soft sound.

The only downside was that tonight was the last performance of the season, meaning all the stress and anxieties of the real world that had been waiting in the wings was now looming with newfound free time on your hands. While this was all part of the routine you were used to, it was always a heavy hit when it was time to retire a costume for the foreseeable future, especially when it was a role you loved so vehemently.

While it was tradition to get absolutely shitfaced after the final curtain call, a ritual that everyone in your company looked forward to, especially when the drunken karaoke broke out.

You were the last person left in the green room, with your costars and tech crew already making their way to the bar. Sentimentality was hitting particularly hard this evening and you didn’t really have a reason to hang back alone, you at least wanted to soak in the atmosphere as much as possible. 

“Gotta say, I don’t think I’ve seen someone work a lever that well in front of an audience before.”

A sudden, slightly accented voice from the doorway made you jump, nearly knocking over the vanity mirror and scattering several makeup brushes to the floor. Leaning against the doorframe was a guy who could’ve easily been a fellow shadowcast extra, clad in a heavily spiked leather jacket and jeans so tight they could’ve been painted on, completely with vaguely skull-inspired makeup and fake blood. Not to mention cheekbones you could cut yourself on. 

“Well, thank you,” you grinned, immediately striking a very Magenta pose as you fluffed your hair. “Was this your first time at a show?”

“Pfft, do I look like a virgin to you?” he shot back playfully, stuffing his hands in his pockets and meandering deeper into the dressing room. It wasn’t rare for the odd audience member to wander backstage as the venue wasn’t the largest, but they usually didn’t make themselves at home like your new fan was. But goddamn he was easy on the eyes. Almost annoyingly so. 

“This is actually my third time this month,” he added, spinning around one of the makeup chairs to sit backwards, leaning his arms over the back. 

“Third? That’s actually impressive,” you gaped. “But you haven’t stuck around, right? I feel like I’d remember you.”

Oh god, was that flirting? If it was, it certainly wasn’t your best effort and you could already feel color rising in your cheeks. Your visitor took it in stride however, or at least appeared to, as he let out an easy chuckle. 

“Yeah, I’m not much of a meet and greet fan. Guess I’m too shy.” By the smirk on his face, that was a complete lie, but you didn’t press. “I’m Mary, by the way. But you can call me whatever you want, Magenta.” 

Mary winked and for a split second, your entire brain short-circuited. You were absolutely no stranger to vampish behavior, especially after a month of Rocky Horror, but this skinny little bitch was somehow hitting all the right buttons with freakish accuracy. As he leaned back, he deftly produced a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, giving it a solid whack against his palm. 

“I take it you don't smoke?”

“It's generally frowned upon for singers,” you teased, leaning back against the vanity with your arms over your chest. Was this a deliberate move to show off how epic your cleavage looked in this costume? Maybe. 

“Gotta protect those pipes, eh? Luckily in my line of work, those rules don't apply.”

As he flicked open his battered Zippo to light the tip, he shot you another wink as he took a drag .

“Dare I ask?” You posed coquettishly.

“Singer.”

Immediately, you both burst into laughter, whatever awkward apprehension that still lingered dissipating into a void. Mary stood, swinging his leg over the back of the chair and taking a few long-legged strides towards you. While he locked his eyes on yours for a moment, subtlety flew out the window as his gaze trailed from your face to your chest, eyeing your figure hungrily in a way that should have made you want to smack him across that beautiful face. 

“Y'know,” he began, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You really do have the voice of an angel. And it just got me thinking.”

“About what?” You tried to keep your voice steady as you gulped, tension coiling in your core. 

“What sounds you make when you're not on stage. Unless you just really like an audience.”

The wicked grin twisted across his lips again, but as bold as he was, you couldn't help but sense a bit of nervous trepidation from the raffish punk. Almost as if he was waiting for you to reject him in disgust. As amateurish as the notion was, it was still enough to give you butterflies. 

“What girl doesn't love an adoring public?” with a grin, hoping your own provocation would dissuade the idea you weren't absolutely into this. Whatever-the-fuck this was. “But I think you'd rather have a private audience, am I correct?” 

Taking a drag off the cigarette, a rush of cinders casting a warm glow across his face, he seemed to be considering the question carefully, sizing up the offer. 

“But I have to say, I'm due to meet my castmates for drinks soon, so I don't have all night, Mary.” 

He plucked the cigarette from his lips and set it down on the vanity counter. Leaning forward he placed a hand on either side of your legs, close enough to feel the heat of his fingers through your fishnets, bringing his face close to yours. 

“I don't need all night, älskling. By the time that kistspik gets to the filter, I'll have made you cum at least twice.” 

“Oh really? What makes you think I'm that easy?” Okay, it was getting really difficult to pretend you weren't flooding your pantyhose right now.

“Don't pretend, Magenta. I know you wanna be dirty,” he singsonged. Mary cocked an eyebrow as he ran his tongue idly over his lip. “But, hey, if you don't-”

Before he could finish thought, you crashed your mouth into his, your teeth and tongues clashing immediately. Mary hooked his hands under your legs, hoisting you onto the vanity and pressing your back roughly against the mirror. Trying to reach his hands under your dress, he pulled away with an irritated slew of curses under his breath. 

“How many fucking layers are under this thing… you look look hot as fucking shit but goddamn how's a guy supposed to-” 

Finally his fingers found your inner thigh and with a triumphant smirk, he wrenched his fingers through the fishnets, tearing a large gap through the tights. Skillfully, he stroked along the center of your underwear, licking and biting a trail from your collarbone to your ear as you arched your back deeply against his hand, tangling your fingers through his mess of black hair. 

This was insane. You knew this guy all of six minutes before he was diving under your skirt in a very not private dressing room. Granted, most of the crew had left already but a few stragglers weren't a rarity around the theater. 

With a gasp, you felt his fingers nimbly sliding along the slick, dripping heat of your sex, your hips jerking at the sudden jolt of pleasure. Mary groaned, a devilishly wicked sound you felt course through you and he began to pump his fingers inside you.

“Fuck, already? Goddamn,” his lips brushed your ear as he spoke. “It's like you were waiting for me all night.”

Normally, you wouldn't have hesitated to shoot a witty retort back but with the expertly moving fingers against your clit made any semblance of logic completely absent. With one arm draped over his shoulders and the other propping you up against the mirror, your head lulled back as your eyes fluttered close. Already sweat dotted your chest and brows as your pleasure built rapidly, with Mary murmuring such filthy things in your ear as he fucked his fingers into you as if he'd already known what your body had been craving. 

“That's it, babygirl. Lemme make you cum before I fuck you raw. You're never gonna forget your first night with Mary.”

Moans were so casually escaping your throat, no longer caring if anyone else was still in the building, let alone any innocent bystanders walking beneath the open window at the other side of the green room. You rocked your hips against his relentless movements, hearing the lewd squelch against his fingers without a care in the world about how deranged this all felt. Deranged, dangerous, reckless. But goddamn if this ragged little punk wasn't already pushing you to your peak. 

“Fuck, Mary,” you rasped, your voice already whining and desperate.

“You gonna sing for me, älskling? You gonna show me what those lungs can take? Lemme hear you scream my name.”

His thumb found your clit, feverishly rubbing against your swollen flesh as his fingers worked, cupping his hand against the back of your neck as you cried out. Your pleasure crashed into so hard you nearly blacked out, screaming out obscenities along with his name like a demented prayer, a conjuration of this manifested creature sent only to drive you to the depth of insanity with lust.

As you came down, your eyes still clamped shut as beads of sweat ran rivulets down your face, you felt Mary slowly retract his fingers while his other hand gripped your jaw. 

“Eyes on me,” he ordered, forcing your gaze on him. His pupils were wide with mutual lust as he brought his fingers to his mouth, lewdly and languidly running his tongue across his fingers, savouring every taste of you as you could do nothing but watch helplessly, writhing with desire, the desperate want to have him take you properly.

“Your cunt tastes like heaven but I think your voice was a gift from the devil himself,” he smirked, wiping his spit and arousal soaked fingers on his shirt. “And that's one.”

Glancing over at the still-burning cigarette, he let out a pleased chuckle. 

“Oh that's plenty of time for me to fuck the life out of you. If you think you can take it.” 

You nodded so quickly your neck cracked. 

“Here's what's gonna happen.”

 Mary took your hand and brought you to your feet before spinning you around to face the mirror. You were already a sweaty mess from the show but the flush across your skin was unmistakably flooded with desire. With his hands on your shoulders, he eased you onto your palms as he pushed your skirts up around your waist. You could hear the sounds of his belt and zipper being undone, a groan escaping his throat as he freed his throbbing cock from its confines. 

“When I paint your cunt with my cum, you’re gonna keep every bit of me in that sweet little pussy of yours. Got it? You can laugh and drink and dance with your friends, but when I check, and I will check, you better not have spilled a fucking drop. And if you can be a good girl I can promise you the best fuck of your life afterwards, prinsessa.”

Slowly, Mary dragged his cock along your entrance, letting out a strained snarl. You pushed backward against him, wriggling your hips against the weeping tip of his cock as you watched his face in the reflection, his resolve beginning to falter as he blinked, his jaw going slack as his eyes fixed onto your body. 

“You want me to be a good girl? Your good girl, Mary?” you purred, priding yourself on just how quickly you were breaking down his dominant demeanor. One of his hands slid up your back, the other kneaded your ass as he bit his lip. “Then make me,” you ordered. “Make me your girl.”

“Fuck, älskling. How the fuck did I find you?”

With a deliberately controlled thrust, he sunk himself into you, both of you letting out a gasping moan. It didn’t take long for his pace to quicken, his fingers digging into your thighs as he snapped his hips into yours. One had snaked around, gripping your face as his thumb smeared your lipstick across your jaw, his eyes locking on yours as he pressed his chest to your back. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so close against his it was like he needed to crawl inside you and take root. Reaching back, you grabbed a fistful of his hair, guiding his lips to your neck where they roughly sucked against your throat so hard you knew there would be a childish hickey left behind but you didn’t care. Your legs began to shake, a second peak already building, if nothing else but seeing Mary’s reaction to fucking you and just how incredible it felt. 

Dropping down to your elbows, you used the momentum to drive yourself backward against him, his cock exquisitely slamming against the sweet spot inside you. He gathered your hair in his hands, tipping your head backward forcing you to look at your beautifully conjoined reflection. 

“So fucking beautiful, älskling. Fucking made for me and taking me so well.”

“I was made to be fucked by you, Mary,” you sobbed between moans, gripping the sides of the vanity as he railed into you with abandon. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

With a final powerful thrust, his release spurted deep within you, ropes flooding from his cock as he frantically slammed his hips into you with ragged moans, sending you cascading into your own peak, crying out even harder than before until your throat burned. Mary collapsed forward, panting with his forehead pressed into your shoulder as he muttered what you assumed were more curses in what sounded like Swedish. After a moment, he gently pulled out, carefully sliding your underwear back up to your hips, smoothing down your dress in a surprisingly tender motion. With his chin on your shoulder, he let out a hilariously ragged chuckle as he looked at your reflection. You looked completely disheveled, quite obviously guilty, but Mary was certainly not innocent himself, with his own makeup muddied and hair a tousled mess. Glancing down at the cigarette, nearly but not entirely burnt to ash, he smirked again, before giving you a knowing look.

“Told ya.”

You turned, awkwardly shifting yourself around and placing your hands on either side of his face. You could have sworn there was a sheepish blush rising in his cheeks as he tore his eyes from your face, running his hand over your torso to press his palm against the front of your underwear, making you squirm against his fingers. 

“Remember, älskling. Not a drop.”

With soft-blinking, heavy-lidded eyes, you nodded innocently.