The lights flash, the bass thunders in my head, and everything stinks of pot, cocaine and nicotine. And to be honest, I like it. A lot. I always do. The smell of clubs always makes me excited. Not just horny, but excited. That's how it always is. And tonight is no different.
They're blasting a remix of that 50 Cent song, In Da Club, and I can't help but grin. I stand out compared to the hundreds of people in brightly colored clothes, standing around; drinking whatever the guy at the bar gave me. I'm not concerned that it's most likely drugged. I almost always come to these things high. Nothing that guy could have given me could kill me. I can guarantee that. No one would drug me either. I'm just too damn important.
But here I am, clad in all leather and wet look vinyl. Girls and guys, a fair amount of them probably high on Ecstasy, would give me sexual stares now and then, asking from across the room if I wanted to follow them to the bathroom. I always give an indicating nod declaring I'd be there. But I never go. They are all too beneath me to care about.
I have my eye on someone else instead. I'm not gay, I can guarantee that. Now and then, there'll be a guy or two that I find myself attracted to, but not often. He is probably the most casually dressed person here. Lots of stripes were on his clothes, but nothing all that flashy. Nothing that stands out. I wonder if he had connections here. Maybe he is with a group that demanded he come in, and the bouncer just had to let him in. Maybe he was dangerous, and people knew if he wasn't let in, he might shoot up everyone that instant. But all seemed unlikely. Maybe he came in wearing something else.
But the way he moves to this blaring, lustful, trance music, I just can't keep my eyes off him. His hips move so smoothly, and his arms flutter outwards like the wingspan of some majestic, mythological creature. And with each stare, I find myself approaching him slightly.
He isn't really dancing with anyone. Every time I look up, he has somewhat alternated positions and is dancing with another girl. I sigh. He is obviously straight. There goes my chance.
But there's always hope in trying.
I maneuver through the crowd, finding myself coming up behind the guy. He has dark red hair, and he was grinding slightly in place. But the motion continues, and becomes slightly fierce as the song switches to "Who's Your Daddy", a Benny Benassi song. I feel his hips and his ass beginning to grind into my crotch. I gasp slightly.
"Listen." I say only loud enough for him to hear, directly into his ear, precisely the exact moment he realizes someone is dancing with him. "I don't know who the fuck you are. You don't know who the fuck I am…" I laugh a bit. "But you're gonna be coming home with me tonight."
The girl screams in the song, and he turns around, grinning, not sure what to say, but the grinding continues, his crotch rubbing up against mine. I moan slightly, putting one arm over his shoulder, thrusting my hips at him. Oh, there goes the erection starting. I think he notices.
"What's your name?" he asks, draping one of his arms over my shoulders, allowing him to get closer to me. Even if we weren't grinding, our crotches would still rubbing together. And I am moaning.
"Mello." I say to him, grinning and leaning down, covering that slight inch of space between our heights. Gently, I place my lips on his neck, pushing aside the fabric of a black and white striped shirt he had on. I nip lightly, hearing him gasp. He wasn't expecting it. "What about you?" I ask into his ear.
"Matt," he says up into mine, brushing my golden hair aside. "So, you really wanna take me home, huh?" I slide my leg between his, rubbing my upper thigh against his crotch as we continue to grind.
"Why not?" I reply, licking at his neck. "I've been watchin' your sweet ass all night." Matt laughs, reaching up to the back of my head, running his hands--which were covered in slightly rubbery gloves. Those could be fun later.—through my hair.
"I'm flattered." He says cheekily. "But dude, I'm not gay." I laugh.
"Neither am I."
Matt blushes a little. So do I. We smile a moment, before realizing we were hardly dancing. "C'mon." I say. "Let me get you a drink." The dancing stops, I wrap an arm around his shoulder and guide him to the bar. He reeks of axe and tobacco. Who here doesn't?
I offer him a seat at the bar which he takes thankfully. The bartender smiles at us. People at clubs always expect to see same sex couples at their bar. Not uncommon. I slide into a seat next to Matt and grin, and ask him what he wants.
"Vodka and Red Bull." He says. He has to be young with a request like that. I ask for straight up vodka, hold the Red Bull. Energy drinks don't settle with me.
"How old are you?" I ask softly so the bar tender doesn't hear.
"Eighteen." Matt says. I laugh.
"Barely legal." I purr, leaning up against him, grazing my teeth against his neck. Matt shivers. I can tell he likes it. "You're practically still jailbait." Matt gasps softly as I nip at his neck.
The bartender brings us our drinks. I don't car if someone put shit in them. I like having my drinks spiked. I pull back from Matt and take my shot of vodka in my hands.
Matt stares a bit at his drink before he takes it and starts to sip at it. "I just turned eighteen last month." He says, taking bigger sips now. Matt makes a slight slurping sound as he drinks. I hope he does that to me.
"Then," I say, downing my shot. The burn stings my throat, and I feel the alcohol shoot through me, settling in my groin. "You're still jailbait for me." I lean towards Matt again; he's staring at his drink.
My face comes in contact with the liquid, and I lap at the contents with my tongue, despite my disgust for energy drinks. Matt had just started to take a sip when I began to lick away.
"Are you high?" he asks. I shrug and laugh.
"Who knows, I could be." Matt laughs. I laugh. Someone nearby laughs. But not for the same reason. It's probably from the high that everyone here is on. I'm waiting for Matt to catch it. Things will be fun then.
"Heh." He begins. "Good. You're high, I'm drunk. It works out." Matt leans towards me, holding his glass in his right hand, reaching up to my shoulder with his left. His arm falls on my shoulder like a lead weight, but his hand is touching my upper back. His fingers begin to trace circles in my shirt.
"You know what I'd like right now." I say perversely to him. He tilts his head, waiting for my answer. I laugh. "Cocaine."
Matt scowls. I don't think he likes that idea. "You do cocaine I won't fuck you, like you want me to." I grin. Things are working out according to plan.
I fake a look of shock. "Since when did I say I wanted to fuck you?" I ask, taking another sip of his drink. The combination of vodka and Red Bull isn't that bad.
"When you said you were taking me home."
I chuckle. "Just because I want to take you home, doesn't mean I want to fuck you." I lean towards Matt so our lips are almost touching. "For all you know, it means I want you to come home with me so we can play some mother fucking Scrabble."
Matt laughs. I start to, but instead.
I crush my mouth against his, slipping my tongue in his mouth. He tastes like ash, mint, vodka, Red Bull, and what tastes like candy. Maybe the kid was high too. Matt moans into the kiss, and flicks at my tongue with his own. Not gay my ass. He's screaming faggot.
Then again, so am I.
Matt pulls away. I smile. He smiles. He takes a sip of his drink. I take a sip of it. Matt glares at me and kisses me again, trying to savor the taste of his drink. It's his god damn vodka and Red Bull, so he can have his mother fucking vodka and Red Bull. See if I care.
Matt pulls away, and I can see the glimmer of a thread saliva hanging from our mouths. He smirks, and downs the rest of his drink. He hops down from his bar stool. For a split second, I think he's going to leave.
He stands in place and looks up at me. "Come on." He says, offering his hand to me. "I want to dance again."
I climb down from the bar stool, place some money on the bar for the bartender, and take Matt's hand. I yank the glove a bit, tearing it from his hands. I want to see those hands. He smiles, the red hair in his face brushed to the side. He releases my hand and takes off his gloves, shoving them both into his pockets.
His hands are slender and pale, like the rest of him. And all I can think about are those hands wrapped around my cock. And I want him.
"Now you." He says, referring to the pair of leather gloves I wear everywhere I go. I smile at him and remove them one by one, holding out my hands for him to see. Mine are just as slender and pale as his are, but unlike him, my nails are painted. I usually paint them black, but the other day, I decided to paint the tips of my nails a dark red. It looks like I have blood on my hands.
And I wonder if Matt's thinking about me putting my hands on him.
Another song starts, I can't tell what it is, I don't care, but I like the bass. Matt takes my hand in his and drags me to the dance floor. I wonder how he got in again. Being under age and all. Well. I'm under age too. But, I have my own connections. But I don't really care.
Matt drags me more, and presses close to me, rubbing his body against mine. Leather against denim. Vinyl against cotton. It all works out. Matt moans slightly. While we're grinding, I run my hand between his legs. I squeeze slightly. And he loves it.
Our crotches, both somewhat stiff from the drugs and alcohol in our systems, as well as each other, continue to rub against another as we grind face to face. The lights flash brilliant colors. But nothing like the ones when I'll see when I fuck Matt senseless.
Matt moans again. This time so do I. His hand decided it was time to pay me back. It slides gently along the leather of my pants, the fingertips lingering over my increasing hard on. I lean down, and breathe warmly in Matt's ear.
"You want to fuck now?" I ask.
He laughs, removes his hand from my crotch, and allows his arms to snake around my neck. "I don't want to leave yet." He purrs innocently. "I'm having too much fun."
"Understandable." I reply, pressing my hips against his. He gasps. I love it when he gasps. I want him gasping my name. I want him screaming it. Oh god. I want to fuck him like a fuckin' animal. I want him to moan and bitch, and buck and cry. I want this kid to ride me like he's some kind of fuckin' whore. He's so fuckin' gorgeous. He's so fuckin' innocent.
And here he is. With me, grinding to fuckin' techno music, when we could be in my bed, adorned in chains and leather. And wax. And lubricant. And toys.
I think I'm about to cum, just grinding with him.
"Matt." I whisper to him, roughly shoving my hips against his. Matt cries out. I was too rough.
"Y-yeah?" he whimpers, recovering from the pain I just struck him with.
"Let's go to the bathroom."
He looks up at me. He's blushing.
We both have the same idea.