Bound in Leather

well, here we are again. thought you could get out of it, didn\'t you? well, you were wrong. i am here to tell you that there is very little in this that is mine. you will know what is and isn\'t, i\'m sure. you will also know that j.k. rowling is responsible for the rest of it. oh yes, ms. rowling... the owner of most of the worlds money and some of the best ideas. so she gets paid, and i don\'t. but i think i\'m having more fun with her characters than she is......

ok, so here we will put our standard raunch warning. i can\'t be sure when it will pop up, so best to make yourself ready. just in case, you understand. wouldn\'t want to scare anyone, now would i?

feel free to leave some feedback and let me know what you think. be good, though. flame me and i\'ll use it to roast your ass! and keep guessing. let\'s see if anyone else has any ideas. the identity of our rock star will soon be revealed....

Chapter Two: Midwest Farmer\'s Daughter
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The reporter stared after him as he stood up from his seat and left the room. He hated giving interviews. If he had his choice, he\'d leave it up to the rest of the band to give them. But he was the front man. The one they sought out. He supposed it was part and parcel of the gig. But it did wear on his nerves after a time. He was tired of being in the spot light. He did have to smile, though. He had been particularly rude with this \"journalist\" and acted like a complete arse. He doubted very much if the man would ever want to interview him again.

It had been bad enough that they wanted to take an entire portfolio of pictures. He knew they would only ever use three or four. The rest would stay on file with the magazine, used whenever the editors wanted to use them in conjunction with some tiny snippet about the band that it was felt the public simply had to know. But to have to sit through that farce of an interview, where the reporter had asked ludicrous questions that didn\'t even pertain to the band and music, had been too much. So he had been as rude as he liked, which was terribly rude by most standards. The man was left near tears and staring as if he had witnessed an utterly horrible accident.

It put a smile on his face to behave in so foul a manner.

\'You can\'t keep doing that to reporters. You\'ll have yourself blacklisted with all the magazines soon, if you don\'t stop,\' the band\'s manager, Grant Blitzer, fell into step next to him. The man was short and squat, barely coming up past his chest and coming in twice as big around. \'You need the magazines to help push the band into the limelight. You can\'t afford to piss too many people off.\'

\'Says who?\' he drawled lazily. \' I can do as I please. If for no other reason than the mood strikes me.\'

\' It\'s all fine and well that you like playing the bad boy of Rock n Roll, but there comes a time when you need to tone the image down and allow the world to see beyond the bad boy persona. I\'m certain that you\'d be invited to award shows as performers, if you would only tone down your lyrics and behavior.\'

\'Who said I wanted to be on a bloody award show? And my behavior suits me just fine,\' he retorted. The smaller man put a hand on his arm to stop him. He halted in his footsteps, then glared at the spot where the pork sausage fingers touched him. Grant withdrew his hand as if he\'d been burned, stepping back half a pace as if he were facing something contaminated. Or evil. \'Are we not already on top?\'

\'Yes, but....\' Grant began. He interrupted him to ask another question.

\'Are we not on the cover of every magazine and music publication?\'

\'Yes, but....\'

\'And are all our shows sold out all over the planet?\'

\'Yes, but....\'

\'Sod off, Blitzer. Until the band decides that we are not where we should be, things will continue on as they have been. Do I make myself clear?\' he glared down into the doughy face, at the coffee brown eyes of the man they called manager. Grant nodded wordlessly, stepping back another half step. When he continued on his way, the other man didn\'t follow.

~*~*~*~*~

He sat in the dressing room, jotting down the play list that they would be using that evening. He wore only a towel, not yet ready to pour his legs into the tight leather trousers he would be wearing that evening. It was still rather strange to use a Muggle ink pen after so many years with a quill clasped between his finger tips. Most of the ink stains had faded, but there were still some to be seen. If one but looked. He chewed on the end thougtfully as he planned out the evening\'s music in the order he wished it played.

The others were dressed, a make-up artist busy applying a light layer of paint to their faces. The first time anyone has come after him with the intent to put that shit on his face, he\'d nearly hexed them. The poor girl who\'d been sent to do the make-up for him had cried as she\'d run from the room. After that, he had merely told them that he would not be wearing any of the junk. One brave soul had made comment about going out on stage and looking pale. He\'d replied with a curt smart assed answer about not caring one way or the other. Since then, they\'d left him alone. It appeared that word had spread to the other artists along the road.

It took him only a few moment\'s time to compile the song list. They did mostly their own music, but he always threw in at least one song by another band. Tonight, he chose to add on Black No.1 by the group Type O Negative. He thought it fit well with the image the group portrayed. They all wore black, on stage and off. Ok, so the song was about a goth chick. But he still thought it fit them well enough. It would be the final encore song of the evening.

The rest of the group was heading out the door, telling him they would be going on any minute now. He waited until everyone had left the dressing rooms, then he stood and let his towel drop to the floor. Moving to where his clothing for the evening were laid out, he reached for his trousers casually. Skipping underwear of any sort, even though he knew it wouldn\'t be comfortable without them as the night progressed, he slid into the butter soft black leather as if he were sliding into his Wizard\'s robes. He\'d worn the trousers many times, and he still hadn\'t gotten over the feel of fine leather against his naked flesh.

He pulled up the zip, carefully, slipping the button through it\'s hole. The sides of the legs were left split open, small metal hoops holding them together down the length of each side. His shirt was a small weave fishnet that hugged his nicely muscled chest and flat stomach. He knew without even giving the ensemble thought that the women would be mad with desire for him over the chosen attire for the evening. They just loved him in black.

Fucking sheep.

~*~*~*~*~

Alasdair Maeve Wyndham, Al to her friends, stood in the front row at the center, waiting anxiously for the band to take to the stage. She was so excited, she had already forgotten the trouble she would be in when she got home. Her father....okay, her *step-father,* had a rather sick sense of just about everything. When he had discovered that she was going out, he had grilled her to within an inch of her life. She\'d told him she was going to a concert, to which he\'d been ready to argue until kingdom come. She\'d fibbed and told him it was Classical music. Alright, call it for the lie that it was. She knew he would find out that she hadn\'t been truthful. And she knew he would punish her for it. But the evening would be well worth it.

She had been waiting for this concert for months. She\'d saved every penny of her money until she was certain she\'d be able to afford a ticket. She\'d hidden it someplace she knew no one would look for it. Under her bathroom cabinet, in an old tampon box. Her step-father would never, *never* look in there for anything. She was glad he was so predictable in some ways. If she never got to do anything again, she would have this one night.

She could recall with great clarity the first time she had ever seen the band. She\'d been in England as part of an exchange program. She hadn\'t wanted to do it at the time, but it had been a way to get away from the oppressive control of her step-father. He\'d only let her go after finding out that he wouldn\'t have to pay for the trip. It had turned out to be a wonderful vacation, even if she had felt lost in school and most social situations the entire time she\'d been there.

Bettie, the daughter of the host family she\'d been staying with, had suggested they go out to a club on a particularly brutal Friday after exams. She\'d told her that the band was still fairly new to the scene, and the rumor around London was that the singer was the hottest, sexiest thing on the face of the Earth. The band was awesome, the singer more so. She had readily agreed, thinking that a night out after a series of exams she was sure she had failed was just the thing for her. When she\'d found out the club was Gothic, she\'d tried to get out of it. Bettie would hear none of it. She had dress Al in some of her own clothes, a series of black that Bettie had assured her were the appropriate articles. They had been small on her, so they\'d fit her frame rather snugly.

The skirt had been too short for Al. She\'s had to keep yanking it down in the front and back. The top had been nothing more than a triangle of black velvet with a string running through some loops. The cording had criss-crossed her back, tied down by her waist to hold the material to her chest. Black stockings, held up by a garter belt that one and all could see as the straps hung below the hem of her skirt, caressed her legs. her feet had been slid into a pair of platform shoes in black patent leather. She\'d managed to get out of the make-up portion of the evening, but she\'d not been able to change Bettie\'s mind in regards to the clothing.

The group she had gone with managed to grab the most coveted spot at the front of the stage. She had been transfixed from the moment the bandhad taken the stage. She had studied every member, noting that they were each rather yummy to look upon. Then the singer had made his entrance, practically stalking out onto the stage with a curious lack of expression on his face. He had been dressed oddly, but she had found it quite appealing. tight black pants had clung to his long legs like a second skin. She had been completely captivated from that very first moment.

She had been practically obsessed from that moment on. When she\'d returned to the States, she\'d checked the internet almost religiously for any information on the band she could find. She\'d been giddy when she\'d found out that they\'d been signed. She\'d been ecstatic when the album had been released. She\'d been delirious when their very first tour had been announced. She\'d stood in line for thirty six hours to get her ticket. The wait had been long and boring. The repercussions she had suffered had been hell, but it had all been well worth it. Because she stood in the very center, in the very front. Where she knew he would be standing....

~*~*~*~*~

The lights out in the main part of the building went out. A loud roar rose up in the darkness, letting the band know that the people were anxiously awaiting them. Ready for them to take the stage. It was still a major thrill to hear the screams and know that it was all for them. He stood silently as Deek went out first, finding his way to the stage in the dark as if he could really see the lay out. then went Jesse, heading for his corner of the vast flooring. Fallon and Turlough went next, moving on near silent feet to the spot where their guitars sat. When the lights went up, he took to the stage. He was the same as ever, acting like the prick he\'d been called more than once, and still they screamed their bloody heads off for them. For him.

Fucking sheep.

He went to his mic stand, allowing his long fingers to caress the metal pole in a blatantly vulgar manner. The crowd was wild and relentless, their combined voices nearly drowning the band out. Not that he could ever hear himself anyway. Not over the loud music playing behind him. Still, he did so like it when the crowd was as loud and obnoxious as the band.

They launched into the first song, one of the three they\'d released for radio play. It sent the massive crowd before him into a frenzy. There were men and women moshing, slamming into one another with the same amount of force that a spell could impact someone. He watched them bounce off each other, the words falling from his lips easily. He had all the words memorized backward and forward.

It was a rush. As they moved from one song into the next, the crowd became more demanding. Louder and crazier. He loved to see it happen, as it always did. He never grew tired of the fans as they threw themselves headlong into the music. It was unlike any feeling he had ever experienced, knowing that he and his band were the cause of such a thing.

He loved it.

~*~*~*~*~

The lights went out, telling Al that the concert was about to begin. She joined in the rest of the crowd as they let out a loud roar that echoed around the interior of the venue.The Metrodome held a good number of seats, both in the stands and on the floor. She\'d been lucky enough to snag center stage. How, she wasn\'t sure. But she wasn\'t about to question the forces of the world on such a little thing. After several moments of near complete darkness, the lights came up. The band members were in place. In a few moments, he came out and moved to his mic. Her eyes were glued to him.

They launched into their first song, one that had received a great deal of airplay. The screams grew louder, and she knew there were people in the crowd behind her that were moshing. She stayed close to the front, trying to avoid getting caught up in that trap. She\'d be stomped on if she ended up in the pit.

The music flowed over her, the words wrapping themselves around her like lover\'s arms.The ebb and flow of the instruments and lyrics caught her up with it. It was low and throbbing, steeped in so much sexual tension, she always felt the need to orgasm after listening to it on the cd she had at home. Live, listening to it in person, it was so much more. The raw sex oozed from every note played and sung in a way that wasn\'t possible in a recording. She could feel her own answering thob of need all the way to her core.

If there was a way, she would jump at the opportunity for one night with him.

~*~*~*~*~

He stood in the center of the partially darkened stage, arms spread wide and head hanging down. He had pulled off the fishnet shirt a long time ago. Sweat could be seen glistening on the pale flesh of his exposed chest. He stood there like that, listening to the reverb of the grinding guitars. Feeling the pulsating combination of music, magic, lust, and desire close around him like a lover\'s supple limbs. It embraced him and held him close, once again welcoming him into the madness of it\'s kiss. This was power such as he had never known, and the touch of it thrilled him. truth be told, it gave him a raging hard on like nothing ever had.

He was completely hooked. He had found his place in the world, albeit a touch late. The rhythm of the band behind him and the crowd before him throbbed in his veins like fire. He wanted it. Needed it. Craved it like a drug.

What he needed was a bloody shag. His gaze roved the legions of fans pressed up against the barriers at the front of the stage. He spotted her almost at once. She was standing directly in front of him, her eyes only for him. She had an elfin quality to her face. Her eyes were large, her skin milky looking in the blare of the stage lights. She looked to be completely enamoured of him. Another groupie. But she would do.

He turned his head, looking at one of the stage hands who was nearby. The man gave him his full attention. He used his eyes to point out the girl at the front of the stage. The roadie acknowledged that he had seen her and would ensure that she would be brought back stage for the after show fuckfest. Then his attention was given fully back to the music, the flavor of the day all but forgotten for the moment.

~*~*~*~*~

She was in heaven. She had died and gone ot heaven. She could feel a certain tingling coursing through her veins. He had looked at her. Straight at her and seen her. She must have died. He was the man who haunted her every waking moment and erotic dream. For a moment, she had thought that she would fall over as he had locked his gaze to hers. She had let her pent up breath out in a rush as he had moved his eyes away from hers. Having him stare at her like that had damn near brought her to orgasm. The man was positively lethal.

She didn\'t notice the press of the crowd behind her as he moved to stand right in front of her. Her eyes travelled up the long length of leather clad legs before her to find a healthy bulge in the crotch presented to her. Her mouth actually watered. She didn\'t look away, never once glancing at the other members of the band. She knew they were there, and she knew they were quite yummy to look upon. But her gaze stayed locked on *him.*

They were off and on for three encores at the end of the show. The final encore started out with a pulsing bass chord that she recognized immediately. She was nearly hoarse from screaming, but she managed to shout out the words as they came in. She loved the song. Black No.1 by Type O Negative. His voice caressed each word as if it were a part of a woman. She shuddered at the thought, that he might touch a woman\'s body the way he touched the words with his voice.

When the encore was over, people began steaming out of the stadium like water through a sieve. She gathered her few meager belonging to her and began following the mass of people headed for the exit. She would be in trouble when she got home, but the evening had been well worth it.

It seemed to take forever to get to the exits. There were people everywhere, going in every direction. She somehow got the feeling she as being watched, but she couldn\'t see anyone. She kept moving with the crowd, noticing that it was like cattle or some other farm animal being herded. She sniled at the idea, then finally found the exit. She stepped outside, moving swiflty across the parking lot to her car.

She was just putting the keys in the door when a hand curled over her arm. Barely keeping herself from screaming, she turned to find she was face to face wuth a rather large man. He wore a yellow shirt that had the word Security emblazoned across the front in black letters. \' Is there something wrong?\'

\'No, miss. Nothing\'s wrong. But we would like you to come with us. There\'s some one waiting to see you,\' he told her, pulling her gently, but firmly back toward the stadium Al had a moment to panic.

What the hell kind of trouble was she in now?

end chapter two.
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my thanks to the usuals. they all know who they are and why i\'m thanking them. hugs, people.

to those of you who have reviewed and left guesses, i want to thank you all. and acknowledge a few bits here and there.

to Shaolin: i agree..... Peter Steele is hotter than the fires of hell.

to Callan: thank you for the lovely comments about my writing. i really appreciate it. and the fact that you have read Murky Waters. i\'m not sure if you\'ve checked it out, but i have one more story, called If the Crime Fits the Punishment. illiana makes cameos in that one.

and to Sher: yes, i will reveal the identity. and yes, Sirius could stand to have some fun.

to all, i love, JUST LOVE, the guesses. i think my favorite might be the guess of Neville. he does deserveto get buff and get the girl doesn\'t he?

but do read on to find out more.....