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mega-pixie-dream-girl · 3 months ago

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Making Space - Part II

1990

❣ I am still very new at writing these! I know I am long-winded... I could probably edit even more and make small moment high-intensity fics, but this is sort of my style ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and I have decided to make this story more of a chap book. Note: I leave some details in brackets when I don't want to associate a real name/place/thing, fill it in madlibs style ❣

Pairing: Dave Mustaine x f!reader

Summary: Y/n is a musician--well, sort of. She is getting back into it when she meets Dave who has a practice space she can use. She wasn't looking for a muse... just a spark to ignite her creative passions. But falling for another musician is like playing with fire–falling for the frontman of Megadeth, that's like playing with an a-bomb.

𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: power dynamic/mentorship, size, fluff, smut, angst

read Part I here

.・。♪.・゜✧・.♬・☆・゜・。. • ✧ ♪ . ° .• °:.♬ *₊ ° . ✧.・。♪.・゜✧

I drank more that weekend than I had drank in a month–which wasn’t hard since I didn’t really drink much. I had gone back to the Diamond Saloon Saturday and Sunday, hoping I might run into Dave. No such luck. Monday–my first day with my rehearsal hours in Dave’s practice room–came and went, the little folded up envelope of cash I brought to pay him feeling heavier in my pocket knowing I still had not seen him again since that night he disappeared to talk to some record exec right before we almost got drinks together. Ugh. Was I torturing myself? Perhaps setting myself up to be the character in an old sci-fi mystery show where every time I was close to getting to know him, something cataclysmic would get in the way?

But Tuesday would be 1 week since we met at Diamond Saloon–surely he would be there again–but… he had another show tonight so maybe not. I could go see him play… but maybe he was already over it, over me.

The night was mine and I wore my favorite mini dress. There was no way I was going to be caught dead chasing a guy who had left me outside a venue like a half-empty bottle put down and forgotten. I went to the bar down the block from where he was playing to preserve my dignity.

Sitting at the bar I felt like I was still in transit, like I hadn’t arrived, the emptiness of something missing I tried to quell, perhaps the bar will pick up in half an hour, or maybe it’s the wrong night–but deep down I knew I was waiting for someone who wasn’t there. My heart sank as I walked past heads that turned, none his, even though I knew he wouldn’t be here if he was playing down the block. It was like the night was slipping out of my grasp.

I sought the liveliness of the night I had dreamt up, relying on a change of scenery to fill in where my own lack of chatter failed. Changing bars, once, twice, I found myself at the diner, chicken soup at 2am. I had a habit of turning every page of the book-like menu even when I knew what I wanted and the waitress knew too. The noodles and salty broth felt like a hug, my own little place as other patrons laughed with friends.

"...Well, if Junior here hadn’t helped that old lady with her bags, she wouldn’t have stolen his wallet, and if she hadn’t stolen his wallet, we would have been able to replace the drum kit. I guess we just won’t be playing there for a while…"

It was fate.

I heard their footsteps get louder.

"Alright. Alright. Just fuck karma, right? It’s totally my fault Nick was drunk, missed his most important entrance, and broke the kick…" Junior responded annoyed.

They kept walking, except for one. Dave paused.

"Hey." His tone was suddenly softer. The rest of the band scooted into a booth.

"Oh, hey."

"Um… The other night–I–"

"It’s fine. Whatever."

"No–um… Sorry…" He said, looking down. "Can I make it up to you? I’m not [Jazz Guitarist], but maybe I could give you a lesson? We could go back to the studio–we could go now–" He said, lips parted, "if you want…"

"I was actually planning on heading out–"

"I can drive you back after?"

I paused. I wanted so badly to be aloof, to not betray my pride, but his red lips were frozen slightly apart as if waiting for me, for the smoke of my coquettish veil to lift. Imagining feeling them on mine I felt my own lips tingle, if only he would pull me close to him now. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he could already read the subtext of my heart between the lines of my mind. The night was mine again. I nodded in agreement. He held out his hand to steady me as I left the booth I was in.

"How was the show?" I asked as we walked toward the rehearsal space.

"Terrible."

"Why? What happened?"

"Everything."

"It couldn’t have been that bad."

"Just… everything was just… off."

I wanted to cup his cheek and tell him not to worry.

"You just need to clone yourself and master each instrument."

He smiled at my joke. "Sure… 4 drunk assholes instead of 1 drunk asshole and 3 drunk dumb asses… Totally would solve it." He mused back.

When we got up to the rehearsal room it felt different–the string lights glowed in the dim room with only another lamp on in the corner alight. Dave made an effort to kick aside more of the beer cans that had accumulated, brushing away the soot of an ashtray too small to contain its usage. To my surprise, he pushed aside the stool too. Shuffling through the shelf of gear and oddities, he pulled out a woven blanket and some pillows and placed them on the ground picnic style. He set up 2 guitars, placing them down on either side of the blanket.

"Do you want a beer?"

"Sure."

Hand me a cold can of beer from the faux wood-grain mini fridge that closed with a clap.

We sat down on the blanket, facing each other, each taking a guitar into our laps. His magnetic eyes were soft but firm and like his hair, they lit up almost golden in the dim, warm light. It felt as if he was looking at me with x-ray vision and I felt my heat wet in the silence as his eyes calmly raked over my body. My heart felt almost at peace, finally having his undivided attention. I felt twisted up inside, wanting to learn from him but also wanting to move in closer to his toned body and take the guitar out of his arms so they would be free to embrace me.

"Can we work on [song name]?" I asked.

"Sure." He nodded.

He showed me some of the riffs, then played the chords so I could practice over them in time, keeping his eyes on me, as if his hands were someone else’s or his mind completely split from them to let his sultry, piercing gaze stay on me as he played. I kept looking down at the fretboard to make sure my fingers were in the right places.

Losing track of time, the only eon that mattered was the length of this song, the repetition as we felt out each riff along the fretboard, each breath subtly punctuating the articulation of the notes, his slowly curling smile making our steady rhythm feel faster as it mixed with my heartbeat.

We didn’t need to talk to know what was next–I plugged into his movements, copying his own and when I played it right he went faster, then he moved to the next one, then we connected them. Maybe it was his talent as a guitarist–how intimately he knew the instrument–but I felt like he was learning me instead, becoming in tune with my movements as he coached my fingers, pushing me harder just enough to get me to the edge of losing it before I reached the satisfying peak of playing each riff correctly over and over.

When we came to the end of the song, Dave sipped his beer. "You play pretty well." He complimented.

"Thanks, you're a good teacher."

"I’m actually impressed. You’re good." He set his guitar down and looked at me, leaning slightly against a crate behind him. "How old are you?"

"24."

"You’re young." He smiled, tilting his head a bit. "Are you a vocalist, or just play guitar?"

"Both." I answered, nonchalantly.

"Looks like we have something in common then." He smirked, before picking up his guitar again. "I’d like to hear ya. Can you play your favorite song?"

I think for a moment, I felt a pang of nerves and excitement–I'm actually a great vocalist, I just really want to be better at guitar. This is my chance to actually impress him. "Um…" I nodded and started playing and singing. I started with my favorite bossa nova song, playing the chords and starting to sing, my voice like cool rain cutting through the warm hum of amps and the growing tension between us. He jumped in accompanying me on guitar, jamming along, his chin leaning slightly closer as he listened intently. Then I gave a bit of a curveball, switching into a rock song. He followed, my vocals now switching from mellow bossa nova jazz to soulful rock.

I couldn’t help but glow as his eyes gave away his subtle amazement, not once looking away. His fingers moved with ease, picking up the chords by ear and filling in with little riffs.

"Damn, you have a hell of a voice, sweetheart."

I grinned, enjoying my moment to show off, but his attention was almost too much.

Smiling, he chuckled a bit, his guitar still in his lap. "Why the bashfulness,? You’re amazing."

"Thanks... I-I guess I haven't sung in front of someone I know in a while."

He gazed at me so warmly, his smile radiating from his eyes most of all. "Oh yeah? Who was the last person you sang to?"

I paused. I didn’t really want to think about it–about my ex. "Just someone I knew…"

A glint of curiosity sparked in his eyes. "Your voice is beautiful. I’m surprised you’re not in some well-known girl band or something. Also… you are very confident… but nervous at the same time… Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?"

I felt like I could sing in front of him forever. "I–no–it's just–"

He smirked as I stumbled over my words, giving little else away on his face.

"I think you're really talented." I say, avoiding admitting my crush on him.

He didn’t buy it.

"Your turn. Will you sing something for me?" I tried to pivot the conversation.

He seemed a little surprised at first. "Yeah, of course. Any requests?"

"Your favorite song."

I already knew he sings well, but his normally rough-around-the-edges voice was smoother than usual, sultry, taking over the whole room. His hands moved over the chords, every note articulated perfectly yet so relaxed. It was a passionate song, clearly a love song–a softer song from a harder band–but something about the way he looked at me, combined with the lyrics, made it feel like it was meant for me.

"Not what I would have guessed" I muse.

He chuckled. "No? What did you expect me to sing? Something more heavy metal?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. But you are really good at this too."

"I have range, too, you know."

For a brief moment, his gaze flickered down to my lips before returning to my gaze. His eyes searched mine, almost as if he was looking at me with hunger, as if he was restraining himself, gulping as if to swallow his desires, keeping his demeanor composed. I felt like I was winning a week-long game of tug-of-war.

"It’s getting late." I say, desperate for his next move as his gaze seemed like it could hold me for eternity.

"Yeah… it is." He said his jaw shifting a bit.

Reaching out he brushed a stray hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear, just grazing my skin. "Are you sure you wanna go home?"

I knew that I could ask him to teach me more, but the temperature in the room had risen with the electrifying current between us.

He continued to lightly stroke my hair tucked behind my ear.

"I think I need to get home." I finally said, still feeling a bit slighted from the other night. "Maybe I can see you again?"

He swallowed, a flicker of disappointment going through his eyes, simply nodding and withdrawing his hand from my face.

"Of course, Sweetheart." He said, forcing a smile, "Anytime you want."

As we left the studio we were greeted by the damp early morning air on the deserted street, quiet and still. It must have been nearly 4am–a light drizzle raining on our skin and wetting the streets so that even the cars a few blocks away sounded like velcro pulling apart as they drove. Dave walked alongside me, but the connection we had while playing felt like it was worlds away. I reached out and held his hand as we walked, interlacing my fingers with his. He immediately gave my hand a gentle squeeze in response, as if silently communicating that he was still there, still thinking about me, in spite of walking in a sort of quiet awkward silence a few blocks towards his car.

The rain started to get a bit heavier. My breath did too, as he started to rub my hand gently with his thumb. Lightning flashed above us and with a clap of thunder it started to pour.

Dave swore under his breath and looked up, realizing there was no way to avoid the downpour. He stopped, gently pulling me closer to him until I was nearly pressed up against his body. Eyeing a shop awning, he moved quickly, pulling us under the awning to get out of the heavy rain and turning his body to shield me from the brunt of the storm as best he could. He was pretty soaked now, his long hair sticking to his face and shoulders, his arms on either side of my head, effectively pinning me in place.

His back breaking the pummeling rain, his white t-shirt began to become more transparent clinging to his toned body, emphasizing the muscles beneath the thin, damp fabric as his chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. He glanced over his shoulder at the rain as it came down in sheets before his eyes returned, lingering on my wet face. I felt the heat rise within me, my heart pounding against my chest. I let my gaze fall to his perfect red lips, his muscular frame keeping me safe from the storm.

Every breath as his eyes enjoyed me between the wall and his chiseled form felt like a flash of lightning, illuminating the lust behind his dark gaze. He leaned in a little closer, "Sweetheart…" he whispered, closing the space between us so that our noses almost brushed, his voice was low, filled with a hint of huskiness, and a gentle fondness. "You look beautiful…" he murmured, much softer than the man I had first heard walk into the diner tonight.

Our bodies arching together, he closed the gap between us, his lips capturing mine bringing an overwhelming flush to my face as his hand began to gently trace up my arm, bringing his electric touch up the side of my heated cheeks, fingers tangling into my hair. He kissed me like he’d been yearning for the past 20 hours all at once, his body pressing against me like I might disappear if he didn’t hold onto the moment. He let out a small exhale as I hooked my fingers through his belt loops, pulling his body tighter against mine, his hips instinctually leaning into my touch and pinning me against the wall completely. His touch was firm yet so gentle all at once as he slid his hand down, brushing the side of my breast and coming to rest on my hip, leaving a trail of fire on my skin.

The kiss slowly became softer and gentler, his hand wandering from my hip down my leg. But slowly, his hand started to move to the underside of my dress, fingers tracing up the skin of my thigh with a feather-light touch.

My breath hitched in our kiss as he started to trace the edge of my lace panties before slipping his finger between the fabric and my heat.

"Sensitive." He chuckled, taking in the image of my pleading eyes. He took his time, slowly exploring the contours of my intimate parts. I couldn’t help but grind into his touch, arching my back as his muscular torso stayed firm against me. His gaze drank me in with a look of both affection and heated desire as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me in closer.

"Impatient, darling?" He teased, his brows raising a bit.

"Like I said, you’re talented." I replied breathily, knowing he saw through it the first time. He huffed out a soft laugh, his hand on my back rubbing in a gentle circle. He grinned, his eyes sparkling with a combination of amusement and affection.

The sound of rain began to soften and the small amount of pelting on the awning slowly came to a pitter-patter. It was as if the world had hushed to a near-silent still. He took a moment to look around.

"Looks like the storm's passing." He hummed. He hadn't moved any further away, his hand still on my back while the other continued to tease and explore. "Don't suppose you want to forget about that going home part, hmm?"

.・。♪.・゜✧・.♬・☆・゜・。. • ✧ ♪ . ° .• °:.♬ *₊ ° . ✧.・。♪.・゜✧

...to be continued... read Part I here

#dave mustaine fluff #dave mustaine x reader #megadeth x reader #dave mustaine smut

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mega-pixie-dream-girl · 3 months ago

Text

Making Space - Part I

1990

This first chapter is mostly fluff and angst!

Pairing: Dave Mustaine x f!reader

𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: power dynamic/mentorship, size, fluff, smut, angst

read Part II here

.・。♪.・゜✧・.♬・☆・゜・。. • ✧ ♪ . ° .• °:.♬ *₊ ° . ✧.・。♪.・゜✧

It was 1am. Not quite the witching hour… especially on a Tuesday… especially at this bar, the Diamond Saloon. But that’s what I needed–a moderately empty dive on a weeknight at an hour way too close to when my alarm clock would be going off to consider any of this a good idea. I was desperate to get out of my apartment… After all, it was summertime in the city. But it felt like everyone was traveling except for me. And everyone I wanted to be friends with was in a band… except for me. I needed to take the dive and get back to working on my music, yet somehow, being at this bar was the first plunge, dusting off of my leather pants, shaking off of the rock and roll attitude I had put on a shelf. Like lighting a candle, it was a ritual for my own confidence to be around other people, people who were actually creating.

I didn’t particularly like beer, but I cared enough to enjoy myself (...so I didn’t particularly like cheap beer either…). I took small sips from the stout that I had doubt I’d finish, letting my head bop, quietly singing along to the throwback dance hits playing in the background that painted the paneled bar room with a warmth of analog haze.

“You sing?” asked the bartender.

“Yeah. But I’m mostly a guitarist.”

“You in a band?”

“...on hiatus.”

“Oh? Maybe I’ve seen you guys.”

He hadn’t. I averted my gaze. “I’m working on new stuff… I promised myself I would take lessons with my favorite guitarist–I’ve been saying that for 10yrs… I finally got it set up but money got unexpectedly tight last month. I’m just working on writing songs right now.”

“Have you met Dave?” The bartender pointed to a guy about 6 barstools away, “He gives guitar lessons.” I had noticed him when I had first walked in. He was hunched over the bar, long strawberry blond hair waving around his shoulders obscuring his face in a bit of a chic mess.

“Hey, Dave! She is looking for guitar lessons–” The bartender turned back to me, “what’s your name?”

“Y/n–”

Dave turned his head ¾ of the way, his eyes down for a moment before they awoke with such focus. He was beautiful–his sharp features framed by the waves of apricot around his face, curving red lips–I felt my cheeks flush a bit as I tried to suppress a stupid grin. “Actually I’m not looking for lessons–I mean, I am but–I mean, maybe I am–I mean I wanted to study with this one person.”

He raised an eyebrow at my babbling, his hazel eyes catching the light of a disco ball floating in its own universe towards the back of the bar.

“I am looking for rehearsal space though. Do you know of any available right now?” I added.

“Yeah.” Dave said, smirking, I couldn’t tell if his eyes were curious or laughing at me. “What hours are you looking for?”

“Preferably a fixed time weekly. Preferably weekday mornings… 8am-12pm?” I responded, regaining my tongue as I acclimated to his piercing, confident gaze.

He looked down for a moment, making a slight frown as he thought. “How are Mondays for you?” he asked.

“Yes. Yeah. Mondays are great!” I smiled, trying to match his confidence as my stomach recoiled wondering if I sounded ridiculous. Ugh… I must sound like such a poser. Or worse, vapid… I reigned in my smile to a slight curl of the lips, matching his.

“I mean, if you want… we can walk over and I can show you the space now… if you don’t mind walking to a soundproofed room with a stranger at 1am, that is.” Dave replied with a smirk.

“I’m down.”

Dave closed out his tab and nodded goodbye to the bartender.

We walked down the empty street without chatting. Fluorescent lights from the 24/7 laundromat communed in the darkness with the glow of neon lotto signs from the corner deli as the hum of air conditioners fell around us. I felt the butterflies in my stomach awakening as I listened to the sound of our steps.

There was something about Dave that seemed so laid-back yet so energetic–we had only exchanged a few words but the heat building inside me was already fueled by the hunch that he was going to be one of the smartest people I’d meet here–he knew just what words were required and his eyes spoke for the rest. I wrestled my lips to stay shut, fighting with my desire to ask him asinine things just to hear his voice and learn its inflections.

We came halfway up an industrial block to a door where he stopped, punching in a number passkey on the lock, the faint beeping of trucks backing up in the distance blipped away as a cool breeze passed us by. The door groaned open. “Ladies first.” His demeanor seemed almost as if it was a dare, as if he was observing me–I couldn’t quite figure him out but I couldn’t help but feel the electric pulse of desire, like flipping a switch that made me want to pout my lips a bit and walk a little sultrier, if only I could capture his eyes once more.

Entering the dark corridor Dave realized maybe he better lead the way. “It’s on the 3rd floor–hope you don’t mind stairs.”

I nodded, though he was already ahead of me.

Passing a few metal doors, he finally stopped at one, fishing for his keys before opening not 1 but 2 doors back to back and disappearing through them.

Stepping through the doorway, a wave of calm washed over me, the warmth of string lights and incense wrapping around me and softening the few strewn and crumpled beer cans littered around the floor.

“We are pretty limited with space, but you are welcome to bring gear if you can find a spot to fit on that rack.” Dave pointed over to the side. “We’ve got a JCM800, a twin reverb, a bass amp, a kit, ummm… some mics–they hook up to that preamp, the mixer is over there. Monitors obviously… you should try it out.” His eyes floated around the space before resting back in my gaze.

Dave handed me a guitar. Grabbing the cable resting on the amp I plugged in and hopped up on the high stool to sit. I felt like I was home. I started playing… tuning… playing… for a moment I forgot Dave was there–it just felt so natural, like I belonged here. I started playing the run I had been trying to learn–I had been playing the record over and over inevitably wearing the most important part a little thinner–the one I had hoped I would learn from the man himself, [jazz guitarist]...

“[Jazz guitarist]?” Dave asked after a moment–his gaze somehow softened and attentive at the same time.

I could have gasped but instead I grinned, keeping my cool. It wasn’t often that I got to talk about this stuff with people, certainly not [jazz guitarist]’s music. “Ughhh I love his playing so much… he’s actually who I was going to take lessons with…” I replied, trying not to word-vomit my excitement.

Dave nodded slowly. “I recommend it. I took a few lessons with him and… yeah. I would not talk you out of that experience.” He replied with a warm, soft smile, his muscular arms folded across his chest.

“Really?! What was he like?” I asked, unable to contain my excitement despite the immediate embarrassment for my exuberance.

“Intense. Nice guy… but the type who will sit in front of an amp for 8 hrs and then corner you to show you this thing he is excited about, something he’s been working on… and it’s always something mind blowing.” Dave chuckled. His smile was a little goofy but I never wanted him to stop smiling.

“That sounds amazing.”

“Like this one time…” Dave turned, hand in search of another guitar before getting himself plugged in, “it was this gnarly thing…” he leaned against an amp to sit in his tight jeans, starting to play and explaining the riff to me. He was good. Like good good. “Try it–it starts on the 8th fret…”

I copied after him as he played it slower. He leaned towards me, hesitating, getting permission with a glance before delicately curving my fingers into a daunting chord shape with his own hands, which dwarfed mine. His hair tumbled down his shoulders a bit. I played the end of the riff again, the notes now more perfectly in reach.

“That’s it… oh then–you got it.” He watched my hand on the fretboard intently.

I felt the warmth that had been welling inside me start to pour over, tingling on my skin, his magnetism pulling on me so strongly now, I was desperate to feel his skin on mine again.

I needed this space. I needed to see Dave again. I looked down, breaking our mutual gaze as I felt his eyes still on me. “...how much per month for the Monday mornings?”

“Um, how ‘bout $50?” He replied.

“Done.”

“It’s yours.” He curled his lips.

I explored the crevices and textures of the cluttered room, reading the scribbles on the wall like it was an archival truth, a history I could absorb. There were some stickers and graffiti around, flyers for drum lessons and gear for sale.

“Goatmouth… Weather Friend? …Do they practice here?”

“Yeah. Warren is a friend.” Dave replied, “Um... They’re playing Friday night, we are too… um… come by, it’ll be a great show.” He rustled through the nest of papers that had collected in a corner, handing me a little black and white flier.

“Megadeth?”

“It’s at Sally’s Place–dunno if you’ve been there–great rock venue.” He replied.

I nodded, “Yeah, um… totally, I’ll try to stop by.”

He bit his lip for a moment. “Uh, are you going back to Diamond?” He asked.

I shook my head… It was about time for me to get home. “I gotta head out actually.”

“Cool. Um… Do you want me to walk you to the bus or something? It’s kinda late…”

“Sure.” I said with a light smile. “Also, I need to pay you for this month.”

“Just get it to me the next time you see me… I’ll be around.”

Standing at the bus stop, I wished it would never come. For all I could tell, Dave could have lived at Diamond Saloon–he was going back there for yet another round and his five o’clock shadow was coppery on his jaw–but my mind was as desperate to know what made him tick as my arms were to wrap around him and thank him for being at the right place at the right time, helping me get what I needed while the universe felt to move against me this summer. We took turns alternating between looking down the street to see if a ball of light was finally growing towards us down the street to then looking at our shoes.

“This is me.” I said as the bus approached. I paused, imagining him pulling me into a passionate kiss with hungry need… I gave him a parting smile and waved. He nodded, as if searching for the words, but instead pressed his lips together into a line, waiting for me to board and disappear into the night. The hiss of the pneumatic risers punctuated my departure, leaving me wishing I had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him onboard with me, without any clue as to what I would have done next had I done so. I just wanted to feel what it would be like to be close to him, to know what he was thinking about.

All I could think about was his show. I had to go. When it was finally Friday night, I decided to wear something simple that would stand out without trying too hard–a white silk mini skirt, a white halter top, black fishnets, and patent red gogo boots–I figured most people would be wearing black. I made my eyeliner super smudgy and sultry and let my hair down. I was determined to be noticed without screaming for Dave’s attention from the front row.

The club was flowing with people, people chatting out front, in the doorway, at the bar, on the dance floor, by the stage… everyone seemed to know everyone… or at least someone. I kept my eyes down until I got to the bar. “Gin and tonic. Thanks.” Scanning the room the cacophony of revelers shifted as I turned my head, but I just wanted to see red, Dave’s gingery hair somewhere in the crowd. Suddenly the crowd started to shift and hush momentarily before an even louder chorus of awe came across the room. There Dave was, adjusting the height of the mic a bit higher. The bass blared out. The show started.

My breath caught in my chest as I saw him begin the first song–it was like the guitar was part of him. His brooding eyes looked somewhere and nowhere as he curled his lips at the mic. His t-shirt had the sleeves cut off, his biceps flexing as he moved around the stage, scanning the room and making faces as if arguing with the world. The band was heavy. Loud. I had craved to know his voice and this was perhaps its most honest, raw form. It was inspiring to see him perform, but I was not going to be one of those fans jumping up and down at the front of the stage, flashing him like a groupie. Yet deep down I wanted to scream his name, entranced by his glistening body, his intention, his control over the music–he had a grip on me and I felt my own wetness envelop my heat.

Looking on from the bar, I sipped my gin and tonic. They were between songs when finally those deep hazel eyes scanning the room came to mine and stopped. I smiled. For a moment he paused, smirking and looking down before capturing my eyes once more with his. The moment felt like an eternity but the next song was already starting when the feeling of satisfaction finally landed.

Soon the show was over and they sauntered off stage and through a nondescript door. Shit. Who knew how many girls were back there. In fact–maybe I was silly to think Dave could possibly be available at all. Maybe I should try to hit Diamond Saloon late at night again tomorrow–he would probably be there, right? I swirled the ice around in my glass as the next band finished setting up for their set and checking levels. The rock songs playing at the bar sounded so frail compared to Megadeth’s set, song after song melted into one as if it was AM radio.

“Can I buy you another?” Dave’s voice was soft behind me.

“Oh, hey. Yeah, sure. G&T” I said, turning to face him. I needed to see him with my own eyes to believe it–that Dave, frontman of the hour, got off stage and came to find me.

“Two gin and tonics.” Dave told the bartender, as he leaned between me and the guy at the next bar stool.

“You guys sounded really good.”

“Eh. The monitoring was all fucked up. All I could hear was Junior’s bass… vocals were nonexistent.”

“Yet it worked out–at least from over here.” I smiled.

“I didn’t see you right away–I mean–I–you were easy to spot.” He blushed and looked away as he let his eagerness slip. He sipped his drink.

I averted my gaze coquettishly. “So… what are you doing next?” I asked.

“Next show? Tuesday at Marz Bar. Tonight? Gotta load up my gear, but then… Um… Maybe we could get another drink somewhere else? Somewhere… quieter–if you want?”

I smirked. For the first time I felt like I was the cool one, as glints of his nerves showed through his confident facade–he must have been tired from performing. I lifted my gaze to meet his, my doe-eyed poker face holding my cards back as his searched mine for an answer. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” I replied. He smiled softly nodding as he sipped on his cocktail.

Once Dave was ready to head out he came back to meet me where I was finishing my drink. “I know a place only a few blocks away–I think you’ll like it.” We filtered out of the crowded club, his hand placed lightly on the back of my arm sending shock waves through me. I couldn’t help but lean into his touch.

“Dave!” Junior called out, catching us by surprise. “You’ll never guess who’s here, man.”

I felt Dave’s touch tense a bit. Junior acknowledged me with a nod before continuing. “Y’know that dude whose car you pissed on because he was talking during the set but he ended up being from Capitol a few months ago? He actually came to see us tonight. He’s inside–”

Dave smirked. He was about to say something. He must have remembered that I was right there. He looked at me, looked up, looked back at me, for once he didn’t have the words nor the piercing gaze. “Hey… do you mind waiting for a moment? I’ll be right back.” He turned to me and asked. I nodded–he had to take his opportunity… maybe they would make it–maybe we would be–they were gone.

I leaned against the standpipe. People filtered in and out, some taking one smoke break, then another… I felt the time in my feet as they started to ache in my gogo boots. It was like I had traded my opportunity with him for his own–maybe I never had it in the first place… I could have been the girl of the day, I guess… and on Tuesday who knows. Feeling empty, I walked painfully to the bus stop.

.・。♪.・゜✧・.♬・☆・゜・。. • ✧ ♪ . ° .• °:.♬ *₊ ° . ✧.・。♪.・゜✧

…to be continued... read Part II here

#dave mustaine fluff #dave mustaine x reader #dave mustaine smut #megadeth x reader

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