"You don't get to argue Peaches, you're coming." I stood my ground, hands on my hips and a defiant grin threatening to split my face in two.
"I can't, I have to work." He started to argue but he cut himself off at my chuckle.
"You took time off for the Shady tour, beside's, Jack doesn't want to see you for another eight weeks." Game, set, match.
"Oh, fine, but I expect you to make it worth my time," he relented, throwing in a token of protest.
G was a good friend, one trusted to mostly keep me out of trouble, though he was as much a cause as me. I was going on my first overseas tour, the UK first and then, if the concerts went well, the US. G packed up his stuff dutifully, and a few days later we were off.
The flight to London was boring, we were seated on opposite sides of the cabin, which was packed, and unable to talk nearly the entire time. The minute we landed I collapsed on his shoulder and sighed.
"The only good thing about being relatively new to the scene is no media and no annoying fans." I giggled, falling in behind him at the customs line.
"What do I tell them about why I'm here?" he whispered as we got closer to the front.
"You're on a working visa, we listed you as my P.A." I grinned unrepentantly as he choked.
"You mean I have to work?" he spluttered.
"Only if you want to. Putting you down as my P.A means we could get you coming along for free, I mean, the label is paying for you considering you're working for me." I said, pushing him up into the recently vacated spot.
"Oh, that's okay I suppose, does this mean I'm being paid?" G asked, placing his passport on the desk for the customs clerk as I moved to the desk beside him.
"Yeah, not as much as you could have but still, $21 an hour is pretty good." I nodded, handing over my own passport.
"I can live with that." He laughed.
When we made it through baggage claim and out into the main floor G wrapped his arm around me and led me to the meeting point. A couple of the roadies from my Aus tour and the rest of the band were already waiting and I greeted them with smiles and hugs. We were just waiting for my manager to pop up before we left.
"Alright girders and boils." My manager announced as he walked, more sashayed, towards us.
"Hey Mark." We all greeted, aside from G who just waved.
"Right, we'll be hopping on a bus as soon as the gear clears customs and heading to the centre of London. We've got a show in eight hours, then a day off before the next one so for now I'd suggest either sleeping on the bus or sitting on your jetlag till tomorrow." Mark explained, leading us out to the side walk where almost everyone lit up a cigarette the moment we passed the non-smoking area.
It took an hour after that for all our gear to pass through customs and another hour for the guys to load it on the bus, after which we rolled out of the airport and were on our way to the first gig of the tour. At the venue, a fairly decent sized club in the center of London, we all pitched in to get the gear set up, the support bands showed up a few minutes late but after that things ran smoothly. By the time the club opened and the first of the two support bands was onstage I was jittery with nerves and excitement.
"Calm down V, you're gonna be great." G murmoured in my ear, wrapping me in a backwards hug.
"I know, but I'm always nervous before a show." l pouted, moving away from the stage and out to the side exit for a smoke.
"Why? You're stunning, and talented, and you have an amazing voice." G soothed, rubbing circles into my tense back.
"Don't know, I've always had a problem performing for large groups of people." I shrugged, lighting the end of my cigarette.
"How about I take some of the stress away?" He offered, hot breath steaming past my ear in the tiny backstage courtyard.
He pulled me onto his lap after sparking his own smoke and settled his hand on my lap, turning us so we were wedged under the table. Deft fingers flicked open the button on my jeans and teased down the zipper.
"G, fuck, that's going to make me tired." I panted slightly as he stroked my hip.
"Drink up then." He nodded his head to the can of Rockstar I'd set on the table.
His fingers slipped under the thick denim and a moan escaped as he realised I wasn't wearing anything underneath.
"Fuck that's hot, I didn't think you were the type for comando." he groaned, shifting as his appreciation became obvious.
"It helps keep my mind off the crowd." I groaned as his skillful fingers found the button of nerves above my wet, hot slit.
"I'm going to be hard all night now, watching you up there, knowing there's barely anything separating your delicious cunt from view." he moaned, dipping a finger down to stroke the folds of my pussy.
He was fully hard beneath me now, both of us breathing hard and moaning. I used my position to an advantage and thrust minutely against him, delighting in every hitched breath as he fingered me.
"It could be worse," I turned my head to say, lips brushing his ear, "I could be wearing a skirt."
I grinned as he growled and thrust his fingers deeper, three of them now, his thumb occasionally circling my tight, erect clit. I slipped my free hand down from where it clung in his hair and popped the button on his own jeans, the tip of his cock jutting out to greet the cool night air. It was a little awkward, reaching back as he drove his hand into me, adding a fourth finger as I slid the pad of my thumb over his own weeping slit. In minutes we were both rocketing through orgasm, and I had to hide my head in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out.