Electric Encounters
The electric energy of the crowd in Charlotte, NC was palpable, coursing through Andy's veins even before he set foot on stage. The opening act's final chords were still reverberating as chants of his name rose above the music, fueling his adrenaline.
Backstage, Andy gave his jet-black hair a final spray, tousling it to achieve that perfect, just-rolled-out-of-bed look. He caught his reflection in the mirror; piercing blue eyes, now more striking against the thick black kohl liner, stared back at him. A rugged, peppered 5 o'clock shadow played across his distinct heart-shaped face, adding a touch of the wild to his appearance.
Dressed to kill in sleek black leather pants and a form-fitting tee that hugged his toned physique, he threw on a studded black leather jacket, completing the quintessential rock star ensemble. At 30, with 15 years in the music industry under his belt, Andy was a seasoned performer, yet the thrill of the stage never waned.
Vocal warm-ups flowed naturally as he strode towards the stage, the rest of Vision of the Void falling in step beside him. They were a motley crew, each exuding their unique brand of rock charisma. The heat was already unbearable beneath his clothes, a small sacrifice for the eruption of cheers he anticipated when he'd eventually toss his tee into a sea of outstretched hands.
“You ready?” Jovoni—their rhythm guitarist—yelled over noise, clapping Andy on the shoulder and squeezing.
He nodded.
The six band members gathered round in a preshow huddle it was a tradition that they had started. Over the years some members had come and gone but this was one thing that stayed. None of them were very religious so they didn’t pray. Chris, or Triple C as fans affectionately called him, twirled his drumsticks with a casual flair, the night’s setlist a topic of quick, focused discussion.
Their chant of "VOTV" during the hand-stack was a mix of corny and endearing, a ritual that bonded them. Logan, Andy's brother and the band's bassist, Logan, pulled him into a quick, fierce hug – their own unspoken ritual before the chaos of the stage.
The crowd's roars crescendoed as they stepped into the spotlight, chants of "VOTV" intermingling with each member's name. Time seemed to warp, the set passing in a blur of lights, sound, and raw energy.
“Thank you!” He yelled into the mike. Andy flipped his guitar behind him, he wouldn’t need it for the next song. The crew tossed him a water, he haphazardly chugged it, letting some of the cool liquid spill out over him. The front row screamed. Tossing the empty bottle into the crowd, he grabbed the microphone. “We had some fun tonight, didn’t we?” he asked the crowd.
Their response was deafening, a wave of sound that washed over him, feeding his soul.
Andy exchanged a knowing look with Triple C. “Alright, y’all,” the drummer drawled, a hint of Southern charm in his voice. Another scream roared through the crowd. Andy may be the front man, but they all had their fans. Chris was especially popular here in the south. “This last song’s a new one. It’s called 'Beautiful Obsession'.”
Chris counted off with his sticks, Kai—their lead guitarist—started a rift. About 15 seconds in Jovoni would hop in, followed by drums, base, and keyboards.
As the opening riff by Kai, their lead guitarist, filled the air, Andy's gaze wandered. It landed on a man in the front row, his shirt – Andy's shirt – now a trophy around his neck. The man's striking appearance, black hair with red highlights, and the glimpse of a backstage pass ignited a spark of interest in Andy.
Fuck! The man was hot.
Their fleeting eye contact was electric, filled with unspoken promises. Andy found himself anticipating the meet and greet, the prospect of a more personal encounter playing tantalizingly in his mind.
But the night took an unexpected turn. Midway through the meet and greet, Devon, his security guard, leaned in with urgent news of a fire. Confusion reigned as they were swiftly escorted outside, the clamor of the crowd a stark contrast to the quiet panic among the band.
The chaos of their escape, the limo ride, the throngs of fans at the hotel - it all blurred together in Andy's mind. Once safe in his hotel room, both he and Devon collapsed on the couch, the adrenaline of the night giving way to exhaustion.
When he woke, Devon was gone—must have left to his own room—and it was the middle of the night.
After hastily taking a shower, he slipped into a pair of comfortable sleep pants before settling into the ridiculously large king-sized bed and falling asleep. His dreams however were riddled with the man in the front row. When he woke, he was painfully hard, his hand already stroking his shaft.
“f**k,” Andy moaned.
Feeling the need to clean up the mess he caused, he indulged in another shower before heading to the kitchenette, clad in a pair of low-rise jeans. Standing in front of the fridge, he realized that a fruit breakfast was the only option unless he wanted to resort to room service, an alternative he vehemently wished to avoid.
Contrary to popular belief he was a health fanatic. The rest of his bandmates teased him about it sometimes, but they all ended up in his bus eating his food instead of cooking their own.
Savoring the refreshing bites of watermelon and cantaloupe, he leisurely perused the morning news. The headlines were ablaze with the fire incident at the Spectrum Center, a small blaze that had sparked a media frenzy due to Vision of the Void's presence.
As he ate, Andy's thoughts drifted back to the man with his shirt, a lingering curiosity amidst the whirlwind of his rock star life.
