The crowd erupted into ballistic, wild howls, like rabid dogs chasing their food. The women screamed, weeping with unapologetic squeals, all sense of morality leaving their bodies at the sound of his words.
He smiles again, utterly stoked within his element, looking down at the sea of people below him and lowering his glasses only slightly as he searches around the room. His dark eyes skim the venue and I watch intently, arms crossed as he teases his audience. He looks toward the bar and I could’ve sworn- our eyes locked. A shiver trickles down my spine, hairs on my neck standing on end at the intensity of the moment.
“You know, I’ve been told that I’m a man who takes what he wants, when he wants it.” He smirks into the microphone, strolling along the edge of the stage, unwavering from my sights as he lets the insanity of the crowds squealing and cooing to further prove his point. He pauses, letting the echoes of his fans simmer before continuing. I swallow, hard, a slither of daring lust dancing along goosebumps that covered my pale arms. Finally, he looks away and I feel as though a physical shackle had been lifted. I look around the room, recovering as I wonder how long we’d been staring at each other, making sure nobody caught me in my indulgence. Alas, the entire room faced the stage- not a single soul in the building daring to stray their attention away from the godly figure.
“I mean, what I want is to rock until this fucking roof caves in,” he laughs, “And I’m not gonna stop until I’m damn ready,” and with the string of his last words, the rest of the stage lit up, the band strumming and banging as loud as they could as they catapult themselves into their first song. His hundreds of admirers along throw their hands in the air, shouting and crying aloud all over again. They jumped around, shoving into each other and screaming along to Aces’ lyrics. I prayed for their coarse throats by the end of the night.
Approximately eight songs and far too many drinks later, I could feel enough warmth on my cheeks to let my hair down a little more and decided that these shoes had too much sex appeal not to be danced in and there was no way I was going to let him ruin my night with his obnoxious smile and ridiculous arms and tight shirt that clung to him in all of the right places and… I had to physically shake my head to stop imagining him any further before I escalated it too far. I left the thought at the bottom of my glass of Gin after tipping it back and slamming it onto the bench.
The bartender wasn’t wrong; these guys really did know how to put on a performance. Their sets were tight, the faultless tunes seeming so effortless as they play around on stage like a bunch of high-schoolers in their personal garage. The crowd fed off their energy - I fed on their energy- and the atmosphere, to my demise, was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Ace had a way with his ora, that oozed playfulness and confidence throughout the entire room. He was flirty, daring, with an incomparable set of lungs that forced my mind to trail off into provocative territory.
The bartender huffed out a knowing laugh and tossed his head to the dance-floor, beckoning me to just enjoy the show.
I nod back, ready to give into the atmosphere; despite wanting Ace’s head on a stick. Bee-lining it to the main floor, I let the music carry away any further thoughts of the cocky douchebag and allowed myself to get lost in the pool of sweating, uncoordinated bodies of blurred faces and eager hands. Too soon, the band finished an entrancing number that had me sweeping my hands through my hair and fluttering my eyes shut, letting my body rile and grind and get lost in the magical sounds filling the venue.
“We’ll be back real soon, you crazy fuckers.” Aces voice snapped me back into reality, a crash of heated shyness crawling up my neck as I realise just how much I’d given in to the music. I trail back to the bar, about to nestle back into my stool, when a thick, warm hand envelopes my wrist.
“Outside. 5 minutes.” I hear his voice commanding in a soft whisper against my ear, sending goosebumps to dance down my spine. I wasn’t sure how he’d found me amongst the rowdy crowd, or how long he’d been watching me dance before coming after me.
None of that had mattered, though. The moment his cool, even voice slithered words of command down my skin, I would have done anything he wanted without question. I hated myself for it. Working up the courage to leave the security of colliding bodies and dark, streaming lights as filler music blinded people from their idol standing mere feet away from them, I decide to follow what the alcohol was calling to me. One foot in-front of the other, I smoothed down my skirt and lead myself down the hall, to the back doors of the club.
I stepped outside.
