Chapter Text
It was that time of the year again. It was festival season and one of your favorite bands was in town: Repugnant. You’d follow them around on tour, before. But the last few shows, money had been tight. You decided to save up and show up to this one. You’d been front row every one of their shows for years, now. You hadn’t officially met the members, a couple run ins at after parties, but there was still a familiarity and comradery.
It was a hot September night. Sticky from the humidity, so you dressed lightly. Crop top. Shorts. Nothing fancy. You lathered on the black eyeliner, knowing it would fully melt off later. Plus, the ‘running down your cheeks’ look was your favorite. Hair? Messy. No need to do anything fancy to it. It would be sweaty all day.
Show time had come. You were fully against the barrier, directly in front of the stage. Drunken, sweaty metalheads were pressed up against you. You wouldn’t lie that most of them were exactly your type, but you had eyes for someone else tonight.
You had the biggest crush on Repugnant’s lead singer, Mary Goore. Something about his growling, the blood dripping down his face, and his tight pants made you utterly feral. You’d heard stories about him throughout the years of following the band. His lyrics gave quite an insight on how fucked up and grotesque his brain was. And unholy fuck, was it hot. Sometimes you’d imagine you were the cutoff head he was fucking. Something you’d never openly say…
The guy behind you had been making eyes at you all night. Funny jokes and cheeky comments here and there. He accidently spilled some of his warm beer on you, too. It’s all a part of the experience, you kept telling yourself. What was his name? Todd? Ted? Kyle? You didn’t fucking know. All you could think about was him. Mary Goore.
Sound guys finally left the stage. Now all that’s left is Repugnant to come out and start shredding. And oh boy, do they make an appearance. Guitars began to play the opener of “Hungry Are the Damned” and the crowd went WILD. Your heart began to pound with the rhythm and when the tempo shifted, so did your pulse. And there it was. His growling. You felt that band in your stomach tighten as Mary made his way onto the stage.
“Nosferatu inside of you,” Mary pointed to the crowd, “Nosferatu inside of you and me”. With that last line, he smirked, face caked in blood. And he locked eyes onto you. Finger pointing. His smirk made your cheeks blush and you instinctively bit your lip. He noticed.
Throughout the next few songs, the metalhead behind you had grabbed onto your shoulders. His hands moved from your shoulders to your waist and he whispered (The way drunk people do… so LOUD) into your ear. You shrugged him off, most times. You couldn’t help that this death metal was tickling your fancy. You were buzzed, this dude’s package was grinding into you, (unintentionally, of course. It’s a pit. Everyone is packed in like sardines), and Mary had been making eye contact with you during the performance.
He looked angry. Every time the guy behind you even touched you, Mary’s eyes would dart back to your form. Either he was trying to figure out if you came together or if you were sincerely bothered by his drunk antics. The only antics you were getting bothered by were Mary’s… and the guy behind you was just a play-thing at this point.
Mary’s deep green eyes followed your move every now and then. He was like prey caught in your trap. It wasn’t an accident that you didn’t wear a bra. And that you were wearing a crop top. Every time you lifted your arms to rock out, the sweat glistened on your underboob. And Mary’s gaze hyper-focused on the exposed skin. Not only did the breeze feel nice, sweeping across the area, but thinking about Mary’s tongue sweeping across it, too, felt a little extra nice.
The next time his hot breath came to your ear, you turned around and met his lips with yours. You smirked and immediately made eyes to Mary. He scrunched his nose onstage and huffed, going back to the music. The guy behind you said, “Wow, what was that all about?” he laughed. You rolled your eyes, still concentrating on the concert. His hand planted on your waist, pulling you back against him. You grabbed his hand and guided it to your center, giving him the okay to touch you.
And his fingers quickly slipped past your denim shorts, plunging into your wet folds. That elicited a moan from you, which was unheard by everyone around. A small blessing from being front row at a heavy metal concert; You can’t hear shit! But someone did notice. And his eyes grew dark, pupils blown. He looked furious. But an evil smirk grew across his face and it hit you right in the core.
The dude wasn’t doing bad. He found the clit, which was a surprise. But you could do without the weird whispering of dirty talk going on in your ear. In fact, you swatted that away a few times. Like, dude just let me listen to the music, please, you thought.
And here it was. One of your favorite songs from the album, “Draped in Cerecloth”. Your eyes perked up right away. You leaned your head back against the man behind you. Your body curved into his touch, begging him to go faster and steadier. And, as best as he could, he obeyed. Mary noticed your change in posture. So this song gets her hot, huh? Well, even hotter. Little freak, he thought.
Exhumation of a tomb
Evil haunted catacomb
You smiled, some of the other band members were noticing your little display throughout the song. You winked and they grinned in return. Not every day that someone performs for you at your concert. But they quickly averted their eyes when Mary looked at them. The air about him, and the look on his face, was displaying ownership. A trait you were beginning to love about "Scary Mary". Now you were getting a sense at why he was called that.
Rotten corpse covered in dust
Drained arteries in rust
He took some of the blood and sweat on his forehead and drug it down his neck, really making a spectacle of himself. This got him some whistles from the crowd, and you were one of them. He actually smiled and laughed to himself. So he wasn’t all serious, you thought.
Bring a saw, cut off on arm
Necrophilia has its charm
You made eye contact with him as one of your hands slithered up your body and covertly rubbed against your breast, aching for Mary’s hands to grab onto you. You had a vivid imagination, so why not use it? He quickly palmed his length, before shredding back into his guitar again. That little action made your cheeks heat up; You could feel your orgasm quickly approaching. Your eyes began to falter the connection and rolled back, closing them to ride the wave.
Molestation of the dead
Fucking with a cut-off head
And there it was. The last guttural growl of your favorite lyric sent you over the edge. Your arms wrapped around the neck of the man behind you. And you didn’t care that your one of your breasts was completely exposed at this point. Your nipple at a peak as you chased your high.
Mary’s eyes grew wild, he stuttered the last few lyrics of the song, but his eyes couldn’t move from your body. The bumping of the guitar against his growing hardness became a quick inconvenience. Especially because he’s on stage. Thank fuck we’re almost done… She’s gonna pay for this later, he promised.
And Mary never breaks a promise.