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ohblackdiamond · 1 month

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bite the hand that bleeds (ace/paul, pg-13)

Summary: Now all that doesn’t matter. KISS is over. The makeup sold. Paul won’t ever tour again. The big payout Ace had hoped for evaporated. All that Ace could possibly want, could possibly hope for, are the last scraps of Paul’s generosity. Paul’s mouth twitches as he thinks about it, and then he reaches for his phone again.

Paul gets an unexpected art collector at a gallery show, and ends up entertaining his old bandmate for tea.

Notes: Part of a fic swap with @elrohare (prompt: afternoon tea). Please check out her lovely Whenever You're Ready (I'm Here) for a beautiful take on the same setting.

“Come now, gentlemen Your love is all I crave You'll still be in the circus When I'm laughing, laughing in my grave” -“Memo from Turner,” Mick Jagger

Forty meet and greets, that’s the evening’s agenda, with room for maybe five or six impulse buyers at the tail end. Christian, Wentworth’s president, sends him a hard copy the morning of, with notes, though he usually only glances over it. He only really keeps an eye out for the special requests, so he can remember they’re coming up– maybe someone with cancer, or a whole family wanting a picture with him, or a video message to a kid barely out of basic training and stationed overseas– but the bulk, the very bulk of the meet and greets are simple, easy to handle. A couple signatures, a couple pictures, and a smile, and they’re mostly on their way. It takes so little to make them happy, so little. The kids never really changed– they just went from piggybanks to 401ks.

Forty meet and greets. He likes doing these much better than the ones for KISS. He likes not sharing attention with Gene. Most especially, even now, he likes the girls, not for anything carnal, but just that small, secret pleasure of still being wanted at the tender age of seventy-two.

He scans through the list, though he never remembers the names, just some of the faces. The names give their age away anyway, Generation X’s finest crop of Lisas and Erics and– hm, a Paul, too. A Paul Daniel.

It’s just coincidence. He sets his agenda down on his hotel bedside table and tries to think no more about it. He’s got four hours to kill before he needs to get down there, anyway. Maybe he’ll order something on his phone. He taps the screen, checking his messages first. One from Erin he’ll answer later. One from Gene from about a week ago he still has no intention of answering. The phone vibrates in his hand as he’s just about to set it aside– a call, not a text. Christian.

“Hello?”

“I hate to bother you, Paul, but it’s about the event,” Christian says. He sounds a little scattered. Paul resists the urge to snap back at him– of course it’s about the event– letting him go on. Sometimes it’s hard to summon up the energy to respond much. Sometimes, even four months out from his last show, it still hurts to talk. “One of the people on the guest list.”

“If you’re thinking there’ll be some trouble, then you can handle it.”

“It’s not the usual trouble.” After ten or more years of this, Christian ought to know the usual trouble well enough by now. The stalker types, the seriously unhinged ones that believe that buying a painting entitles them to his true friendship, or more. The expectant ones, the oversharing, desperate ones, the nuts that have to be escorted out. Usually the high price of admission keeps them away, and usually, Paul doesn’t get told they even tried to make an appearance. He has people for that. He should have people for that. “All I can say is that I’m sorry. We had one of our new consultants– she just started two weeks ago, and she– well, you know how it is, she’s only twenty-four, she had no idea–”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you had a buyer you may not want.”

“Please don’t tell me Eddie Trunk got his fat ass over to D.C.”

Christian actually manages a snort, but the next words make the breath catch in Paul’s throat.

“No. It’s Ace Frehley.”

–

Paul tells Christian he’ll call him back when he ought to tell him to issue Ace a refund.

He hasn’t seen Ace in six years now. Oh, he’s seen Ace– in a parade of humiliating Tiktoks and Youtube shorts, slurring interviews, horrific concerts– but he hasn’t seen Ace. He’s heard from Ace– the occasional, completely unanswered text– but the last time he listened to him on the phone was months back. Ace’s Hail Mary, his final, desperate attempt to get let onstage for MSG. Ace had fumbled it. Ace fumbled everything.

Now all that doesn’t matter. KISS is over. The makeup sold. Paul won’t ever tour again. The big payout Ace had hoped for evaporated. All that Ace could possibly want, could possibly hope for, are the last scraps of Paul’s generosity. Paul’s mouth twitches as he thinks about it, and then he reaches for his phone again.

“Have you contacted him? When did this happen?”

“Not since the purchase. That was two days ago.”

“And no one checked until now? You had Ace Frehley buy a painting and nobody noticed for two days?”

“It was on his girlfriend’s credit card.”

“That’s fucking pathetic.” Cancel it. Refund it. That’s what he should be saying. “He does that shit to people. Uses them for whatever favors he can. Uses them all up.”

“What do you want us to do?”

Paul exhales.

If it was refunded, Ace would go to the press. Ace would tell every damn news website in the world that Paul Stanley wouldn’t sell him a painting. He’d get all sorts of publicity. The avatars had gotten bad press, not that Paul gave much of a shit anymore, but if Ace capped it all off, had someone else spin it just right… fuck. It could go so well for him. Ace could play it off like a spat-upon peace offering, and he, Paul, would come off like a bitter asshole, denying him not just the band, but five minutes of his time. He couldn’t win. He wouldn’t be able to win.

“Call him up. Tell him he’s not coming to the gallery.”

“All right.”

“But tell him he can meet me in an hour in Entyse.” Paul doesn’t even question if they’ll get him on the line. Or if Ace’ll show. “There won’t be any trouble.”

“Okay. Paul, again, all I can do is apologize–”

“What for? I was headed there anyway.”

He hangs up. His phone’s buzzing within ten minutes, texts, this time, and then a call, but he doesn’t so much as glance at the screen. He knows who they’re from.

–

Paul walks into Entyse without a reservation and gets seated immediately. It’s not much of a power play; there’s not been any satisfaction on his part in things like that for, oh, forty-five years now. Especially not when Entyse is just the Ritz Carlton’s restaurant, and he only had to head downstairs from his suite.

They offer him the menus, but all he takes is a Coke and a water. He’d half-expected Ace to get there before him, half-wanted to see him wandering in, all stupid bravado, looking around for the front of house, aware that he’d cheated himself out of every rockstar perk Paul’s going to have the rest of his life. But five minutes, then ten minutes pass. Paul’s just about to get up– he can feel a couple eyes on him at this point, wondering, probably, why he’s alone, with a solid half of them not knowing who he is, probably more– and then he sees Ace out of the corner of his eye, getting led to his table like a pensioner to his nursing home bed.

That’s not fair. It’s not, unfortunately, even true. Ace is walking about as well as he ever did, which isn’t well at all, struggling against his own instinct to pigeon-toe. He looks fine. He’s lost some weight over the last couple years. He’s in jeans, a black leather jacket, and a cheap Hello Kitty button-down. And sunglasses, which he yanks off as soon as he sits down, pushing them aside on the table.

“Hey, Paul,” he says.

“Hey.”

It’s not the start he wants. The waiter’s given Ace the drink menu– Ace flips it over immediately and hands it back– and goes into the lunch options, but Ace interrupts him.

“How about tea?”

“The afternoon tea, sir?”

Ace points over to the table across from theirs, where six or seven teenage girls in puffy pastel atrocities are giggling over some tiered tea trays.

“Yeah, what they’ve got.”

The waiter seems completely unruffled. Paul narrows his eyes, looking at Ace– specifically, he’s looking for Ace’s phone– but if he’s got it on him, it must be in his pocket. The waiter pulls out the afternoon tea menus.

“We have two options for tea. The afternoon tea, and the royal tea. Your selections of sandwiches and sweets are completely customizable. The royal tea does include a glass of rose wine and–”

“Paulie, he’s trying to upsell you,” Ace says with a snort.

“I don’t remember saying I would pay.”

“You invited me. And I did buy your painting. That’s how it works, right?” Ace turns to the waiter after a quick glance at the menu. “Gimme the afternoon tea. Uh. Darjeeling. Don’t gimme any of the cream puffs or mousse, all right? Just, uh, substitute in more of the scones.”

“And you, sir?”

Paul had been about to get a salad just to spite him, just to show how little time he wants to spend entertaining him here. Afternoon tea– God, it’s comical. Ridiculous. His youngest had that at her birthday party about three years ago. What the hell is Ace doing? What’s he trying to accomplish?

He doesn’t know.

“I’ll take the upsell. And jasmine tea. No substitutes on any of the stuff on the tray.”

The waiter nods, heading off at that brisk pace. Ace pushes his hair back behind his ear, and smiles.

“You got a good crowd coming?”

“Yeah. It’s a good crowd.”

“’S good. I used to sell my art, too.” Ace is so matter-of-fact that Paul can almost feel his own blood pressure start to rise. He can’t ever outright call out arch meanings with Ace, the way he can with Gene, for all he’s sure they’re there. Ace doesn’t have those tells that Gene does. “It was all on the computer. I used to really like to tinker with it. Now all you gotta do is click and put a filter on it.”

“Not very tactile.”

“Nah. I got settings on my– on my webcam now, for when I do interviews. Barely even gotta put on any makeup with how well that filters out all the imperfections.” Ace peers at him. “I could show you sometime. I guess now that KISS is done you–”

“Cut the crap, Ace, and tell me what you want.”

“Nothing.”

“Cut the crap.”

“What’d you get the upsell for, Paul? Since when do you gotta have a drink to deal with me?”

Paul doesn’t answer, just grabs his Coke and takes a long swig. He used to be able to do Gene this way. Silent treatment him for hours and hours. This last tour– the last tour– it had gotten unbearable for both of them. Each show another nail in the coffin, a relief as much as it was an agony. Another shaving down of whatever was left of their friendship.

He hadn’t even seen Gene since the last show. It hadn’t even occurred to him until just now.

Ace takes a couple sips of his water. He’s not looking at Paul. His gaze is towards those teenage girls.

“My fiancee’s got a girl about that age,” he says quietly. “She’s got a friend that dresses kinda like that, real frilly. She brought her over to the house once. Call themselves Lolitas or something. I don’t get it.”

“It’s Japanese.” Two words more than he’d meant to give him.

“Oh.” Ace nods, glancing briefly at his own shirt. “I’d like to get back over there someday. I dunno that I will.”

Probably not. Ace can’t afford to tour outside of the States. Paul tries to swallow his next comment, but he doesn’t manage.

“I’m not touring again, Ace.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to.”

“I’m not helping you tour.”

“I’m not asking for that, either.”

“Then what are you–”

The waiter reemerges, first with their teas and then, immediately afterward, with the trays, laden with tiny sandwiches and sweets. Ace’s grin only widens, and he immediately snatches the smoked salmon sandwich from his tea tray and sticks the entire thing in his mouth. One bite.

“Fuck, that was good. Are you still on the vegetarian bit? Can I have yours?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Paul takes his own salmon sandwich from his tray just to spite him, eating it more slowly. But three bites and it’s just as gone as Ace’s. Pretty good. It occurs to him, briefly, that Ace probably thinks Olive Garden is fine dining at this point in his life. It would be sad if he hadn’t done it to himself.

Ace moves onto the quiche. This one, he cuts up into raggedy thirds, stabbing each with his fork.

“Caramelized onions on top. Y’know, my manager, he’s something of a chef, but–”

“Tell me what you want, Ace.”

Ace pulls out his phone. Paul stiffens before he realizes Ace is just checking his texts.

“You never answered me. I didn’t think you would.” He lifts his eyes from the phone, setting it down on the table, face up. Ace’s got the font set as large as he can get it. Same as him. “What I want is company, Paulie. I want your company so damn bad I’ll pay you for it.”

“Like hell. You want an in.” The salmon feels like it’s about to come back up in his throat. “You want me to endorse you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You want a photo with me. Maybe a soundbyte for Youtube.” Paul forces himself to exhale. “Your album barely sold. KISS is gone and you’re still out there in the clubs. So you want a little more buzz. Maybe I’d help you get ten more butts in the seats at those fucking dive bars you play–”

“I’m not at fucking dive bars.”

“When was the last time you sold out an arena? I’ll wait. No. I know.”

Ace’s mouth is pinched, face just a little flushed. He eats the pieces of his quiche in rapid succession, then starts savagely on the remaining sandwiches, just grabbing them off the tray and stuffing them in his mouth. Then he starts on the tea, taking a quick swallow without the cream and sugars Paul remembers him always adding in.

“Same as the last time you didn’t sound like shit.” He grabs the tongs, dropping in three sugars, then the cream, stirring them, eyes full on Paul’s face, daring him to get up, daring him to leave. “Gene told me what happened to you, back when we toured Australia together. I know all about that.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“You ruined yourself and then you blamed him with it. And he believes it, too. That’s the funny thing.” A swallow. “He was about in tears when he told me. Gene’s a snake, but he’s better than either of us. All he hasn’t sold off yet is his conscience.”

The tea trays never looked so comical. Silver tiers, pastel sweets, bright-colored sandwiches. He’s focusing on them because there’s nothing else to focus on. Only that Ace wants him to go. Ace wants him to go so that he can feel like he’s won. But Ace hasn’t won anything. His whole life he’s given up everything he ever had like a goddamn fool, then begged the whole world for their scraps. He can’t get front row. He can’t get the Ritz Carlton. He’s lucky he got fifteen minutes of Paul’s time.

“Gene’s a liar.”

“Not about that.” Another swallow of tea. Paul expects another sharp accusation, but Ace just swaps tactics like credit cards from a billfold. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Just like it doesn’t matter what I play like when I go out there. You… you and Gene took me to see James Brown, for my birthday that time. I remember seeing that old man out there, seeing them put all the capes on him, I thought, they should put him to bed, don’t put him out there, he’s a-a fucking dinosaur, now– but they did. ’Cause he didn’t know what else to do with himself. All he could do was sing all the old songs. Put on the capes. Be a joke.”

“You’re the only joke here.”

“We both are.” Ace keeps eating. Almost all the sandwiches are gone from his tray. He’s onto the scones. “I don’t want an in, Paul. I just want someone I can talk to.”

“Talk to Gene.”

“I can’t.”

“Talk to Peter.”

“He won’t.”

“Why me?”

Ace finishes off the scone. There’s a little butter smeared across his lip.

“You know why.”

It’s the music business. The music business. I don’t owe you friendship. I don’t owe you anything. Doc’s adage, the one he’s scrawled on one of his paintings, there in the gallery, burns somewhere in his heart: quality time remaining. Like he’s a bomb about to go off. Like someone’s subtracting his last breaths down. Quality time remaining and in just a couple hours, he’ll be spending that time doing those forty meet and greets for fans that want a moment and a picture and a couple autographs. Fans that only know him from the magazines and interviews and two hours at a time in a couple hundred concerts, but think of him like a brother, like a lover, like a demigod. Ace doesn’t know him, he wants to insist, but that’s a lie. Ace knew him when he was no one.

Ace knew him when the Hotel Diplomat was the best they could manage. When they hauled their gear in a milk truck. When the KISS t-shirts were iron-ons they cut out themselves. When Bill was signing them onto Casablanca. When every show was a rush of adrenaline, instead of a slog. When it didn’t hurt, when he could bounce back from anything, just anything–

(when)

Long skinny legs spread across a cheap yellow duvet. A girl’s head between them. The room assignments had swapped; Peter was rooming with his wife, and Ace, Ace was lying there, getting head from that girl as Paul stepped out from the shower.

(you want in on this, paul? and his finger crooked, beckoning lazily)

(and he did. and he did. that was the first sidle into something new, something filthy. he had taken the girl from behind while she sucked off ace, but it was only after she left that it really mattered. it was only after that that they’d fooled around together, feigning drunk after only three beers apiece.)

(you want in on this, paul?)

Those same legs in faded jeans, close to fifteen years later. No girl this time but the hotel might as well have been the same. Ace’s fortunes had declined even worse than KISS.’ And yet he’d had enough reason to spend the night with him, after the Limelight show, without a girl there for that edge of rockstar excess.

Another ten years. Another scattered handful of moments. Ace high on pills. Paul edging on the verge of divorce. The disgust had started to fester long before then, disgust and awareness. Ace was throwing it all away again, casual and careless. Ace wasn’t what he wanted, in or out of bed, and he never had been. He was still just some crude kid from the Bronx that played guitar better than him, that crashed cars, that drank himself to stupors, only then he was nearly fifty instead of twenty-five.

He couldn’t change. Just kept making the same mistakes. Just kept playing the same old chords, the same chords anyone could play. He’d proved that afterwards, hadn’t he? He’d proved that. The fans had taken Tommy for twenty years. Ace had never been special at all.

Paul tries to think that. Tries to assure himself of that. But looking Ace in the face stops him cold. There’s defeat there, sure. But there’s a spark in those dark, hooded eyes, too. There’s a spark that no stupid tea outing and no amount of barbs from him could ever manage to completely extinguish.

It’s a spark he remembers, and for the barest sliver of time, it’s just enough to almost make him look young.

“Maybe I’m better off trying them. Gene’s not so sore at me anymore.” Ace lifts a macaron from his tray. “He’s still the one paying his old band.”

“I know.”

“Peter’ll let it all go if I visit him.”

“He would.”

“It’s just you I wanted, that’s all.” Ace gets up, having to lean against the table in order to stand. He reaches for his Gucci purse, hooking it to his shoulder. “It’s always been you.”

“Ace–”

“Don’t let them get too weird with you at the event. Pretend you can’t hear ’em.” Ace’s words are only a little dry as he crunches the macaron, then reaches for the remaining scones, wrapping them in a napkin. Paul’s stomach starts to twist. All the fight seems out of him, all the acidity, all the hope. In tearing Paul up, he tore himself up, too. Mutually-assured destruction. “Your girl that sold me the painting, she said–”

“Which one did you buy?”

He says it suddenly, barely realizing it’s out of his mouth until Ace answers.

“What?”

“Which one?”

“The, uh, one of the abstracts.”

“Which one?”

“The blue and purple. Anyway, she said–”

“Sit down.”

“Paul–”

“Finish off the food. I will, too.”

“I’m not–”

(i want)

“You’re coming with me.”

“Paul, c’mon, I know you don’t wanna, not after–”

“I do.”

A couple of old men drinking tea in the Ritz Carlton. A couple of young men under the covers of a Motel Six. Age shattering vocals, crippling fingers. Bitterness seeping in from every raw deal and every undercut and every canceled show, a lifetime of old pains without a salve. And yet, as Ace sits back down, easing into his chair, reaching for the strawberry on top of the tea tray, Paul finds himself almost ready to let it all go.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #ace frehley #ace frehley x paul stanley #stehley

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deli-writes-kiss-fics · 4 months

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Eric Carr x Fem Reader oneshot

This is filth! 18+ MINORS BE GONE. DO NOT INTERACT. AGE IN BIO OR YOU'LL BE BLOCKED

This is pure smut. I tried my best! Not proofread though bc I'm hella tired. Long one-shot.

Please give me feedback. 18+ MDNI

Please interact! I'm trying to get more people to know of this account lol.

Feedback encouraged! Comment or dm. Idm. I'd like to know how I did.

-----------

This was bad. So extraordinarily bad. Oh god if you got caught. You'd be ruined. Though that thought was was gone quicker than it had arrived as you felt Eric's mouth on your neck, you were cramped in the back of your car, you hadn't planned on this. You were just there to get an interview. A simple interview. That was it. Not with Mr big shot above you.

"You're gorgeous, you know that? Wow." his voice smooth, as he pulled at your blouse, pulling it past your shoulder to place a simple kiss there.

"We really shouldn't be...uh. E-Eric...what if we get caught?" You couldn't help but stare up at him with worried eyes.

"Makes it more fun, doesn't it? C'mon! It'll be fine! I'll cover for you" he hushed you, sitting up the best he could in the small space to start to unbutton your blouse. Your chest heaving, you watched his eyes, scanning over your breasts. It was like you were his prey.

"Fuck...so pretty" he mumbled as his large hands undone the last button and ran up from your waist to your breasts, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the fabric before he pulled off your shirt. Suddenly you were feeling rather vulnerable. His fingers traced the pretty lace, it sent chills through you.

"Wanna take it off for me baby?" He asked as his fingers slid under your back. You bit your lip, a little anxiety still bubbling in your chest but with his prompt, you arched your back and you felt Eric unclip it easily.

You watched as he flung the bra to the side, he was eating up the sight of your exposed chest. His lips soon met the space between your breasts, kissing ever so gently which contrasted his grip on your waist, keeping you in place as he moved to kiss each breast all the while whispering how perfect you were. His knee rested between your legs and as he moved up your body, he pressed further and further into you. A muffled whine accidentally escaped which caught Eric's attention.

"That was cute. I wanna hear more of that. I wanna hear all your sounds" You listened as he purred, and watched as he smirked, feeling his hand move lower, undoing your jeans and moving them low enough to slip his hand in.

"Eric-! This is embarrassing..." You breathed out and yet the feeling of his fingers rubbing gentle circles into your clit was already driving you insane.

"It's not. Don't worry. I doubt anyone will catch us. Let's just have some fun hmm?" He consoled which you knew was a lie. This was after a concert and an interview. There would be staff and sneaky fans about. His lips brushed past yours, taking your lower lip between his teeth, tugging before capturing them with a kiss, his tongue sliding in and exploring, you only pulled away with quickened breaths when you felt your jeans being pulled off, one leg completely free at least. You peeked down at Eric to see him admiring you, moving your legs further apart which made your face all hot.

"God you really are perfect huh...fuck I need you. Now." Eric said all before you watch him hurriedly unbutton his jeans and pull out his very generous cock. The sheer sight of it made you doubt you could accommodate such a monstrosity. You stared at it in complete shock but that changed when your want came into mind. You sat up and crawled into the space between Eric's legs. Taking it in your hand which barely covered him. You couldn't help but lick your lips before swallowing. You felt Eric's hand in your hair but not an ounce of pressure.

You slowly take just his tip in your mouth, your tongue flicking over the slit to catch the pretty pearl of precum before you moved off briefly to swallow. You lowered your head to lick a stripe up the length of his cock. You could hear his shaky breaths and how he gasped at your touches, a deep groan erupting from Eric as you took him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue a bit, you felt his hand grip your hair tightly but as you glanced up you could tell he was holding back in more ways than one.

"I don't think I can hold back anymore sweetheart..." He whispers as he bites back a moan, all eyes on you now as he lifts you off him, cupping your face, and wiping your mouth with his thumb. His face was flushed, as was yours. He pulled you into his arms and moved you into a sitting position, you on his lap while he was leaned back to give you both as much room as possible.

Oh no. Now people would have a clear view of your naked body from all angles. "Eric-! People will see me!" You whine, covering yourself with your arms the best you could, eyebrows knitted together.

You heard a chuckle slip from Eric's lips, he pulled you into his chest, one hand resting on your lower back and the other guiding your leg up, bent and out of the way before he aligned his cock up and helped you take him in his entirety. The feeling of his cock sliding into your dripping cunt was ungodly, it was taking everything in you to stay relaxed, the burning sensation of his thick cock stretching you was uncomfortable but god did he also feel so good.

After watching Eric play and then spending an hour in an interview, watching him pull at his jeans while he sat. Watching him get comfortable. Watching the way he watched you. You could barely sit still, you were bearly with it throughout the interview. You were imagining all the things you wanted this man to do to you.

And now here you were. Eric's cock was deep inside of you, your head resting on his shoulder as you both breathed heavily at the feel of each other. Sticky skin on skin, hair entangled together

"Fuck sweetheart you're so tight around me. I ain't gunna be able to move if you keep this up" Eric's weak voice admitted.

You tried to relax, tried to move, rocking your hips. You leaned up to kiss Eric, needing a distraction from the illegally large weapon that was taking refuge in your pussy prison.

You kept your pace slow until Eric took control, his hands on your hips, thrusting you down quicker and rougher, you could feel every inch of him as he hit your sweet spot repeatedly. The sounds that filled the car were disgusting, skin on skin. Eric's groans, your moans and the sound of your drenched pussy.

"Eric- s-slow down. It's too much" You whined as he pounded into you. You were curled up in his chest.

"I'm sorry but you just feel so damn good" He rasped as his thumb rubbed comfortingly over your thigh before his hand glided up your back, feeling his nails dragging a little before he cupped the back of your head, locking lips roughly with you, yet still trying to be gentle in his desperation. You kept your slow pace, clutching to Eric's shoulders, feeling dizzy with all the pleasure. You hadn't felt this good in a very long time.

You both were moaning into the kiss, hungrily fighting for dominance, you caved easily though which was aided when Eric thrusted deep into you. It had your thighs trembling, and your breasts bouncing which quickly prompted him to take them in his hands, ever so gently pinching your nipples which had your breath hitching and stuttering as you tried to keep up with his almost erratic pace. The rhythm you had both found was starting to falter as you neared your climaxes. You could feel the tight coil pulling.

"I'm close- Eric...please-" You begged, eyebrows knitted together and your forehead pressed against Eric's, occasionally catching each other's lips before you felt Eric's teeth graze your neck, slowing his pace purposefully, fuck he was teasing so badly. You tilted your head to give him better access to your neck as he sucked a lovebite into your neck, and another and one more as he slowly. Agonisingly. Pulled out of you almost completely while lifting you before forcing you down on his cock.

"Eric please-" You whined. Begged. Pleaded.

"Alright, baby. Do you want some help? Hmm?" He almost growled as his pace kept up. Guiding you on his cock, one hand moving to rub gentle circles on your clothes once more. You could hear how he held back a bit on his noises as you clenched around him. Suddenly being so exposed didn't matter as you rocked in rhythm, grasping at any part of Eric you could. Your moans. Your cries. You didn't keep quiet. You didn't even think to, you were so lost in the moment. You felt the snap and the rippling of your orgasm which was spurred on by Eric's, you could feel as he pulsed inside of you. You heard him groan a slow, drawn-out "fuck".

"Eric, Eric Eric...fuck-" you stuttered and trembled in his lap, you could feel your wetness gushing as Eric helped you ride out both your climaxes. He muffled your words in a kiss, both moaning as you slowly came down from your high, dazed as you sat in his lap, shaky ans breathless.

"You did so well, sweetheart...round two?" You gasped a little at his words and slapped him on the chest playfully.

"Shut up..." You mumbled before taking a glance at your watch. "Fuck I have to go-!" You suddenly exclaimed. Clambering off Eric and trying to gather your clothes. You were putting on your panties when you heard the sound of a camera. Your eyes met Eric's mischievous ones.

"Tell you didn't just take a picture of me naked!" You blurted out as you stare him down.

"Just for my personal collection. No one will see" He tried to speak.

"I have a career! That picture could ruin it!" You state.

"I swear on my life no one will see. Can see your face in it. Don't worry."

You groaned as you got dressed. Eric following your actions. You gathered your things.

"Hurry up and get out. I need to get going and the rest if the guys will wonder where you are."

"Alright, alright. Im goin'" you heard him laugh. You both got out of your car on opposite sides of the back, standing only to be met with Genes eyes. "Have fun?" The look on Genes face made you want to die.

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angelbambisworld · 4 months

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Alcohol-Induced Buffoonery

A Gene Simmons(Specifically current Gene because yall know i love that silly old man) x Reader fic

Summary: Y/N returns home to Gene from a party, having gotten a little drunker than intended. Shenanigans ensue. Gets very crackfic-y at times.

Tagging some of my mutuals here: @elrohare @eatinaborgerwitnohoneymustard @starry-eyed-never-satisfied @namelessbutters-doodles

I'm sorry if I forgot anybody. It's hard to keep track of all yall

You wave goodbye to your friend, who was nice enough to drop you off at your house after she noticed you had had one too many drinks at the party you both had attended.

After her car has driven from your line of sight, you make your way up the steps to the front door. You dig around in your coat pockets for your house key and when you do eventually find it, the front door already opens. Standing in the doorway was your boyfriend, Gene.

You give him a big dopey smile and squeal out "GENE!" at the top of your lungs as you wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tightly. Gene immediately shushes you and covers his ears. "Don't yell so loud, I can hear you just fine!"

You stop smiling and look down at your shoes, apologetically. "Shit, my bad."

Gene returns the hug and then asks "So, did you have fun at the party?"

Your wide smile returned again. "Yeah, I had fun." The wind picks up and blows in your general direction as you shudder from the cold. Gene takes you by the hand and leads you into the house.

The world around you is spinning a little as you and Gene sit down on the couch in the living room together. Kinda like clothes in a washing machine. You laugh out loud at the thought of it. Gene raises an eyebrow. "What's funny?"

You shake your head. "Nothing!"

Then you let out a hiccup. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another. Your face turns red as you cover your face with your hands, utterly embarrassed. Gene can't help but chuckle at your cuteness, which only made your face go redder. "D- *hic* Don't laugh at *hic* me! I *hic* can't help it!"

*I know, sweetheart, I know." Gene says as he cards his fingers through your hair. "Do you want me to get you some water?"

You shake your head and try to get up to go get yourself some water. Only to bang your leg on the coffee table and fall back on the couch, thanks to your shitty balance. " *hic* Ow! *hic* ".

You try to get up again but Gene stops you. "Let me get you something to drink."

"I'm *hic* fine!" you protest. "It didn't even *hic* hurt that bad!"

"It sure looked like it did." Gene said as he walked into the kitchen.

Pouting, you stumble into the kitchen where Gene has finished pouring you a glass of water. He handed it to you and said"Go sit back down on the couch."

"No!" you whined, stomping your foot a little for emphasis. Gene rolled his eyes, slightly amused by your childish behavior. "Do you want me to fix you (Favorite Food) while I'm in the kitchen?"

You paused at the mention of (Favorite Food). A small little smile crept up on your lips as you said "Maaaaaybeeeee."

Gene nodded. "Go sit down on the couch and I'll bring it to you."

You shook your head. "No, I wanna stay *hic* here with you."

Gene didn't feel like arguing with you, so he pulled a chair for you to sit in while you watched him cook. You looked at your leg on where you banged it on the coffee table. There was a dark blue splotchy bruise there, which you stupidly poked. "OW!"

Gene turned to look at you, startled by your sudden yelp. He noticed the bruise on your leg and bent down to your level to inspect it. ((LOL Dr Love to the rescue!))

"Hmmmm...I think we're gonna have to amputate your leg."

You let out a horrified wail that was quickly broken up by more drunken hiccups. Gene immediately burst out laughing at your reaction. "I'm just messing with you, you're fine!"

"You can't cut off my *hic* leg, how am I gonna walk?!"

"Y/N, I was joking."

"How *hic* am I gonna live?!"

"It was a joke!"

"How are we gonna *hic* fuck?!"

That last sentence sent Gene into another fit of laughter. "Y/N, you are gonna be just fine. Don't worry about it."

Gene went back to cooking (Your favorite food) as you shook your head. How dare your beloved boyfriend fool you like that!

At least your hiccups were slowly coming to an end. Anyways, now that you had mentioned fucking, you were starting to feel a little...naughty, to say the very least.

Your eyes wandered all the way down to Gene's backside. You always joked that out of all the members of KISS, Gene's ass was definitely the fattest(and it was). That's when you got an idea.

You got up from your chair and raised your hand as high in the air as you get it and-

SMACK!

Gene immediately flinched once your hand made contact with his bottom. He turned around to look at you, blushing and eyes wide with surprise. "Did you just hit me?"

"It jiggled when I hit it."

You gave Gene's asscheek a squeeze and then another smack, this time a little softer. You look up at the stove top. "Is the (favorite food) done yet?"

Gene turned his attention back to the food. "Almost."

"Why do they call it oven when you of in the cold food of out hot eat the food?"

Gene looked at you and pondered if perhaps he was having a stroke. "What did you just say?"

You laughed. "It's a meme, you wouldn't get it."

"I guess not."

You wrapped your arms around Gene and slipped a hand under his shirt as he continued cooking. You started groping his plump man tits™️ .

"Goddamn, grandpa," you said out loud. "You got a nice pair of tits for an old man."

At this point, Gene was getting rather fed up with your shenanigans. "Go sit down on the couch and I'll bring you your food."

"Why are your boobs so big anyway?"

"They're not boobs!"

"Do you have to wear a bra when you go on stage?"

"Y/N, go sit the fuck down!"

Annoyed, you sat back down in your chair. "No, I meant in the living room."

You looked at the distance between where you sat and the couch in the living room. You decided that it wasn't worth the energy. "Noooo, I don't really feel like it."

You tried to scoot yourself into the living room while you were still sitting in your chair but you didn't get very far. "Get off your lazy ass and go sit in the living room."

You let out an overdramatic groan and stood up. "FIIIIIIIINE!"

You set up a tray in front of yourself as you waited for Gene to come back. Gene walked in with (Your favorite food) which you immediately devoured.

After that, you decided to take a shower. Gene insisted on taking one with you. "God only knows what would happen if I left you unattended in the bathroom."

In fact,Gene had to help you wash yourself since you were too busy staring at his glorious man tits™️ again

"Did you think I took you to a doctor and asked them to give you bigger boobs, they'd do it?" you pondered as Gene washed your hair.

Gene stuck you under the shower head as the shampoo ran down your hair, body, and into the drain. "I think they would lock you up in an insane asylum and leave you there."

You laughed. "That's fair."

After you both showered, you got dressed for bed and turned in for the night. Gene kissed you on the forehead. "Goodnight, Y/N. You're clearly insane and a pain in the ass, but you're my pain in the ass. I love you."

You tried to kiss him on the forehead back but missed and ended up kissing him on his left eyeball. "I love you, pookie bear."

The next day you woke up with the mother of all hangovers. But luckily Dr Love was there to tend to you until you were well again.

#kiss #kiss band #kissblr #kiss army #gene simmons #pookie bear #celebrity crush #this is my first time writing a fic #so im sorry if gene seems out of character here #gene simmons x reader #if yall want more let me know #kiss fanfiction #kiss x reader #crack fic #kiss crackfic

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starry-eyed-never-satisfied · 1 month

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For the ask game - 6, 19 [KISS], 22 [Paul] - please!

19. What's your favourite thing about [fandom] (the people in it, not the media you're all enjoying together)?

For the longest time I thought that the things I thought about them, headcanons, horny thoughts, writing fan fic, was weird. So I kept all that stuff to myself. Then when I discovered tumblr and found out I wasn't the only person who did that, it was a realisation that I'm not a freak! There are others like me! Kissblr is awesome! There are so many talented writers, artists and just lovely people. Even posting about non-KISS stuff, I get such wonderful supportive feedback, and it's just a wondereful feeling that although I haven't met any of you, you care.

22. Give us a headcanon for Paul

Paul is not fond of doing interviews, he's never fully gotten over the anxiety of talking to people. He doesn't hate them, he knows its part of the job, and he loves his job, but it is outside his comfort zone. If he's doing it with Gene, if the anxiety gets too much, he will lean closer or against Gene, just for comfort.

6. Show us a bit of a WIP!

This one is called Coming Home and it is the one I asked for help with on driving from LA to New York

He was stuck.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Gene went to the phone booth and called the operator. “Collect call please,” he said and recited the only number he could think of.

The phone rang.

Paul rolled over, arm emerging from the covers, grabbing at it.

“Ugh.”

“Collect call from Gene Simmons, will you accept the charges.”

Paul’s eyes jerked open. Why was Gene calling collect?

“Sure,” he replied.

“Paul,” Gene gasped. “I’m in the middle of nowhere, the car broke down, I lost my wallet!”

Paul sat up. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know!”

Paul shut his eyes. “Calm down,” he said. “You must know where you are. Are you back in New York? Or in LA?”

“I’m trying to come home,” said Gene. “I don’t wanna do the movies anymore. I want to come home. To you. To KISS. I don’t know where I am.”

“Okay,” Paul said gently. “Take a deep breath. Think Genie. What was the last state line you crossed? What cities have you passed through?”

“I left Denver this morning. I was supposed to be in Omaha by tonight, but the weather was terrible!”

“Good boy. You’ve found a phone booth, so there’s businesses nearby?”

“Yes.”

“What are they?”

“Most are dark, but there’s a motel.”

“What’s it called?”

Gene wiped at the fogged up window and peered up the road at the neon sign. His heart sank. “BJs.”

There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line.

“Paul Stanley, are you laughing at me?!”

#thanks for the ask!#kiss fanfiction

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black--cherryy · 10 months

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Hi there!! I got a funny one for ya!!! How each member of KISS would react if you fell asleep on them. Either on their shoulders, their chest, or their lap, or whatever. How would they react to seeing the reader fall asleep on them, pretty much

Thx for your request <3 Hope u like it

[KISS]

Their reaction to u falling asleep on them.

☁️ Fluff ☁️

—

Paul: The both of u were sitting in the garden, getting some fresh night air. The soft cold wind felt great on a warm night. It was late and u got pretty tired so while cuddling with Paul u fell asleep sitting on his lap with your head on his chest. When he noticed that u were sleeping, he would rest his chin on your head finding it adorable and later carry u bride style to his bedroom where he would lay u down and cuddle with u, having u facing his chest and his strong arms around u.

Ace: U fell asleep having your head on his lap after a tickle session. He looked up at the ceiling while sitting on the couch until he noticed that u fell asleep. It made him smile seeing u all cuddled up in his lap. He stroke over your cheek and let u lay like this as he was too lazy to get up to bring u to bed. He eventually fell asleep with u on the couch.

Peter : U were watching him playing his drums, even tho they were loud, u were so tired that after he stopped playing for a minute u immediately fell asleep on his lap. He found it adorable how ur head was leaned aginst his shoulder. He stroke over your arm and placed his drumsticks aside to picked u up and bring u to bed. He watched u for a while with a smile, stroking your hair and giving u soft kisses before he fell asleep himself still leaning his hand on his face while being the big spoon.

Gene: You guys were in bed already, cuddling. He was telling u about band matters. It was late already and u got super tired so u fell asleep on his chest. He was talking still not noticing it at first bit after a few minutes of you breathing a bit more than usual, he looked down. He smiled at u finding it cute and kinda hot how u had your hand on his chest, so he took your hand and held it while giving u kisses on your head. He then fell asleep again.

#kiss band #gene simmons #ace frehley #kiss #kiss army #kissblr #paul stanley #peter criss #kiss band x reader #kiss fanfiction #kiss imagine #classic rock fandom

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m00ncherrysblog · 6 days

Text

Chat.. we are going deep into Gene eating someone whole with this one.

AND I AM READY TO WRITE THIS OUT!

#kiss band #gene simmons #the demon #kissblr #kiss fanfiction #ZeeWritescrap #zeetalk

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spacedoutman · 3 months

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【𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤】

(𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭)

Description: They called themselves Kiss, deciding the moment they joined, they'd kiss everything goodbye in exchange for going out in a blaze of glory. But is it really worth it? Is anything really worth it?

(Heavily inspired off the Dillinger gang + Pretty boy Floyd.)

♥ X

Note: I wrote this at 1:42 a.m and finished it at 2:20 am. I am running on no sleep for the past few days. It's canon, Peter Criss wears a stetson and dresses like walking dollar bills. Ace has had about thirty death scares and looks like a farmer (Reference: Homer van Meter) , Paul has been arrested twice and Gene had an edgy phase a little too early.

(I have so much lore for this | Art is Gerda Wegener, Queen of Hearts)

Warnings: Violence

!𝐚𝐨𝟑

Cackling and gunshots made for a terrible chorus—oh, and screaming. There was a hell of a lot of that. Ace’s legs shook as he sent a fury of bullets into the crowd after the pure gold chandelier. His heart jumped like he’d been shocked. His shoulder threatened to fly out of socket as his Tommy gun kicked like a mule. The light was so bright it burnt.

He stumbled back into Paul, who gripped his colt, jerking it to any unfortunate soul in the crowd who dared to twitch. His eyes rested ungodly wide. He breathed shakily, Ace pulling him a bit as he fell.

“You gonna’ give us what we want?” Gene snapped to a low growl as he let the rough sack sink over his shoulder.

The bank teller’s eyes widened. More people dropped. He stumbled back, slamming against the larger-than-life safe. Crystals glimmered in the sunlight as they dropped off the chandelier like rain. Ace jumped to catch as many as he could. “Ace, you’re supposed to be watching!” Paul hissed, pushing Ace off. Ace wobbled back, giggling as Gene kicked open the golden gate, storming around the counter.

He pressed his fingers into the teller’s face, pulling him over hard. He made it look easy. He glared at him through a wicked gaze. The man’s chest caved with every shallow breath he took. Gene grinned as he watched the cold sweat pour down his face. “What’s your name?” Gene taunted slyly, caressing his cheek.

Paul gulped. Hard. Ace shoved him away. “Back off.” Ace groaned, more bored than anything. He combed a hand through his messy hair. The teller’s eyes darted to the rest of the staff, who cowered against the sparkling fence separating them from the rest of the lobby. Paul rushed in, his heels clicking and reflection racing across the blue marble tiles.

Gene could hear Paul’s heart thudding through his ribs. Paul leaned to the counter, snatching everything that even looked valuable. His head was about to burst.--oh. He also grabbed the shotgun. “You know what?” Gene reached in his pocket with his spare hand. “I like that. What’s the code?” The teller shook his head rapidly.

“It’s a time lock!” He shrunk as far down as Gene would let him.

Gene looked down from a lifted chin. A smirk spread on his lips. “Is it?” Amusement drenched his voice. “You’ the manager?”

Paul raced out, slamming the gate behind him. His hat threatened to fly off. “I like those pearls.” Ace said childishly, holding out his open hand. Large, gaudy pearls hung around a lady’s neck. She reached back with trembling hands, barely able to hold herself up as her legs turned to jello. The man beside her held himself. A tight scowl landed straight on his face. “—Oh, and I’ll take your rings.”

“Paul, is anyone outside?” Gene’s shouts echoed through the massive bank.

Paul hopped over the sprawled out bodyguard and the pool of red. He raced to the window, sliding the dramatic gilded-maroon curtains out of the way. A crowd started to gather and no one in it looked particularly happy. Paul jerked to face Gene, who leaned closer to the teller, flicking his tongue like a snake. Ace climbed onto a desk, swinging his legs to and fro like a kid.

“Peter, work your magic.” Paul huffed, barely able to even chase his breath even though the smell of fine perfume was appetizing.

Papers flew off along with a jar as Paul caught himself on another desk. Ink splashed. He held his machine gun tight, crouching behind it and gulping down his thudding heart. His ribs were too tight for it to go down. Ace’s laughter boomed louder than any explosion. Gene smirked, backing out with the teller. He took him by the hair and turned him around to face the vault. The teller gasped.

Peter Criss straightened his silk tie. His face was straighter. He wore a dull look as he slid his sleek black bag off his shoulders, kneeling in front of the safe. The teller gulped down vomit. “Come on out, girls.” Gene cooed, glancing at the all male staff, who could win a record for how fast they did what they were told.

Peter grabbed his bag and walked out, dusting his hands like he wasn’t robbing a bank. Ace curled up on the desk, chest burning from laughter. He forced out little sob-wheezes and clutched his bowler hat tight to his head. Paul dropped his gun, throwing his hands over his ears. Gene dropped the teller, doing the same and crouching away.

BANG!

Ace screamed and giggled as his heart picked up pace. The adrenaline pumping through their veins numbed them, just like the intense, grating ringing. Gene swept his bag off the floor, blowing a kiss to the teller, who hugged himself tight as possible. Gene backwards jogged, tipping his hat before spinning around and speeding in.

The safe door creaked before—CRASHHH!!! It fell like a boulder, denting the floor. Peter ran over with a couple bags.

“Watch them, Ace!” Paul cried, holding back panic as he rushed for it.

Gene held his jaw from dropping. He had never seen anything like it for the third time. Peter’s bags were already almost full. Paul stumbled and fell. It was like being a pirate and stumbling on millions of years of treasure. Cash was stacked to heaven—aka, the roof of the shiny, dark grey safe. Gene clutched his chest as his heart leapt over a beat so hard it hurt.

“Get packing!” Paul cried, his voice breaking a bit.

Gene knelt. Ace slung himself up. “Alright, the lot of you..” He purred all flirty, resting his finger on his lower lip. “Whose ready to play a game of.. drop or get shot?” The thirty or so people hit the ground. Ace cackled, lifting his gun from beside him like it was his baby. A man stood up. He opened his mouth. Ace narrowed his eyes. A tight, long smile crept across his lips.

“You don’t want to play?”

Ace made a circle around the end before running his finger down the barrel. He watched like he was thinking over something. He couldn’t be more wrong. He looked back at the man, his hands shaking as adrenaline pumped. The man’s eyes were shut tight and his face contorted in fear. His arms were glued to his sides. He could hardly stand.

Ace was bordering euphoric.

He aimed the thing. The man’s eyes shot open as he tried to choke up anything before—

-he toppled like a domino. Gunshots exploded. A blood-curdling scream burst from Ace as he joined him, his neck almost snapping as he somersaulted over the desk, crashing into the floor hard enough to shatter every bone in his body. Paul whipped around. Gene joined him. Paul glanced before turning right back to look.

“T-The.. the fuck?” Peter stammered.

He could barely be heard over shots which fired like whole ass explosions. Their ears all rang like hell. Peter clenched the bag, freezing for a split second then hitting the ground. Paul’s rasping breaths quickened. His chest clutched his lungs as his whole body curled in on itself. He shut his eyes as tight as possible, screaming in horror. Gene’s breath fled.

He sobered like a drunk man as his eyes tried to dart from each row of fire. The curtains fell like feathers. Zipping ripped through the air along with a sharp stench as bullets smashed into and bounced off the walls, gates and even a couple people. A vacant look landed on Gene’s face as dizziness hit him.

“.. F-Faster!” He faltered, grabbing Peter’s shoulder and shaking him quickly. “Oh god, what the hell are we gonna’ do?!”

Peter yanked himself up. “Peter, Peter.. no..” Paul whispered through his clenching throat, Gene shaking him harder. Peter fell in on himself. Memories raced through his head. Paul just knew Peter was going to get up. “It’s a death run!” Each word flew through one ear and out the other. Peter grabbed his gun tight, standing up and racing straight into the fire.

Gene fell back against the counter. Paul did too. Shouting blared. Ace’s scratchy, guttural wails echoed like they were in a cathedral. Sirens made for a nice instrumental. Shock and horror melted off his voice. Paul exploded into terrified sobs. Gene’s head fell. He shut his eyes tight as possible. Peter shouted taunts and curses in a furious storm, racing from window to window and firing.

Gene’s lids were dyed red. His heart not only dropped into his stomach but hit every bump and ridge on the way. His legs grew weak. His gun slid from his hand.

Heat layered in the already burning room. Sparks hissed like a yard of angry cats. A firework flew in.

Maybe being in it to die wasn’t so worth it now.

#kissfan #kissblr #gene simmons #paul stanley #ace frehley is psycho #they are all psychos #kiss fanfiction #oneshot #fanfic #bank robbery #gangsters #1920s #Harry pierpont is not real #Paul is keeping them all afloat secretly god ideas are burning my brain #Peter may or may not be a rat #He wears a white suit #sometimes #Spotify

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