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Description
Dylan woke up and staggered over to the bay window of his London flat. He looked out, a small frown appearing on his face.
"Wot. It's still foggy. Bullocks. Where's a fag at?"
He reached down to a side table and picked up his pack, slightly tapping it and lit up.
"Ah, brilliant. That's much better."
He gazed out and smoked slowly. He was lost in thought when he heard a noise. He turned around. The girl that he had brought home after the concert was sprawled across the bed; it was her that had grunted in her sleep. He smiled slightly. She had been a bit of fun. He finished his smoke and shook her awake.
"Oy. Time for you to go."
The girl squinted at him. "But I thought we…"
"Nah. I'm done with you. Out."
The girl stood up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "But…"
Dylan folded his arms. "You heard me. Get dressed."
The girl bit her lip, but once she realized he wasn't going to change his mind, put her clothes on. She then walked over to him and tried to touch his long hair.
He backed up, saying, "None of that. You served your purpose. Go tell your friends if you want about last night. But you and me? Done. Door's that way."
The girl walked towards where he was pointing and left, slamming the door behind her.

Dylan smirked. That happened quite a bit. But it was expected. He wasn't the lead singer of Merit Badge for shits and giggles. It got him cash and it got him laid. Two very good reasons, in his opinion. He grabbed his cell and dialed.
After a few rings he said, "Wanker, wake up. We have practice. No, I don't care. Yeah, me too. But mine's gone. Kick yours out and let's get some food. Uh-huh. Cheers."

He went over to the mirror and looked. Damn, that skank had left some scratches on his chest. Still, they should be faded enough when they had to perform again that evening. He jumped in the shower and got dressed. His black shirt with the radiation logo and fitted black jeans showed off his trim body. He put in a lot of time at the gym and he was proud of how he looked. It sure made girls fall into his bed, anyhow. He laughed softly, thinking of all the groupies he had nailed as he laced up his Docs.

He tromped through the flat, waiting for his bandmate to arrive. He made his way to his favorite chair and was greeted by special company. He smiled broadly this time saying, "How is my lovely feline?" He petted the cat gently, so unlike how he had treated the girl in his bed. The cat purred as it curled up in his lap.
"Oh yes, I know. My Cookie is the sweetest of them all, aren't you?"

He sat there replaying the night's events. It had been quite a spectacle, with Johnny getting rip roaring drunk (again), Logan letting that groupie blow him backstage just before their set, and Razor almost getting arrested for whipping out his cock during the show (again). That made Dylan chuckle remembering all the girls that had jumped up onstage, fighting over who would get to fuck him. Razor was rather well endowed and he loved to give out signed glossies of his package. It had gotten them thrown out of many promotional venues. But they still got gigs, so fuck it.

Dylan was still chuckling when he heard a knock at the door. He yelled, "It's open, you tosser!"
Logan strode in. "Mate, you can't leave your door unlocked. What if I was a bleedin' psycho?"
"You are, you fuckmook. Now shut the fuck up and let's go eat. I need a pint."
"Dylan, it's 10am."
"For fuck's sake, I can read a clock. And my clock says it's time to start the day with a drink. So shut yer gob. I'm buying the first round."
Logan gave him a smile. "You're such a real princess in the morning, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah. Blow me."

With that, they both left the flat to start the day's adventure.

Description
Dylan woke up and staggered over to the bay window of his London flat. He looked out, a small frown appearing on his face.
"Wot. It's still foggy. Bullocks. Where's a fag at?"
He reached down to a side table and picked up his pack, slightly tapping it and lit up.
"Ah, brilliant. That's much better."
He gazed out and smoked slowly. He was lost in thought when he heard a noise. He turned around. The girl that he had brought home after the concert was sprawled across the bed; it was her that had grunted in her sleep. He smiled slightly. She had been a bit of fun. He finished his smoke and shook her awake.
"Oy. Time for you to go."
The girl squinted at him. "But I thought we…"
"Nah. I'm done with you. Out."
The girl stood up, clutching the sheet to her chest. "But…"
Dylan folded his arms. "You heard me. Get dressed."
The girl bit her lip, but once she realized he wasn't going to change his mind, put her clothes on. She then walked over to him and tried to touch his long hair.
He backed up, saying, "None of that. You served your purpose. Go tell your friends if you want about last night. But you and me? Done. Door's that way."
The girl walked towards where he was pointing and left, slamming the door behind her.

Dylan smirked. That happened quite a bit. But it was expected. He wasn't the lead singer of Merit Badge for shits and giggles. It got him cash and it got him laid. Two very good reasons, in his opinion. He grabbed his cell and dialed.
After a few rings he said, "Wanker, wake up. We have practice. No, I don't care. Yeah, me too. But mine's gone. Kick yours out and let's get some food. Uh-huh. Cheers."

He went over to the mirror and looked. Damn, that skank had left some scratches on his chest. Still, they should be faded enough when they had to perform again that evening. He jumped in the shower and got dressed. His black shirt with the radiation logo and fitted black jeans showed off his trim body. He put in a lot of time at the gym and he was proud of how he looked. It sure made girls fall into his bed, anyhow. He laughed softly, thinking of all the groupies he had nailed as he laced up his Docs.

He tromped through the flat, waiting for his bandmate to arrive. He made his way to his favorite chair and was greeted by special company. He smiled broadly this time saying, "How is my lovely feline?" He petted the cat gently, so unlike how he had treated the girl in his bed. The cat purred as it curled up in his lap.
"Oh yes, I know. My Cookie is the sweetest of them all, aren't you?"

He sat there replaying the night's events. It had been quite a spectacle, with Johnny getting rip roaring drunk (again), Logan letting that groupie blow him backstage just before their set, and Razor almost getting arrested for whipping out his cock during the show (again). That made Dylan chuckle remembering all the girls that had jumped up onstage, fighting over who would get to fuck him. Razor was rather well endowed and he loved to give out signed glossies of his package. It had gotten them thrown out of many promotional venues. But they still got gigs, so fuck it.

Dylan was still chuckling when he heard a knock at the door. He yelled, "It's open, you tosser!"
Logan strode in. "Mate, you can't leave your door unlocked. What if I was a bleedin' psycho?"
"You are, you fuckmook. Now shut the fuck up and let's go eat. I need a pint."
"Dylan, it's 10am."
"For fuck's sake, I can read a clock. And my clock says it's time to start the day with a drink. So shut yer gob. I'm buying the first round."
Logan gave him a smile. "You're such a real princess in the morning, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah. Blow me."

With that, they both left the flat to start the day's adventure.