Page 37 of Volatile

Aspen found even more confidence in his costumes, and the more he did, the more the internet ate it up.

And the worst part?

Aspen came alive. He seemed better than I’d ever seen him. He fully embraced the frenzy, feeding into it by just being himself. If they photographed him with a product of any type, it instantly sold out.

I hated that something that brought me so much turmoil brightened his star. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world for dreading every night. I shouldn’t have to wilt while he bloomed, but I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Taylor, instead of helping, had opened up a sick kind of obsession. I had open access to a full internet of Aspen porn with new photos added four nights a week. And it added to my sexual frustration. I insisted on playing, which irritated my stitches and reopened wounds, making it so I had to get them re-closed night after night.

By the time we got off stage, I couldn’t close my hands. It made jacking off impossible. I sat on the edge of losing it every minute of every day.

I had to find some relief.

I grabbed my stuff and moved it to the dressing room Levi had set up for me, finally able to breathe.

I wasn’t proud of myself, but I pulled up one of the accounts dedicated to Aspen and flipped through the videos until I found one from that first night. The little green skirt.

He put his doc up on the speaker, fishnets torn, giving the camera a view up it. How would he react if I dragged him off stage, pinned him to a wall, and fucked him from behind? His tight ass taking my cock. The sounds he’d make with his angelic voice. How he’d moan my name.

Would he look over his shoulder in victory?

How much would he love pushing me to breaking?

* * *

Even empty balls couldn’t have prepared me for what Aspen stepped onto stage wearing. I’d made a habit of avoiding it as long as possible. I didn’t watch his pre-shows anymore. I kept my attention on the back of the stadium until he forced it by walking over to my side of the stage.

But as the lights came up, the crowd erupted in a way I’d never experienced, not in over a decade of doing this. The only other time I’d heard a crowd get so loud was when Iris Black made out with his bandmate on stage, and that was a relationship with a long fan shipping obsession. The only other thing that could produce that kind of reaction is Taylor bringing out a girlfriend to kiss on stage or Larry coming true.

I turned, purely out of instinct even before I could process what might be causing the crowd’s reaction, to find Aspen. He stood center stage in the sluttiest plague doctor costume I’d ever fucking seen. He stood, arms outstretched, black gloves gleaming, paired with an almost priest-like cassock, which would have been a reprieve from his torture, but he stepped forward the same second I looked over, revealing a slit up the side and—to my horror—a garter belt with suspenders, paired with goth girl striped thigh highs and his docs. My fingers stumbled over the strings, barely hitting the cords of our opening song I’d played thousands of times.

He stepped forward, and it was pure torture. I couldn’t look away.

His usual foot went up on the speaker while he leaned into it, exposing half his fucking ass with the slit up to his hip.

Fuck my life.

I got harder by the second. He straightened, popping open bronze buttons on his Bauta mask, to leave the beak part hanging off one side so he could bring the mic to his lips. The rest of the lights on stage dimmed, leaving him silhouetted in a single red light. His voice joined the band, making the song haunting. He’d never sung it like this before. Which added to my need.

If I had an ounce less control, I would have dragged him off stage like I’d imagined. I wasn’t sure if it would end in us fucking or fighting. I wanted both.

I rooted my feet into the stage, willing myself to stay where I was.

He stayed with his foot on the speaker, half bent over, singing to the crowd for the entire song, and they ate it up. I could only imagine this would push his superstardom into the stratosphere.

I tried to not look at him like I had every other show, but there was no turning away. His energy swallowed me whole. Aspen held me captivated without ever looking at me.

The power he held suddenly also scared me.

This tour couldn’t end fast enough. I had to get away from him. Find some way to regroup. Because if I stayed in his vicinity, I’d give him everything he wanted, and I didn’t know how I’d look at myself in the mirror after.

By the time we got off stage, I was so emotionally raw I bolted to my dressing room to hide until the other guys left. I felt like a fucking coward. Great. I was gay and a coward. Everything my dad would have beaten the shit out of me for. So glad he was in his grave and would never witness my weakness. Unlike Aspen and his father, I loved mine. I’d always looked up to mine despite his bad parts. I wanted him to be proud of me, and he had been when he died. This would have him rolling over in his grave. I hoped the dead didn’t watch us because I was so close to giving in to Aspen.

I got out of the arena without seeing any of them.

I needed to get this out of my system, and the only way I knew to do that was fucking someone else. I had to find a chick because my hand wasn’t doing it.

I sat at some VIP lounge with a bodyguard and a ton of other rich fucks while busty blondes fawned all over us. But not a single one of them so much as gave me a halfy. None of them looked like my fucking little gremlin. This wasn’t going to work. I needed a chick with red hair who was built like a twink. This wasn’t the place.

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