#cbgb

Another night. Another drink. Another band.

You sat in the same spot, every night, making a single drink last hours as you watched a different band play each night. It was as if you were mesmerised, drawn to the place, unable to resist the lure of the music.

Hilly didn’t even notice you at first. The bar was always so busy, and there was always someone demanding his attention. He barely paid any mind to the girl who sat alone, tending the same drink all night, watching the stage but never dancing to the music.

You came to his attention when he was in his office, sifting through his outstanding bills and wondering which one he’d pay this month. The music could be heard through the wall, but it was muffled. It became suddenly louder when the door was opened, and Hilly glanced up lazily to see a figure dart inside and close the door quickly.

He frowned, not recognising you. You pressed your back against the door, as if holding it closed.

"Something the matter?"

You looked up, surprise etched on your face as if you hadn’t expected him to be there.

"Sorry. There was this guy — wouldn’t stop tryna grab me — mind if I wait it out ‘til he’s gone?"

Hilly stood, pushing his chair back, all thoughts of his bills disregarded.

What guy?" he asked as he crossed the room towards you. "Someone giving you trouble?"

"It’s nothing, I just need to wait a sec…"

Ignoring your protestations, Hilly grabbed the door handle and you stepped away as he pulled the door open, causing some guy to stumble as the door he was leaning on suddenly gave way.

Hilly grabbed the guy by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet. He turned to you.

"This guy?"

You nodded. Hilly tried to look the guy in the eye, but whoever he was, he was so drunk he could barely stand.

"You step foot in my bar again, I’ll have your ass hauled to the Hudson and thrown in there like the trash you are. Got it?"

“"Hey, man, I ain’t done nothing!" the guy slurred. "That bitch shook her ass at me then won’t even let me grab it —"

"Shut the fuck up," Hilly growled. He pulled the guy away, who tried to fight, but he was so drunk and Hilly was so strong that he gave up after a few seconds and let himself be dragged across the bar, through the crowds of people who knew to make room when the owner was dragging someone out.

You hovered outside of Hilly’s office, watching as he literally threw the guy outside and shouted something at him. When he came back, you thought you’d say thanks and that would be the end of it — but Hilly gestured for you to follow him, and led you back into his office.

"Sorry about that. I’ll make sure he don’t come back. You alright?"

You wrapped your arms around yourself and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks for the save."

Hilly just shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

"You here with anyone?"

"Nah, just me."

"You need me to call you a cab?"

You shook your head. "You’re open ‘til four, right? I got three hours still."

"Hey, I ain’t tryna kick you out. Just thought you might be shook up and wanna go home. Stay here all night if you like. You wanna sit down a minute?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Go ahead. Lemme get you a drink."

Hilly gestured towards the worn-out couch in front of his desk and you sat down, glad for a few minutes to get yourself together. You sure as hell didn’t want to go home, but going back out there wasn’t much better.

Hilly returned a few minutes later with a bottle of beer. You thanked him and, instead of going back to what he’d been doing like you expected, Hilly leaned against the table and folded his arms as he looked at you.

"You wanna tell me what a girl like you’s doing in a place like this?"

You looked up at him with a frown. "What do you mean, a girl like me?"

"Pretty little thing like you, any bar’ll let you in."

"Maybe I really like country, bluegrass and blues."

Hilly snorted. "Then you’re in the wrong place, sweetheart."

"Yeah, I noticed that. Might wanna change that sign."

Hilly shrugged again. He watched you curiously as you took a drink of the beer he’d given you. You didn’t look like the punk rock type, and you didn’t sound local either.

"Where you from?"

You lowered the bottle from your lips.

"Ohio."

"Long way to come."

"I didn’t come from there tonight."

Hilly laughed. His laugh was as deep as his voice, and his smile made his eyes crinkle in a way you thought was kind of cute.

"My name’s [Y/n], by the way. If that was your next question."

"Hilly Kristal. I own this place."

You glanced around, looking at the state of the office, which was almost as filthy as the bar, and not nearly as filthy as the bathroom. "Ever thought of hiring a cleaner, Hilly?"

"You offering?"

"Nah, I don’t know shit about cleaning. Probably make it worse." You took another drink of beer, then spotted something in the corner of the room. "Hey, is that yours?" you asked, pointing.

Hilly glanced over at his guitar. "Yeah. Ain’t played in ages, though."

"Mind if I have a go?"

He shrugged and waved his hand in a ‘go ahead’ gesture. You put the bottle down on the floor, then stood and walked over to the guitar to pick it up from its stand. Hilly wasn’t lying; it had a thin layer of dust on it, which you wiped away as you picked it up and took it back to the couch. You experimentally plucked a string, then winced when you realised how out of tune it was.

"Oh, yeah, that’s why I ain’t played it. Probably need new strings."

"You think?"

Hilly watched as you did your best to tune the guitar. He was probably old enough to be your father, but he knew a pretty girl when he saw one, and he sure was looking at one now. There was no ring on your finger, and no decent boyfriend would let a girl like you go out to a bar on your own — not when guys like the douchebag who’d cornered you into his office were around.

By the way you handled his guitar, Hilly could see that you knew how to play. It was a shame the guitar wasn’t in any fit state to be played decently by anyone.

Your fingers moved skilfully across the strings, your palm wrapped around the neck of the guitar, and Hilly couldn’t help wondering if there was anything else you could do with your hands.

"I appreciate the effort, but there ain’t no way you can save that thing," Hilly said. "I don’t know why I keep it. Sentiment, I guess. That guitar was one of the few things my dad brought over from Russia."

You looked up at Hilly with a curious smile. "You’re Russian?"

"My parents are. I been here my whole life."

"Cool. My parents are just from Ohio." You glanced back down at the guitar. "Hey, you mind if I borrow this? I reckon I could fix it up. But I get it if it’s your dad’s —"

"Go ahead," Hilly shrugged. "Like I said, I don’t use it anymore."

"You will once I’m done with it," you said confidently. "You’ll be back to singing Fiddler on the Roof in no time."

"Good luck with that."

----

A few days later, Hilly was wrapping up the cords left out by the last band to audition when he heard the front door open and close.

"We’re closed," he grunted without looking up. "We open at six."

"Thought you might want this back."

Hilly looked up when he heard your voice, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped. You were holding a guitar case, even though Hilly definitely remembered you leaving with only the guitar.

"Pretty sure you left with a guitar, not a case."

"Yeah, take a look inside it, dummy."

You placed the case down on the stage and unlocked it.

It was definitely his guitar, but it looked different. Somehow… cleaner? Was it possible to clean a guitar? And the strings were definitely all new. Hilly picked the guitar up from inside the case and examined it.

"What, you checking I done a good job?" you said wryly.

"Checking if you just bought a brand new guitar," Hilly replied. "No way you managed to spruce my old thing up."

"Mahogany, actually. The strings are phosphor bronze."

Hilly looked at you, bemused. "Feel like I should owe you something."

You shook your head stubbornly. "No way. This is me making it even for the other night."

"Even so, you drink for free from now on."

"You serious?"

"Sure, why not? Least I can do. Hey, Merv!" Hilly called over to the man restocking glasses behind the bar, who was wearing a hard hat for some reason. "[Y/n] here drinks for free, alright?"

Merv rolled his eyes, but he nodded his head in agreement.

"Aw, man, but now we’re uneven again," you said. "I gotta do something for you."

Hilly had several things in mind he’d like you to do, but he decided not to be a creep about it. Instead, he held the guitar out to you.

"Let me hear you play."

You glanced nervously at the stage equipment.

"Nah, not like that. I don’t want an audition. I just wanna hear you play."

"I’m not… I don’t play the kind of stuff you put on here."

"So what do you play?"

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your t-shirt. "Well… truth is, what I said before, about country, bluegrass and blues? I was only half joking. I’m a country blues kinda girl."

"Not very Ohio of you."

"Yeah, well, punk rock ain’t very Russian of you."

"I don’t play punk rock, I just run the bar. You gonna give me a song or what? Considering this was meant to be a country music bar, I’d like to hear a country song in here at least once."

You laughed. "Yeah, alright. That’s fair. Just don’t go expecting me to play a gig, I don’t think your regulars would appreciate some good old country."

Hilly stepped down from the stage and handed you the guitar. Your hand brushed against his as you took it from him, and you felt a shiver run through you.

You perched yourself on the edge of the stage and adjusted the guitar on your lap, giving the strings a few experimental strums. Already it sounded better than it had in years. Hilly sat down too, thinking you might find it intimidating if he was standing over you.

The song you played was quiet, tender, and dripping in soulful sentimentality — a beautiful song that Hilly knew would have you booed off the stage for being "too boring," though he could feel some of the anger and frustration in your voice that the punk kids shouted about. But your voice, your music, it was more of a quiet, restrained frustration — the feminine anger of a woman frustrated by her lot in life.

Hilly felt a strong compulsion to know you. He wanted to know your story, find out how you’d come from Ohio to his bar, where you wanted to go from there. Just your last name would have been something to go on.

"Finally found a country act, huh?" said a woman’s voice as your song came to an end, breaking Hilly from the hypnotic reverie with which he’d been watching you. You looked up from the guitar and saw a young woman with long brown hair approaching, and you realised suddenly that not only Hilly but three other people in the bar had been listening to you.

"Something like that," Hilly grunted in reply. "[Y/n], this is my daughter, Lisa. Lisa, this is [Y/n]. She fixed up my old guitar for me."

Lisa looked down at the guitar in your hands and saw the new strings. "Huh. Dad, we gotta go over these books —"

Hilly groaned loudly. "Now? Do we have to?"

"Yeah, we do have to if you wanna stay open."

"Ugh. Fine." Hilly pushed himself to his feet reluctantly. "You coming by tonight, [Y/n]?"

"If I’m drinking for free, I’m here every night."

Hilly smiled. "I’ll see you tonight, then."

----

You spotted Hilly a few times throughout the night, but he was always talking to someone. He was apparently very popular, because as soon as he was done with one conversation, someone else grabbed his attention. You didn’t mind, though — you didn’t expect anything from him. You were even now, after all, and more importantly, you could get as drunk as you wanted and no longer had to nurse one drink all night.

As the night went on, the lights in the bar got blurrier, and the music became less distinguishable. And was it you, or was the floor tilting? No, it was definitely tilting — closer and closer, until it was right by your head, and suddenly the world went black.

Hilly had been watching for you all night, but he kept getting sidetracked, as apparently everyone in the bar that night wanted to talk to him. He glimpsed you a couple of times at the bar, but it wasn’t until he saw you slip and fall onto the floor that he tore himself away from his conversation and pushed customers aside to get to you.

People had moved away from where you were slumped on the floor, but no one seemed to be bothered about checking on you. Hilly scooped you up in his arms and carried you into his office, yelling profanities at anyone who didn’t move aside for him.

"What the fuck happened?!" exclaimed Lisa, looking up from the piles of receipts she was sifting through.

"I dunno, she just fell," Hilly replied as he laid you down on the couch. He went to kneel down to examine you, but Lisa shoved him out the way and got there first.

"I’m the first aider, remember?" she said. Hilly didn’t remember, but he let her examine you, his arms folded as he watched with concern.

"She’s alright," Lisa concluded as she stood up after a few minutes. "I think she just passed out. Do you know how much she drank?"

"How should I know? Ask Merv."

"Yeah, I will," Lisa said, already halfway to the door. "See, this is what happens when you let people drink for free, Dad, they drink way more than they should. Someone’s gonna kill themselves one day."

Hilly just waved a hand at her dismissively as she stormed out. He leaned back against the desk, his eyes never leaving you. Maybe Lisa had a point, but who was he to tell people how much they should drink? They were all adults, they could make their own choices, even if they were bad ones.

You shifted slightly, a small moan and the flutter of your eyelids letting Hilly know you were coming round.

"Alright there, Sleeping Beauty?"

You nodded slowly as you sat up, the world still spinning. You looked around, squinting against the lighting, and realised you were back in Hilly’s office, with Hilly standing above you.

"Fine, just… really wasted."

Hilly chuckled. "Yeah, I can tell. Let me get Lisa to call you a cab —"

"Nooo, I don’t wanna go home. Can’t I stay ‘til closing?"

"Not in this state, you can’t."

You shook your head stubbornly. "If I don’t tell you where I live, you can’t send me home."

Hilly had to concede to that.

"Alright, fine. I’ll take you to my apartment, you can sleep it off there."

Hilly grabbed you by the shoulders and easily lifted you to your feet.

"Ooh, you’re so strong," you giggled, wrapping your hands around his biceps as far as you could, feeling his muscles. "I like your arms."

"Thanks. Now, how about these arms take you back to my place, huh?"

"At least buy me dinner first."

"Maybe breakfast tomorrow. C’mon."

Hilly scooped you up again, though since you were unconscious the last time, it was brand-new to you, and you laughed as he carried you as effortlessly as if you were made of feathers.

"I like your chest too," your said, poking at the hem of his t-shirt as if hoping to coax it off. "I bet you’re real comfy to use as a pillow."

"Uh-huh," Hilly grunted, trying not to think about the images your drunken attempt at flirting was conjuring up in his mind. He moved through the bar, again having to yell at customers to move out of the way, and you snuggled up to him, your hands around his neck, feeling safe and comfortable in his big, strong arms.

"Taking her to my apartment," Hilly said in answer to Lisa’s questioning look as he passed her at the door. "She can sleep it off there."

"Don’t let Jonathan shit on her," Lisa called after him.

The cold winter air was biting on your skin, but you had a beer coat and Hilly’s warm arms, so you barely felt it at all. You looked up at Hilly, admiring his profile in the moonlight, the concentrating little frown between his brows.

"I like your nose," you said in a whisper, as if it were a secret.

Hilly blinked, surprised. "My nose?"

"Yeah. It’s nice." You reached up and booped his nose. "I wanna sit on it."

Hilly laughed. "Maybe another night, sweetheart. When you’re not so wasted you’re collapsing on the floor."

"And I like your stubble too. It’d feel real nice between my thighs. You know how to eat a girl out, Hilly?"

"I am not having this conversation while you’re wasted, [Y/n]."

"Boo," you groaned, but you kept quiet and rested your head against his shoulder, trying to fight off falling asleep.

Your fight was lost by the time Hilly reached his apartment, and he just about managed to unlock the door with you in his arms, sleeping so soundly that you didn’t wake up as he carried you into the apartment and laid you down on the couch. He thought about giving you the bed and taking the couch himself, but he remembered he’d found bed bugs in his bed the other night, so he decided it was safer for you on the couch.

You woke up a few hours later, your head pounding. You groaned as you came to, and when you opened your eyes, you panicked when you realised you had no idea where you were. The last thing you remembered was being at the bar in CBGB, and now you were on a couch in some random apartment.

You stood up to leave, and the apartment door opened. You panicked again, wondering if you'd broken into someone’s place, but you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw Hilly Kristal walk in, dog leash in one hand, paper bag in another.

"Thought you might want a bagel," Hilly said, holding up the paper bag.

"Oh, uh… yeah. Thanks."

You took the bag from him hesitantly, leaving Hilly’s hands free to untie his dog from the leash as you sat back down on the couch and opened the paper bag.

The smell inside was nothing short of Heaven. You reached in and pulled out two bagels, both as delicious looking as the other.

"Which one’s yours?" you asked.

"Whichever one you don’t want," Hilly replied. He placed the dog leash on the kitchen counter, then came and sat next to you and took the bagel you held out for him.

The first bite of that bagel was better than sex; the moan you let out when you bit into it and the greasy flavour hit your tongue certainly made it sound like you were having sex.

The thought made a memory from last night flash before your eyes: you, being carried in Hilly’s arms, telling him you wanted to sit on his nose.

You glanced at Hilly, cringing, as if expecting him to be thinking about the exact same thing, but he was slouched against the cushions, attention entirely on his bagel.

"I think I remember you carrying me here," you said. "But I don’t remember why."

"You were wasted and passed out at the bar," Hilly replied, still focused on his bagel. "I figured you ought to go to bed but you refused to tell me where you live, so I brought you back here to sleep it off."

"Right. Uh, thanks, I guess. Hope I didn’t embarrass myself too much."

You sat back against the cushions, and Hilly glanced over at you.

"No, you didn’t. Just some drunken ramblings."

"…Like what?"

"You like my nose, apparently."

You nearly choked on your bagel.

"Oh, um… yeah, I guess I do. It’s a nice nose."

There was a pause, then: "You said you wanted to sit on it."

You blushed, your eyes set firmly on your ever-shrinking bagel, but you could feel your cheeks burning.

"Don’t worry about it. You were wasted."

"Right. Yeah. ‘Cus why would I think about that? That’d be… inappropriate."

"Would it?"

You did look at him then. He’d finished his bagel and was looking at you curiously, one arm thrown over the cushion behind you.

"We’re both grown-ups. What’s inappropriate? You’re allowed to think about things like that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You quickly shoved the last bite of your bagel in your mouth and turned your head away.

"Uh, thanks for the bagel. I should go."

You stood up quickly, and Hilly stood too, his large frame blocking your path to the door.

"Sorry, am I making things weird?" he asked.

"No! No, not at all. I’m the one making things weird. You know, by saying those things. We can pretend I never said them, it’s fine…"

You stepped aside to go around him, but Hilly grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him.

"Did you mean them?"

You looked up at him, breath heavy. "Wh — what?"

"The things you said. About my nose, and my stubble, and my arms. Did you mean them? ‘Cus if you did…" Hilly’s eyes darted downwards, then back up at you. "I told you when we met. You’re a pretty little thing. More than that, you’re fucking gorgeous."

"You think so?"

"Yeah," Hilly replied, his voice low, his eyes boring into yours, pupils blown with lust. "You think you can burst into my office looking like that, play me a country song and drunkenly tell me you wanna sit on my face, and I’m not gonna be thinking about fucking you?"

"I —"

Hilly let go of your wrist and showed you his palms innocently. "If you wanna leave, you can leave. But if not —"

You cut him off by kissing him before you could lose your nerve.

He kissed you back hungrily, hands grabbing at your hips to pull your body up against his. His stubble scratched against your face, and his breath smelled like cigarettes. You wrapped your arms around his neck as best you could, but he was quite a bit taller than you, and wider too.

Hilly lifted you easily from your feet and placed you back on the couch so he could climb on top of you. He propped himself up on his forearms either side of you, his hips grinding against yours through your clothing.

You gasped when he placed his lips on your neck, less kissing than sucking, and his stubble brushed agaisnt your skin.

"Don't — don't leave a mark," you gasped.

Hilly just growled in response, but he moved away from your neck, kissing you along your jawline instead until he came back to your lips.

He rolled his hips against you again, and you instinctively moved one leg off the couch, giving him more space to move between your thighs. You could feel his erection pressing against you, and your arms around his shoulders tightened.

Hilly detached his lips from yours and sighed in frustration.

"…What?"

"Don't have any condoms," he growled.

"What, you not in the habit of bringing drunk girls back from your bar and fucking them on the couch?"

Hilly laughed. "Naw, not particularly."

"Well, I'm flattered. But there's stuff we can do without condoms, y'know."

"Oh, trust me, I got ideas."

He sat up, and you whined to lose the weight of him on your chest — but when he shuffled down the couch to kneel with his head between your thighs, you suddenly didn't mind not having his weight on you anymore.

Hilly didn't bother taking your panties off. He just hooked one finger around the fabric and pulled them aside.

His stubble felt even better between your legs than you'd imagined. His nose too, pressed up against your clit as his tongue dove between your folds. He lapped up the wetness coming from you like a cat with the cream, and when he was satisfied he'd got enough out of you, his tongue travelled up to your clit, causing you to cry out as he sucked at your sensitive spot in a way that had you seeing stars.

"Fuck, Hilly! Fuck, that feels so good — oh!"

His lips started sucking harder, and one hand let go of your thigh so his fingers could slip inside you. They were short, but they were thick, and the way he stretched you out with them was enough to drive you crazy, especially when he scissored them apart to stretch you out even further before he started thrusting them up inside you.

He may not do this often — apparently — but boy was he good at it. Dedicated, too — Hilly kept up the pace even when you came, thighs clamping around his head while your fingers threaded through his curly hair and tugged at his scalp. He was apparently fully intent on making you cum again — that was, until you saw the clock on the wall, and realised you were very late.

"Shit! Hilly, stop — I gotta go —"

Hilly pulled his fingers from you and looked up, about to ask you what was wrong, but as soon as he released you, you were scrambling to your feet, trying not to stumble too inelegantly as you looked for your shoes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise the time," you babbled. "I shoulda been at breakfast an hour ago, they'll be looking for me."

You found your shoes near the door and began shoving them on your feet as fast as you could.

"Uh — thank you, though," you said to Hilly. "For the couch and the bagel and the — you know. I'll be at the bar tonight, if I don't get murdered first. Bye."

"See ya," Hilly said, confused, as you darted out the door with no idea where you were or how to get to where you were going, leaving him on the couch with a raging hard-on he was going to have to sort himself — and to make matters worse, Jonathan decided that was the best time to take a shit in front of the bathroom door.