Uzumaki Rebellion's Fanfiction @uzumaki-rebellion - Tumblr Blog

uzumaki-rebellion

Aug 22

uzumaki-rebellion

"Pot Liquor" Afropunk!Erik Killmonger

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Black Plus-Sized OC

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Angst, Romance, Drug Use, Bisexual Characters, Threesomes, Foursomes, Queer Characters, Cursing.

Summary:

Three women. One man.

Erik “Killmonger” Stevens is the guitar player for a female dominated Black alternative rock band fronted by the powerful larger-than-life lead singer, Oya Mason. About to perform in front of their largest audience ever on one of the most influential stages in the music world, Erik and Oya have to face band in-fighting, jealousy, drugs, sex, and the love of rock-and-roll.

Can they keep it together before their big night?

Word count: 14, 890

A..N.: Bringing this back for @blvcksundays !

"I said if I'm in luck I just might get picked up I said I'm fishin' trick and you can call it what you want then I said I'm wigglin' my fanny I want you dancing I'm a doin' it doin' it This is my night out

So all you lady haters don't be cruel to me Don't you crush my velvet don't you ruffle my feathers neither I said I'm crazy I'm Wild I said I'm nasty Say you will for a little while Say you will Say you will"

Betty Davis –"If I'm In Luck I Might Get Picked Up"

Begin at the beginning...

Eighteen-year-old Oya Mason stood in the middle of the stage of the National Poetry Slam Finals in Oakland, California ready to recite a three-minute free verse that took her two weeks to dream of and three days to write. It wasn't her best poem, but it was the most potent that she had ever written and would be reciting for the first time in public. She hated America and everything it stood for and the words swimming in her brain and marinating in cerebral spinal fluid were ready to erupt on stage.

Thick black leggings covered her dimply thick thighs that rubbed tightly together and the black Buckethead baseball t-shirt she had on accentuated her heavy breasts and generous stomach. Her toes were jammed into brand new black chucks and her nose septum piercing was a shiny silver like the frosted silver tips of her frohawk locs. She was a big beautiful Black woman with an even bigger first name to live up to. Her parents plucked the name from a book they had in their home. "Oya: In Praise of An African Goddess."

"We knew that if we had a little girl, we were going to name you that," her father, Teigen Mason, had told her.

Her Mama, Gia, squeezed out a big fat dark brown loud crying baby that grew up into a big beautiful teenager that could no longer be simply called full-figured or extra thick. No, those words were too small for her. She was a Goddess and a Goddess took up all the space she wanted. On that stage, Oya, the Goddess of the Hurricane winds, the warrior, and the protector of the dead looked out upon an eager audience of poetry spectators waiting for her to do linguistic tricks and over-enunciated theatrical emoting with her culled words.

Well...that didn't happen.

Oya Mason stood there with her Goddess frame and shrieked out every single word she had written in the depths of her gray matter and birthed her first metal song live onstage. The poem-turned-rage-clarion call was titled "To Sleep With Anger", an ode to the movie that was filmed in her grandparent's house in South Los Angeles way before she was born. She found the old Danny Glover movie online and watched it over and over until she fell asleep and dreamed of the actors walking in her family's kitchen, living room, bedrooms, and backyard, and the words to the poem came to her in the underworld of slumber and there was a burning there. A heated twisting of past and present that had her worried about her future as a big boisterous girl with a runaway mouth making it in society where Black women were expected to be quiet mules for the world.

Not her.

Oya dreamed about that old house for two weeks waking up enraged every morning and thought about what the movie meant and pondered why she was already hating a world that she was barely stepping into. It had to be ancestral rage. A fiery anger handed down like generational trauma and the unyielding hair texture on her head.

A three-day heat of writing on yellow legal pads and listening to Bad Brains and Mother's Finest while trippin' on shrooms in her bedroom while her parents were away, produced a piece of work that she could get down with.

Other poems in her extensive repertoire allowed her to advance in poetry slam rounds in local competitions and by the time she was on the National level, she was tired of the scene. The performative aspect of it seemed disingenuous. Many of the older poets she watched seemed to be interested in shocking people instead of sharing real evocative language that opened the heart and mind.

That was probably why Oya screamed her words and left the stage switching her meaty hips and not caring about her scores or if she won.

She did win that year.

The individual poet category. At her young age.

The previous winner, another full-figured Black woman with thick braids, full lips, and a body of work so blistering that she was named the Poet Laureate of her city approached her backstage.

"You don't belong here," the woman said.

Oya blinked. The fuck?

A sly smile creased the woman's glossy lips as she pointed at Oya with a commanding right index finger.

"You belong out there doing what you just did. This is too small for you," the former champion said.

Oya Mason bid adieu to poetry slams.

She returned to Los Angeles from Oakland and started a part-time job at Amoeba Records on Hollywood Boulevard. While selling records and sorting vinyl and CD bins, she met her best friend, Deidre who rocked short hair and a smooth undercut, Oya fell in love with Deidre's whole vibe instantly and they fell into creating their first band together.

To Sleep With Anger.

Oya named them that. Deidre played electric guitar just like Oya did and after work and university classes at USC, they shredded in Deidre's parent's garage in a sizeable house at the bottom of Baldwin Hills. The Black Beverly Hills. The house sat on forty-eighth and Crenshaw, so the upwardly mobile Black folks couldn't get too far away from the bustle of working class and working-poor negroes down the street. Oya's parents couldn't handle two loud Black metal chicks screaming about capitalism, death, and societal destruction right next door to the neighborhood church at their small home near Leimert Park. Deidre's house was ground zero for their start as a unit.

School. Work. Shredding.

That was life for three years until Oya had written a ton of songs that were good enough to put together a fuller and more serious band. They had both become better axe players. She and Deidre posted up an ad for a drummer and bass player at the Amoeba Community board and online, and that was how they met Shameika, a mean pocket queen originally from Long Beach who went to UCLA.

Deidre and Oya had to set aside their USC rivalry because Shameika was nasty on the skins. Their bass player, Jody, was discovered by accident when she came into Amoeba asking for Me'Shell N'degeocello vinyl. Anyone into Me'Shell had to be hip, and Oya asked the lithe light-brown beauty if she were a musician. The stars lined up. She was their missing link.

They were complete and of one accord by the time they began playing publicly at gigs around L.A. and making road trips to San Diego and also local music festivals. Shameika handled their webpage, Deidre handled booking, and Oya fell in love with Jody. Then broke up with her. Then got back together. Then broke up in one final blow-out that thankfully didn't tank the band. It did become a little awkward when Jody and Shameika became a couple, but Oya grew past it. They were picking up traction as a band. Getting better paid gigs. She was writing better songs. Blending genres. Learning to control her vocals better with a private coach. It took them awhile to be taken seriously as a band. People expected them to be an R & B singing quartet and did double takes when they walked into venues with their gear. They were tested a lot by the mainly white male audiences. Lots of booing at shows and sometimes beer bottles were thrown at them onstage. Oya was often brutally called names because of her size. She didn't know how many times she had climbed onstage to bring the noise with her girls, and there was laughter tossed her way.

"Look at this big bitch!" was a common jab along with a few expletives.

But the music shut them up. They could play fucking circles around many of the bands, even the headliners.

"It's here!" Deidre shrieked as they opened boxes for new stock.

Oya stared at the twelve-inch vinyl of a song she was hearing about on every streaming platform and alternative music chatroom. She knew the group.

Slippage.

An alternative band that she used to fuck with heavily until they started going a little too commercial and polished for her tastes. Oya did feel excitement about new music from them. She hoped they were returning to their roots of hard driving sounds and not the softened new-branding that recent major-label signed groups were morphing toward. Deidre was practically salivating, her copper brown skin glowing and matching the copper brown of her short fade.

"This dude right here...I swear, I would buss it wide open if he walked in here right now. You think the scars are real? I heard they weren't," Deidre said.

Oya picked up the album and stared at the four guys on the cover. One Mexican with long glossy raven hair. Two white guys with stringy pony tails and tats on their faces and arms. And the Black guy.

Erik Killmonger.

Gold grills. Perfect locs. Scars.

His upper body was covered in small shiny lumps of skin.

"That looks real," Oya said.

"That's hardcore. I get the tats and piercings...I mean I have that shit, but...cutting your skin like that. All over. You think he has scars on his dick?"

Oya burst out laughing.

"Only you would ask that!"

"That would be kinda sexy," Deidra whispered admiring the man's shirtless body as he held his guitar.

Deidra stroked the cover.

"He's so rude for biting his lips like that. Letting us see all that gold in his mouth," she quipped.

They stocked the store with all the new vinyl before heading to the registers to help customers purchase music. When they had a break, the assistant manager let them listen to the new Slippage single. Deidre loved it, but Oya turned her nose up at it. Killmonger sounded dope as always, but the song itself was weak. Defanged.

"We should make something like this," Deidre said bobbing her head and air playing guitar with her nimble fingers pretending to be Killmonger.

"I think the fuck not."

"This is good!"

"No it's not. It's just loud and...vanilla."

"You're buggin'. This is the best thing they've put out."

Oya stood behind the counter and watched Deidra, the assistant manager, and several customers nod their heads and give kudos to Slippage.

"Tasteless," Oya muttered as she grabbed a stack of country CDs from a young woman and began ringing up her purchases.

The music blared from their store speakers and Oya couldn't help but think about Killmonger's grill and the scars that went up and down his muscled arms, wide chest, and down his chiseled stomach...

Begin at the beginning one 'mo' 'gin...

They knew they had something special when Amoeba allowed them to play in their in-store mini-concerts when another group failed to show up because of a delayed flight from Phoenix. The four of them wore tattered jean skirts with leggings and old vintage bullet bras they found at a thrift store in Venice Beach. Oya had to add a bra extender for hers. Thick extra-large safety pins prevented the weak hooks from bending across her back and gave the right touch to the stylized look. She kept a t-shirt handy in case a titty or two broke free and slapped a customer unexpectedly, which would've been the most punk thing ever, but luckily that old 1950's find held on as she sweated her way through raw, screeching vocals that caught her boss by surprise. Hamp was forced into a bind with a store full of patrons waiting to see Desert Troll City, so he gave in when Oya said they had equipment in their cars ready to plug in and rock out. Instead of ambient new vanguard trip music, the customers were treated to ear-splitting altie sounds that tip-toed between experimental and...what? Oya and her bandmates hadn't quite found a true name for their sound, but the crowd there loved it. The music attracted spectators from off the street and it became their first viral performance online.

Hamp started acting like their musical godfather, allowing them to sell their CDs at the counter on consignment as part of their local indie musician sales program. It was a boost to their confidence watching people buy their homemade EP. Gigs followed. The new visibility started their small music festival appearances. Their biggest live performance before their second full album came out was the Joshua Tree Music Festival. The drive to the desert had been joyous. They performed before the closing night's headliner and killed it. They were so good that the headliners gave them a shoutout during their set making Oya feel like a Queen.

And like any great rock-and-roll story, it was where the first rift in the band appeared. All because Deidre felt the need to insert an unnecessary guitar adlib that threw Oya off their closing number. The audience, blitzed out on 'shrooms, weed, liquor, pills, and whatever choice narcotics they brought for fun, became mesmerized by Deidre doing Jimi Hendrix tricks on her axe. Oya could concede that Sis was in her bag at that moment, but they had always stayed in tune with one another by using eye contact and onstage whispers to let each other know if they were going to go off. Sometimes it was just a well-placed guttural sound from Oya's throat to clue the others in, or Deidre would swing her guitar a certain way with a slight chord change. J Tree organizers had the performers on a strict time allotment, and Oya knew they had to finish with a new song in just the right intro...but Deidre fucked it up by trying to upstage Oya with the ole razzle dazzle. The normal thunder growl that would erupt from Oya's diaphragm kicking in "Acid Babe Blues" was usurped by some random guitar wah wah licks from Deidre's foot pedal muting her guitar.

Oya felt the "Acid Babe Blues" lyrics dry up in her throat as her eyes cut to Deidre's. Sister girl was oozing with charismatic energy and the people ate it up. Rightfully so. Oya stood down for twenty seconds before she turned to Jody on bass with aPlease gather this bitch uplook.

Jody slapped her bass and snapped Deidre from her moment. Time ran short, so Oya had to improvise and just gave an improper snippet of the new song before their time ran out. That meant Deidre had to sing the bridge to start the song, and Oya had to fake her way into the second verse. The fierce tone she gave thrilled the music lovers, but Oya was full of piss and vinegar. "Acid Babe Blues" was their lead single from the new joint, and the audience didn't even hear the true beginning.

As the crowd switched their positions to watch the main stage for the closing act, Oya and the others packed up their gear. Her hackles were up.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" Oya snapped.

"Vibin'," Deidre said.

"You stole valuable time for 'Acid'."

"They heard you scream when you first started twenty-five minutes ago. It still sounded great without a closing field holler—"

"That's not the point, Deidre," Shameika interjected as she shoved her drumsticks into a case, "it threw us all off."

"Ohmigod, we murdered this gig. It's good to shake it up sometimes.Ididn't hear a mess up—"

"It would've been nice to know what you were going to do. I'm the lead singer. I wrote that song. We all agreed that 'Acid Babe Blues' was to bring it all home and we practiced the hell out of it and you fucked it up!" Oya said,

"They loved us. That's all that matters."

Deidre did her usual lip pout when she was done discussing anything.

"I know you're feeling yourself right now, but this is becoming a habit with you," Oya barked helping Shameika break down the rest of her drum kit.

"So I can't get no shine too?"

"We all get shine—"

"Only when you let us. Don't forget, I write a lot of the songs too. I'm on the cover of the EP too. So is Jody and Shameika—"

"Are you failing to understand what the problem is? Am I trippin'? I'm not talking about getting shine, I'm talking about you disrupting and switching up how we do things mid-performance without a cue or an okay from the rest of us."

Deidre pressed her lips tight. An irritated exhale followed with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I was carried away by the energy of the crowd. I wanted to jam for a minute..."

Deidre clutched her guitar pedal to her chest.

"I wanted to be that bitch...okay? I mean, look at us. We look amazing in these little black latex dresses! We're serving hot and sexy and being all sweaty and nasty up here. Tell me you didn't feel that rush?"

"We felt it, but...teamwork," Shameika said with her soft-spoken voice.

"I'm tired," Jody said holding her bass case.

They were assisted by some J Tree staff as they loaded up their gear into Deidre's S.U.V, and Oya's Jeep Cherokee.

"Are we staying to watch the closer or what?" Shameika asked.

Jody stayed in Deidre's S.U.V. to sleep, and the rest of them sauntered back in their laced-up pit-stomping boots to watch Boredroom, a band on the brink, sing out To Sleep With Anger's praises. Deidre turned her head and smirked at Oya as the lead singer of Boredroom pointed to all their latex-wearing greatness and shouted them out on the mic.

"See?" Deidre said, "We are the shit."

"It's about the music, Deidre, not just showing off," Oya grumbled.

Oya new instinctively that Deidre wanted to be the main shit. She wrenched her eyes away from her friend and tried to engage with the rest of the festival, but there was a sour taste in her mouth. That taste would grow and root deep. Then it would spread, choking them all.

Begin at his beginning...

Oya knew how to hustle a job.

When Amoeba became less flexible for gigs, she took a job at KCRW assisting the COO. On Saturday nights she worked the cashier booth for a trashy West Hollywood dance club to supplement her income.

Those were rough days for To Sleep With Anger ever since Deidre left for a high-profile band's line-up switch the year before. It was right after a showcase with an East Coast label. They were all broke, still hungry to make their own music, and lucked out when an A & R rep from Sony Music Group caught their live show at the Austin Music Festival.

Hair cut into a short bob that she slicked up to look like a match flame, dramatic make-up, and low-cut tight dresses with oversized coats that doubled as capes became a signature look for Oya. Her shoe game grew sick, with custom thigh-high boots, and walking canes to match her seductive stroll onstage. Their band logo was a black flame with red highlights. Her signature do always matched the logo onstage, and it became an instant hook with their audience. Sophisticated Punk. Seductive Alternative. Oya leaned into the sensual side and the other women found their looks too. Deidre became pure femme fatale, Jody, the edgy stud, and Shameika was their darling Goth ingénue.

Oya's lush body became the center of think pieces in the music scene and she welcomed the coverage and even took the hits with some women musicians who questioned the overt sexuality of the band. Were they sex kittens, or hard rockers? Cock teases for a gimmicky come up? A flash in the pan for some future music history footnote? She ignored them and the other women did too. Her favorite moments were to stroll onstage after Jody plucked the bass like a beast sporting her flamboyant capes and big hats and do a twirl wielding her cane before dropping the cape to the floor revealing couture that accentuated breasts, flared hips, thick thighs, and a rump to die for. The more popular they became the more she found herself amazed at how people projected onto her. She rarely showed any explicit skin other than the tops of her breasts with dep cleavage, but the audacity of her being her bold self with tight clothing was a problem for so many people. But a revelation to others.

Especially men.

Often teased for not having a body that conformed to whatever was in fashion at the moment, that quickly changed when she sang. Her voice shifted the critiques. People had to listen to the music because it was fucking divine. Oya's talent made people notice she had a face. A gorgeous one. And that face was attached to a stunning big body. Online chatter brought out the lovers of her plus-size physique, especially when she catwalked up and down a stage and pointed her cane at the audience, then stuck it in front of her as she wiggled down and back up from the floor with it. There was a shift in the air. The thirst for her was just as great as her other bandmates.

They were on the cusp of reaching greatness and Oya was going damn near bankrupt funding her on stage style to create her visual greatness. They all were.

The Sony Rep schmoozed them and set up the showcase for the "Yes Men". Oya could taste victory, money, fame, freedom...

The showcase was a disaster.

Not because Oya didn't incinerate the Sony office with her talent or the girls didn't bring it with their playing. The Yes Men wanted Deidre to front the band and insisted on smoothing out their rough sound. Less edge. More mainstream puff rock. Less 90s Trent Reznor-esque proto Black Girl Rock/Metal and more old school Gwen Stefani cutesy kitsch.

Oya put her foot down. Get set aside because they found Deidre the more marketable? She didn't have the voice. She didn't have the vocal chops to strike people down from the stage like Oya did every time they performed. To Sleep With Anger laid out the roots of Betty Davis, Bad Brains, A Band Called Death, tastefully gave homage to Tina Bell, Mother's Finest, plus a smidgeon of early Prince with the heavy guitar opening of "Bambi" that Oya played herself, and all they could mention was Nine Inch Nails and No Doubt?

They weren't signed.

Deidre left them.

Six months later Deidre was on tour and became a media sensation by joining Ark Ten. They were top tier. Grammy winners. Global fanbase. English darlings credited with reviving the UK rock scene. Deidre joined them right when they went in to record a second studio album. An all-male band that fired their lead guitarist, Ark Ten recruited Deidre to become the new focal point of hyped publicity for the group's sophomore outing. She looked like a High Rock Glam Priestess on their magazine photo spreads. Their album went triple platinum within months as Oya took credit cards and damp dollar bills at a cashier's booth while listening to her ex-bandmate's overdone guitar flourishes in songs at her crappy club job.

Shameika and Jody moved in with her in an upstairs apartment near Slauson. They turned the small dining room into a second bedroom and pooled their resources to perform where they could. Oya wrote new songs and just as Deidre predicted, Shameika and Jody followed her lead without pushback.

After a long day in Santa Monica, Oya walked into their kitchen and made an announcement.

"We're going to audition a new guitar player. We need a fourth member. I'm better at singing and not playing at the same time."

Jody fried up some sliced potatoes and onions at the stove. Shameika washed dishes.

"Another woman?" Shameika asked.

"Black?" Jody added.

"Let's just put the call out and see who shows up. I have a hook up for a try-out space next week. There's a music studio moving to another location in Santa Monica. KCRW used it for live shows and one of my co-workers has access to it for a Saturday before they leave. We can sneak in and use it for four hours. Six to ten at night."

"But you're great on guitar," Shameika lamented.

"I can't do all my theatrics if I'm playing the whole time too. It's too difficult. Plus, it's part of our brand. Jody?"

Jody set down the spatula in her hand and turned down the fire under the food.

"I want another Black woman," Jody said.

"But if we can't find one?"

"Hold another audition?" Shameika suggested.

"In time for Afropunk?"

"We can do a stripped-down show. Jeans, tees, and chucks."

Oya put hands on her hips and closed her eyes.

"No, we go full out. We need this moment more than ever. We have to look ready-made."

Shameika stopped stacking plates in the drainer.

"You don't think we'll ever make it big, huh?" "It's not just making it big...it's our music... we could change the game. I'm tired of us struggling and trying to be creative. I'm tired of us eating potatoes and spaghetti all the time."

"We'll make it," Shameika said.

"I'm tired,"

Oya let her arms drop to her sides. Jody pulled her in for a hug and Oya buried her face in the woman's neck and wept.

"I'm tired of seeing her out there...winning," Oya huffed.

"We'll do the audition. We'll make it work," Jody said.

Her fingers trailed up Oya's face and wiped away her smeared eye make-up. Shameika joined them and threw her arms around Oya's waist.

"Look at me blubbering like some loser. We're not losers."

"No, we're not," Jody said.

Her lips touched Oya's cheek and the loving pats from Shameika made her feel tons better. She broke away from the two of them.

"Just a tiny woe-is-me moment and now we'll get this new axe. Right?"

Jody and Shameika nodded sharing gentle smiles with her.

"We're too talented," Oya said taking up the spatula and turning over the potatoes for Jody.

She kept that mantra up as they sat inside the borrowed music studio a week later watching woman after woman jam with them. Oya watched Jody's weary face as she cradled her bass and studied a new guitar player plug in and prepare to audition. Shameika twirled one of her drumsticks in her left hand and gave Oya an encouraging wink, but the sentiment didn't help. After two hours, they hadn't found one musician who felt right. Benji, Oya's co-worker, sat next to her on plush red couch. There was a small line of women taking up the sidewalk outside waiting to come in and it gave Oya a headache.

"Give me a minute," Oya said, "I have to pee."

In the restroom, she splashed water on her face to hide the tears that threatened to drop.

"Please..." she whispered as she rinsed her hands and dried them.

Oya stared at her face in the mirror.

"Go back out there with your game face. Our new guitarist is coming. She is going to walk in and wow everybody. The band will be whole once more. We'll go to Atlanta and the record deal will come. We'll bring the heat. We'll bring the bodacious Blackness. Deidre won't be the only success story."

Oya walked back into the studio and nearly shit in her cargo pants.

Benji stood chopping it up with Erik Killmonger.

Killmonger wore dark shades, but Oya recognized the braided locs, the scars on his skin shown by his sleeveless white t-shirt, and the gold slugs in his mouth. He was bigger in person than what she imagined. Her eyes glanced over to Jody and Shameika and they were equally starstruck along with the white woman with tattered dreads waiting to audition.

"Oya, this is my old buddy, Killmonger. Killmonger, Oya. Lead singer—"

Oya did a one-eighty and hot-footed back to the restroom. She pressed her back against the door. Her breath sped up and she couldn't stop hyperventilating. Leaning forward to lower her head to her knees, she squinted her eyes and blew out long streams of air.

"Fuck."

Clenching her fists, Oya patted her hands up her thighs until she stood upright.

"Fuck."

She went back out to the studio area and threw her shoulders back.

"I thought I left the water running in the sink," she lied.

Killmonger sat on the couch next to Benji. Oya avoided contact to help keep her voice steady and non-chalant.

"Oh. Well, I'm sure you know who Killmonger plays for—"

"Played for," Killmonger corrected.

Oya felt a tickle in her stomach. His scratchy voice had a rasp to it like he'd been smoking before he came in. He probably toked a good expensive strain that rich people smoked. They always had memes of him up every Four Twenty with kush sitting on his guitar. The shades were off and his bright brown eyes planted themselves on her face.

Played for?

"You're not with Slippage anymore?" the white woman asked.

Nosey.

Killmonger's eyes cut to her and the woman shrank into her guitar.

"How 'bout you play and mind ya business," he said.

Oya took her seat and stared at Jody. She mouthed the words "Play" to her homie, and Jody slid her index and middle finger down the neck of the bass to begin "Palo Alto", a song they liked using to test the guitarists. It had several difficult chord progressions and they wouldn't have to waste time seeing if a person could really play or not. The woman, Heather, got halfway through the song before they knew she wouldn't cut it. Deidre and Oya could slide through the song like butter. Even Jody could fake her way through it when she played around with Oya's guitar.

They allowed Heather to play another tune and jam for a minute before Oya took to the mic and sang a bit with the entire ensemble. They sent her away after asking a few personal questions about her background. When she left, Oya ran her hand over her hair. Jody adjusted the volume knob on her bass and Shameika tapped her sticks lightly on her ride cymbal. No words were needed to veto Heather. A statuesque Black woman came in next with a bright smile and high energy, and they all perked up, but she wasn't able to improvise all that well as they jammed together. Another no. They had an hour left and only two candidates had viable potential from the fifteen women they saw from the first three rounds. Oya was happy she pre-screened so many musicians online ahead of time. They were efficient and knew what they were looking for. The only problem was, no one fit.

They had a fifteen-minute break slotted before the last three candidates scheduled would come in. Benji gave Oya a supportive grin.

"Don't throw in the towel yet, Oya," he said shaking his ginger curls.

Killmonger stood up and walked over to their set up. He moved like king. She tamped down on the squeal in her throat fighting to come out.

"I can't believe Killmonger is in the same room with us!" Shameika blurted.

Thank God. Someone finally said it out loud. Jody and Oya laughed with relief.

"He ain't nobody," Benji said punching Killmonger in the arm.

"How do you know each other?" Oya asked keeping her eyes off of Killmonger.

"Before he was a big head star, Killmonger used to nag me to play his shit on KCRW years ago. We used to sweep up this place together as interns."

Killmonger glanced around.

"The place is a little different from when I worked here. Didn't last long though."

"Slippage?" Oya asked.

Dark orbs captured her gaze.

"Yeah."

"But you said something about not being with them earlier."

Benji stepped in.

"News is just now getting out," Benji said hitching his shoulders.

"Can I?" Killmonger asked pointing to Oya's guitar.

She stepped away from it and he lifted it off of the stand near her and draped the strap around his body hooking it to the instrument after adjusting the leather. It only took him two seconds to launch into "Acid Babe Blues" and Shameika brought in the drums automatically. Jody slapped her bass and they played for two minutes before Oya felt brave enough to jump in and sing.

Killmonger knew their song. By heart.

He stood in the middle of the recording studio slaying Oya's electric guitar and ripped into a blistering riff that made her jump and lose her shit in front of her desperate band.

"Give it to me from the top!" he yelled.

His fingers thrummed out the beginning again, and Oya gave a Black rebel yell,

"Show me someone not full of herself, and I'll show you a hungry person!"*

They tore through the song with Killmonger's lips peeled back to show glints of gold as he howled encouragement with whoops and loud shouts to them.

"C'mon Jody, dig into that bottom!" he called out.

Jody let her thumb do the most as Oya felt the vibration of Shameika sitting in her pocket on the drums from behind as she followed Jody's dip into a groove that Killmonger supported with tasteful licks from his fingers. They jammed for twenty minutes until Oya noticed their next band candidate standing wide-eyed and mouth agape staring at Killmonger.

"Sorry," Killmonger said unhooking himself from Oya's guitar.

They finished seeing the last three women and sat down on the floor together in a circle to discuss what they liked and didn't like. There were three women they agreed to call back for another try out just to be sure.

"We have to lock one in fast. Get them set with our music and stage cues," Oya said picking at her nails.

"When's your next performance?" Killmonger asked.

The three women glanced over at him on the couch. Benji had his arms folded watching them too.

"End of the month. Atlanta," Oya said.

"Afropunk?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Let me play for you."

Oya thought her lungs would implode in her chest right behind her heart.

"I'm not doing anything. I quit Slippage. I like your sound. Benji says you want more festival exposure. If I play with you, you'll get that."

"That would be a boss move...but..." Oya's brain grew dizzy.

"But what?"

"People would want you. Not us," Jody said.

"Then hire me. Let me join the band."

Benji chuckled but then he shut up when he realized Killmonger wasn't joking.

"Why?" Oya asked.

"I like your sound. Your style. I quit Slippage because it's tired. I outgrew it. Y'all got something fresh...different. Sticks to my ribs."

"People would just think it's your band," Oya said.

"How's that?"

"Your famous. You'd overshadow us."

"Did I overshadow Slippage?"

"You were Slippage," Jody mumbled under her breath.

Oya reached over and tugged on one of Jody's long straight backs. Jody slapped Oya's hand away from her hair. Killmonger chuckled.

"You have a strong personality," Oya said.

"Benji told me to come here to give you some tips. The best thing for you is to let me become part of To Sleep With Anger. You don't even have to pay me cuz you know I'm set. I just want to play pure music that's slowly becoming its own thing. I miss that."

"Will you dump us when you get bored?" Shameika asked.

Shameika tilted her head and the purple tips of her hair on the left side of her head touched her stomach. The right side was shaved with one long tuft left on the temple that was beaded with cowrie shells. When Killmonger's eyes landed on her, Shameika's top teeth tugged on her bottom lip making her lip ring more visible.

"Who would get bored with you, Princess?" he said.

Oya caught the territorial glare from Jody, but Killmonger's smoldering drag across Jody's lean athletic form made her flustered and forget the man was flirting with her woman. He flirted with Jody openly too. Dropping his body on the floor next to them all, he held out his hands.

"Let me come to Atlanta and play. Just as a featured guest. We can talk about permanent stuff after."

"You do sound good with us," Shameika said.

Killmonger pointed to her.

"See? Taste."

Oya's heart pounded in her chest from being next to him. She could smell his light cologne and the hair oil he used for his air. The scent of roses and pumpkin spice lingered near him. Moisture left her mouth and everything tasted like cotton. A miracle walked into their audition and served himself up for their use. Oya glanced over at Jody and Shameika. They were just as gone as she was by what was being offered. She swallowed dust and thought of Deidre. Ark Ten was a smart move for her career, but what she would never have was the baddest guitarist around who left an exceptionally better band, and wanted to play for them. But knowing Deidre, she would be flattered to be replaced by someone like Killmonger. Oya ground her molars and pushed her fingers into her thighs. Her cargo pants pocket vibrated. The cell alarm went off. Their time in the studio was up. It was now or never.

"What do you think?" she asked the others.

Shameika held a thumb up and they all saw her sultry eyes turn gooey staring at Killmonger.

"He makes us hustle and I like that," Jody said. Her forehead creased.

Oya gave her a curious look when she took forever giving her answer.

"Me and Shameika are together," Jody finally said.

"That's not a yes or a no," Killmonger said.

"I see how you are and I want you to know the dynamics," Jody said pursing her lips.

"That's your lady, aight beautiful, cool...so am I in?"

Shameika lowered her eyes and Oya felt second-hand embarrassment watching the jockeying for the drummer's attention.

"What's your vote Oya?" Jody asked.

Those magnetic eyes of Killmonger's became daggers on her skin and Oya couldn't shake the arousal affecting her decision-making. He pushed them into excellence with just one jam session. Imagine what they could glean from him with full rehearsals?

She raised a thumb, and Shameika squealed. He wrenched his eyes away from Oya.

"Jody?" he asked. His voice was a raspy assertion. Answer him.

Oya saw the attraction Jody had for the man too. They all were drenched in it. Carnal danger oozed from his pores.

"Okay...yes," she said.

Killmonger clapped his hands and jumped up from their circle on the floor.

"We rehearse at our place in the mornings when our neighbors are at work," Oya said shifting her body to stand up. Her foot fell asleep and she shook out her leg to get the circulation moving.

He took out his phone and they all exchanged numbers.

"I'll bring my stuff at nine if that's cool," he said.

"Yeah," Oya said.

She was almost his height. There was a gleam in his eye as he flashed them all big white perfect teeth and four gold slugs. Two at the top and two at the bottom. His scars were real and if she didn't know him a little better from hanging with him that night, the man could come off menacing. He took up so much space.

Oya threw back her shoulders again.

So did she.

Begin at their beginning...

Afropunk brought two things to fruition.

To Sleep With Anger became that bitch and Deidre felt the heat.

They didn't announce that Killmonger was with them. Flying into Atlanta with hours of tight rehearsals behind them brought them to a different level of being. He was a task master, but he made sure they were in control. Over four weeks Oya saw how he could influence them without it being obvious manipulation. Helping them improve their songwriting, playing, and bolstering their confidence to challenge themselves was something she came to love about him. Oya fell for him quietly and in secret, and unlike his first time meeting them, all flirtations vanished. He was about the music twenty-four seven. She wrote several songs with him at his home studio in Silverlake, and he even helped Shameika compose her first solo creation. It was a cold ass song and Oya wanted them to open with it. Shameika burst into tears when Oya said that and Killmonger gave their sweet Goth girl a hug and encouraged her to write more and take chances with her lyrics.

They left the stage itself in shambles after their quick set. It was like they took a grenade, pulled the pin, tossed it, and made sure the destruction was complete before their exit. No one wanted to follow them after that performance. The shock of Killmonger leaving Slippage hadn't fully been processed before the world saw him on a smaller stage obliterating all competition around them in Atlanta.

Shameika beat out a master class of percussion before Jody sank her teeth into the bass ushering in the deadly claws of Killmonger's fingers making his guitar roar as Oya stalked out from behind him. The moment the audience saw him, shocked gasps rippled out and then she pounced on them all, lacing her voice around Shameika's lyrics throughout the soundscape they weaved for the audience. Her signature flame upswept do became the rage after their first performance as a re-grouped band. The biggest surprise was that Killmonger didn't steal their thunder. He harnessed it and threw it out for the world to accept as a class act worthy of recognition. They trended on social media. Deidre and Ark Ten had been number one for two hours because of their new Coachella line-up announcement. To Sleep With Anger knocked them out of the top ten trending topics soon after. Pictures of their Afropunk performance were shared all over. Oya couldn't help but float and feel hopeful.

The man made her feel reckless and powerful onstage. Their styles meshed and the thrill of prancing around and growling at him with throaty moans while he jerked that guitar around her shirtless like he was working his manhood made her invincible. He underplayed his position as mega star to allow them all the shine. He got off on it. Flirted heavily with all of them while he worked the stage. Oya threw him solos but he would bring in Jody, opening her up to the point where she was dancing around the stage which was something she rarely did that fiercely.

The fans loved Shameika's song and they played it again at the end for their encore. Their short set grew longer because of Killmonger and he pushed it. Shameika broke one of her sticks by the end and it was the omen of more good things to come.

Standing there with applause washing over them, Oya looked over at Killmonger. His eyes were slightly hooded. He was faded in a good way and she was too. They shared a joint before hitting the stage and she watched him make smoke offerings to someone named Bast. Oya gave a final bow and Killmonger leaned over covering her mouth with his lips. The crowd roared and she reached over with fresh acrylic black nails to scratch the scars on his nude shoulder. He bowed down to her like she was a queen and the audience lost it again.

"Let 'em see you, O," he crooned in her ear.

Oya swung her wide hips to the left and right of the stage with her black wolf's head cane in her hand. Her black laced combat boots matched the black mesh drawstring skirt and tank she wore with a short-waisted red bolero jacket. Their black flame logo was emblazoned on the back in satin emboidery. She sauntered over to Jody and Shameika who were shy about prancing around, but they basked in the sea of applause. Oya pulled them next to her so they could get their due.

Taking the mic from her hand, Killmonger stepped to the center edge of the stage.

"You're looking at three of the baddest musicians to come out of L.A. It's a privilege to play for them. Don't fuck around and miss out on this moment. Follow them. Support them. Snatch their EP at the merch table before it become a collector's item and you can't afford it. Take plenty of pictures so you can say you were there before they blow up. Give more love to Oya, Jody, and Shameika...To Sleep With Anger!"

Offstage they were mobbed by people trying to talk to them and get pictures. Killmonger was adamant that he took no solo pictures with fans. It was the group or nothing. That didn't stop people sneaking shots of him sipping on juice or talking to people. Security had to help them when the reality of his status went into warp drive. They had to have more security with them for the rest of the event.

Gracious, accommodating, protective, and a total fanboy, Killmonger acted as their professional handler. His personal bodyguard, Tyson, was a bruising giant that suffered no fools when it came to his boss. If Killmonger felt a fan was being rude to them, he sent Tyson after them. By the end of the festival night, Oya was exhausted by the lack of respect fans had for the personal space of huge stars. Oya wanted the same accolades, but the rudeness was astounding. So used to being ignored, or looked over, she adjusted to it quickly until a male onlooker reached out and squeezed her ass cheek near a speaker as she watched a headliner from Canada. She shoved the man and his weed-laced eyes narrowed. His lips became a snarl when he realized she wasn't interested in his tasteless unwanted sexual advances.

"You should feel lucky, bitch!" he spat.

A fist sliced across her peripheral and the next thing she knew, the man's face was punched in one direction while two of his teeth flew in the opposite. A crowd of male fans snatched him up and carried him off while Killmonger stalked after them cursing him out. Tyson pulled Killmonger back but he jerked away from his grasp. A random girl with long pink braids picked up the teeth with a napkin and ran after the owner of them.

"Shit!" Oya finally exclaimed. Killmonger only needed a bodyguard to protect fans from his fists.

Jody and Shameika were stunned and the crowd stood back from them when Killmonger returned.

"You alright, O?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head as Tyson made a wide berth for them to continue their evening.

"I've had my ass slapped, my dick grabbed, kisses placed on me without my consent..."

Killmonger's eyes looked them over before giving them a dimpled grin.

"See what you have to look forward to?" he told them with flashing gold teeth and drying blood on his fist.

On the way to Coachella and uneasy alliances...

Oya carried bags of Chinese food and soda to the apartment. She had to carry four bags carefully by herself because no one answered their cell to come help her. Climbing up the stairs and fumbling with keys, she entered the apartment hearing music, and smelling frankincense incense, weed, and burning vanilla-scented candles. The room divider from the living room to the dining room was up and Oya saw shapes moving behind the shadows of flickering light. Jody and Shameika were at it on their bed. They probably thought Oya was going to take a long time picking up food, however, she called ahead for once.

She ducked into the other doorway that led to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. Clearly there was no rush to eat. Oya needed time to shower. Turning her head, the flimsy curtain they used to separate the kitchen from the dining room was parted and Oya could see Shameika on her back with Killmonger on top of her.

The hell?

She froze.

This was the fucked up shit that killed bands throughout history. Illicit sexual liasons...

Wayment.

Jody's fingers slid down from behind Killmonger's back and pinched his nipples. He turned his head to the side and they shared tongue kisses. Oya watched the man pull out his dick from Shameika, and dear God, he threw Jody down onto her hands and knees and plunged his sheathed thickness into her from behind. She watched him turn Jody into a quivering mess on her bed while he pulled on her hair. Shameika bent down and licked her tongue from the middle of his chest up to the side of his neck.

"Bounce on it," he whispered to Jody and she threw her ass back on him while Killlmonger

slipped fingers inside of Shameika's pussy. Oya could hear the squelching wetness and the woman's whimpers twisted around Killmonger's groans.

"Oooh, fuck!" he roared as Jody gave it her all.

Jody pulled off of his length and flipped over allowing Shameika to fall against her with her legs up in the air. Killmonger sank into her as Jody played with her peach-sized breasts and anchored her girlfriend's body for him. Their eyes stayed on that man's dick as it plowed deep and hard.

"Fuck me...Killmonger...!" Shameika was losing it.

"Shit," he yelped biting his lip as he hunched over her.

He was deep in her guts now and the thrashing she did under him made Killmonger double down on the snaking of his hips. Her arms flew back and Jody cradled them, sucking on Shameika's fingers before Killmonger pulled out again. Both women scrambled to get at his mouth for kisses and he held them both close to him as he fondled both their asses with greedy hands.

Oya slipped out of the kitchen and heard more movement. She wondered what position they were in now before jealousy seeped into her heart. She closed her bedroom door and sat on her cold bed in the dark. It was sad to think of how long it had been since she had sex with anyone. She didn't count the clumsy attempts of a man trying to fingerfuck her the previous year at a party, or even the coat check girl at her job. They were unconsummated misadventures.

She had no clue the three of them were fuck bodies. Killmonger kept sexual energy on stage and in their real life he was a gentleman guitarist coaxing the best out of them for work only. It was obvious Shameika had a big crush on him, but they all just settled into a mentor Rock-God relationship with him. He was playful during downtime, bossy during rehearsals, and flirty for shows.

"Cum in my mouth!" he shouted

His voice roared through the door and Oya pulled a pillow over her face and screamed. They were getting all that sculpted body. All that dick. All that mouth. Kicking her feet, Oya threw her pillow across the bed. Fuck 'em.

She turned on the lights and prepared to take a shower, not even bothering to keep quiet. They kept being loud even as she went into the bathroom and took a long shower.

Twenty minutes later she could hear their bed still rocking and rolling. Bitches!

Hunger trumped all and she made a ton of noise going back into the kitchen to fix a plate for herself. Dumping fried shrimp rice and walnut chicken on a paper plate, she yanked open the fridge to get a can of Pepsi.

Jody tumbled into the kitchen and washed her hands at the sink. She was fully dressed in a t-shirt and shorts and Oya could tell she was pretending that nothing had went on in the next room. She also wouldn't look Oya in the eye. Whatever.

Oya padded into the living room with her plate and drink and found Killmonger on their couch watching TV.

"Sup?" he said ogling her plate.

The shower went on again and Oya assumed it was Shameika in the bathroom. Jody walked out of the kitchen with two plates. She handed one to Killmonger who took it with gratitude as he tucked in with a fork.

"I would've gotten some egg rolls had I known you were coming over," Oya said with a little bite in voice.

"No worries. I just popped over."

"Yeah. I heard."

Jody's eyes almost fell out of her head. Pressure began to build behind her neck and Oya tried to eat her food next to Killmonger on the couch, but she barely tasted it. When Shameika came into the room with a small plate, Oya couldn't hold back.

"Is this going to be a regular thing?"

"What?" Killmonger said.

"Nigga, don't play dumb. You're fucking two of my bandmates. I'm really not trying to have no bullshit when it blows up in your faces."

Shameika's lip trembled. Jody studied the paint on the wall.

"It's none of your business what we do," he said poking out his full lips.

Oya knocked his food out of his hand.

"Oya...fuck..." he grumbled picking up the mess all over the floor.

Shameika jumped up to clean it and Oya shoved her back.

"Let him pick it up since he's trying to create a mess."

Oya's jaws clenched and she stood up to tower over him while he cleaned. He jumped up to face her.

"If you want some dick too, just say so. We don't need all the dramatics to get my attention."

"You think I wanna fuck you?"

"Every time you see me you want to."

"You said you wanted to see us win. This threesome will interfere with the work."

"Yeah...you wanna fuck."

"Killmonger, stop," Shameika said.

"Kill-monger, stahpppp," Oya said mimicking Shameika's mousy voice.

"Don't do that," Jody said stepping to Oya.

"Whatchu do? Let her fuck him so you wouldn't lose her?"

"Fuck you, Oya!" Jody shouted pushing her in the chest.

Oya pushed back and Killmonger stood between them.

"You are such a weak little pussy!" Oya shouted as the rage surged through her body.

Shameika ran to her bedroom and Jody followed after her.

"Weak bitches," Oya shouted to them.

A shock of pain blasted up her arm as Killmonger grabbed it and pulled her toward her bedroom. He opened the door and shoved her inside flicking on the lights and slamming the door behind him.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"Why are you fucking them?"

"Why is it your business?"

"The band is my business. You fucking up my business."

"What I do with them is between me and them—" "How long has it been going on?"

Killmonger rolled his eyes and she couldn't help but stare at his teeth and the locs flopping in his eyes. His blood was up and the look on his face was mean and it turned her on. She wanted to punch him and kiss him, but if she did that, it would only prove that she did want to fuck him and was angry that her friends got to him first. Wasn't she good enough? He was always gassing her up as the Queen Bee but he settled for drones...

Oya closed her eyes.

That was cruel. Jody and Shameika were her girls. Her sisters. She was acting like Deidre. Thinking she was better than all the rest. Fuck. Maybe Deidre was.

Oya flopped down on her bed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

His eyes were still tight, but he uncrossed his arms.

"What's going on?"

"I don't like being left out."

"Left out of what?"

"Inner circles. I thought we were a team...I feel left out."

"Because of sex?"

"No...yeah...I dunno. I'm stressed...Coachella is coming..."

Killmonger sat next to her and threaded his fingers in hers.

"Coachella is big for you guys, but it's just a music festival. Like all the others you've played before."

"Easy for you to say. We only got there because of you."

"So."

"People are saying that's the only reason we were invited to play."

"So."

Oya shook her head and he squeezed her hand.

"If you're scared because Ark Ten is playing just say that."

"I'm not scared of Ark Ten."

"Deidre then."

"She's a star."

"You're a star. You, Shameika and Jody."

"This has to be the best performance of our life, and I want to show her up. I want her to regret leaving us—"

"She's living rent free in your head and not even thinking about you. We had three dudes jump ship on Slippage before we even signed with Warner. Shit, I wasn't even in the original line-up. People leave when opportunities open up for them. Deidre is where she's supposed to be. I'm where I'm supposed to be. So are you. This is your come up, O. Enjoy it. Stop worrying about Deidre and stop worrying about my dick."

She punched his arm and he kissed her cheek.

"You stink," she said wiping his kiss off of her skin.

"I smell like good pussy."

"Please don't play with them."

"We're having fun."

"You're having fun. They are in a serious relationship."

"I hear you, okay?"

Killmonger released her hand and left the room to shower and clean up. Oya meandered into the kitchen then knocked on the wall near the curtain divider.

"What?" Jody called out.

"It's me. I want to apologize. Can I come in?"

There was no answer.

"Jody? Shameika?"

Jody pulled the curtain aside. Her face was contorted with anger. Oya saw Shameika on the bed bundled up under the sheet, her eyes wet and puffy from crying.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to talk to you both like that. I don't want this thing you have with him to blow up in our faces. Shameika, sorry for teasing you...I was...jealous."

Shameika cut her eyes and Jody crawled onto the bed and put her arms around her. They both ignored her.

"Sorry," she said again and left them alone.

Oya went to her room and broke out her weed pipe and smoked alone on her bed. With her bedroom door open she saw Killmonger walk out wrapped in a towel brushing his teeth.

"I stole a toothbrush from the pack under the sink," he said.

Oya shrugged and he ducked back into the bathroom to rinse his mouth. He returned fully dressed and barefoot. He grabbed the pipe and lighter from her and took a few puffs and cooled out on her bed.

"They are pissed at me," she grumbled.

"You were foul."

"I know. I apologized."

They smoked and the high was easy. Languid. She fell back on her back and stared at the ceiling. Killmonger curled around her and threw an arm across her stomach.

"I wrote a new song," she said.

"Lemme hear it."

She giggled.

"I'm high and my lips are rubbery right now."

Killmonger licked her face and it felt like warm velour caressing her skin.

"Sing it to me."

He nuzzled his face in her neck and kissed her there.

"You ain't slick," she said moving her neck from him.

"What?"

"Tryna get in my panties too right now because I'm floatin'."

"I would never do that. My dick is tired anyway. They had my shit spittin',"

"Oh God, TMI."

"I couldn't get it up if I wanted too. Give me the song."

"Hmmm..."

"It sucks."

"Shut up!"

She slapped his cheek and he cradled her hand and kissed her palm. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers.

"Sing," he said.

Oya closed her eyes and thought of the yellow legal pad she wrote the newest song on. The words floated above the paper as the melody danced around her ears.

"There is no place for a soft Black woman... there is no smile green enough or summertime words warm enough to allow my growth...and in my head...I see my history standing like a shy child...and I chant lullabies...as I ride my past on horseback...tasting the thirst of yesterday tribes..."*

The words flowed from her lips and Killmonger caressed her hip as he listened to her. He gave her suggestions for word changes when she was finished, and they moved from the bedroom to the living room to work out the song with her electric guitar. He played her instrument while she sang to him. Shameika and Jody emerged from their bedroom to listen and after a few more word changes they joined in on bass and drums that sat ready in the room all the time. They jammed, worked out a decent intro with the drums and Killmonger shoehorned a bass-heavy bridge that added a full body sound to the lyrics. Oya felt the sexual tension between the four of them. It was thick and undeniable. They were all drenched in sweat by the time they had a complete arrangement that worked well.

"We should close with this," Killmonger suggested.

Oya glanced over at Jody and Shameika.

"What do you think?" she asked them.

Jody shrugged and Shameika stared at Killmonger.

"You like it Shameika. I can hear it in your drums," Killmonger said.

Shameika's foot tapped on the floor. Killmonger stood Oya's guitar on a stand and he walked over to Shameika and pulled her up to her feet. He blocked their view of her as he talked softly with her. Oya left the room to grab a bottled water and when she returned, Killmonger had his lips on Shameika and she had her arms around his neck. Jody stood with her arms resting on her bass watching them.

"You good," Killmonger asked.

Shameika nodded her head and Killmonger went to Jody and gave her a hug.

"Team, right?" he asked Jody.

Jody twisted her lips and Killmonger grabbed her chin and tilted it up toward him.

"Jody?"

"Yeah. We're a team."

Killmonger pressed his mouth on Jody and she gave in. His hand squeezed her left butt cheek and she swatted his chest with a laugh in her throat. Fiery eyes raked over Oya's form as Killmonger strode over to her.

"I'm not leaving you out," he said.

His mouth devoured hers overwhelming her with the pressure of his large tongue sweeping around her teeth and making her own tongue submit to his will. A trembling in her thighs commenced, and she grew bolder as she pressed her body into his. Whatever he said about his dick not being able to rise to the occasion again was a blatant lie because the hardness she felt pressing against her mound had her panties damp. His arm slipped around her waist and he walked her backward a few inches before he let go of her lips. He reached for his shirt and took it off allowing the hard slick scars all over his chest excite her even more.

No words were spoken as he forced her back into her bedroom and undressed her. He groaned when her breasts were freed from her bra, and she moaned as his thick fingers pulled off her underwear revealing a glistening prize for his mouth. He ate her out on the edge of her bed, pushing her thighs back so that he could smear her juices all over his face. He licked her folds until she was clawing her bed. Sucking on her clit made her cry out and she knew Jody and Shameika heard her.

Killmonger stood up before she could release again and she watched him fetch a condom from his wallet and roll it down his turgid erection.

"You gon' play nice?"

"Huh?"

Breath was cut from her throat as he sank into her. He threaded his fingers in her hair and locked her body down good and tight. Hard thrusts made her pussy clench around his pipe. He brought his face close to hers and the gold in his teeth looked sharp and threatening.

"I'm giving you this dick, but you better place nice with the other girls from now on!" he growled in her ear.

Oya lifted up so she could see his dick beating up her walls. The aggression of his fucking made it hard to breathe. His hips swiveled and hit another part of her pussy that she wasn't expecting and she clawed his back. The scars on his body rubbed extra sensations into her needy skin and she whimpered into his shoulder to keep her bandmates from hearing, but the dick was so good that she was panting his name every time he sank back into her.

"Be a good girl, alright? Don't be jealous..."

"Killmonger!"

He palmed as much of her breasts as he could and forced her back to arch just to catch all the length he was throwing into her fast. She took the pounding gratefully.

"I'll be good! I'll be good...ooh shit! I'll be good...fuck!"

She went cockeyed trying to match his pace and gave up when he was balls deep and making her toes bunch up. His teeth tugged on her nipples and she took that moment to breathe deep and catch her bearings.

"Turn around!"

Killmonger stepped back from her and his heavy dick bobbed with her shiny slickness all over the condom. She dropped her legs down to the floor and shifted her body so that she faced the bed. Before she had a chance to position herself, he had his hand on the back of her neck pushing her down. Her ass jiggled as he thrust into her again, and she gripped the blanket on her bed to brace herself. Oya's ass clapped loud and she was unable to make a sound from her mouth. The shouting she had done made her voice hoarse, and she snapped her eyes shut and sucked on the blanket.

"Hold these ass cheeks open!"

Reaching behind her, she stroked her backside with her long nails and pulled her fleshy cheeks apart.

"Look at that pussy!" he choked out.

His groans rained down on her and once he started grunting and slapping her ass, she knew she would fall apart all over his dick soon.

"...being my good girl...pussy stretched all around me...fuck...Oya..."

She couldn't take it anymore. He was rooted in her way down deep until he bottomed out and gripped her hips.

"Right there! Right there!" he groaned.

"Fuckkk..."

Her orgasm exploded when he slipped demanding fingers across her clit and stroked her to completion. Bucking his hips, Killmonger's body went rigid and he cursed a stream of expletives until he collapsed over her.

Panting together, she felt kisses planted down her spine from his lush lips. He pulled out of her and bent down to kiss her pussy, licking the essence that flowed out of her. When she sat up, he left the room to go into the bathroom. Killmonger returned with a smile on his face.

"Let's record your song tomorrow at my place around nine—"

"I can't, I have to work at eight."

"Jody...Shameika..."

He padded out of her bedroom nude and went to the living room. Oya grabbed her t-shirt and pulled it on. She rummaged for a pair of sweatpants and sought out Killmonger. He stood in Jody and Shameika's bedroom talking quietly. She watched his shadow on the living room divider and felt a bit miffed that he didn't bother to dress before going to them. Her scent was all over him. The divider shook and she watched Killmonger pull it aside. Jody and Shameika stared at her. The smirk on Jody's face made Oya feel uncomfortable. Nothing like fucking a dude her ex had just rode hours before. Messy.

"We'll record before you go to work then. We need to lay it down fast. Skip rehearsal in the morning and just record. Cool?"

She nodded. The others seemed pleased with the idea.

"It's a great song, Oya," Shameika said.

Her eyes were still shiny and the lilt in her voice was relaxed. That man was working them all over. It worried her. Worried her for the next two weeks that they recorded tracks at his house and took promotional pictures for Coachella with a photographer he hired. The PR machine for Coachella was going into overdrive. Killmonger made them cancel all appearances until the festival. He paid them all out of his own pocket to make up for gigs they passed up.

"It's to build anticipation," he assured them.

Their streaming numbers jumped, especially when they posted the new pictures of Killmonger with them on their official website. He was part of the group now. The man drove them to play until their fingers swelled up and bled and their voices felt like they chewed chalk all day. Their bodies ached from working so hard. Killmonger's work ethic was stringent but worth all the effort. Oya's stamina improved. Musically and sexually.

They all shared him.

He was more discreet with their liaisons. The new polyamory created a push and pull that made their music racy. Electric.

The only foursome they indulged in was a weekend before Coachella. They tripped on 'shrooms with Killmonger in his house after swimming in his pool, and danced in their swim suits his den listening to all the new music they had created together.

"If you bring this fire to Coachella, it's a done deal," he said lying on his floor gazing up at his skylight that covered half of the ceiling.

"Done deal?" Oya said watching her fingers grow watery-looking as she allowed her body to trip with the high she felt.

"Yeah, Warner will sign us," he said like it was no big deal.

She screamed with Jody and Shameika as they peppered kisses all over his face. He stayed on his back as they sat around him like a harem.

"All this work you put in, it's all simmering on the stove. I gave y'all some extra seasoning and now we're all cooked down to the pot liquor now," he said.

His eyes were seductive, and his mouth was lax showing them his bottom slugs. Shameika stroked his cheek and he smiled. Oya bent down and kissed him and he accepted her ripe lips with a moan and wandering fingers. Stripping for him, they all took turns riding his face and going through condoms as they rode his dick too. Reconnecting with Jody intimately was a sweet reminder of how they used to be years before. Shameika and Jody sucked on his balls as she ran her tongue around the bulbous tip of his glans and she felt extra special when he came in her mouth. Jody and Shameika cleaned him with lusty licks and were rewarded with slow drips of extra semen that spilled all over their lips. They slept together in a warm heap of arms and legs on the floor and she woke up with his Killmonger's tongue sucking on her tits. She climbed on top of him and bounced on his dick with her heavy breasts teasing his face, letting him cum hot and raw inside of her. Jody and Shameika watched her make Killmonger holler her name like he had the holy ghost and they giggled when his eyes rolled back from his orgasm.

All was well.

Until it wasn't.

Carrying coffee containers from Starbuck's, Oya and Jody returned to a final mixing session in the home studio catching Killmonger fucking the shit out of Shameika on the sound board. Jody dropped the coffee she had for herself and Shameika and cursed a blue streak. Killmonger yanked off the condom and fastened his pants looking confused by the reaction. Oya was just as confused when Jody snapped and she pulled her back before it turned physical.

"Why you trippin'?" Killmonger yelled.

Tears welled in Jody's eyes.

"You promised!" Jody screamed.

Oya glanced between them. Shameika hung her head in shame.

Shit.

It became clear to Oya.

"I thought we were all good," Killmonger said still searching for understanding.

"This is why..." Oya mumbled.

"It just happened!" Shameika shrieked.

Jody stomped out of the studio and left the house.

"Jody!"

Oya grabbed Shameika's arm to stop her.

"Give her a minute, Shameika. Just go to the bathroom for now and –"

"What is going on?!" Killmonger said still out of the loop.

Shameika cradled her waist. Killmonger stepped to her and stroked her arm.

"Shameika?"

"We had a rule. I wasn't supposed to be with you by myself."

"Well damn, why didn't you tell me that?"

"Cuz I wanted to be alone with you like Oya is!"

"Shameika, bathroom, now!" Oya pushed.

Shameika left them alone.

"I told you," Oya hissed.

"I didn't know about their rule. I would've respected it."

"That was their fault for not cluing you in from the beginning."

"Shit. Jody won't quit will she?"

Oya pounded her fists on top of her head. The doorbell rang. Killmonger glanced at his security video screens near the sound board.

"It's Doug and Anderson from my management. I invited them to hear the final mix. Fuck."

Oya left Killmonger and hustled Shameika out of the bathroom.

"Get it together. Deal with your problem at home, you hear me?" Oya clucked like a mother hen.

Jody wandered back in with her lips set in a scowl and she sat away from Shameika as they heard the playback in the studio. Doug and Anderson loved it. It was a full album worthy of representation. Doug, balding, in his late forties, and deadly serious with his facial expressions kept squinting his eyes as he listened.

"What do we call this? Seriously? What is this sound?"

"Pot Liquor," Oya said.

Killmonger chuckled.

"What?" Doug asked.

"Inside thing," Killmonger said winking at Oya.

They played the album back again and the three men chatted with big plans for the band. But Oya could only watch the tension escalating with Jody and Shameika.

It was hell in a hand basket and Killmonger kicked it on its way by seducing them all into thinking they could handle open sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Fuck.

The end of the beginning making way for new beginnings...

Oya stood behind the stage of the Mojave Stage tent with a nervous heart hammering in her chest.

The press, Killmonger's fans, and online pundits billed it the battle of the bands when Slippage was to perform after them, and Ark Ten before them. It bummed Oya when she watched smaller more talented bands get pushed aside for big name acts that didn't need the exposure that Coachella gave. A-Listers ruined the vibe for her. Everywhere she looked people were there to be seen. It had ceased to be about the music for many there. Influencers had some pull, and she was able to speak with a few before she dressed for their set. Shiny black dress. Blood red overcoat. Hair slicked down, titties propped up, she twisted all the silver rings that covered every finger on her hands. Two chunky silver chokers rested around her neck. They all agreed to dress their personality, and for Killmonger, that meant topless, black basketball shorts and black trainers.

Jody and Shameika were barely on speaking terms. Oya stayed at Killmonger's place because hanging around the apartment was brutal. Icy stares. Early morning cuss outs. Crying. She stayed out of the way as much as possible, but left after two days. All her time spent before Coachella was used to play her guitar, get her voice pampered and ready, and pray that the audience was receptive. They were part of the two Saturday weekend line-ups, and she prayed Jody and Shameika could keep it together for the following Saturday.

It felt like she and Killmonger had a lot to prove. Oya facing Deidre with Ark Ten, and Killmonger peeping Slippage without him.

"Is it mean to want the other band to suck?" Oya whispered to him.

"Nah. Slippage is a different animal without me now. They have new music. It's a new era for them."

"You miss them?"

"No."

"If people don't like this, you don't have to stay with us. We can say you were just—"

"Shut up," he said slapping her butt.

The thumping of music from a small monitor screen drew her eyes toward it where she watched Deidre shred. They hadn't spoken since she left them high and dry. Deidre had on a revealing black dress that showed a lot of breasts without nipples, and a thigh high split that Oya hoped had a g-string at the top. Killmonger bobbed his head as he listened to Deidre do a solo. She was a star. It showed.

Oya inhaled deep.

"You got this," Killmonger whispered in her ear. He kissed her and she felt her nerves move to her neck.

So many people. So many high expectations.

Oya shook her hands and glanced over at Jody who paced with her earbuds on listening to meditative sounds. Shameika stood still tapping her drumsticks against the top of her thigh, her eyes glassy and focused on some netherworld.

Tyson stood nearby keeping his eyes on the crowd and people backstage.

Martina, the stage manager walked over turning down her headset.

"Ready?" she said.

Oya nodded and the band circled up. She stood between Jody and Shameika.

"Go out there and be yourselves," Killmonger said.

The glint from his slugs made her tamper down her nerves.

"You don't look nervous at all," Jody said.

"I still get butterflies. I want to do my best for all of you."

They bowed their heads and Oya did a simple prayer and they all squeezed hands.

"Do it Shameika," Oya said.

Shameika shook her hair, tugged on her tiny black halter and shorts and pranced out to her drums. Colorful lights made her look glamourous and there was a smattering of applause as their logo lit up above her head. One twirl and she slammed on the skins and got right into her lane as their pocket queen. Oya saw a sly smile spread across Jody's face and she stomped out to where her bass waited for her and hooked in. When the lights struck her face, her head whipped toward Oya.

"What?" Oya mouthed.

Jody put stank on the bass as her thumb slapped hard. Killmonger hooked into his guitar backstage and when he heard his cue, he began to play and a roar shook the open tent. Strolling out like he had always been with them made Oya grip the mic in her hand tight. She was bigger than life. Bigger than the stage. Bigger than the biggest galaxy in the universe. Switching on the mic she called out,

"Buckle up Coachella, you ain't ready for this shit. I promise you. Hold onto to your edges..."

She stepped out and her eyes bugged. Holy fuck. The Mojave Stage tent they were under was packed. More than packed, the crowd extended far out of the tent and many people had to watch them on monitors outside.

Killmonger sidled up to her to help her regain her focus as she felt disoriented for a second. She looked down at his fingers working his chords and he bit his bottom lip giving her a flash of his face when he orgasmed and her clit thumped thinking about the way he handled her body. Oya shook her hips and he moved against her body.

"This bad boy right here is ready...are you ready Coachella?"

The roar of the crowd rattled the stage and instead of feeling like an indie band, they performed like they were on the main stage as the sun disappeared. Killmonger took over and scorched the guitar intro that Deidre ruined so long ago at Joshua Tree. When his eyes sought hers out and he suggestively wiggled his tongue at her the way he liked to work her clit, she growled deep in her throat then let pure rage flow out as she threw back her head.

"Show me someone not full of herself, and I'll show you a hungry person! Ahhhh, yeahhhhh!"

Everything poured out of her and Killmonger drove the rhythm hard, pushing her to dig deep and leave it all on the stage. Sweat made his scars shine like perfect little jewels just for her fingers to touch, which she did like always making people scream with delight.

She dropped to her knees and he placed his guitar close to her face to simulate fellatio. She spun herself toward Jody who did the same as she screeched out

"Give it to me!"

The first song raised the crowd into a tizzy, and it was easy to slip into the next song. She adjusted to the more than expected size of the audience under the tent and outside of it. Fifteen minutes in she took off her coat and slipped on her own guitar and joined Killmonger for a battle and by the time she caught her second wind mid show, her eyes caught a familiar face in the wings.

Deidre.

There was a smile on her face.

Feeling a way, Oya strummed her guitar and stepped to her mic stand.

"I want to introduce you all to the newest member of To Sleep With Anger...you may recognize him from some other band...who did you use to be with?" she asked Killmonger.

The crowd laughed.

"Everyone put your hands together once more for Erik Killmonger on lead guitar!"

Killmonger showed off a bit, and they went off script and jammed.

It felt like magic. Oya's heart swelled and she felt generous when Jody finally noticed Deidre on the side.

"Would you all mind if I bring out an unexpected guest?"

The audience clapped.

"All the way from the Outdoor Theater across the way, Deidre Peterson of Ark Ten!"

Deidre held her hands up, but Oya put a hand on her hip.

"Don't make me come over there and drag you out!"

Deidre walked out humbly, her face showing doubt about what was happening. Her eyes lit up when she saw Killmonger looking at her, giving her dimples and a wink.

"Use my guitar, Deidre," Oya whispered in her ear when she leaned in for a polite hug.

She glanced around at Jody and Shameika before she took in the crowd.

"Go ahead," Jody shouted.

Deidre picked up the guitar and Killmonger gave her space as she strummed it then broke into the very first song she and Oya ever wrote as teenagers.

"Bitch!" Oya teased before Jody stepped to her mic.

"I won't let you suffer all the way through it. We were just learning!" Deidre joked.

Oya faced the audience.

"We wanted to be heavy metal queens because metal, like all good American music started with Black people... you know it's true!" she catcalled the audience.

Deidre played one of their last songs they performed together and Jody joined her with Shameika rounding out the sound. Killmonger followed the rhythm adding his gentle flourishes.

"Can we give 'em a tiny taste?" Oya asked.

Jody held it down as Deidre shared the mic with Oya and they harmonized two verses before Deidre stopped playing. There was too much emotion on her face and she unhooked herself from the guitar and placed it back on the stand behind them. She blew kisses to the audience and hugged Oya before leaving the stage in a near run. Killmonger brought the music back up and forced Oya to let go of the past and look toward the future. There was pain still there, but they were both where they were supposed to be. They couldn't hate on the universe for being correct in the outcome.

They jumped back into kicking ass and taking names with Oya showing off her octave range and playing off of her bandmates. Killmonger tried to spit bars to one song and she covered his mouth with her hands making the audience cackle as she took over and showed him how it was done. Their songs ran the gamut of sexual politics, race, class, love, and the rage of Black women who were overlooked and forgotten. She sweated out her hair and rivulets of her exertion ran down her neck and breasts. Wrapping up with a strong closing, they all knew that the world was their oyster now. They carried sharp knives on the stage to cut the oysters open from now on. She waved for Shameika to come away from the drums and the four of them stood side by side. Jody threw an arm around Shameika and Killmonger held Oya's hand as they took in the applause and whistles, and shouts for more.

Deidre was absent from backstage but it was just as well. It was To Sleep With Anger's moment. Not hers.

Bigger acts sought them out to chat and they took some time to watch Slippage perform. They weren't as good anymore without Killmonger. She saw the smirk on his arrogant face when their reception without him was less than stellar.

Killmonger had hired a crew to break down and pack up their instruments and they were driven home in a large black S.U.V. to Killmonger's house at the end of their Coachella stay that first weekend. Jody and Shameika went off to one of his guest rooms to work out some things leaving Oya alone with Killmonger. They had talked all night after their performance. There was hope.

"Think they'll make up all the way now?" Killmonger asked.

They sat inside his jacuzzi easing their weary bodies. It was early in the morning.

"They're in love. But we'll see what happens before next weekend."

Oya sat up on the edge when the water got too hot for her.

"What about you?" he asked.

"What about me?" she said flicking hair from her eyes.

Killmonger swam up to her and pressed his body in between her thighs and gripped her backside.

"You were letting the world know some things with how you were acting on stage with me."

"Know what?"

"We're feeling each other. More than just an occasional hook-up."

"We do have mad chemistry."

His eyes became dreamy looking up at her.

"You are amazing, Oya. Tonight...shit all three of you were just fucking raw. Coachella hasn't seen that in a long time. Fuck, music hasn't seen that in a long time. Period."

She stroked the top of his head fingering his locs and he closed his eyes and rested his head against her stomach. Rubbing gentle circles along his back, she touched his scars that had become so precious to her. He had become precious to her.

"Killmonger?"

He raised his head up and she lowered hers and kissed him. Their lips fought for leverage together and when their tongues sought heat and wet mouths, he stepped out of the water and held her hand. Her eyes felt heavy. Sleepy. She was still high from being onstage the night before.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"To make some music together."

"Oh, yeah?"

"All day, And the next day, and the next..."

He pulled her along and they took off their wet swimsuits and shared a shower together before he took her to bed. The man played hymns on her breasts with his calloused guitar fingers and hummed a sultry blues on her slick folds. Musical notes danced across her clit with the tip of his tongue and when he sucked sweet orgasms from her one after the other, she finally understood what Betty Davis meant by the lyrics in "Anti-Love Song" about a nigga making a woman "scrawl", because she was screaming and trying to crawl up the walls once he penetrated her, parting her folds like soft fleshy curtains. His short teasing thrusts had her begging him to fill her up with his entire length, stretch her wide open, and take her to the place where love rested easy.

They held hands as he went deeper and deeper and Killmonger made her lose all hope of ever letting him go.

The world made her a little less angry with him in it, and she was so grateful.

A.N. Song lyrics were from poems.

Nikki Giovanni poem ""Poem for a Lady Whose Voice I Like"

Sonya Sanchez poem "Present"

A.N.: This was originally published June 6, 2021. Brought it back for fun! I thought I would expand it as an indie book, but I'll wait on that!