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I'm feeling fantastic, I'm fucking fantastic
I wanna get drunk and watch American classics
Drink champagne out of plastic
Don't you want someone crazy like me, babe?
"Show starts in fifteen!" Sevika barks out, clapping her hands. "I want everyone here, now!"
Throngs of crew members hustle about, makeup artists and sound coordinators alike. At the center of the hubbub and chaos, The Zaunite Bloodhounds carry out their pre-show rituals, nearing the halfway mark of their third world tour.
Ekko sits in an armchair with his eyes closed, nodding along to their setlist blasting in the nearest speaker, hands miming an electric guitar.
Jinx screams at the top of her lungs, almost in an episode of hysteria, to get her blood pumping and vocal chords sufficiently stretched.
Mylo hits on a blue-haired stylist who's touching up his untameable hair, ever the insufferable bassist.
Claggor quietly curses as he falls off Rainbow Road again. He claims playing the switch warms up his fingers for playing the keyboard, but everyone knows he's trying to beat Vi's high score.
"Testing, testing, one, two," echoes around backstage, blending with the cacophony of other noises, then a piercing shriek of mic feedback causes all of them to wince. In apprehensive silence, everyone waits for the other shoe to drop.
"ENOUGH!" Sevika roars, and all movement stops as the tour manager finally loses her shit at approximately eleven minutes to the show.
"Anyone of you fucking pricks move," Sevika growls, strolling in between each crew member who stands, frozen in position. "....And I'll execute every. Motherfucking. Last. One of you."
Ekko switches off the speaker. Jinx continues screaming until Mylo kicks her chair. Claggor puts down his switch silently.
Breathing heavily, Sevika surveys the room. She had managed many bands before, but none of them had created quite as much trouble as The Zaunite Bloodhounds. Hell, maybe it was in the name.
Her headache would kick in later on, and she would have to take her meds for her rising blood pressure.
Until then, she had bigger issues to worry about.
Like the absence of a very key member.
"....WHERE IN THE FLYING FUCK IS MY FUCKING DRUMMER?"
***
"You want me to sign your tits?"
Vi yells over the crowd of screaming fangirls who had somehow broken backstage. At the enthusiastic agreement, she yields the sharpie like Michaelangelo with his paintbrush, and signs her name, one letter for each tit.
"Oh my god, the internet is gonna go crazy over this," The fan squeals, and Vi pales at the thought of Sevika's punishment when the hard-headed manager finds out about her little detour.
Recreate that one scene in Whiplash, probably, until Vi is bleeding out on the studio's floor.
"Shit, shit, okay!" The redhead yelps, as more hands flail out to grab at her bare arms, album CDs and posters getting shoved in her face.
After a couple of haphazard photos, Vi makes her escape. Eight minutes. Enough time, she figures, dashing through the large venue.
The stadium is behemoth, multi-storeyed, a maximum capacity of 60,000 — such a far cry from the cramped venues they used to do gigs in, that the sheer size and luxury is symbolic of the historic greatness the Bloodhounds have achieved.
And it is such that on the floor with restricted access, she gets lost in the winding hallways.
"Shit," Vi mutters, scanning her surroundings to no avail. Six minutes.
"Are you lost?"
Vi spins around to be greeted by the most breathtaking woman she's ever seen in her life. Not quite eye-to-eye, as said woman stands almost a full head taller than her, but Vi is certainly not complaining.
"Not anymore," Vi answers smoothly, grinning wickedly.
The woman before her is nothing short of ethereal, tall and slender, cool and composed. Her dark hair is tied into a ponytail, loose strands framing her high cheekbones, blending with the navy blue of her tight-fitting jacket. Long and slender fingers wrap around a blueberry muffin, and Vi swallows slightly.
When those mesmerising greyish-blue eyes trail up and down Vi herself, an excited shiver runs down her spine. Vi knows she's a stunner herself: her open, sleeveless denim jacket leaves a black sports bra and a toned abdomen on display.
"So," Vi says suggestively, flexing her arms. She's been down this road an unhealthy amount of times, and with the tall drink of water before her, she isn't hitting the brakes anytime soon. "You want a photo?"
"Photo of what?" The tall woman queries, posh, accented, eyebrow arched in a way that shouldn't be that attractive. She takes a bite out of her muffin.
"With me, duh," Vi laughs, ego slightly bruised. She makes up for it with a small wink, leaning against the wall with folded arms. That would be the killer.
"Or, y'know, it doesn't just have to be a photo, cupcake."
The woman blinks owlishly. "Oh. Are you one of the photographers for the show?"
Vi splutters, about to guffaw, when she realises the stupidly hot woman isn't joking. "You're not here for the concert?" She clarifies weakly, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid.
"No. My mother bought the stadium, guess I'm giving it a little look around," The woman offers mildly. "How'd you know, anyway?"
"Don't worry 'bout it, Cupcake," Vi answers, out of her element but smitten nonetheless. "About the photographer thing, how do you get to the stage again?"
***
Thirty seconds.
"Vi, where the fuck have you been," Sevika snarls, kicking off the wall.
"Up a girl's ass, by the looks of it," Mylo interjects helpfully, as Jinx hums airily in agreement.
"Jealous you're not getting any?" Vi quips to the scruffy-haired boy's chagrin. She fixes up her mic wire, does a few lunges, breathes in and out.
"I'm on time, Sev," The redhead reminds, cracking open an eye to meet her manager's death stare. The taller woman wearily rubs at her face, nodding dismissively.
"Yeah yeah, fuck you too, asshole. If I kill myself it's on you."
Vi smirks, twirling her drumsticks in one hand. "Take your foot outta the grave, Sev, we haven't even gotten a Grammy yet."
***
"PILTOVER!!" Jinx screams into the mic, long blue braids swinging madly as she dances on stage. "ARE. YOU. READY!!!!!"
Millions of colourful lights dance in Vi's vision. The insane level of screaming and hollering already shakes Vi's bones to the core, and it proceeds to make the stage rumble when the familiar beats of their biggest hit resound.
"You guys might know this one!" Jinx yells over the noise, hyping up the crowd with a natural performer's ease. "It's Paint The Town Blue!"
Vi whacks the sticks with purpose, head nodding in rhythm, knee vibrating with adrenaline as she hits the bass drum. She'd never felt more like herself than on stage, one with the fans, one with the music.
And, on the off chance that "Cupcake" might actually be watching this time around, Vi proceeds to play the best she's ever had in her fucking life.
***
"Oh, fuck, Cupcake—"
Vi's hands scramble for purchase against the back of the door as said woman pushes up against her.
"I already told you," Her counterpart responds, sternly holding Vi's jaw up with one hand, so annoyingly unflappable and composed. "It's Caitlyn."
After an immense show, the best the band had sounded, she had found Caitlyn idly waiting by backstage. Brief re-introductions had spiralled into one thing after another, and then they had snuck off into an empty hotel room in the stadium. The rest was history.
With unsurprising deftness, Caitlyn unbuckles Vi's tight jeans, slipping a slender hand between the coarse material and Vi's boxer shorts.
"Fuck," Vi lets out, choked and heated, grinding against the broad expanse of Caitlyn's hand. The taller woman forcefully stills Vi's hips, eyes glazed over in a lustful haze, and Vi thinks this hour might be her last.
When a clothed thigh neatly slots between her legs, Vi throws her head back, panting against the door. "Are you tryna kill me, princess?" she asks, holding on to Caitlyn's shoulders, and the fact that she has to look up kills her some more.
"It would be a shame if you died before I made you come," Caitlyn states, grinning genuinely, and her tooth gap is so fucking adorable that Vi just tugs that goddamned loopy smile against her lips and melts into her goddess.
Their mouths crash in an ungraceful symphony, a mess of tongue and teeth, one that Caitlyn quickly takes control over. As an expert tongue darts into her mouth, Vi feels the edges of her mind go foggy.
She can't help the groan that escapes her throat when Caitlyn's chest presses against hers. She grabs greedily at the ample breasts before her, earning herself a few moans.
"Shit," Vi curses aloud when Caitlyn's short nails scrape against her tense abdomen, then burying into her boxer shorts. The greyish eyes that meet her own are steely, smoking with lust, as desperate as hers are, searching.
"Fuck me, Caitlyn," Vi whispers, between their shared exhales, in the space of their bruised mouths, filling in the unspoken words.
Then Caitlyn's fingers trace her wet folds, and Vi gasps "inside", then everything goes hazy.
Vi doesn't quite remember how they've ended up on the bed, when her jacket and jeans were shed, whether it was hers or Caitlyn's doing, or how many times she'd met a high on Caitlyn's devilish fingers.
All she knows now, though, is that Caitlyn's right hand is wrapped around her neck, applying a dizzying pressure, and that she's getting absolutely wrecked.
"More," Vi cries out, her muscled body arching against Caitlyn's lean one, every fibre of her body alit with arousal.
"Look at you, dripping on my hand," The teasing voice comes, and at Vi's whimper, it seems an animalistic prowess overtakes Caitlyn.
With unyielding power that surges forth, a series of thrusts causes Vi to clench needily around those long, slender fingers. It might've been two, maybe three, but either way it was ecstasy, and Vi was nearing her hyperbolic edge.
"Please," She chokes out, trying to convey her need, one hand digging into the sheets. The look in Caitlyn's eyes says that she knows, almost deliciously smug, and it only makes Vi squeeze harder.
"Beg for it, then."
"Caitlyn, please."
"Come for me," Caitlyn whispers amid her unforgiving thrusts, choking Vi harder, sharp teeth grazing her sensitive earlobe, calculatedly curling her fingers into that sweet spot.
The world stops.
A light explodes behind Vi's eyes, and she rises into a higher plane of existence, and she comes undone before Caitlyn. The unwinding of her tapestry, passionate and inevitable, intricate and all-encompassing. All her post-show stress is divulged into the earth-shattering orgasm, bucking into Caitlyn and running her throat hoarse.
"Cait," Vi sobs, making noises she'd never made before, high-pitched and keeling, begging pathetically and dripping endlessly. Her muscles are on fire, her nerves are alight, her body is shuddering involuntarily.
"Good girl, baby," Caitlyn prods, murmurs sweetly. She sweeps a thumb over Vi's wet cheek, letting Vi ride out her orgasm with her other hand. Just for now, Vi allows herself to take, take, take.
***
"I have a favour to ask," Caitlyn begins, a while later, stroking Vi's hair hesitantly. Vi melts into the soft touch, yearning hopelessly, not caring if it was inappropriate for a first time fuck.
"Anything, Cupcake."
"Can you sign this for me?"
Upon that odd request, Vi opens her eyes despite her tiredness, only to see the last thing she'd expect to lay her eyes on.
A limited edition CD of "Ashes and Blood", their original EP. The first work of The Zaunite Bloodhounds, when they were still a band of rugged misfits playing in The Last Drop, when going on a world tour was a faraway fantasy.
"Holy shit," Vi whispers, turning over the well-worn cover, seeing her fifteen year-old self flipping the camera off.
Her head snaps up to look at Caitlyn's pleased smile. "Cupcake!" She exclaims indignantly. "You knew it was me? You were playing like a goddamn fiddle this whole time?"
"A fiddle is actually a tricky instrument," Caitlyn answers languidly, something of a Greek goddess with her smooth accent and relaxed poise. "You're more of a… triangle."
"Now you're just being mean," Vi retorts, folding her arms. "I can't believe you lied."
"I'm sorry," Caitlyn murmurs softly, ghosting her fingertips along the deep v-shaped cut of Vi's abdomen. "When you immediately started hitting on me so brazenly, I figured your ego needed taming…"
Dainty touches dance over Vi's happy trail, causing her to squirm. Caitlyn smirks. "And it was sexy, watching you fumble in your slutty top."
"My slutty— ah, okay, don't get on your high horse," Vi retorts, breaking off into a small sigh at the feather-light touch. "You're basically admitting to being a lifelong fan of mine, cupcake."
"You certainly didn't carry this attitude when you were squirting in my mouth," Caitlyn responds huskily, dipping her fingers southward.
"Motherfu—"
Hence, the pair dissolves into a a heated make-out session, which naturally leads to more intense fucking.
As Vi's choked moans and Caitlyn's slow exhales echo around the remnants of what used to be a pristine room, the sun melts into the orange horizon — and in that moment, all is well.
***
Following several more sessions of mindblowing highs and tender aftercare, Vi meets an epiphany — and writes her first solo single during the band tour, titled "Fantastic".
And I'm thinking of you
When I'm up here higher than God