VicXSanti

[teague]

Santiago watched from the darkened upper balcony as Victoria stood on the stage during rehersals, preparing for her first real tour since the baby. It took a long time for her body to *really* heal. She seemed emotionally stable, which was a good thing. Winning her had been dramatic, with her attempted defection, capture, sex change, wedding, pregnancy, and near death during the birth. Santi thought she almost *should* be more of a mess. Still she stood like an iconic goddess amidst the chaos of stage work, and personal attendants swirling around her like leaves with brushes and makeup. Her white hair was curled into tight ringlets, and pale skin polished. Costumes were changed. Jewelry was changed. Perhaps, Santi thought, she adjusted because she's never known stability. Santi, her husband, realizes he's never asked about her past.

Victoria had begun life as Victor, and Victor had come from the home of a mother who had clung to him so tightly that she made up illnesses to take him to the doctor to see about, and had him convinced that he would die if he left her house. That lasted until his teenage years, when he suddenly burst forth like a rebellious young colt, and ran for the streets. Vic had been a pretty boy, and was popular. He'd run with a tough crowd of bikers, and street hackers. He would sing in bars, and do things of a less legal nature to get by. One night Vic was discovered by a talent agent working for Santiago's company. Vic's voice, a natural voice, was pure magic. This was how Santiago met Vic. He remembered the boy was a strange mix of wildness and idealism. It was almost innocent. Vic was a fast study in the entertainment industry, however, and became adept at negotiating. Then something in Vic just snapped, much as it had when he had run from home. His successful carreer was just as demanding, and Vic had started to become tabloid fodder, slipping bodyguards, and playing with the old crowd of criminals. He had taken a lover who was also a muscician, who was even wilder. Santi had, had enough when they were bailed out of jail. Time to tame his wild little mustang. Santi's boduguards held Vic as Santi himself delt the punk boyfriend a vicious beat down. Vic had broken and relaxed in their arms, sobbing for Santi to stop, and promising to do *anything* to make him stop. It was exactly what Santi had wanted to hear.

The moment finally came. The music swelled, and Victoria seemed to rise into the air, her voice rising in a moment of hair raising, tingling perfection. She truely looked, and sounded like an angel. More than just an angel..HIS angel. He made her, and he could break her. He proved that readily. She no longer fought. Santi glanced around the darkened auditorium. Everyone had stopped working. Light people, sound people, helpers, setbuilders. All of these, who could be assumed to have heard it all, had stopped to listen. Such was her power. It made him pause, and have to stare at her. When had he stopped listening? Truely listening, and not just thinking of how that voice would benefit him? It was a haunting voice, and the song was a bittersweet one. He realized it was love song, written to one with no heart. It didn't take much to figure that one out. It is like a soft carress befor a twisting knife.

Santi quickly got onto a phone, not truely thinking for a moment, and began barking orders. When beautiful Victoria finally left the stage, which she was notibly loathe to do, she was surprised by a dressing room filled with red roses. Their scent perfumed the air. She gazed around with obvious shock, and he noted, just a touch of aprehension. Something else he'd done to her.

"Vicky," he called to her softly. She looked up to him like a doe in headlights. He swallowed, and offered his hand. She was lovely. Too lovely. The woman who came befor her, who truely ruled his heart until her untimely demise, would have demanded Vicky's fragile body be rended like an old Barbie.

She took his hand, and let him pull her closer. His hand trembled as he touched down her hair, his attraction, and repulsion at obvious war in his face. She refused to shake, or look down, not wanting to betray that weakness. Aaah..that was one thing he loved. His Vicky might be terrified of him, but she wouldn't cower. It only fed that nasty side, and he was secretly relieved. Victoria was too valuble to be broken, and marred.

Victoria let him pull her into a kiss, her lips soft and warm. She let it linger and deepen, sucking his tongue. He was being soft. It was nice. She didn't know why, but he was rarely soft, and lately..just rare. She had wondered if that was a relief, or a concern. She sacrificed so much to suffer his disintrest. She smiled a little as he pushed the straps down off her shoulders, and pulled her soft, sparkly dress down. His hands were warm as they found her breasts and molded them. He got her to gasp as he pinched her nipples into erect little nubs. He enjoyed her squirming, her lashes fluttering shut. Santi smiled. She's reacting. Her skin was warm and flushed. Her breath was hard past her lips. She smelled sweaty from the stage, and he knew that he was going to make her feel more.

There was no bed in the dressing room, so he just lifted her ass onto her makeup counter, her back to the long mirror. She gasped sweetly in that awesome voice. He felt her thighs firmly as he slid his hands under her skirt, moulder her flesh with his strong thumbs. The he ripped off her tiny panties. She jumped, and gasped again. His hands probed deeper, making her squirm. He could feel the slick wetness of her sex. He kissed her again with a deep, rough groan.

Santi unziped and pulled himself out. Vicky wound her long legs around his waist, and her arms around his shoulders. Her dazzeling green eyes no longer looked frightened. He had to bend his knees to line up just right, but with a firm thrust he pushed inside of her. She clawed at his neck, yowling eerily. He had to brace his hands on the mirror on each side of her body to thrust. She clung to him, and worked her hips into the thrusts, encouraging him to do more, and harder. Her eyes were dopey with desire and he gave her every inch she wanted.

Vicky felt him rocking her hips with each solid thrust. Her full breasts swung with the force. It took awhile to get used to this sensation, but now that she was, it felt incredible. With a sweet, pure whimper she reached down to touch herself, rubbing her clit, and gasping with a sharp arch of her back as pleasure explodes through her hard enough to see colors.

Santi saw, and felt his wife writhing, and heard the way her voice rose. He could tell she was finished when she keened a note of music so pure that it made the hair on his neck rise. He felt her throbbing inside, growing slicker and tighter, and he pounded with bruising force, making her voice cut off with each thrust. Finally he exploded inside of her, his own voice cracking with the loud moan, and tapering off as he twitched, nearly frozen by the sensation. She only held on to him, petting and cooing while he was so vulnerable.

When it was at last over except the cleanup, he gazed into her eyes with rare softness. She gazed back, glowing, and relieved. It almost felt strange to him not to be rejected. Even the women he's found eager to bed him, and there have been plenty, have a look of moving on to other things, knowing he's wealthy.

"Victoria..I'd like to take you home tonight..Maybe have some dinner..Just us."

Vicky couldn't help but to blink at that. Santi was never overly interested in romancing her. But seeing him willing to try was...melting. She smiled, and nodded, fighting not to turn into a blubbery mess. He helped her down, and watched her clean up and redress, then held her waist as he took her to the limo, heading home.

*fine*

RECENTLY UPDATED FOR NOTED GRAMMAR ERRORS. (I'm sure there are more than I found)