A Deviant Spawn Christmas

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Author’s Note:

Happy Holidays! A Christmas story for my readers!

This story is very, very lightly inspired by yaoi. And when I say lightly, I mean I have not taken the time to read up on yaoi to determine what it’s really all about. In fact, the most research I’ve done on yaoi is reading Jet Mykles Heaven Sent series which I’ve read on message boards some people don’t consider to be true yaoi for this reason or that. With that being said, this story is very, very heavily inspired by Jet Mykles. I just recently reread about Johnnie Heaven and Lucas Sloane of Heaven Sent fame and decided to write a story of my own about a rock band with a few magnetic bandmates.

I won’t tell you yet what song kept running through mind while I wrote this piece. I don’t want there to be an influence on anyone’s opinions of the characters other than the descriptions I’ve provided and your vivid imaginations lol…but, if you’re interested in learning the identity of the song, see notes at end. And please feel free to share with me any songs you think fit Deviant Spawn’s image.

Thanks for reading! And voting!


“Man, dude, this is so beast! I still can’t believe that it’s happening to us! Us, Rory, as in me and you!”

Rory rolled his eyes as Shane Wilkinson exalted yet again the gift Rory’s cousin had given to them for Christmas this year. The exaltation had been going on almost nonstop for the past twenty-four hours, ever since Rory had told his best friend about the gift, and, quite frankly, Rory was way beyond the point of being tired of hearing about its coolness.

“This is Deviant Spawn we’re talking about,” Shane gushed, black outlined lapis lazuli eyes glowing, head of blue tipped black spiked hair bobbing animatedly with each word. “Deviant Spawn! And we’re about to meet them! I can’t believe it! I just can’t fucking wrap my mind around it!”

Rory couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact he hadn’t yet wrapped each and every one of the exclamation points ending each and every one of Shane’s sentences around Shane’s pretty, little, leather collared throat.

After listening to his friend babble for several minutes more, Rory decided he would give Shane the proof he seemed to so desperately need that he wasn’t dreaming. Just as he determined to administer that small dose of reality through a pinch strategically placed to the mesh covered, soft, sensitive skin of the inner part of Shane’s upper arm, Shane jumped to his feet and raced to the safety of the double doors. He opened one just wide enough to stick his porcupine head through, then quickly pulled it back inside, let the door slam shut, and emitted an eardrum rupturing screech.

“They’re here, Rory! They’re here! They’re coming down the hall! Right now! I kid you not!” Shane did a twirling dance that was the physical personification of his excitement.

“Shane,” Rory called calmly.

“I can’t believe we’re getting ready to meet Taz—”




“And Revelin.”



“Sit.” Rory pointed to the red-gold plush cushion of the couch, right next to where he sat. The gold bangle bracelets lining his wrist jangled with his sudden movement and light from the harsh fluorescents high overhead glittered off his ring’s oversized yellow topaz stone. “Your head is going to explode if you don’t calm down.”

“I’ll risk detonation for the opportunity to meet Deviant Spawn.” Shane obediently drifted over to drop down on the seat beside Rory. “It would so be worth it.”

“Star struck much?” Rory couldn’t help but tease.

If this was how his friend acted just over the thought of meeting the band well known not only for their lyrical take on the alternative genre of rock, but also for the alternative lifestyles they publicly led, he could only imagine how much worse it would be once the members actually walked through the door. He’d probably end up having to pry a humping Shane off their legs like he was some horny, unneutered mutt.

And it was at that very moment Rory realized how lucky he was his cousin had arranged for him to meet some of the musicians she’d met in the course of her job over the past few years. Sure, none were big as Deviant Spawn, and probably never would be, but they had still been good practice for Rory to perfect the calm, collected demeanor he was currently pulling off with very little effort.

“Why, yes, Rory, I am star struck. And I wish you’d stop faking like you’re not, too,” Shane said, bottom lip extended in a contrived pout. “Because I know you and I know you’re excited. But you got this whole unperturbed vibe going on right now and it sucks. Sucks donkey balls. Giant donkey balls. Great, big, giant, hairy, sweaty—”

“Will you quit with your overly descriptive lamentation of the genitalia of your brethren, already, jackass? And while you’re at it, reel the lip in, Shane. I get the point. And, FYI, I am excited,” Rory responded, büyükesat escort blowing a wayward lock of hair out of his eyes. It seemed to have lately taken up permanent residence there. He really should have gone to get a trim before the concert, but he’d run out of time. It had taken him forever to rummage through his closet searching for the perfect outfit before finally settling on his much loved, cream, v-neck sweater paired with form fitting, tan pants he knew clung to his ass just so. Then it had taken another eternity to enhance his looks through the technique he’d long ago perfected of applying a complementing light coat of make-up. “I’m just better at managing my enthusiasm than you. I have had previous experience in these types of situations, after all.”

“Meeting local talent doesn’t automatically qualify you as some type of authority,” Shane said dryly. “And is that the standard you really want to use? In that case, don’t forget to sign me up as a guru because I’ve even managed to meet some of our city’s local talent.”

“And yet and still, you’re the one acting like a fangirl right now.”

“I am not. This is excitement you see, Rory. I’m excited. Just like you should be…” Shane paused for dramatic flair before adding with a sly smile, “…pretty boy.”

“Do not call me that!” Rory snapped, slapping his own leg for effect. He knew he was femme, anyone who met him who possessed even the minutest amount of common sense knew he was femme, but he hated it when people called him pretty boy. Just because he was effeminate did not also mean he was some scared ass, pansy wimp as the disrespectful label implied.

In truth, most people who met him soon discovered that all five foot-eight inches, one hundred and fifty-five pounds of Rory Banks to be quite feisty.

“Then don’t call me—” The rest of Shane’s retort died on black painted lips as the door swung open.

Images of gothic, overly friendly cocker spaniel’s filling his mind, Rory clamped a hand firmly on his friend’s wrist to prevent Shane from bolting from his seat again. And possibly embarrassing the both of them in the process. He didn’t even want to think about having to explain to his cousin how he’d inadvertently let Shane sexually assault the rock group. Especially not after she’d somehow managed to finagle this extremely rare backstage meeting with Deviant Spawn post their very first stateside concert, held on Christmas Eve in Orlando, after a successful year and a half long stint in Europe. Rory knew his cousin had met the band some years before, and was considered by them a close acquaintance of sorts, but this meeting she’d set up for Rory and Shane was unheard of.

Angel was the first member through the door. Of medium height, the Hispanic drummer possessed a solidly thick build. Dressed in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, he stuck to the band’s signature dress code of all black with the sole exception being the white towel covering his shaved head to soak up sweat. His ensemble was completed by a cute, petite, giggling redhead draped under his left arm and a fawning, buxom, bald chick under his right. Thousands of magazine articles had pegged the identity of the little black dress garbed females as one of three sets of on-again-off-again girlfriends Angel rotated between in his open, three-way relationships.

In a tangle of body parts which appeared to all be one huge extension of each other, the threesome plopped directly across from Rory and Shane onto the room’s only other traditional couch. Rory grinned in return to the warm, friendly smile Angel somehow managed to flash at him and Shane between all the licking, kissing and groping he was involved in.

Shane bounced up and down.

With a suffering sigh, Rory tightened his grasp.

The next member of Deviant Spawn to enter the room was the lead guitarist/back-up vocalist, Revelin. The tall, thin man sauntered through the door’s opening, a toothpick stuck in one corner of his mouth and a cell phone plastered to his ear. His chin length hair was its natural black at the roots, tinged blue at the tips, and parted at the top of his head down the middle to hang loose on both sides of his face. The black leather vest he wore, a mirror image of the one worn and ordered off the band’s internet site by Shane, was unzipped to reveal the light mat of black fur which covered his defined pectorals. The hair tapered to an eye catching thin line which disappeared into the waistband of his tight black jeans.

Rory’s pulse quickened slightly as Revelin shot him an interested glance and a head nod. Revelin’s gaze then slid over to Shane where he gave the same noncommittal head bob before his attention wandered elsewhere. Just as quickly as his gaze had roamed, Revelin’s cobalt blue eyes, glittering with curiosity, snapped back to Shane. A slight smile curved his lips as he winked, flipped his phone shut and pushed the toothpick cebeci escort to the other side of his mouth. He strolled to the far side of the huge dressing room where, while still watching Shane, he lazily sprawled along the length of a chaise.

Shane bounced even more excitedly. Then leaned over to hiss in Rory’s ear, “Let go of me.”

“No,” Rory immediately returned.

“But I really, really want to go talk to Revelin,” Shane whined. “Come on, Ror. Let go, man. Pretty please. I swear I’ll make it worth your while later.”

“No way. There is absolutely no way possible I would dare let you loose on him all hyped up as you are right now. You know my cousin hates that I have balls and she doesn’t. Do you want her to have a valid reason to cut off mine?”

Then Rory did exactly what he’d said he wouldn’t by releasing his grip. But if his cousin confronted him later, he would refuse to accept the blame for his action as it had been unintentional. And out of his control. She would just have to understand that at the moment Rory’s concentration on Shane had naturally been broken by the entrance of the last member of Deviant Spawn.

The band’s lead singer. The frontman. The rhythm guitarist.


Although Rory had been maintaining his outward composure a hell of a lot better than Shane, he was still every bit as in awe. Probably more so. He’d been a fan of Deviant Spawn for the past six years; had, in fact, been the one to introduce Shane to their music when the two of them were thirteen.

And, for as long as he could remember, he’d had a serious crush on Taz.

Dimly, Rory was aware of Shane’s desertion followed by the sound of his friend chatting it up with Revelin, but he didn’t dwell on the abandonment. Rory was more interested in Taz’s long, damp, platinum tresses which were pulled up into a high ponytail at the crown of the vocalist’s head. The ends brushed the tops of tanned shoulders bared during the show when Taz had slowly and methodically unbuttoned, then shed his long sleeve, black, silk shirt while crooning sexily into the microphone Deviant Spawn’s latest hit, Him.

As Rory and Shane had been sitting in the front row, again courtesy of Rory’s best cousin, radio personality Jasmine “Jazzy” Banks, Rory had had an awesome view of the strip show when it had commenced. He’d nearly gone into palpitations when Taz had pulled up a stool to right in front of Rory and sat on it while staring hard at Rory and singing the lyrics Rory had imagined were written about him. The description of the secret, much gossiped about lover Taz sang about fit Rory to a tee. His equanimity had only been restored when the security guard had shown up to collect him and Shane for their exclusive backstage meet and greet.

Unable to stop himself, Rory’s eyes drifted down Taz’s long torso. Like Revelin, the singer was on the tall, thin side and in perfect form with his sleek musculature. Unlike Revelin, not one hair covered his chest. Taz’s skin was smooth…and it just begged Rory for a caress. And, oh, how Rory wanted to tender that touch. He knew without a doubt Taz’s honey toned skin would be soft and so very, very silky.

There was one other thing both Taz and Revlin shared, Rory noticed not for the first time. Their wicked, sexy sensualness.

Rory’s thoughts were cut short by a sultry, melodic tenor murmuring, “And hello to you, lovely.”

Horror-struck, Rory stared at his outstretched fingers…his outstretched fingers which were paused mid-stroke of flawless, bronzed abs…flawless, bronzed abs which belonged to a Taz who the door had barely shut behind before he’d been accosted by Rory! Rory didn’t remember the moment he’d left his seat, much less the moment his mind had decided it was a good idea to act on the very bad idea to touch the multi-million dollar lead singer of Deviant Spawn.

Jasmine was going to kill him! Then resurrect him only to kill him again! And the death-brought-back-to-life cycle would only end once she finally decided to disown him. After killing him one last time.

And that was the best case scenario Rory dreamed up. Worst case included Taz having security escort him off the premises stat and lodging an assault charge against him, spearheaded by the Who’s Who of malicious lawyers whose services were only available to the Who’s Who of Hollywood. And Deviant Spawn was definitely a Who.

With a squeak, Rory jerked his hand away. Only to find his fingers snared in Taz’s tight grasp which kept the errant members exactly where they wanted to be, even if it was a place they had no business treading.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” that beautiful voice spoke again. “There’ll be no molesting then running.”

Fuck, shit, fuck! Taz was angry.

Rory was so dead.

Impending death aside, Rory still wanted to look up into Taz’s face. He wanted to peer into the black rimmed eyes he personally knew, from kolej escort the many nights he’d spent jacking off to the life size poster of Taz hanging on his bedroom wall, were the most intriguing shade of gray humanly possible. But he didn’t dare.

Well, didn’t dare wasn’t exactly correct.

Rory couldn’t look up into Taz’s beautiful orbs. Because he was currently frozen stiff by a paralyzing blend of lust for the man he’d wanted to fuck since before he knew what the word meant mingled with fear over the rage and indignation he suspected those grays were blazing down at him.

“You, lovely, are going to finish what you started,” Taz purred.

“You w-w-want to d-do what?” Rory stuttered, stunned. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He must be mistaken…there was no way in hell Taz, Rory’s only celebrity crush ever, actually wanted Rory to continue feeling him up.

It just wasn’t possible.

Things like this did not happen to Rory.

As Rory debated with himself internally, his attention was focused on his hand, covered by the long, elegant fingers of Taz’s hand, laying on Taz’s stunning, golden chest. Sure Taz was playing a sick, twisted mind game with him, Rory tried to snatch his hand away again.

Only to discover Taz was still holding tight. And, Jesus, was the man strong.

“How ’bout I show you exactly what I want.” Guiding Rory’s touch, Taz proceeded to do exactly that.

He used the tips of Rory’s fingers to outline one of the small squares of muscle, then, when the outline was completed, dragged Rory’s fingers down the center of the package. He repeated the sensuous action with each one of his highly defined abs, and when they’d reached the last of his six pack, Taz still didn’t relinquish his hold. Instead, he used his leverage to yank Rory closer.

Taz’s free arm snaked around Rory’s waist, anchoring Rory firmly in place as he laid Rory’s palm flat on his taut stomach. Rory shivered at the feel of flesh still slightly moist from Taz’s recent high energy stage antics. But if Taz noticed Rory’s trembling, he didn’t let it deter him. He continued to push Rory’s hand lower, making sure the tips of Rory’s fingers traced the strip of flesh which curved inwards along the prominent line of his pelvic bone. The journey didn’t stop until Rory’s hand rested just above the waistband of Taz’s low slung, skin tight leather pants.

“Shall I show you what else I want?” Taz murmured huskily.

Not waiting for an answer, he pushed Rory’s hand south, using his fingers to curl Rory’s around the left laying bulge located just beneath Taz’s belt buckle. A sizeable, hardening bulge.

“Now, you can clearly see what it is that I want from you, lovely,” Taz said. “So, the question is, do we continue? Or do we stop?”

“Stop, Taz. For the love of God, stop,” a richly deep baritone filled with amusement called out. “Can’t you see you got that kid all shook up? Leave him alone.”

Solely focused on Taz’s rapidly lengthening erection, Rory didn’t try to look around to identify which of the other band members it was that had tried to come to his rescue. He was so far gone, it didn’t even occur to him that Shane’s rare silence was a pretty good indication that Rory was probably making a spectacle of himself with Taz.

“Is that true, lovely? I got you all shook up?” Taz questioned.

Rory barely managed a shake of his head in the negative. This was a dream come true for him. A dream he didn’t want to end. Ever.

“The kid says he’s cool,” Taz responded to his bandmate as he used Rory’s fingers to knead his hardness.

“Then, for the love of God, lover boy, stop because you got me all shook up.”

“Never let it be said that Taz doesn’t give his audience what his audience wants.” Taz released his hold. “Even when those wants clearly don’t coincide with his own.”

Light headed, Rory stumbled backwards a step. He immediately realized he was about to pass out as he’d been holding his breath during the entire encounter and drew in ragged gulps of air to refill his oxygen starved lungs.

Then promptly turned on his heel and fled the room.

He leaned against a wall in the hallway, listening to the boisterous laughter trailing his exit. Even the two girls were laughing. The sound only stopped when the door snicked shut. But, moments later, when the door opened again to admit Shane into the hallway, Rory discovered the laughter was actually still going very strong.

The same deep, rich voice which had demanded Taz leave Rory alone questioned, “Think they’ll come to the after party? I’m really digging the talkative goth, but I think you scared the quiet, girly one shitless, Taz.”

Taz responded confidently, “They’ll be there.”

Seconds after Taz issued his sure statement, the laughter in the room morphed into uproarious snort filled snickers. Before the thick, steel door closed again, preventing Rory from hearing any more of the conversation within, Rory heard Revelin gasp a choked, “Fuck, Taz, you always have been a slick ass bastard.”

Shane thrust his hand at Rory, distracting Rory from trying to figure out the meaning behind Taz’s and Revelin’s exchange. He stared at it, confused as to why his friend suddenly wanted to shake hands with him. “What, Shane?”

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