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Not So Secret	By : Kikoughela Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Murderdolls Views: 2406 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Murderdolls. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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It was a lazy October afternoon and the cold autumn day found Joey of the Murderdolls lounging on the band’s leather sofa, tuning his instrument and humming a little chord as he did so. After a time, the guitarist became aware that Wednesday leaned leisurely against the doorframe, watching him.

"Sorry, this too loud?" Joey asked, baby blue eyes glancing up.

"Naw, it's fine man." Wednesday came to sit beside him. "You're getting good."

"Better than when I started, that's for fucking sure." Wednesday laughed.

"Practice makes perfect," the vocalist drawled in his southern accent.

"Don't I fucking know it."

"You'll be fine," Wednesday said.

Joey leaned over to adjust the volume of his amp. “Thanks for the- AH!” His hand slipped and the guitar crashed down on his bare toes. “MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Are you ok?” Wednesday immediately moved to help his band mate who lay prostrate on the floor. “Fuck, that was random!”

“No shit,” Joeunteunted, using Wednesday’s broad shoulder as leverage. Gingerly he pulled himself upright. “Whoo, vertigo.” He leaned against the vocalist for support as they sat together on the carpet.

“You good?” Wednesday asked, tenderly smoothing the loose tendrils of dark hair from Joey’s face. Wednesday smiled at him and admired his bright eyes. “I should check your lege mue murmured, placing his pale hand inside of Joey’s knee.

“It was my foot,” Joey corrected softly, lost in Wednesday’s chocolate brown eyes. The vocalist mumbled in response, sliding his hand down Joey’s slender calf, halting at his ankle.

“Here?” Wednesday asked, his tone dark, sensuous.

“Close enough,” Joey murmured, relaxing against his friend’s chest.

Wednesday massaged the muscle around the ankle and then down to the toes of Joey’s foot, rubbing each tendon with maddeningly slow, gentle strokes. With a sigh the drummer’s eyes closed and his mouth slanted open enticingly. Wednesday took the advantage, lightly kissing Joey’s soft pale lips. Joey’s eyes fluttered open and the vocalist’s dark eyes probed his for permission. Joey sighed in content and Wednesday smiled, bringing his lips down again.

He nuzzled Joey’s neck, running his hands over Joey’s firm slender chest, pinching his nipples through the thin black shirt. Joey’s mouth widened into a gasp of surprise. Wednesday captured his breath in a kiss, grazing Joey’s nipples with his nails. Arching his back at the sudden onslaught, Joey was captured in Wednesday’s strong arms, held fast against his chest and mouth.

“Wait! Fuck!” Joey broke free, tearing maniacally away from Wednesday in a flurry of limbs as he receded to the far end of the couch. The guitarist crouched there, knees drawn up to chest as he eyed his friend, black hair shrouding his youthful face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Wednesday hastened, his voice apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be,” Joey stuttered, bringing his knees tighter to him as Wednesday reached out a hand. “I, I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, giving his unruly hair a fretful tug.

“It’s cool,” Wednesday soothed, reaching out to clasp his friend’s trembling hand. With gentle insistence he pulled Joey from his ball and into his waiting arms.

“But what about your wife?” Joey mumbled in half-hearted protest as Wednesday reigned soft kisses on his face.

“She’s cool; we’ve talked.”

Joey made to object again, but he was drowned as Wednesday delved into his mouth, drawing him into a throaty kiss. Joey responded by moaning and twining his fingers into Wednesday’s dreadlocks, sealing their bodies in an embrace.

Outside of the tour bus sat Acey, hunched over and shivering from the cold. His cotton t-shirt did little to protect him against the harsh elements, and it was with great disdain that he realized he had not packed sufficient clothing for a winter trip. Yet there he stood waiting outside, ever the fool, for Ben and Eric to pick him up. Of course the pair was late (most likely Eric was to blame), so Acey had trotted around the block to the liqueur store, and had purchased the now empty beer can.

The wind whipped his dreadlocks into his sensitive eyes; Acey was thoroughly agitated. Joey had been sitting on the sofa thirty minutes ago (for that was how long Acey had been waiting), and the disgruntled man hoped his fellow guitarist had taken his leave and gone upstairs. Acey was fervently looking forward to another beer, the television, and a warm blanket on the couch. He shook his head in cont. Mu. Muttering obscene words and phrases at his tardy bandmates, he tossed the crushed aluminum into a trash barrel, then made his way lightly up the steps of the band’s tour bus to claim his coveted relaxation.

Joey had peeled away Wednesday’s jacket and now worked his fingers hastily on the buttons of his friend’s shirt. Likewise Wednesday was fumbling with the fishnets Joey had inconveniently worn under his t-shirt. After the couple had knocked heads at least twice, Joey stopped his fumbling and kissed Wednesday hard on the mouth. “Let’s just get a fucking pair of scissors,” he said.

Wednesday smiled. “I have a better idea.” With that he ripped the fishnet shirt down the front, displaying pale flesh to his greedy eyes. “That good?”

Joey kissed him again, lips demanding. “My turn.” He grasped Wednesday’s collar and prepared to rip. His action was halted abruptly by a soft footstep near the door.

Acey stood mute, half through the door as it hung wide open. Wednesday and Joey looked and him, and then looked at each other.

“Shit.”
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