Another FK fic. Because… well, why the hell not? It’s also the first fic of this challenge to have an explicit rating (though “Resurrection” managed to squeak by it, because I did a fade-to-black instead). The rating is primarily due to sexual humour, but there IS sex here too.
Like most of my FK fics, it’s more Nick/Nat goodness. And I refuse to apologize for the silly premise.
But yes, Cynthia “Plaster Caster” Albritton is a real person, and her unique way of… uh, “immortalizing” her rock heroes was a legit thing that actually happened.
Also, Nick made a throwaway comment about being in the Grateful Dead in the first-season episode “Dying for Fame.”
So, it kinda-sorta-maybe could’ve happened. For realsies, yo.
Day 11—2/4/16: “Marta, your character’s neighbor asks your character a favor. Would your character mind taking in Marta’s mail and watering her plants while Marta is away on an unexpected trip? Your character agrees and accepts Marta’s house key. But when your character lets himself/herself into Marta’s house for the first time, he/she encounters something he/she certainly wasn’t expecting….”
Marta was so grateful for Natalie agreeing to water the plants and take her mail in while she was away. Marta had suddenly had to go away on business, because the person from her firm who’d been selected for the trip had suddenly developed a case of Montezuma’s Revenge, so Marta had been tapped as replacement.
It involved something about brokering a deal with key investors, or something. Natalie had never had a head for business, so Marta’s commentary went right over her head. But watering plants and taking in mail—and maybe throwing out food that expired while Marta was away—wasn’t a huge deal, and Marta was just so damn grateful that Natalie couldn’t help but give her a big smile in return.
Marta promised to repay Natalie when she came back from her trip. Natalie merely smiled and wished her luck after Marta handed over her keys.
Collecting the mail was the easy part—go down to the front of the building and unlock the mailbox whose number corresponded to the apartment number. Then take it up to the apartment and place it on the kitchen table, so Marta would handle it when she got back.
The watering can was also sitting helpfully on the kitchen table. So Natalie merely took it and filled it with water from the tap, before heading over to the plants that festooned Marta’s living room.
The potting soil absorbed the water quickly, and Natalie took care to avoid overflowing the pots. Drowning Marta’s leafy offspring would not earn her any points in the other woman’s book.
The bedroom door was helpfully cracked open; Marta had also mentioned there were plants there that needed to be watered, so Natalie didn’t think twice about entering the woman’s room. She went around the room watering the plants, just like she did in the living room, but stopped cold when she reached a corner where a small tree was waiting.
There appeared to be, nestled comfortably in its massive pot and standing at proud attention, the sculpture of a penis.
Natalie blinked in confused surprise at the object, and leaned closer to examine it. It was… rather girthy and, given how much Natalie knew about the human body as a doctor, very realistic. She swallowed hard and glanced at its base, looking for the name of the artist.
The name there wasn’t an artist’s name; it was an autograph. And Natalie recognized the handwriting instantly…
Natalie raced into her apartment, and plopped down in front of the computer. A quick search online was needed to confirm her suspicions.
The easiest to find, of course, was the celebrity in question’s previous life as touring bassist of the Greatful Dead and his own prog-rock band, Mystica, in which he’d been lead singer and rhythm guitarist in the 70’s. There wasn’t a ton of information to be found, but what there was to be had was happily divulged by a few fans who still remembered him from that life and erected websites as monuments to their fond memories. Fans who were probably too old and near-sighted to recognize him now. But she was perfectly okay with that.
Until she discovered the online museum of Cynthia “Plaster Caster” Albritton, and found the image of a plaster cast the creator claimed to be of his genitalia. It was listed proudly on the page of other rock star penises the woman had cast, a massive list that included legends like Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison.
It was the exact same item that was in Marta’s apartment. And, given the value of the piece listed on the website, she’d paid a pretty penny for what was now a decoration sharing a pot of dirt with a small tree.
As Natalie took a perverse interest in continuing to navigate the website, her eyes widened. Apparently, Albritton had never quit her hobby, and had recently expanded her gallery to include the breasts of famous females, as well.
My, my. In a sort of trainwreck-fascinated way, Natalie was intrigued. And, in spite of herself, she wanted to discover if it was indeed an impression of the real thing. Only in talking to Cynthia herself would she be certain.
She clicked through the site further, and found out Cynthia Plaster Caster was touring galleries all over North America with her X-rated creations. Tearing a piece of paper from a notebook, Natalie quickly jotted down the exhibition’s street address for the Toronto date.
The next evening, Nick caught up with her as they were about to sign off their respective shifts. “Hey Nat, since we both have tomorrow off, I was wondering if you’d be doing anything.”
Natalie felt like a deer in headlights for a split second, the image of the plaster cast far too fresh in her mind. She recovered quickly, however, squelching the urge to drop her gaze to the level of his pants and attempt to decipher the realism of the impression right then and there. “Um, yeah actually. I’m going to see an art exhibit.”
“Oh? Who with?”
“Me, myself and I,” she replied dryly. “I only bought one ticket.”
“If you want, I could probably find a ticket and go with you.”
“No, that’s ok,” she responded, trying to sound as cool as she could. “You wouldn’t like it, anyway. It’s postmodern 3-D kind of stuff.” Insofar as that went, it was certainly true.
“Ok, well, if you change your mind, let me know.” He dropped his customary chaste kiss on her head and left for his sea-green tugboat of a car. When he was gone, Natalie released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The exhibition turned out to be… well, definitely less Roman orgy and much more the post-modern art exhibit she’d claimed. She finally managed to grab a moment with Cynthia, after much hemming and hawwing on Natalie’s own part.
Cynthia was actually very friendly and, when Natalie (understandably) asked if they were actually real, she laughed. “Yes, they are very much the real thing. You’d be surprised how often people ask me that.”
Natalie then asked about the particular sculpture that had prompted her interest in Cynthia’s work. The artist smiled fondly. “Oh yes, he was wonderful and sweet. He was shy about it at first, but then, after he had had a few… well, dropped a few tabs for courage, he finally stripped down and we got down to business. He spent the whole time completely blissed out. And, afterward, he gave me a big kiss—and he’s a really excellent kisser.”
Natalie hesitated, then pushed forward with what she really wanted to know. “Did you… ah, have sex with him?”
“Me?” Cynthia laughed again. “Oh, no, not at all! He was always very particular about who he shared his bed with. He wasn’t into screwing groupies like most of the other rockers. Most of ’em said it, but he really was just in it for the music. I was floored when he approached me for a cast. He said Jimi had put in a good word for me, that I was a professional about it, and he’d be willing to try almost anything at least once.”
“Oh, wow. That’s… definitely not what I expected.”
Cynthia giggled. “I know, right? You’d figure a big charmer like him could’ve had whoever he wanted whenever he pleased, but he had this old-fashioned idea about saving a piece of himself for the girl of his dreams.”
“But he wasn’t…”
“A virgin? Oh, God no! I didn’t mean to make it sound like that! Like I said, he was good with the ladies, but very particular.” Again that fond smile. “He was a total sweetheart. You don’t see much of that in the business; guys who stay true to themselves, and stay humble, despite the fame.” Cynthia then sighed. “I still wonder what he might be doing with his life, from time to time. I’m sure it’s something amazing and selfless, like being an EMT or a firefighter or something. He always struck me as the honorable knight-in-shining-armor type.”
When Natalie went back to her apartment, Nick was waiting for her. He was seated on her couch, hands folded patiently. “Did you enjoy the exhibit?”
“It was… informative,” she hedged, dropping her purse down onto her kitchen table.
“It was Cindy’s art, wasn’t it?” When she froze at that question, he added, “I’m a detective, Nat. I figured it out based on the time you mentioned you were going out.”
“So, did you also figure out my neighbor owns your plaster cast in her apartment? The one Cynthia made of your… family jewels?”
“She does?” His tone was dry, as if his question was more of an unsurprised comment. “Does that upset you?”
“What, that you had a life before me? No,” she replied. “What upsets me is that you made it sound like being intimate with you would be too dangerous for me. But Cynthia managed to get you to drop your pants.”
“What I said was that I could end up hurting you,” he clarified. “That’s still true, just not in the way you might have thought I meant it.”
“You mean…” she began, then stopped. The memory of the cast re-emerged in her mind’s eye, as well as a more clear depiction of its sheer size. “Oh.” Her voice became small and nervous.
He nodded. “And there’s also my physical strength to contend with, Nat. I’m much stronger than a mortal man, and that’s also more difficult to control in the heat of the moment.” He sighed, and absently ran a hand through his hair. “Although the lust for blood isn’t something to be trifled with, either; it’s just that I’m better at controlling it than others of my kind are. I would have to be very careful, in a number of ways, if we were to make love.”
“Maybe I don’t mind a few bruises, Nick,” she replied, her tone somewhere between sultry and sassy. “Maybe I’m one of those girls who likes it rough.” She leaned close to him, and whispered into his ear while toying with the lapel of his shirt, “Maybe, just maybe, I want you to fuck me so hard and so deep I won’t be able to walk straight for the next month.”
Apparently, that was the magic phrase.
With a growl, Nick slammed his lips against hers and lifted her into his arms. He placed her backside on the kitchen table, releasing his grip on her just long enough to swipe everything off the table with one long, muscular arm. Her purse hit the floor with a dull thump, and he pushed her down, making her lay back against the table.
He lifted her skirt and ripped off her panties in just a few fluid movements. She propped herself up on her elbows, her attention on his hands as he opened his belt and unzipped the fly of his jeans.
He placed his fingers inside her first. “You’re so wet,” he groaned, and she saw his cock twitch in response. “So beautiful, and open for me.”
Taking himself into his hand, he placed the tip at her entrance. Her slick heat meant he could slide in easily. She groaned as he filled her completely, stretching her inside. Her muscles flexed convulsively around him, and her moan of pleasure was answered with a raspy growl from him.
He lifted her legs until her heels were against his shoulders, and he began to thrust hard into her. The sting of pain was brief compared to the sheer pleasure that she found herself reeling from. It was one thing to fantasize—hell, it was one thing to know how endowed he was. But having him inside of her to the very hilt was a different experience all together.
She fell back onto the table, able to do nothing but surrender as he pounded her so hard, that she almost felt she would split in half. Her orgasm thundered with her pulse, and her shriek was answered by an inhuman roar.
For a long moment, she remained laid back against the table, as he slipped out of the grip of her now throbbing flesh. He lifted her gently from the table, and she loosely draped her arms around him, feeling limp as a ragdoll.
“That was… wow,” she breathed. After a moment of companionable, tender quiet between them, she added, “Can we do that again?”
He chuckled. “I believe you requested not to walk straight for a month. We can manage that task in the comfort of your bed.”
She gave a quiet, pleased moan at the idea. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Marta returned later in the week, and asked how everything went while she was gone. “Uneventful,” was Natalie’s reply. “But I was wondering if, by any chance, I could buy your sculpture…”