#it's weirdly chilly here and in other places so this oughta warm ya up ya bastards

[josiebelladonna]

vegas lights // joey & frankie

While stopping through Sin City, Joey and Frankie have their eye on the lovely, but morose lounge singer in the club with "the kind of voice that knocks a man out." Reluctant, they follow her backstage for a little something or other.

This was a story I wrote back in January after I finished black diamonds, but I never polished it up or shared it with anyone. So I did just that last night. This one's a little nod to the indigenous side of my heritage. Don't mind if I spice things up a bit for all of youses 😉 Named for the Panic! at the Disco song, but listen to Oye Como Va by Santana, Can't Remember to Forget You by Shakira & Rihanna, Medellin by Madonna, and Gardenia by Kyuss while you read through this for a little extra spice 🌶️

And yes... this is NSFW. You’ve been warned 😘😘💋💋

June 10, 1986. Las Vegas, Nevada.

"Hey, Joe, wait up!"

Joey glanced over his shoulder once he had halted at the stoplight. He hung there for a moment in order to wait up for Frankie to catch up with him and also to hang there in the vast shadow cast by the Four Seasons.

Frankie himself, meanwhile, brushed a rather wavy lock of his rich black hair off of the side of his face. It had only been an hour since Anthrax had checked into the hotel while on their tour with Metallica and Armored Saint, which gave him plenty of time to shower off for the time being, but the heat of the day had dog piled onto the Las Vegas Strip by sunset.

Joey gazed up at the Four Seasons there on the corner: oh, to be staying at the Four Seasons! Nice fluffy pillows and big luxurious showers, and not to mention, free breakfast. Up ahead stood the huge glassy black pyramid that was the Luxor, then the Tropicana, and then Excalibur, New York, New York, Aria, Cosmo, and off in the distance to the point of making his eyes water, the fountain show before the Bellagio and Caesar's Palace.

But on the other hand, Joey could feel the violent heat pulsating off of the blacktop before him onto his lanky bare legs and narrow ankles. It wasn't even technically summer yet, and yet it was utterly sweltering at five thirty in the afternoon.

Frankie caught up with him just prior to the crosswalk and with the glare of the sunlight, Joey could make out the beads of sweat collecting on his brow and all along on the side of his neck like a string of pearls.

"God, it's hot out," he declared as they kept on walking together.

"Yeah, it's pretty warm," Joey added with toss of his inky black curls: he knew he should've tied it back as he felt unsure of whether the moisture on the back of his neck was from his shower or from sweat.

"There's a bar over here, though," Frankie gestured up the block, right before them and a beeline from the Luxor, to the large, bright lit bar with scarlet outer walls and a pitch black roof: if it wasn't for the neon sign out front, either of them would have mistaken it for somebody's house.

"Oh God, I could totally use a drink right about now," Joey groaned as they caught the light green.

Right before them towered the Tropicana, with the pure white lights up top shining with the bright red of the setting sun; but both men were fixed upon this place here right before them. Joey pushed his curly bangs off of his hot brow so as to feel the trace of the desert wind blowing through the casinos there on the Strip. He was about ready to take off his shirt by the time he reached the front glass door first, but retracted the thought once he opened it and was greeted by the blast of cool air from the air vents overhead. He held the door for Frankie, who removed his mirrored sunglasses once the door was shut behind him.

Cool blue light shone down upon their heads as they padded along the hard navy blue carpet to the long luxurious looking bar on the left side of the room; to the right stood the section with all of the low dark tables, and at the far right side of the room was a flat stretch of dim lit dark wood with a stool, a microphone stand, and a drum kit.

"Hey, Frankie, check it out," Joey pointed in that direction.

"Oh, bitchin'!" Frankie replied as they took their seats on the spindly stools there at the bar. "You think we might catch a live act while we're in here?"

"It's a possibility. Maybe if we stay here long enough, we shall." Joey then asked the young bartender with dyed black hair for a glass of scotch while Frankie ordered a glass of red wine. They needn't drink so much as they had a show with Metallica and Armored Saint the next day, but a little drink in such a classy looking place never hurt anyone.

Framed photographs of the likes of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong hung up on the black and silver pinstriped wall next to them. Everything else was either a cool shade of blue or jet black.

"What is this place?" Frankie wondered aloud as Dean Martin softly played out from the right side of the room. He nodded his head and grinned at the sound of Dino's jovial crooning.

"Quite the gem if I might say so myself," Joey said as he took a sip of scotch.

A few more people entered the bar and soon, they noticed a stagehand tuning a deep violet five string bass guitar. Joey held his glass up to his lips and hesitated. Something stopped him. Maybe it was the applause or maybe it was something else, but he turned around for a look up at the platform on the other side of the room. Frankie sipped his wine and turned for a look himself.

She was this short slender little young lady with jet black hair matted into something that was perhaps a step away from dreadlocks, all of which she had tied up from the back of her head and neck with a thick white ribbon: three rich red velvet roses rested upon one side of her head. The torrid desert sun had bestowed her skin with a delicate brown tone; she wore a little red and black strapless sundress with a plunging neckline, a whole score of bracelets on either arm, and a large elaborate tattoo of a bouquet of roses on her left shoulder. Joey took a closer look to find she was barefoot.

Her drummer, a black man with thick heavy dreadlocks and a gray wife-beater, began tapping on his cymbals before launching into a heavy beat. Her bassist, an older gentleman in a black ball cap and a striped shirt, wandered around with his bass line. And then she opened her mouth to sing.

Frankie almost dropped his glass of wine from her rich, dramatic deep voice. She enunciated words with a bit of a swing, so much that she had a lovely vibrato to boot. She held onto the microphone stand with one hand and kept her other hand hovering next to the body of the microphone itself. She had that old-fashioned power and passion of the singers of the Great Depression, and the divas of the Sixties, and yet she had brought it into the Las Vegas Strip in the Eighties. Joey turned around in his chair with his eyebrows raised and his lips slightly parted.

"Now, that—THAT—is the kind of voice that knocks a man to his knees," he remarked. "Holy shit."

"Quite the observation coming from you, too!" Frankie replied with a laugh, but he knew he was serious. The way this woman sang, the way she pinched her eyes shut and held her arms close to her slim stomach, it all seemed to be coming from somewhere deep down inside of her, deep down from underneath those fiery red roses. Joey held his glass by the rim as he watched her in awe. The way she sang almost felt as though she was making love to the audience.

At one point, enthralled by her performance, Joey set down his glass on the bar and gave her his full attention. Frankie finished his wine and set the glass down to do the same.

"I am Sofia Rosencrantz," she introduced herself at one point, her speaking voice small, timid, and laden with a subtle Mexican accent, "but call me The Desert Rose."

"We should totally go talk to her afterwards, Joey," Frankie suggested with a stifle of a hiccup. Joey meanwhile shrugged as he ran the tip of his finger along the rim of his glass.

"I wouldn't mind saying 'hi'," he confessed. She played one more song before the encore, which consisted of her perched atop the wooden piano pushed onto the stage. Joey eyed her sun-kissed legs, all shapely and smooth like milk chocolate; her slender ankles, the left of which accentuated by a pair of black and silver anklets; and of course her narrow feet. He then returned to Frankie, who rummaged through his pocket for a tip for the bartender.

"Yeah, let's go say 'hi,'" Joey suggested as he, too, scrounged for some money in his shorts pocket. Once they had it, they departed from the bar and ambled up to the side of the stage in order to catch her in time.

"Sofia?" Joey called after her.

"Miss Rosencrantz!" Frankie followed up.

She turned for a look at him from the steps on the stage. Once she was on the floor before them, and she gazed at both men right in the eye, she showed them a nervous smile, granted they were two strange men with long hair and odd accents.

"Yes?" she asked them in that sweet feminine voice: she had a friendly smile on her face but her eyes carried an ounce of pain, as if on the brink of tears.

"Um..." Joey could feel his face growing warm, this time from the glass of scotch as well as talking to a beautiful dark skinned woman. He caressed his chin and the tip of his Roman nose before speaking up again. "—we just wanted to say that you put on quite the show just now."

"Thank you so much," she said; her speaking voice was such a sharp contrast in comparison to her singing voice, such that it almost made Joey forget his own name.

"Um, I'm Joey," he stammered, "and this is Frank. Or Frankie as everyone calls him."

"We're both in a band," Frankie quipped.

"Oh, really?" she asked with a raise of her eyebrows and a step closer to them.

"Yeah, I'm a singer, too," Joey added as his face grew warmer, "well, we both are, but I am more so. I mean, more so me."

"And what do you do?" she asked Frankie.

"I'm bass player. I also play straight up guitar but bass is where I feel at my most peace."

"Would you guys like to have a bite to eat or something to drink? You both look as though you could use a little nourishment."

"Well, we both had drinks at the bar just a bit ago, but I'd like a little—" Joey had no idea how to end that sentence. "I mean, some kind of—yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, sure. I mean, yes please!"

Sofia giggled at him and brought a hand to her mouth, but then she gestured for the both of them to follow her into her dressing room. She seemed to move over the floor like a ghost, the way she stepped through the corridor and the way her dress drifted behind her like a veil. Her anklets tinkled like a trickle of water on a sun scorched river bed.

She peered over her shoulder at the two of them following her: as they neared her dressing room, Joey caught a whiff of some kind of peppery incense and clean sheets. She pushed the door open and held it for both him and Frankie.

Her dressing room was lush and well groomed, with her couch and comfy looking chair both donned in crushed red velvet and every corner smelling of that same peppery incense. There stood a bouquet of soft white yucca flowers and crimson bulbous dahlias on the table underneath her mirror. Frankie picked up the smell of cinnamon as she made her way over to a miniature fridge behind the chair.

"Make yourselves at home," Sofia assured them, "mi casa es su casa."

"Dibs on the couch," Joey quipped with a dive onto the plush sofa cushions.

"Damn it!" Frankie scoffed but he couldn't help but laugh at that. Sofia raised her head and doubled back to him with something dark in her fingers.

"Ooh, what's this?" he asked in a kind tone.

"Mexican dark chocolate," she explained, "it has some chile pepper and cinnamon mixed inside." She handed him a square piece and he showed her a friendly smile in return. Joey sat upright for a piece for himself.

"So are you from Mexico?" asked Frankie as he took a nibble of the chocolate.

"I was born there," she replied, "and my mother is Apache Indian and Mexican—" To which Joey's spine erected at the mention of a Native American tribe. "—but I have lived in Las Vegas since I was two years old. I grew up here and I found music here."

"How long have you been singing?" asked Joey with a shy grin on his face.

"Since I was five years old. Most everyone in my family is either an actor or a singer. It... is in my blood if you will."

"Not gonna lie," Joey began again, this time with a nibble on his piece of chocolate. The cinnamon and the pepper inside erased the taste of scotch from his mouth: if he could bask in this rich, lush flavor for the rest of his life, he would. He tilted his head back for a second and then returned his attention to Sofia. Frankie meanwhile, examined the curvature of her legs and ankles, and then the curvature of her hips. She was quite the shapely young lady: if Joey failed, perhaps she could vouch for the other Italian boy.

"Not going to lie about what?" she asked him with a quizzical look upon her face.

"It almost felt like you were making love to the audience," he continued in a soft voice. Sofia turned her head towards Frankie, who took another nibble of the chocolate, albeit a slower nibble and with a deep gaze into her dark eyes. She ran her tongue along the top of her bottom lip at the sight of him.

"You would not want to get involved with me," she warned the both of them.

"Do you," Frankie started once he swallowed the little bite of chocolate: the cinnamon and pepper came back to him in a flash of heat; "mind either of us asking why at all?"

"It is... a bit heavy," she confessed at a reluctant pace.

"Can't be that bad," Frankie assured her with a shrug of his shoulders. Fetching up a sigh, Sofia padded over to him and brought her face close to his. Frankie could smell the hypnotic aroma of her peppery perfume wafting off of her neck and dreadlocks. Her dark eyes examined his skin, especially the smooth skin on his lips and the even smoother skin on the sides of his toned neck. He held the chocolate near his mouth for another bite but he never did take one.

"Let me drink you down," she whispered into Frankie's ear.

"What about him, though?" he asked her with a gesture over to Joey.

"I'll take care of him," she assured him in a husky voice. "But don't you worry at the moment. You know... we are on the Strip. We like to gamble and live in luxury on the Strip."

Frankie didn't move, and neither did Joey.

"We like to gamble under the glitz—and the glamour—and the romance of the Vegas lights. Especially when it comes to a jazzy cinnamon girl like myself."

"What're you—" Frankie started but her pressing her finger onto his lips halted him right in his tracks.

"You don't want to get involved with me," she whispered into his lips before she pressed hers there. Joey almost choked on his piece of chocolate at the sight before him.

"—hold still," Sofia whispered to Frankie as she peeled down his shorts. The air conditioning in the room there only made him sweat even more: he swallowed down the rest of his chocolate so he could relish in her. Joey lunged towards the far corner of the couch so he could have a full view of the sight before him.

Frankie held still with his back to the wall. He watched her peel down his underwear for a caress and a poke and a stroke. Joey was careful to eat up the rest of his chocolate as the sight of this cinnamon girl fondling his friend is about to be an even bigger show than the one they witnessed beforehand.

Frankie closed his eyes as she brought her lips to his head for a kiss and then a bit of a sucking. Sofia closed her eyes as she moved her mouth up closer to his body. He turned his head to the side and part of his lush hair spread across his neck and collar bones.

She made him bloom like a rose in the desert himself. Frankie gasped when he felt himself firming up.

She let go of him and then lifted up her skirt, and whirled around for a bit of a grind on her part. Joey never moved out of his spot as Sofia gyrated her shapely hips over Frankie's length.

Frankie groaned in his throat and knitted his eyebrows together. He started to move with her. Sofia's eyes gleamed and her face lit up when she realized what he was doing.

She whirled back around with her anklets tinkling again. She took him on from the front this time.

Sofia gazed at Frankie right into his dark eyes. She gazed on at him all the way until the point of him getting off. He tilted his head back and let out a low moan.

She moved her hips back and her skirt billowed up like a sail. She turned for a look over at Joey on the couch and with a stunned look upon his face.

She gestured for him to come towards her. Gingerly, he climbed to his feet and ambled towards her. She sauntered up to him and lay a hand upon his warm chest.

"Dance with me," she begged Joey, "dance with me, you sexy, sexy man."

"But there's no music," he insisted.

"Just—dance with me."

Sofia reached down for his hand: she put her other hand around the small of his back and held him close to her. His delicate body was warm from the chocolate, the scotch, and the heat of the day, but he didn't mind, especially when she tangoed with him towards the bouquet of flowers. She brought her nose up to his neck for a whiff of the soft smelling shampoo he had used in his shower earlier.

Once they reached the bouquet, Joey reached for one of the yuccas and held it before her face.

"Hello... bella donna," he whispered to her. She puckered her lips at him as she brought them up to his.

"Bella donna," she whispered back to him. "I love that."

She pressed her lips onto his once, twice, four times. Joey lost his balance and staggered back onto the soft comfy recliner, but she was quick to catch up with him. He spread his legs apart upon the seat cushion. She peeled back his shorts and took a seat.

Now he was hot from the movements on her part. Smooth and steady, like the waves of sand dunes out in the desert.

He held onto the flower's stem as she hummed to herself and ground upon him. He nibbled on his lip when he felt it coming on. Her breasts, so full and feminine, seemed to bring him even closer and at such a quick pace no less. He wanted to touch them but he could only do it one handed. Sofia gazed into his eyes; he gazed back with each and every gyration, each second he felt himself reaching the top as well.

Joey grimaced and curled his toes inside of his shoes. He then made a noise that sounded like a botched scream. A botched scream like the first time he made a mistake during the rehearsals prior to recording Armed and Dangerous.

She was so gentle with him and yet he couldn't help but feel euphoric about it. Sofia leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. As she climbed off of him, she caressed his chest. And he gazed at her with a delirious look upon his face.

"By the way, you never answered our question," Joey pointed out. "Why wouldn't a coupla guys like us wouldn't want to get involved with a girl like you?"

Sofia brushed a curled lock of hair out of his brown eyes.

"Those of us who tour about the world are among some of the loneliest and most in need of love," she told him. "My father had the same problem. I hardly ever got to see him while growing up from his being a touring actor and musician. He is my father no doubt, but I saw the loneliness in him from the beginning."

"So... you don't want to be a part of that?" he asked her in a small voice.

"I am afraid not," she confessed, her tone solemn. "But—the next time either of you are out here in the desert, I just might be here, awaiting the both of you." She winked at him and he showed her a lopsided little grin.

Indeed, Sofia was kind enough to lead them back outside, into the bright neon of the Vegas lights. She kissed the both of them on the sides of their faces before disappearing back into her home, that little bar across the street from the Luxor.

The two men glanced at one another with relaxed, pleased expressions upon their handsome faces.

"Wanna go back to the hotel?" Joey asked him in a broken voice.

"Sure," Frankie replied with a sigh and a toss of his shirt over his shoulder. At least this time night had fallen over them. But nothing could deny the heat of the Vegas valley around them, and the heat of the Desert Rose.