#RETURN OF THE COTTON CANDY CHICKEN BREAST

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 21 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29  

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Paul and Gene go on a date and discuss groupies. Gene muses.

            Paul ended up driving them to a Japanese restaurant about an hour later, even though they’d had Chinese takeout just a few days prior. Gene felt a bit underdressed in Paul’s tee and waistband-digging jeans, for all he was trying to avoid getting recognized. Then again, Paul was only in the other blouse he’d bought and the jeans from yesterday, so maybe it didn’t matter.

            But it felt like it did. It kept nagging at him. Paul hadn’t dressed up, but he had put on a little makeup. He’d even tried to do something with his hair. He knew exactly what this was. He knew Gene really was taking him out.

            Gene thought he’d be more nervous about the whole deal than he was. Paul was still getting the door for him, and part of Gene hated himself a bit for realizing he’d miss that, too. It wasn’t going to be as endearing once he was back to normal. None of Paul’s little quirks would be.

            Gene felt ashamed over it. He really did. Paul was the same person, with or without tits, but that didn’t mean Gene was going to stay interested once they were out of the equation. Paul had said he wouldn’t be. And that really hadn’t even been the only time. Paul had kept hinting at it long before. I bet you’d rather me stay a girl. It was a horrible thing to even own up to fantasizing about. Even if Paul had dealt with it fairly well, at least over the last few days. He’d taken to all the superficial trappings of being a chick pretty readily, the makeup and heels and so on, but that was probably because all that was stuff he already did as a man. Beyond that, he wasn’t really playing at being a girl very well. Wasn’t trying to.

            Could he really feel the same way about Paul once they took care of the curse? Once Paul felt ready to give it up? And it’d have to be soon; even not counting the tour, eventually, Paul’s parents or Bill Aucoin or someone would call in a missing person report. Would he still want Paul then?

            Gene wasn’t sure. He’d lay a woman whether she was pretty or not, but he’d never fucked a guy, and never been interested in the prospect. But it kept nagging at him anyway. Trying to picture Paul back to normal was almost hard, when he was sitting there in front of him. Looking cute as hell with his hair fluffed like cotton candy and another low-cut blouse on. Looking happy. Normally, Gene would get a little disappointed, hanging around once the clothes were off a chick, even one he was dating. He never could help feeling like something had been—oh, not spoiled, exactly, but—like something had been… lived-in, maybe. Like a month into owning a car, when the clean smell of the dealership was gone. No longer new, and disappointingly his.

            But watching Paul chatting amiably about nothing—no, not nothing, he was talking about maybe trying to visit Japan off-tour, sometime, get some real sightseeing in, instead of hasty bus rides—just brought back to mind the image of a couple hours ago. Those pretty lips wrapped around his cock, or, almost better yet, parted in a plaintive cry. Fuck, Paul could scream, and it was somehow almost appealing, how he kept trying not to do it but ended up moaning all the louder.

            Gene didn’t feel like he’d lost interest once he’d gotten Paul naked. It had just given him more to explore. Not just those sensitive breasts or the taste of his juices, either. Not everything was carnal. He hadn’t realized the guy had any freckles, for one, although maybe some of them had just been buried in the carpet of his chest hair prior. Maybe he’d just never had a reason to look.

            Gene’s stomach growled, and he decided he needed to quit while he was ahead. Paul was starting to look at him funny, and nudging him under the table with his foot. They ordered platters of teriyaki chicken, fried rice, and sushi rolls, Gene carefully checking the ingredient list and grilling the waitress about the fish used while Paul, predictably, ignored kosher and got exactly what he wanted.

            “Maybe that’s why you got cursed,” Gene teased, once Paul started eating his California rolls. Paul made a face.

            “Very funny.” He took a long gulp of his water. The guy had to have been starving after throwing up last night. “She was just… I don’t know if I can explain it.”

            Paul hadn’t tried to explain it, either. Not that Gene had pressed, back in the limo last night, when Paul had looked pale and shaken-up about the whole deal. But he’d been curious. Paul and Carol had been down in the basement nearly past the twenty minutes he’d allotted. Long enough for Paul to find out exactly why she’d done that to him.

            “Go ahead.”

            Paul hesitated.

            “It’s… Gene, do you ever think about the groupies? I mean, really think about them.”

            “No.”

            “I didn’t, either.” Paul seemed to try to laugh, and then he wiped at his mouth. “I… I remember getting kind of dopey over some chick when we were still playing ballrooms. Then I found out she’d let half the New York Dolls screw her.”

            “I don’t know why that stopped you.”

            “Because that meant it wasn’t… that meant I didn’t matter to her, if she’d just let me the same way she’d let them. It was too… shit, I can’t be talking like this out in public.”

            “Why not?”

            Paul stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head.

            “Because people can hear me.”

            “Barely anyone’s here, Paul.”

            Paul took another few bits of rice, using his chopsticks. He still wasn’t good with them, but he liked to pretend. World traveler Paul. Meanwhile, Gene was diving into his own rice with a fork, getting easily triple as much per bite. Far more efficient.

            “Yeah, but we’re not in the Village or any of that shit.”

            “Are you that afraid of getting looked at dirty? You know that’s all anyone would do.”

             “I’ll tell you in the car,” he said, and reached for another piece of sushi.

--

            Paul made good on his promise. Once lunch was done (the owner had actually dropped by their table and given them small bowls of ice cream on the house, which Paul seemed very chipper about) and he was out of the restaurant parking lot, he started in again. Offhand and abrupt, one hand worryingly on the radio dial. He seemed to be trying to find a traffic report.

            “I guess I thought the girls got off on it.”

            “No shit, Paul.”

            “No, listen. I thought they all did that with every rockstar that came to town.” Paul finally stopped fooling with the dial, turning up the volume. Gene half-wondered why, when Paul didn’t even live in New York proper anymore, and probably wasn’t going to hit boatloads of traffic on the way back. “I thought… I hoped they understood how it was.”

            “They all know they’re never gonna see you again.” Gene shifted uncomfortably. “You have fun one night, and that’s it. They take a good memory back.”

            “Carol didn’t.”

            Gene didn’t answer for awhile. The silence wafted up like summer haze above the pavement. When Paul didn’t elaborate, Gene spoke again.

            “Why did she do that to you? Just because she didn’t have a good time with you?”

            “No. That’s not it. She just… shit, Gene.” Paul let out a long breath. “She wanted something I couldn’t give her.”

            “She wanted to date you? Paul, that’s really not your fault, if she didn’t understand—”

            “Well, I didn’t deserve to get cursed over it, but… fuck, I don’t know.” Paul’s eyes were dark. Not unreadable, just pensive. “We go out there and we say all that bullshit. We love the fans. We love the girls. We… we do the teenybopper mags. It… Bill’s so smart, y’know, you got the girls that want you and the ones that want me and Peter and Ace and so on, right on down to a type—”

            “Paul, I don’t think I’m following you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Are you saying you wanna be honest with the girls? You want to put in print that they don’t matter to you?” Gene shook his head. “It’s showbiz, Paul. You can’t be everything to everybody. The girls ought to know better. It’s not on you if any of them really think they’ve got a chance.”

            “We’ve let them think they do.” Paul was starting to look a little nerved-out by his own words. “They’re not getting that idea out of thin air, Gene. We… we’ve got a little bit of responsibility here.”

            “I’m allergic to that word in that context.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. It makes me think of paternity lawsuits.”

            He’d expected Paul to laugh, but he didn’t. Just kept driving in silence, switching the station again once they started playing music. It seemed like he was going into the traffic, rather than away from it. Maybe he’d wanted to stop somewhere before heading back home.

            “They’ve got feelings, though, don’t they?” God, Paul was still at it. “I didn’t ever mean to hurt them, but I did. I didn’t really start to understand until…”

            The ice cream felt suddenly like a brick of milk in Gene’s stomach.

            “Until what?”

            “Until you said we could take a picture for your album.”

            “Paul, that was a shitty joke, I didn’t mean—”

            “I know. I know.” Paul sighed, and beeped the horn at the taxi in front of him. Gene saw the cabbie roll down the window and stick his hand out, flipping him off. Paul returned the favor, but kept on talking as he did it. “I figured if… if I didn’t wanna be treated like that, like something to… to collect, then maybe some of them didn’t, either.”

            Gene couldn’t think of anything to say. That was rare enough to be worrisome. His girls were different from Paul’s, anyway. He didn’t have that sappy, sensitive lover image that Paul did, that’d make for clingy mental cases. His girls just wanted kinky sex, topped off with his tongue between their legs. But he couldn’t shrug off the feeling that Paul was onto something. Something a little bit terrible.

            He’d been on the road long enough to get a sense of demographics. The girls in the Midwest and places like Utah, in their way, were a real treat, eager to do anything to please. Gene hadn’t ever even had a threesome, but he’d fucked around a bit with BDSM, that kind of thing. He’d noticed the cornfed, good-girl, hometown types, they were the most likely to be up to indulging something weird.

            He’d thought it was just because they were repressed. Wanted to let loose before they ended up fat and married with five kids. It had never hit them that it might be because they were just naïve enough to buy into what KISS was trying to sell.

            “Maybe.”

            He felt Paul’s eyes back on him briefly, and then they were back on the road. Gene’s sense of direction wasn’t the greatest, but he knew for sure now that the route Paul was taking went nowhere near his house. He cleared his throat, putting his hand on Paul’s thigh.

            “Paul, you’re not… I don’t want to just take your picture. You mean more to me than that.”

            It was a couple of seconds before Paul nodded, resting his hand on top of Gene’s, lacing their fingers together.

            “Thanks, Gene.”

            “Don’t thank me. It’s true.” And then, because that still didn’t seem sufficient, because worry was starting to sink into Paul’s forehead, he leaned over on impulse, kissing him on the cheek, lips mostly brushing Paul’s hair instead. Paul’s one-handed grip on the steering wheel only faltered briefly, pink rising in his face. “Where are we going?”

            “You don’t know?” Paul started to smile. “C’mon, Gene. You took me out. I gotta return the favor somehow.”

            “It’s New York, you could be taking us anywhere.”

            “We’re heading to Central Park.” Paul patted Gene’s hand, and then shifted it to dig around in the middle console. “Real romantic, I know. Feed some geese, get out there in a rowboat… c’mon and check for me, Gene, I think I’ve got just enough change for the parking meter, even…”

            “What about the carousel?”

            “Sure, if you want—”

            “Great.” Gene’s hand was inching gradually up Paul’s thigh. “I think it’d be a fun ride.”

            Paul smacked his hand away.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley