When questing hands found his hips and hot breath blew on the back of his neck, Nathan smiled and shut his eyes to the chaos of the laser lights and strobes. The world slowed down; the techno-house soundtrack faded into the background, until he heard nothing but the rush of his heartbeat, and the pharmacological cocktail in his bloodstream tangoed with the vodka. He reached behind him and grabbed two handfuls of skinny, denim-clad thighs. Less than half an hour, and Nathan had a taker for the offer he was broadcasting with eyes, mouth, and hips. The interested party was tall and lanky, and that suited Nathan fine. He ground back into the stranger’s groin. Palms slid around to frame Nathan’s fly, fingers pointing south. Nathan’s head lolled side to side on a bony shoulder, and together, Nathan and the stranger began to move.
All around them men and boys jostled for position. It was hard to call it dancing—hard to call it anything but foreplay. A tremulous voice trapped in a corner cage of Nathan’s mind whispered logical nothings that were all but lost beneath the lake of hidden desire and bad drugs. The voice whispered to please, please get out. Please don’t do this. Not again.
“Haven’t seen you around before,” said the stranger in Nathan’s ear. What the hell was that? A pickup? An observation? Fuck that. No talking, no asking, no answering. The only thing worth anything was the doing. Nathan couldn’t have connection, so here, he sought oblivion.
Nathan wondered if he could get through this without seeing the guy’s face at all. Then Nathan was moving, one hand clamped around a narrow wrist as he stalked through the manic throng. He kept his eyes on the easy prize, ignoring the stares, the hazy looks, the licked lips, and the bared torsos of glitter gods. The world switch-swayed, and he staggered. Lights and sound streaked by him like banshee ghosts, and Nathan waited until the urge to vomit passed him by. The stranger pressed against Nathan’s side, and Nathan cussed, regaining balance and keeping his death grip on the kid’s arm. He raced for the rear of the club.
Reality slowed again when he found the door leading into the men’s room and pushed it open with too much force. Wicked red light poured around them. Mirrors ran along the wall, covered in God knew what, and the music was dull, so Nathan could hear the sounds of piss hitting porcelain and skin hitting skin in the stalls. He paused, panting and shaking his head. Sweat dripped into his eyes.
“That one,” said the stranger, lower now: a rumble of lust. A finger tipped with a dark-colored nail jabbed toward an open stall, and Nathan got moving, yanking the man along for the ride. A sideways two-step fit their bodies inside a narrow chamber. The slam of a door reverberated in Nathan’s muddled brain. The slide of a lock made Nathan’s cock twitch, and the guy kissed Nathan’s sweaty neck while fumbling to get Nathan’s jeans undone. Standing passive to the onslaught, Nathan read odes to fuckers past written slap-dash on the sticky wall two inches in front of his nose.
“Blow you?” The man got his hand down and around Nathan’s dick, and Nathan’s jaw went slack. His hips started moving of their own accord, and one palm skated for purchase across the grime while the other one reached for his pocket.
“Fuck me,” Nathan ordered, handing back a rubber and single-shot of lube. There was no answer, just breathing and a faster stroke to his cock. The stranger let go and tore open the condom’s packet with his teeth.
“Hurry up.” Nathan rested his forehead on his arm. A moan pierced his ears—from behind him, from next to him, from hell or heaven or who knew—and Nathan shuddered.
The stranger hesitated. “Could you?”
“Goddamn it,” Nathan groused, though he shouldn’t complain. It was just that Nathan was having troubling blinking and standing at the same time. He fumbled but managed to shove his pants down to his thighs, presenting his ass, and his hole spasmed so hard, he bit back a whine. God, he needed this. May not want it. May not like it. But need it, he did.
Spreading his legs and bracing for balance with one hand, Nathan reached back to grab a covered cock. Mr. Hesitant was full and eager, not so large but not so small. An average dick for an average asshole.
“Come on,” Nathan said, pulling and guiding. Mr. Hesitant slapped his palm next to Nathan’s hand on the partition. Dark hair covered the stranger’s skin, and he had nice, well-formed fingers, short nails with chipped polish, and the stamp for the club was smeared on his wrist, right below a bracelet made of skulls. Mr. Hesitant was a young goth-geek type. Excellent.
“Jesus.” A grunt and Mr. Hesitant’s tip was against Nathan, a gasp—his, theirs, Nathan didn’t know—and hips rolled, pushing. The latex was slippery, and Mr. Hesitant took it easy on Nathan. The film of slick and the caution were enough, but Nathan stared at the concrete floor and made a horrible noise of pain behind pressed lips. It had nothing to do with what Mr. Hesitant was doing to his ass and everything to do with what Nathan’s craving for destruction was doing to his mind.
“All right?” Mr. Hesitant panted.
Nathan snapped a sharp nod. He shifted, adjusted, accepted at a high price, and a hand steadied and smoothed over his lower back to rest on his side.
“Shit, tight.” Mr. Hesitant’s forehead dug between Nathan’s shoulder blades.
The music changed, and a riff of dissonance rendered it nearly impossible to hear Mr. Hesitant at all. Nathan thought the stranger said something else, and murky voices deep within Nathan wanted to make the douche stop speaking and start slamming, but the length inside Nathan finally sank, and the shadowy desires scattered.