AUTHOR'S NOTE: SLOW BURN.
Keegan had a dark side that not many knew about. He was a popular kid in high school, and now as an adult, he was considered tidy and scrupulous - from an outsider's perspective. When people saw him, they would peg him as a Christian, a mama's boy, a player, a simple 9-5 office man. He looked like the type of guy you'd find at a country club golf course. Of course, all that changed when he got some alone time.
Truthfully, he hated his job. He hated wearing sweltering suits and throat-constricting collars, ugly ties, professional shirts that were in constant rotations between his closet and the dry cleaners - a tedious task he deemed unnecessary yet had to perform - and the awful-fitting slacks that blistered his heels. In his dream life, Keegan would wear black band tees and jeans every day, and he'd never have to roll down sleeves to keep his many (secret) tattoos covered. But alas, that was only for the weekends, where no one could see him release.
It was a Thursday when his life changed. Attending a rock concert on a Thursday spelled recipe for disaster, but Keegan was at his wit's end with his boring 9-5. So what if he came to the job exhausted and hungover; he could just scroll on Facebook instead of working, and his manager wouldn't know the difference. So balling up his tie at the turn of the clock, he eagerly made for his car, quickly buying the ticket online and screenshotting the receipt.
Three hours later, Keegan was pulling up to the venue's parking lot. He was freed of choking professional wear at last: all but unrecognizable, his favorite metal band glared off his chest, vivid designs sharp on black fabric, and his hair was a jagged mess. Perfectly friendly concert attire. He moved quick through the line, and although self-conscious that he'd come alone, he felt at ease enough inside.
The place was hot and humid with a thick crowd already. Now, this came Keegan's secret love of these concerts; the closeness of the crowd, the envelopment of people like him, gothic girls in black skirts, muscular men to fist-fight in the pit; there was something undeniably arousing about it. Keegan enjoyed being the largest man in the crowd, for the girls usually flocked towards him, and the men in the pit tended to square up. Here, there was no managers or white shirts, no bitter coffee and Mormon expectations. He was free to fight and fuck as he pleased.
He'd hooked up with a fair amount of girls here. Tonight, with the first band's theme being entirely centered on sex and drugs, Keegan found himself trying a little harder than usual to find a potential match. He sang along, he eyed various dyed heads; jostled on all sides by the crowd, he found he could let himself be pushed and shoved, and that closeness, it was enough to incite the lust inside. He even let a man bowl into his chest for no other reason than the contact. Of course, the guy backed down when he was faced with Keegan's height.
But when the final band came onstage, he realized this night might not go as planned.
It was the lead vocalist. He'd never heard of this band before, never seen them, but the minute the singer stalked onstage, a lasso of stilling intrigue lashed around him. From the crowd, he met his eyes - one in a ten thousand chance - and saw dark brown irises framed by smudged liner, a typical rocker getup, but this one made it different. Sprawling tattoos gleamed on him from hands to neck. He was shirtless, tan, thin, and wiry, but undoubtedly muscular. The vocalist held Keegan's stare for two long seconds before looking away.
"Let's get this shit started," he said into the mic. Dark and quiet. But the crowd - which had doubled since he appeared - roared its fevered approval. Keegan was silently impressed at the hold this man had over them, despite his low-key stature, so foreign from a star's usual zest. He could speak a simple flat word and have the crowd bouncing.
The music started. Already, Keegan could feel the difference. It vibrated the floors, the riffs thick, refined, unapologetically stoic. It was just his taste, he realized. How had he never heard of this band before?
He bought a beer, and another, and another. By the time he wormed back towards the stage, the main vocalist had met his eyes a total of ten times. This may seem an indifferent amount to the outsider, but in the world of heavy metal, this was an uncanny, spectacular number. Singers tended to avoid the eyes of their fans. But Keegan was no fan - yet. Their music grew swift on him. He sang lyrics he didn't know, bounced through the crowd to an unfamiliar beat. Throughout it all, the main vocalist continued to catch him with a brooding stare.
A fourth beer down, and Keegan was feeling himself. The music grew closer, the crowd, friendlier. Body after body collided with his chest - he knew they did it on purpose - and just as often, he felt something spark an inferno through him, a playful, lustful wash through his veins. He dared to meet the handsome singer's eye as often as possible. And after the twentieth chance contact, he knew it wasn't just a coincidence.
But then something happened halfway through the leading act. Keegan had made it to the very front of the stage, half-drunk and grabbing it's metal surface for stability, when the singer abruptly halted. The vocals to the song cut off. Glaring into the crowd, he shouted something.
It took a second for him to lift the mic to his lips so all could hear. "Out," he was demanding. "Get the fuck out of here. You, in the red shirt - yeah you, fuckass. Get out."
Keegan knew it was his cue, as unofficial venue security. Elbowing through the crowd, he sought the man in question - a sheepish, sweat-faced moron - and promptly dragged him by the elbow towards the exit. He wasn't coherent enough to know why the singer wanted him out, or why the crowd was parting for him, or even, subconsciously, the number of eyes that were taking in the scene, placing him as a major character in this happening; only that it was the right thing to do. Thrusting the man with all his might, Keegan beat him out the door and made back for the stage.
"Take that as a warning for all of you!" The vocalist was bellowing to the crowd. "We don't tolerate that shit in our crowds. You hear me?"
It took all but microseconds for the crowd to scream, to roar their response. Keegan himself joined in. It took a surprisingly swift amount of time to wade back to the front of the crowd, where he was free to sing, to dance, and more importantly, to gawk the vocalist down, without a drunken care in the world. So what if on weekdays, he was straight; something was happening here. And he intended to find out what.
The concert ended. Keegan half-wished it wouldn't, even though he'd gotten what he came here for; several girls had eyed him all night, and some even dared to venture close enough to touch. Oddly enough, Keegan wasn't engaging them. He leaned at the stage even as the fans melted away, and eventually the girls as well.
Senses tingled in his skin. And sure enough: the time came.
"Big guy," the main vocalist - a euphoric, stunning voice - called to him, and him only. "What're you waiting around for? You gonna help us take this down?"
He was kicking his foot towards a hefty subwoofer with an inquiring glance. Buzzed, boozed up, Keegan had to blink twice to realize he'd been directly addressed. "You want me to what, now?" He asked incredulously.
"If it's not too much for you," the singer said dryly, "Come take this shit."
Keegan knew an invitation when he saw it. As the singer lifted the subwoofer, arms straining, he was right at the end of the stage, ready to take it in his arms. "Bring it out the back to the van," the vocalist instructed, that calm, melodic voice.
"Yes, sir," Keegan automatically responded. He was too drunk for nervousness, too bold to do anything but obey. He marched for the back doors and stowed the black boxes in the back of the directed van.
"Another one," the handsome singer called when he returned inside. This time - when he dropped the box into Keegan's arms - he felt their arms brush. A volt of something foreign, yet not displeasing, sang immediately through his skin. He was fighting with himself on what to name this new sensation as he brought the next subwoofer out.
