Disclaimer: The members of the band KISS are actual persons, but this is a fictional story along the lines of the Psycho Circus KISS comic. All songs and facial makeup are trademark of them and their affiliates. Mummies Alive belongs to DIC. Mennehotep is my character, and Sohkarra belongs to Naomi. This is not written to threaten or profit from either franchise, but is a work of fanfiction. I thank Javagoddess for this idea, and for her help working out some of the relationships herien!

Note, this rated R for a lot of language and adult situations. Mature readers only.

To Fight Fire With Fire:  Got to Choose.

By Beth Strong and Trynia Merin.

Note this story takes place after First and Second Kiss, by Naomi, and Star’s Rock, Monster’s Roll by me Trynia Merin.  It is part of it's own saga called the Avatars.

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"All right Portland, we looveee yooou!" Paul shouted at the top of his lungs, even though the speakers were set to well above the legal limit.

"All right yeah!" Gene shouted to his friend's accolade.

Screaming fans hit their ears, and flashbulbs exploded. Smoke hung thick in the air among the stroboscopic lights. All the fireworks had gone off one by one, then all at once. Menne's work had provided a spectral shimmering hue that hung on the smoke like an aura of mystery.

Down the stage, Paul put down his Washburn, and moved off into the wings once the fans were heading out of the stands. Roadies moved quickly to collect spent cartridges. Against the smoke she moved quietly, her hips without their usual bounce as she leaned over to check residue. He liked the way she dressed lately on the trip, in that black t shirt with the band logo like the other techies, complete with a knee length black skirt, and high heeled leather boots. That silver belt he'd given her hung loose about her shapely hips.

"Menne, that was spectacular," Paul moved up behind her. He pressed a kiss to her ear, and she did nothing in response. "Hey babe, what's wrong?"

Moving away from Paul, she sighed, "I suppose... I'm not in the mood to celebrate tonight..."

"What..." Paul gasped, struck as if by lightening. Again he tried to approach her, but she slipped out of his grasp.

"Didn't you get the surprise I left you?"

"Yes... and no," she glanced back at him. "Now if you don't mind I've got a flash mix to set up for the next show..."

"But we were heading off for the wrap party and the encores..."

"Go without me tonight, Paul. Don't let me stop you... I'm just not..."

"Not into it tonight," Paul glanced at her. "Okay... all right. Your call... but if you feel like coming out..."

Menne gave him a small sad smile, and moved off. Sohkarra came by, with Ace on her arm. "Menne..."

"I need some sleep," Menne muttered, moving past her friend.

"What's upsetting you, my friend?" Sohkarra asked.

"Please, don't' ask," Menne responded, and disappeared into the canteen.

"Let her go," Paul said. "She'll come around..."

To get to the canteen she had to pass through a common area. Once she found what she wanted, she slipped backstage once more. Right past a cluster of paparazzi who were taking last minute pics before heading off to the hotel.

After the concert, Mennehotep was nowhere to be found. Paul was a bit concerned, as his attempts to cheer her up had failed time and again.

Perhaps it was because of their last attempt at lovemaking, where he had simply urged her to lay next to him, not making love. These scenes moved through her head though she tried to stop them:

"I want to sleep with you," he had said.

"But Paul..."

"No, I just want you near me," he had whispered, kissing a path to her chest. Thus they had spent the night, laying close, his breathing form next to hers. When she next awakened and left his bed, she felt a strange sense of emptiness. Like the other shoe should have fallen, but didn't. Such lovemaking had seemed so sweet the first few nights since she had known him, yet she ached for more.

Her funk continued throughout the next day at rehearsal, then the next. Paul had taken Peter's cue, and sent her a dozen roses, which were placed on her sarcophagus. Whether she even acknowledged them or not he didn't know. Before the concert she did her job effectively, yet with a distance in her eyes he couldn't fathom.

Gene noticed it too. His ribald flirting were not rebuffed, merely ignored. This too was strange.

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Gene frowned as he gazed past the crowd of fans who clamored for his autograph. Menne's little spat with Paul had not gone unnoticed. Paul and the others were headed off for the party at the hotel, in their usual flair. Yet Menne wasn't with them when they finally left.

"S'cuse me girls, got a band to run," he laughed as he brushed off the autograph hounds, which the roadies kept back.

Something drew him to the backstage, and Gene glanced back and forth at the stacks of speakers. Already the crews had cleaned up the debris from that night, and instruments were being packed away for security reasons. Still the main stage and sets would be kept up till tomorrow night's performance. Most of the staff was moving off to the wrap party at the local Radisson. They had their dressing rooms in the trailers on the back of the lot, but most sacked out in the hotels after a concert.

Which was why that soft noise came as such a surprise. One by one the lights were being clicked off. Gene slipped his Punisher base to his back, for he had not taken the time to put it away. Moving quietly for his metallic costume and his obvious bulk, he soon tracked the whimpering to its source.

The smell of cigarette smoke mingled with something oddly familiar. Pot, Gene frowned. He had not smelled it much lately, although the groupies reeked of it. The basesist never used pot himself, and strongly discouraged it among his fellow band members. When he saw the source, it hit him hard and fast as his latest bass solo. Clutching a bottle of pure Jack Daniels, the new pyrotechnics specialist knocked back a shot, and took a drag from the strangely shaped cigarette in her other hand. Her bottle clanged down as she hugged her knees, and stared off into the night. She was sitting on a spare amp, amidst the instrument cases. It struck Gene that Menne did not belong in such circumstances. Why hadn’t Paul seen how depressed she was? There was such thing as giving a woman her space, but this was sad.
 

"Baby, what's a piece like you doing in a place like this?" he asked with his usual flare.

Menne's head popped up, and her dark eyes fixed into his. They were swollen from crying, Gene guessed. "Go away Gene," she moaned, burying her head in her hands. "I'm not in the mood..."

"I always am," he said, coming over to where she huddled miserably. "Having your own little wrap party without inviting any of us?"

"So what if I am?" she pushed his hand aside, knocking back another draught of Jack Daniels. "Why aren't you off for your little encores?"

"Shouldn't you be with Star Child?" Gene asked. "Having the night of your life, and painting the town? Or did you two have a little lovers spat or something?"

Menne giggled spasmodically, taking another toke, "I'm surprised you even cared..."

"Well, what if I did? I mean a fine chick like you shouldn't be crying your eyes red when she could be getting down and dirty with the boys. Especially the man she digs. What's wrong, have the sheets gotten cold?"

"You Gene Simmons, are rude, crude, and absolutely rotten...." she snapped, tapping his armored chest with each word.

"That's what all the girls say," he laughed. "So other then my most redeeming qualities, what's eating you babe?"

"You're also without couth, disgusting, and utterly obnoxious...." she continued in a slurred voice. "I absolutely hate you. Sometimes I don't know whether to smack the crap out of you or..."

"Or what..." he asked, perching next to her on the amp. He took the reefer from her fingers, and tossed it to the ground, stubbing it out beneath a platform boot.

"I forgot what I was going to say," Menne glared at him, spacey eyed.

"You shouldn't toke, babe. It kills your brain. Look what happened to Ace... you think he got that way by singing the National Anthem? It messes with your mind something fierce, you can't remember your own name if you get hooked on it... and you don't need that..."

"I'm surprised you even give a rat's tail about what I think or do..." she laughed ironically. Another tug of Jack Daniels she swigged, and let the bottle slap into Gene's hand.

"Don't say that, babe... hey..."

"Drink up," she laughed again. Glancing at the level of liquid he saw she had ingested nearly a quarter of the bottle. He frowned, and wiped off the mouth of the bottle as he examined it.

Gene nudged her knee,"Babe, what's going on. And don't bullshit me..."

"Damn... my life sucks," Menne suddenly shouted, her head thrown back. She grabbed the bottle back from him and was all set to take a sizable drought when he stopped her.

"What?" Gene asked, wrestling the bottle from her fingers. "What the hell is that statement all about?"

"My life... sucks," she repeated, tapping her finger against his chest. "I'm cavorting with a rock band, getting skied out of my mind... and my husband is a jackass..."

"But what about you and loverboy?" Gene asked. "I thought he was your source for good loving..."

"He and I... he and I... what is it to you?"

"Paul's my buddy. Sure, we may bust each other's chops and bullshit, but under it all we're cool. Which is why I'm worried about you two. What is going on..."

"Paul and me..." she giggled, then started to moan. "Spent the last few nights... sleeping together..."

"And..." Gene asked, waiting for the obvious problem. "You're not falling over freaking happy?"

"We slept together, not slept together, Gene," she turned her face to him. In the darkness the white patches stood out oddly over the gleaming metal of his Demon costume.

"Wait, let me get this straight. You and Paul... slept together, but didn't do the horizontal mambo?" Gene began to laugh.

"Yes!"

"What the hell is that?" he asked. "That fucking idiot!"

Menne laughed spasmodically, and Gene joined her, his deep laughter echoing in the large stadium. "He has this thing... for liking a naked woman against him..." she explained.

"I know," Gene roared with laughter. "God, what a dipshit! He has a gorgeous woman in his arms, and he doesn't even see what's in front of him?"

"What did you say?" Menne asked.

"I said he has a gorgeous woman like you in his arms, and he can't even make love to her?" Gene repeated slowly.

Tears formed in Menne's eyes, and she buried her head in her hands. "You're the last person I expected to say that," she sobbed.

"It's true, isn't it? You're incredibly sexy, hot and man... you drive me crazy," Gene repeated. "Why else do you think I've been chasing you?"

"Like you do to every other woman?" she asked.

"Look, I could have a different woman every night if I wished," Gene said. "The groupies throw themselves at me, because of who and what I am. But you, you have a mind of your own, and you give me hell. That's an incredible turn on!"

"Oh Ra," she moaned, sobbing. "I hate you Gene Simmons... but you drive me crazy. I can't stand it, but you make me so nervous and mad... and yet... yet..."

"Yet?"

"I feel like I want to smooch the living daylights out of you sometimes... What is wrong with me?"

"So we've both been rubbing each other the wrong way, because we dig each other," Gene explained. Menne didn't appear to hear him, as she buried her head in her lap, sobbing as if her life was gone to hell.

"I hate my life," she sobbed.

"Come on babe, don't cry..." Gene sighed, and tentatively rested a hand on her shoulders. He lifted her head off her lap, drawing it into his own. Surprisingly she did not push him away, but let him stroke her hair as she continued to cry. Such a thing no one had done for years, except for her guardian Hemrata.

"Enough about you and me. I hate seeing a damned fine broad bawling her eyes out. Now tell me what this is all really about. Something is eating you, and I'll be damned if you don't tell me what the hell it is..."

Menne leaned against him, sobs wracking her body. She let him hold her close as she felt the tears running even more steadily now. That blasted costume of metal, spandex and spikes seemed secondary. Just to be held by anyone was what she needed. Even if it was a man who would most likely want her in his bed. Right now she didn't care in the least what happened next. Slowly he stood up, still holding her against him.

Not even when she felt Gene slip his hand under her knees and back did she flinch. She was so tired of fighting everything that consumed her. All resistance seemed gone, and the company of anyone was welcome.

"All right, let's get you the hell out of here, this is no place for you to be right now," he sighed resignedly, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. Menne continued to cry, as Gene carried her off the sound stage and the auditorium.

"Where... are we going?" she half asked, knowing the answer.

"My place. To talk..."

"Talk? Since when did you ever think of that?" she asked, as he kicked open the door to his dressing trailer and hauled her inside. It was a typical dressing room setup, with a casting couch, dressing table, closet with various costumes, and perhaps a bed in the back for between rehearsals. With surpassing care he lay her on the couch. Setting his guitar into a case to one side, he settled down next to her.

"Since now I found you like that, halfway to the next star system on booze and pot! Alone! Of all the dumb-ass stunts to be pulling, sweetheart... where the hell did you get that marijuana?"

"I found it stashed in the amp..."

"Ace, dammit he told me he quit!" Gene groaned, slapping his forehead.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to... oh why am I apologizing to you?"

"Christ, Menne, what is going on? You should have told one of us if something had gotten up your ass like this. You're running from something, and I want to know what it is..."

"Gene, why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Someone has to, or it will rip you to shreds, babe. I might not be the top of your popularity list, but I have two ears, and I can listen. So out with it..."

He hunted for something as he rose in the small trailer. Menne saw it was a box of facial tissue, and a bottle of Evian spring water. Between sips of water, and quivering cries she let it all out. Not the deep dark secrets of her Egyptian past, but the basic gist of her marital rift.

Menne couldn't believe she was actually here, cuddling up to a man who had done nothing but skirt chase her for the past two weeks. Now he was simply sitting here, listening to her bawl her eyes out, and not groping all over her as she would have expected. For a time she continued to cry in silence as Gene watched thoughtfully, passing the facial tissue as needed. Giving her a supporting pat on the back as she droned on. Till the words stopped and silence predominated. Nervously she coughed, her black eyes glancing up at him now, still nervous to look him in the face with that damned makeup.

"So he's taking you for granted," Gene grunted, a low growl in his throat. "Son of a bitch..."

"Well... I suppose," Menne said.

"So that's why you're here with me and the guys, to sort your head out, and your life till you decide what the next move is, right?"

"That's basically it. I never expected to fall for Paul... but now that he and I... I don’t know if I like him or not… and he so charming and yet I feel so empty with him! I'm so confused, Gene..."

"Yeah, you're not the first one," Gene patted her shoulder. "Guys' been confusing the crap out of me for years. Especially with that naked chick fetish...."

"I thought you would have the same sort of thing..." Menne glanced at him.

"Look, I like to touch and look, but I go through with it. But Paul, he's a loverboy. Me, if I had a fine woman like you next to me, I wouldn't stop. She's get a fine dose of loving she would sing about for weeks. Not this anticipation crap..."

"Why does that not surprise me?" she asked.

"Well, you deserve someone who can love you for who you are. Not be afraid to be a man and give you what you want. I think Paul's scared shitless... because maybe you're too much woman for him to handle..."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a mature dame. You were drawn to Paul, cause he sounds a lot like the man you married. I've seen it before. And no doubt I'll see it again..."

"This is so unbelievable..." she said, letting him lay a supporting arm on her shoulders.

"What?"

"Having an intelligent conversation with you, of all people..." she laughed shyly.

"Hey, I like a woman who can think for herself, believe it or not. I might be a rock star who might look like he's not shuffling with a full deck... but I'm with it..."

"But the makeup... you're a demon on stage I didn't think... I mean you do dribble fake blood on stage, stick that blasted tongue and roll you eyes like you have been possessed by a Khabiti… it’s rather intimidating…"

"Hell this?" Gene laughed, running a hand through his hair as she reached to point to the paint on his face. "It's part of who I am. When I put on this makeup, I'm the Demon. But I'm also Gene Simmons, musician and regular guy. But when we get on stage, we can cut loose. It's my therapy, a deep dark part of who I am. But I'm not scared of it. I use it, instead of letting it use me."

"You're the most normal out of the bunch," she shook her head. "I can't talk to Paul like this..."

"Maybe that's the problem," Gene rumbled.

"Problem?"

"You've been going for the wrong kind of man," Gene offered, patting her thigh. "Look at you. You're all fire under that ice. You're in such need of good loving it's hurting you. And you're not sure of what you want. Because you've been telling yourself all along what you should want. Don't think about it so much Menne. Just let it happen..."

"Ra... I mean... god... look at me, I'm a mess," she laughed as she felt the haze of the pot slowly creeping off. "Here with you, when you should be doing your damned encores..."

"That can wait for a night," he laughed. "You needed a shoulder to cry on, right? So here I am..."

"You're unbelievable," she shook her head, and laughed as she lay her head on his chest. She accepted the arm that slipped around her shoulders, and simply basked in the comfort. Never mind the damned spikes and metal plating of his armored look. He didn't look so frightening in the dark, even though the dimmed light of the bathroom cast his painted face in eerie black and white.

"Do me a favor Menne..."

"Why do I have the feeling it's something disgusting?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Don't put ideas into my head," Gene groaned. "No, I mean really... don't toke again. That shit screws your brain... and I don't want another Space Case on my hands..."

"But you..."

"I hang with the guys, all right. Never alcohol, you hear."

"I've seen you drink and party... you mean to tell me you don't consume anything that contains an intoxicant?"

"Hell no. And I never smoke period, or do any of that other crap. I don't need it to party.  I want my mind for my music... and other more important things..." he admitted. "You're much too fine a woman to screw yourself up like that...."

"Thank you," she choked, feeling the tears coming again. "I... I... never realized that about you... I..."

"Hey, enough with the tears," he teased her, and wiped away the wetness with one gloved finger. He wore the half-gauntleted things that comprised his costume. Her hand, sheathed in a lace glove closed over his tightly.

"I can't stop crying. I don't know if I love him anymore... and I've been so tired of doing the same things that everyone expects of me. I just want... I just want..."

"What do you want, baby?" Gene asked, lowering his voice to an uncharacteristically soft tone. "Tell me..."

"To be whoever I want to be, and not who someone else thinks I should be... and I'm not even sure of who or what I am anymore," she glanced up at him, tear stained eyes fixing into his.

"And who the hell says you can't?" Gene whispered. Slowly Gene's other hand slipped around her shoulder, tunneling into her hair. Her scalp felt the soothing assault of his strong thick fingers. Boy was he putting the moves on her, Menne thought. Yet she didn't care anymore. He was warm, alive, and rather appealing as he pressed closer to her. Her fingers slipped up spandex to grip his muscled arms. He had listened to her, come to her and offered what comfort he dared before even bothering with the usual come on lines. Till now.

Menne wrapped her arms around Gene's neck, feeling the strength of the muscles there. With a gasp of angry release she savaged his lips with her own in an explosive firm kiss. He folded her in strong arms, crushing her close to his chest as his mouth moved hungrily over hers. Within his chest his heart pounded fast and furious inches from hers. As she did with Paul her fingers tunneled through long locks of thick wiry hair, loosing themselves in its depths before emerging to clutch the metal of his costume.

Gene was far more massive then Paul or Ace. Peter was nicely filled with some muscle, not much, but Gene towered over them all. Would he savage her with that damned tongue that seemed to laugh and assault the senses? Menne though herself a fool for even hoping to find out. It was hormones, pure and simple. But Sohkarra, was it just that between her and Ace. Why had she never made love to him physically.

They pulled back, gasping at each other in tense anticipation. Still her fingers were tangled in his black hair, his own hands clutching her waist. Menne felt the odd dizziness of relief. Paul's kisses had been spectacular in comparison to the tentative puckers of Tuthmosis, and JaKal, and even Rath. Yet the head rush of this had no comparison.

"Menne," he repeated her name, and it sounded surprisingly sweet and tender from his gruff lips. Her fingers walked up his chest to his face, and lifted aside the fall of black thick hair. She saw where the makeup ended behind his ear, and chuckled. Each of them were still very much human under it all. Like her makeup that she used to hide her necrotic state.

"Gene I..." she stammered, and felt her emotions screaming in odd protest. Her heart and passion screamed for sweet release, that had been denied her with Paul. The Star child, the lover of dreams and passion had washed her in his gentle tide, and left her high and dry. Ra she wanted to be held, caressed, touched like any woman would deserve.
Gene pulled her onto his lap, his thighs firm and substantial under her. She had sat on Paul's lap before, but was not all together sure of the comfort in his bony knees. He was pleasant, wiry, and strong as Ace must be for Sohkarra. Yet Gene enveloped her, held her close as warm hot breath passed into her mouth, caressing it with its moistness. She was very surprised when she did not find that infamous tongue forcing its way present. As if he sensed her fear and compensated. Instead his hands kneaded all over her, caressing places she ached to be touched. Simultaneously they explored each other's bodies beneath the material of their clothing, not tiring of this adventure for what seemed like forever.

"Mm, sweetheart you really know what you're doing," Gene breathed, his own heart racing adrenaline through his large body. "That's more like it..."

"Gene, shut the hell up!" Menne chided him, putting a hand over his mouth.

"Whatever you say, Menne," he laughed. Strong firm hands stroked her backside, traveling down her thigh. Menne did much the same, reveling in the strength of those muscles present in firm hard flesh. Tuthmosis was never like this with her, showering her neck and chest with firm kisses up and down. As he continued the path to her chest, and beyond,he lifted up her shirt. Raising her arms as he pulled off the items of clothing and tossed them down. Letting hot fiery kisses bathe her body in their gentle warmth. Or tracing kisses along the line of his jaw despite greasepaint, before letting a smooth tongue playfully flickered over her flesh in ways she had feared.

"Ohh yeah!" he laughed, as Menne's gasping cries drowned in his hair. She yelped with laughter as he effortlessly scooped her off the sofa, and carried her back into the bedroom there. It was a small sort of arrangement that they each had when not wanting to sack out at a hotel. The mattress was soft and yielding under her. Fingernails dug into his back as she tore at his costume. Metallic pieces fell here and there onto the floor around the bed, soon followed by the spandex and other pariphernailia. His weight shifted the mattress as he landed beside her.

She didn't stop him as he pulled off her miniskirt and shoes, but left her underwear behind. Kisses trailed down her chest and bra, which he pulled the straps aside with his teeth and mouth to lay hot breath against her bare skin. Seizing his face again she planted a steamy kiss on his lips. His dark hair traced playfully over her stomach as he rubbed his cheek up and down her body. Black streaks of paint rubbed off the trails of passion. Menne's fingernails almost drew scarlet streaks into the exposed flesh of his back, illiciting a deep growl of pleasure. Hungrily he devoured her chest, moving her to firmness as she moaned with the heat building to fever pitch inside.

Thighs latched around his hips, embracing him from below. Gene balanced her on his own thighs, drawing her up in his arms as he caressed her bosom against his furry chest. Paul had been equally graced with sleek silky hair, but once the fever pitch had built, she was left there to sleep away fretfully in his arms, her nude form pressed to his without any sufficient release. He'd build her up only to tease her. Gene did much the same thing, withdrawing as she was beginning to breathe heavily, the sweat flowing moist over dark skin. Except it was one step to an eventual climax, not a dead stop.

She welcomed the hands slipping over her stockings, her underwear. He'd left it on, totally disrobing with help from her clutching hands. "You're making me mad!" she whimpered.

"That's the idea," he gritted. "God I've wanted you for so long..."

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." she stammered out, as he pulled her hands to caress him in ways she'd thirsted for yet never dared. Stockings and garters were ripped aside with the force of his mouth only, biting aside the straps with a fettered growl.

Menne shrieked at the feel of his mouth on her hottest parts. Gene lay her back to rest on the pillow, taking his first taste of her as he balanced her calves on his shoulders now. "Ra, what are you doing..." she moaned.

"Mm, you're sweet," Gene growled deeply in his throat. "Don't hold out on me... let yourself go..."

Her mind drifted away on the strokes below, exploding into a passionate burst. She grabbed at him, feeling the presence of her own passion building in him to a firm crescendo. Between her hands he was a living thing, waiting for release that only her stroking massage could provide.

"Damn, you already know," he gritted, withdrawing from her warmth. Parting her trembling legs, she nodded.

"Yes Genne, damn it! I can't stand it..."

"You only have to ask sweetheart," he responded.

"Now, curse you... please!" Menne cried, as he reached to the side and she heard the sensation of something ripping. Smooth slickness traced down her thigh, plunging deep. Menne cried out as the first thrust slipped in, firmly wiggling like something alive before thrusting firmly home. Once seated he increased his pace in measured doses, waiting to see how her body would respond to his. He had little to worry for she yielded and bucked against him deliciously.

"Gene!" she screamed in fevered pitch. A hot rush exploded over her like wildfire as each hard thrust plunged ever deeper and deeper into her aching void.

"Oho baby!" he half roared. "That's it! Don't stop now!"

He was all over her, his weight pressing down from above, her body shifting to embrace him from below. Muscular thighs pulled him in deeper, her hips gliding with each rocking advance. Over her he was on his knees, lifting her buttocks to rest on his thighs for a better modification. Menne let loose with a cry that seeped from the core of her being.

"God Menne, you could sing on stage!" he laughed. "Let it out baby! Let me know how much you like this, eh? I’m going freaking crazy!"

Slick moistness surrounded his advances. Their cries seemed to shake the bed, the room around them. Building to a crazy frenzy of seeping heat and fire. Bodies streaked with black and white paint slapped and ground desperately climbing higher and higher. Till Gene's head threw back, his loud roar splitting Menne's ears as her own sonorous scream hit a chord deep inside. He flooded her good and well, even though the only thin barrier between them stemmed the tide.

They collapsed into a sweating mass, the fire having passed them by. He folded her into his sweating form, kissing her cheeks as he gathered the sheets around them both. "Rest now sweetheart... it only gets better..."

"You mean... there's more?" she asked, glancing at him with dark eyes.

"Hell, when I mean encore, I mean encore," Gene laughed. It rumbled through her like the base tones of his celebrated axe.

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Menne awoke the next morning with his head pillowed on her chest, his legs intertwined with hers. All up and down her arms, and her breast the streaks of mottled makeup indicated the lengths of their lovemaking. His face seemed streaked as if from battle, and Menne couldn't help but chuckle. She saw a glimpse of the man beneath, and it was rather pleasing.

Gently she kissed his forehead, tracing a trail of kisses to his mouth. Greasepaint was slick against her own stained lips. His response met with a giggle between their merged mouths.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked, blinking awake with a grin as he rested his head on her chest.

"I was just thinking," Menne stroked his hair thoughtfully. "I finally understand..."

"What is that, sweetheart?" he asked, kissing her breast lightly.

"Rath and his wife... I finally get it. Oh do I!"

"Hmm," Gene laughed, and pulled her under the sweat soaked sheets again. "Maybe you could explain it to me... with a little body English... eh?"

"Gene, what are you... oh no!" she shrieked with laughter as his hands began doing something very delicious under the sheets.

Later, much later after her tingling legs could finally let her move again, Menne and Gene stumbled into the shower to divest themselves of the celebrated greasepaint. "How do you get this off?" she asked him as she lathered up his back.

"Lava soap," he replied, drenching her hair with shampoo. The strong large fingers massaged it heavily through her scalp, and she was glad for her blush of life. How soon would it run out?

His hair was as dark as hers, his skin well tanned and clear of blemish. Menne was pleased to find the contours she had explored so thoroughly in darkness were pleasing in daylight.

She caught sight of his face, free of paint, and stroked her hand over it. Gene had a rugged handsomeness about him, a bit haggard but pleasing without the makeup. Almost like a wrestler or a cowboy from those romance covers Nefertina always hid in her sarcophagus. Menne couldn't help but hum something under her breath.

"What are ya singing?" he asked, lips close to her ear as he reached around to sponge off her chest.

"Fly without wings, feel without touch, touch without feel... nothing is real," she sang a bit louder.

"I know that tune, I damn well wrote it!" he laughed, and joined in as he continued to wash the remainder of his makeup from her, and she from him.

"I wanna see from within, I wanna bee where I've been... I want a truth, not a lie, I wanna live... before I die..." Menne continued to sing, voice mingled with his. Never had such a song seemed so oddly appropriate, and she was here with the man who had written it!

"Life without death, sleep without dreams, nothing is quite what it seems... I want something more than you know... follow myself... go where you can't ever go... and I see though my eyes are closed..."

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It was Peter who happened to wander by Gene's dressing trailer the next morning as he tried to clear the haze of booze from his brain. Nefertina had proved quite an adversary, and he himself had tossed down more then his fair share. Was it his imagination, or did he hear singing?

Creeping up quietly he pressed his ear to the door. Indeed he heard the baritone voice gritting out the strains of the song "Within"

"I want to feel from within, I want the truth, no lies... I want to live... before I die!!!" Gene's baritone voice ripped through with the force of his celebrated axe.

What surprised him was the sound of rushing water, and the female voice belting out the words along with him, "Inside you without your blessing, is inside me without confessing, and outside you is outside me..."

"Oh man," Peter laughed, when he had finally place the voice. "It's about damned time those two did something about it..."

Grinning like his Cheshire namesake, Peter trotted off to breakfast. Wait till Paul found out, he would either shit or go blind.

*********************************************************************************

"Gene, you jerk, why didn't you tell me?" asked Peter later, on the way to the canteen.

"And what the hell are you talking about?" Gene cast him a casual glance. Even though they were both close to six feet tall, Gene still towered over the drummer.

"That shit eating grin man," Peter punched his arm. "You got lucky right? Your own private encore here..."

"What can I say, when I've got it, I've got it?" he shrugged.

"Boy have you got it!" Peter slapped him on the back. "The way you two were going at it I half expected you to jump her bones then and there!"

"And who the hell are we talking about?" Gene said defensively.

"Don't play with me man, I know you dug her the minute I saw the two of you cat fighting," Peter laughed. "You were hot for Menne, right! And now you're like a cat who ate the canary..."

"What if I did?" Gene said mysteriously.

"Well I'd say good going!" Peter nodded definitively. Just then they saw their other two bandmates walk into the canteen, looking none the worse for wear after their usual business. Ace looked quite content, and Paul, well he was moody and spaced.

All in all not very bad at all, Gene nodded with self-satisfaction. Dumb shit deserved to look down in the mouth for the stunt he pulled with Menne. Wait a minute, he caught himself. Feeling defensive for a woman he had only just had the last night was an unfamiliar feeling to Gene. Somehow he felt as if he wanted to either punch Paul's lights out, or laugh in his face. Shoving the unusual thoughts down, Gene moved over to hot coffee and other pursuits that would satiate the gnawing hunger.

*********************************************************************************

He was cool and casual in the bluejeans and T-shirt he sported in regular life, if there was such a thing anymore. The leather jacket encased well-muscled shoulders, matching the boots he had slipped on. Gene picked up his custom Punisher bass and strummed a few riffs, pencil clenched in his teeth. There was something rattling in his brain he just had to get out, and it eluded him.

"All right, all right," he muttered, strumming a low progression that set the amp into a rumbling frenzy.

He could hear the riffs of Ace in the next practice area over, and the gunshot of drums. Morning was their composing and jamming time, and sometimes they found their solitude a welcome friend. Paul's own experimentation wrapped around Ace's riffs, crashing in a surge that made Gene wince. Perhaps that was why he chose base over the others, for the low tones were somehow sensual, sonorous. Sometimes they would practice separately or together depending on which songs needed the most work.

Gene scribbled down the elusive verse, balancing the Punisher on one knee. A cough sounded in his ears, and he almost broke the pencil in his powerful fingers when he saw its source.

"Hey sweetheart, come out of the silence?" he asked, glancing up to see Menne standing there, wandering around in borrowed jeans and a black t shirt with the band logo on it. She sported platform sandals, black against her dark skin, her long hair loose about her face.

"I heard the noise, and thought I'd take a peek. You don't mind do you?"

"Mind, hell if I did I'd have kicked your lovely backside out by now," he laughed. "Pull up a stool and peek all you want. It's a free country..."

Menne leaned on the amp, and watching him finger pick his way to a new base progression. The tension hung between them like the smoke after her pyrotechnical displays.

"That's nice," she smiled, feeling the vibration of the amp under her.

"You might not wanna sit there," he said, moving over to her as he grasped her hand in his. Even without the platform boots of his costume he towered over her, six foot two inches to her five foot seven. Her platforms put her just to his chin. "The vibes get pretty intense..."

"Why do you play base?" she asked. "I have noticed with many rock bands I have seen... on television, that the lead singer is often the lead guitarist..."

"There's no fast and hard rule, hon," he chuckled. "Just happens to be what I like..."

"Ace and Peter... you have known them for so long... have you not?"

"Yep, and Paul too..." he said. "We're all tight despite the crap we give each other from time to time... like you and your gal pals..."

"I guess," Menne smiled, and glanced at him with those impossibly dark eyes. God she was beautiful, and radiant. Then she spied the piece of paper he had scribbled on, and left on the stool before him.

"What's this?"

"A little thing I just threw out," Gene muttered, a bit reluctant as she was reading it.

"This is intriguing… You write music?" she asked, then slapped her head. "Oh, dumb question... considering you wrote the song we er… sang…"

"Not dumb sweetness...."

"Well I assumed... that Paul did..."

"Paul and I write, Peter writes, hell even Ace throws out a song or two now and again. Whatever the mood hits us we put it down."

"I wish I were as creative as you four," she glanced appreciatively at him. "I can't even play a guitar..."

"Any idiot can pick up a guitar, and think it makes him a rock star," Gene laughed again, slipping his hand around her waist as she came to stand at his side. "But you have a great voice, Menne..."

"I don't," she blushed.

"The hell you don't," Gene snapped. "I heard enough of it to know..."

"They say everyone sounds wonderful in the shower," she shrugged.

"Half the people with talent are shower singers. And those that don't have it are the dumb mothers like me who are up on stage screaming our brains out," Gene commented. "Want to give it a shot?"

"What?" she asked, as he slipped his guitar strap over his shoulder, and placed the guitar over her head. "Oh no, I can't..."

"Trust me," he rumbled, ticking her side to ease her arm up so he could slip the guitar in place. It hung with an imposing weight she could hardly dare wonder how they could bear. Gene's base seemed heavier duty then the custom Gibson that Ace played, or the lighter black gloss one that Paul normally used.

"Got four strings, instead of six. Less to worry about you'd think. But the idea is to set up the mood underneath the rest of the fancy sh... I mean stuff..." he explained, and positioned her one hand up on the frets. To do this he stood behind her, chest pressed to her back. Menne shivered as she felt deja vu, for JaKal had done much the same thing when he showed her how to shoot an arrow.

"You take your other hand," he said, and lightly grasped Menne's right hand, and put it to the board. She wore a black lace fingerless glove, to hide the scars of burns of three millennia past. Even in the blush of life the scars were there, and she took great pains to hide them even now. Whether a gauntlet like Rath's or a lace glove or slave bracelet, the effect was the same.

He positioned her fingers to the right places, forcing them firmly down. Menne picked a few notes, the whole instrument vibrating against her stomach, and into her to him. "This thing is heavy," she laughed.

"Well you can sit down to play it also," he grinned, and backed her up to the stool, where he sat down, and pulled her to lean on his lap. Her thigh, and his under hers took the guitar's weight. He positioned his fingers in the right frets, urging her to strum firmly. Before long the rumbling set in as the earth itself moved.

"Ohh, this is strange," she glanced back at him. "I can feel it inside me... how do you keep from feeling it..."

"You don't," Gene whispered in her ear, moving her hair aside. "The music's a part of you, sweetheart..."

"Mm, sounds wonderful," she grinned at him. Pleasure at her own happiness filled him, and it was a wonderful feeling to see her smile. Menne pressed a kiss to his cheek quickly, as he nosed into her hair with a low playful growl.

Menne tensed as she heard the sound of voices. Gene still held her about the waist as she pulled off his lap, his guitar around her shoulder weighing her to that spot.

Nervously she moved to a distance from him, and saw Ace wandering in with Sohkarra. They spoke casually, Ace's Gibson Epiphone hanging from his shoulder in spectral hues of orange merging to red. Funny how it contrasted with his spaceman costume when he was on stage.

"Menne, we were worried sick about you!" Sohkarra came over to them both.

"She's fine, Jaime," Gene smiled at Sohkarra, who was a bit taken aback at his abnormal demeanor. Even outside of makeup he had normally been polite, yet curt at her.

"He's just showing me... how to play the base..." Menne stammered out. She half feared Sohkarra would know what happened. Yet Gene's calm gaze met the Princess' sapphire question with a look of challenge.

"Have fun," Ace laughed, and continued on.

Paul and Peter wandered past, drumsticks and guitar in hand. "How's the song coming?" Peter asked casually.

"I should ask you," Gene quipped back. "What were you doing in there? Killing another damned sheep?"

"It's a new riff," Ace explained.

"You still need to learn that last solo, you're two counts behind," Paul scolded him.

"Aw get out of here!" Ace shot back. "How do we know..."

"Don't be a stranger, solo boy," Peter winked at Gene who folded his arms across his chest. "We could have used you jamming with us this morning…"

"Had a song in my head I had to get down," Gene shrugged.

"We have a new recruit?" Paul glanced at the base around Menne's shoulder.

"What if we did?" Menne laughed back at him. "Any idiot can pick up a guitar, but I'm an idiot for even trying this craziness out! This thing weights a ton Gene! No wonder you call it a Punisher... my shoulder's killing me!"

So saying she slipped it off and handed it back to him, with some difficulty. "So, out for a bit of fun on the town? Lunch on me?" asked Paul, moving up to Menne.

"Don't give me ideas," she groaned, and stepped away from him. "I’m not interested…"

"Why not… Hey wait... what the hell is this all about..."

"Paul, you are a complete ass sometimes," Menne leveled her gaze at him. "Where the hell were you last night when I was crying my eyes out?"

"Hey, you said you wanted to be alone, so I left you alone! What did you want?"

"Obviously not what you wanted," Menne said coldly, turning from him. "Life isn’t always solved by parties, Paul, or flowers!"

"Baby, what is going on here?" Paul appealed.

"Something that should have happened in the first place," Menne whirled on him. "Why didn't you make love to me like your other women?"

"What the fuck brought this on!" Paul exploded.

Everyone was taken aback by her direct statement, and Paul's crude rejoinder. Sohkarra was all set to say something, but Nefertina stepped on her foot. Ace pulled her away with him.

"Don't get involved," he whispered.

"How dare he speak to her like that..." Sohkarra whispered.

"Get off it! Let Menne fight her own battles,"

"You're the married woman remember," Paul pointed his finger at her.

"And you said that you were cool with whatever I wanted to do," Menne spat back. "It drove me nuts when you said you wanted to sleep with me, and I psyched myself up to do it, and you left me laying there, and refused me!"

"I told you I liked the feel of you against me. Is that a crime?"

"What am I? A bedwarmer, a trollop?"

"No!" Paul exploded. "Dammit Menne I dig you! I was just waiting for the right time to make my move..."

"What makes me different from the other women then?"

"You shouldn't have to ask me that," Paul snorted. "God Dammit Menne, what is this all about?"

"You're a tease, you are," Menne sighed. "I would have willingly given myself to you, but you led me on..."

"Like you did?"

"Hey, watch it..." Gene started to interject, as she looked ready to scratch his eyes out, and Paul looked ready to strangle her.

"Screw you!" Menne shouted, her hands going for him. Gene gripped her shoulders, holding her back.

"Easy, sweetheart, he's not worth the trouble," he said, hauling her away by her waist.

"Gene what the hell..." Paul exploded. "You... son of a bitch you did it to me! Stole my woman!"

Menne broke away from Gene, who released her. "I'm not your damn woman Paul! What I give I chose to give! How dare you claim me like a piece of meat!"

"I thought you were coming onto me! I though we had something..." Paul stammered, not believing the words he found himself saying. Why was he getting so worked up over this woman? It had happened before, without too much of a hassle that the women he picked up ended up with Gene or one of the other guys. Why was it so personal now?

"We did," Menne said. "But you confuse me Paul. When I try to get close you just stop cold...."

"Gene... you stinking cheating son of a bitch..."

"Careful pal, or I'll kick your ass into orbit with the rest of the stars you stare at..." Gene growled.

"You seduced her!" he shouted.

"No, I did it of my own free will, Gene and me," Menne said with a low voice. "It was my choice, dammit, my choice, Paul! I'm a woman, damn you, with feelings and emotions. And I will live my life as I chose!"

Both of them fell silent at the fury in her voice. It was far more then just them, for years of doing what others wanted exploded all at once. Menne stormed off, tears in her eyes in silent triumph.

Paul turned to Gene, fury in his face. He raised his hand as if to strike his friend, but stopped. "Aw shit, what's the use," he sighed, turning away.

"Sorry man, but she came to me. I didn't see you there when she needed you.."

"So you just made your goddamn move when I wasn't looking. Damn you, Gene! How could you?"

"I outta ask you why you were messing with her..."

"I wasn't!" Paul exploded. "I was waiting for the right time..."

"And when would that be, Casanova?" Gene asked. "That chick was in need of more then you could offer. She's going through pure hell right now. Do you know where I found her last night?"

"I was right there..."

"Backstage, about ready to get stoned out of her fucking mind, already tying several on with Jack Daniels," Gene sternly continued. "You know I don't do that pot shit! Who introduced her to that?"

"It was just in fun," Paul shrugged. "One of the guys I guess..."

"How could you just leave her there alone? Didn't you know how upset she was?"

"She asked me to leave her alone and I did. I was just giving her some space for Christ's sake! I wasn't the one skirt chasing the broad half the time..."

"Maybe, smart guy. But I don’t let a woman alone where she could get in over her head!"

Their hands balled into fists as the two men sized each other up. Gene could easily tear Paul limb from limb, and no doubt Paul could do serious damage as well.

"All right, all right. Let's just stop this pissing contest now," Gene waved his hands. "I blame you, you blame me. Are we going to let a woman screw up our group?"

"No!" Paul said. "But you could have told me you wanted her!"

"Would it have made a difference, loverboy?" Gene asked. "She chose you over me to begin with..."

"But you kept making the moves..."

"Only because she made me crazy," Gene said. "I like her, Paul. She's not like the others. No more then Ace's woman is. That made it all the more fun to chase her, and then I realized that she was worth far more then that. She's too good for either of us, and that's why you were chickenshit to go to home plate with her, admit it!"

"Yes, she is a fine piece," Paul sighed. "So what now?"

"She’s more then a piece, Paul. She’s a woman. Let her decide," Gene said. "She hasn't been with another man besides her husband... and one or two others that went nowhere. We're the first men she's had feelings for since her husband's been creeping her out and ignoring her flat out. And you fucking with her drive isn't helping."

"I thought she would like to get used to me first," Paul said.

"Give up the naked chick shit, Paul. I've seen you do it before. Get a girl into bed, tease her, and fake the crap out of her by sleeping next to her, and she's up half the goddamn night wondering if you do or don't want to take her when she's asleep. With that tired line, 'oh baby I just wanna feel your heart beat next to mine', and you get off on her fear of whether or not you're gonna do it to her. Instead of just saying, sleep with me babe, and we'll do the sex another time... and turn off the vibes that you are wanting it any minute."

"Gene you have all the romance of a fucking bull in a china shop," said Paul.

"That's what separates me from you, Paul," Gene said, and moved off after Mennehotep.

***************************************************************************************

She had heard the whole argument from behind the door. It reminded her of the disagreement so long ago between JaKal and Rath she had started. Yet she had been messing with both of them in a childish display. This was serious. Two men who really thought she meant something to them were arguing over her. Not because she was a Princess, but because she was a woman they had come to feel something more for other then just a passing fancy.

It was a frightening sensation. Still her body tingled with the things she and Gene had shared that all other lovemaking paled in comparison to. Why was this so? Paul had been so suave and debonair, she could swear she wanted him. Now the one man she thought she could hardly stomach and wanted nothing more then to rip to shreds was the one who had loosed this tide of pent-up passion.

"I’m so sorry," she said, when she felt him behind her. "I screwed up royally… setting you and Paul against each other…"

"Don’t apologize," he said firmly. "He had it coming to him. You made your choice, and he’ll come around."

"Will he? Something like this happened before… where two men held my affections, and I didn’t choose… and both nearly killed each other. It was all a game to me before. Now it’s an uncomfortable reality. I never meant to lead Paul or you…"

"Dammit Menne you didn’t lead either of us on. When are you going to learn that the universe doesn’t center on what you do or don’t decide? That’s not the way it goes, hon…"

"Sorry. I’m just such a spoiled brat," she glanced back at him.

"Maybe, but you’re my spoiled brat," he laughed, hugging her from behind. "But only if you want it that way, Menne…"

"I just hate having men fight over me. But now I find it strangely flattering…"

"You ought to," Gene scolded. "This is the first time he’s freaked out over it. I was usually the one who got pissed off about it. But you should be damned proud for giving him hell like that. Man, and I thought I got pissed…"

"I suppose you and I are more alike then I ever would have considered. Ra… god… it’s unreal," she shuddered.

"So now what are you going to do?" Gene released her, and she stood a bit apart from him, his hand in hers. "Your call."

Menne glanced at him in surprise. She had not been given a choice before. Slowly she considered her answer. Gene waited patiently, the first time she could ever think that he would have been so towards her.

"But Paul... I really hurt his feelings... back there... what if..."

"Go talk to him then, and tell him what the hell is going on with you..." Gene said.

"He'll hate me..."

"So?  You deserve to tell him why, if that's what you want. Finish what you started.  Let him know.  Don't assume he won't listen before you try.  Dammit, he listened to you a few minutes ago, didn't he?"

"Yes... all too bluntly..."

"It's up to you... it's up to you babe," Gene said as he folded arms across his chest.  "If he didn't give a shit then why would he get so rattled you were with me?  He cares for you.  Give him that much."

"That's what makes it so hard."

"It's up to you what to choose..."
*********************************************