The club was dark, hidden from the street. Lance slunk along the rain covered streets, sunglasses covering his eyes even in the blackness of night. Because he was positive he’d seen Chris travel down this road. Alone. Positive he’d seen Chris sneak out of the hotel and crawl down a back exit, creeping past security. And Lance had been curious, virtually consumed. For nearly two weeks he’d observed Chris. For nearly two weeks he’d been plagued by new feelings of desire. Hot coals that burned in his gut whenever he saw Chris. Lips that suddenly begged to be kissed roughly. Hands that seemed to linger just a second longer than necessary. Dark eyes that seemed to bore holes of desire playfully yet knowingly. Lance thought it may have been the way Chris painted his nails black as of late. Or the remnants of dark lipstick Lance noticed on his mouth very early in the morning. Or it could have been the tender nipple piercing that Lance had only accidentally found by walking in on him during a clothes change. Yeah, the tiny silver hoop that glinted in the overhead lighting while Chris hummed some mindless tune in this incredibly intense tone that had sent shivers right to Lance’s toes. Whatever changed in Chris had incited some shadowy recess in Lance. His mind couldn’t focus. His heart couldn't slow down. He was suffering in every sense of the word. Sneaking out was not something Lance liked to do -- hell, it wasn’t even something he’d ever actually done before. But something far inside his soul told him it was okay, that he should go and put his mind at rest. Stumbling after Chris had been a lesson, a lesson in life and the world he was normally so sheltered from. Taxis and hurrying across six lane streets. Dodging people and glancing over his shoulder. But Lance had done it, trailed Chris, keeping his eyes pinned on the ankle length leather coat Chris favored lately. And now the club stood before him, a cavernous building whose windows were coated with dust. A converted warehouse perhaps that stood valiantly against the threatening sky. “ID,” the burly bouncer demanded, and Lance blinked up at the man mountain with wary eyes, trying to sneak a peek inside. Gauging if it was really a good idea to enter the place, even if Chris had -- even if his curiosity was gnawing at him like an ulcer. Slowly he lifted his wallet from his back pocket and extracted his license, pressing it into the man’s hand. A sliver of light popped out from a flashlight, and the man grunted gruffly, staring into Lance’s eyes for authenticity. “Forty dollar cover,” he mumbled, handing the ID back and nodding toward the cashier. Forty dollars? Lance almost laughed, but the man was pinning him with hard eyes -- so he suppressed the chuckle and nodded solemnly, replacing his wallet and moving into the long hallway. Stopping only to pay, then moving along the spongy walls to the thumping sounds of music. His heart was drumming in time with the deep vibrations, and a layer of perspiration broke out along his palms. He almost wanted to leave, to turn tail and run back to the hotel. Crawl under the covers and jerk off the tension of the moment -- but he was far too intrigued. Besieged by notions of what Chris was up to. Of where he went night after night. City after city. Of the mystery that seemed to fall over him as of late. Lance licked his lips and forced his feet onward, gravitating toward the music. His cell phone rang, causing him to fly backward in shock. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed, pressing against the wall to let people pass. A quick check of the caller id, and he put the phone away, muting the ringer, determined not to have that happen again. A hand to his heart and he continued his journey, stumbling through the darkness, wondering what kind of club needed to shroud it’s entrance in such obscurity. Soft curtains brushed his hands and Lance took a deep breath, letting the silk like fabric caress his palms. Drawing the material back, his eyes tried to focus in the backlight that illuminated the room. Then his mind tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. His stomach tried to stop rolling nervously as he searched for Chris in the scattered mass of people grinding to various sounds of shock rock -- or some shit. It took Lance a beat of ten before he could move, before he could enter the world before him. With wide eyes, he tried to blend in, but with his faded jeans and denim jacket, he was betting on being ousted momentarily. Cruising along the wall, he searched for Chris, for the whole reason he was even there.  And it wasn’t long before he caught the object he’d been seeking -- the familiar shape of his friend who was slouched in an overstuffed chair, his leather clad legs spread wide open -- a blonde boy on his knees rubbing his hands along Chris‘ thighs. Lance thought he might be dead. His head throbbed as he watched with hooded eyes, as the sound of his throat gulping down air reverberated in his ears. As all the blood raced to pool in his groin -- so turned on he couldn't think. It wasn’t long before a hand landed on his shoulder, demanding answers. “You lost?” the voice boomed. “No,” Lance replied, unable to look away from Chris. “I’m ... I’m ...” He had no answers, nothing comprehensible to say. Anonymity seemed pretty fucking important, so he turned and raced from the club, dashing down the bizarre hallway he’d just entered through, out into the street where puddles and a midnight thunderstorm engulfed him. Soggy from the rain, Lance shoved his hands into his pockets, his finger rubbing heatedly against the erection that sat solidly beneath the denim. He growled mostly because he’d been pussy and run away. Because he could have been cool and stayed to watch -- or saunter over to Chris and join in. Shaking his head vehemently, he hailed a cab and headed for the hotel, restlessly. Obsessed. Frantic. Frantic because seeing Chris had provoked these deviant feelings in him. The black lipstick and makeup that Chris wore serving as lustful fodder for his brain. Imagining kissing the darkened lips and running his thumbs over the black eyeliner, smudging it along Chris’ temple as they fucked. “Goddamnit!” Lance hissed, leaning back against the tattered leather seat of the cab. He raked his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. There was Chris, with the blonde boy’s hands rubbing seductively over his inner thighs, brushing against his crotch ever so slightly. There was Chris with his blackened eyes closed, savoring the delicate touches that seemed to mingle hotly with the pounding music. And Lance curled his fists, letting his eyes open. Trying to drown out that sexy as fuck image from his head. Because the last thing he needed was to have a damn crush. Especially on Gothic Chris. Lance yanked the ugly hotel chair to the full sized window overlooking the back of the hotel. He stripped down to his boxers and slid the velvety blanket from the bed to toss over his body. And he sat. And he waited as time ticked on. As the night seemed to disappear into early morning. His eyes were heavy, but he was intent on waiting for Chris. He resisted masturbating because it would only serve to send him into a post orgasmic nap. Then he would surely miss Chris. So he sat, very still, his jade eyes burning from exhaustion. His body tingling with imagery he ached to embed himself into. And as dawn began to crack over the sky, Lance saw Chris emerge from a Mercedes, dark sunglasses positioned over his eyes. The long leather coat still gracing his frame -- his brown hair tousled but still spiked. Lance held his breath as another occupant climbed out. The blonde. A full body twitch caused Lance to jerk as he strained to get a better view. And as Chris looked around for signs of fans, the blonde ran his hand under the coat. Chris smiled and pushed the boy back against the car in a fiery kiss ... and Lance thought he would faint. A pat on the blonde tresses, and Chris sauntered off without so much as a backward glance, disappearing into the hotel lobby, out of Lance’s sight. Only then did Lance dare edge into his bed, curling up on his side. His tired eyes shutting immediately. Drifting off into crazy dreams of strobe lights and sweaty bodies -- of writhing naked against the wall with Chris pressed against him -- of a full body orgasm that ripped at his body as Chris decorated his face with red lipstick. So it was quite the disappointment when  he woke in a damp stain of come with nobody beside him. Not that he *wanted* Chris to be there -- or so he tried to convince himself. Insult to injury was having to stare at the sticky little mess his dream had caused. And while the banging on the door of his hotel rang though his ears, Lance growled. In utter and complete frustration. Because if it was Chris on the other end of that door, he feared it would all flood out. He feared that he would grab Chris by the shirt and slam his body against the wall. Possibly kiss him -- with tongue. And that ... that would be bad for business. “Who is it?” Lance screamed, balling up the blanket and covering the evidence of his body’s betrayal. “It’s me! Lemme in!” Lance slid his boxers off, shoving them into the side pocket of his overnight bag, and quickly knotted a towel around his waist because Justin was not the most patient person he knew. And Justin would only bang his fists harder on the door if it wasn’t opened in a timely fashion. “What the hell?” Lance shrieked as the knocks became louder. His hand slid along the steel of the knob and he flung the door open. “Some kind of fire out there?” Justin smiled innocently and pushed his way in, his blue eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Oh my GOD, Lance, you’re not gonna be able to DEAL with this.” Justin flopped down on the bed, and Lance let out an involuntary wince, glad Justin’s ass was just left of the mess. “Chris. Fucking Chris man.” At the mention, Lance froze. At the hint of deviousness in Justin’s eyes, Lance stood very still. “What? What about Chris?” It was a squeaky voice that fell out of his lips, and Lance clamped a hand over his mouth, mostly in shock. “He’s a night crawler,” Justin laughed, sprawling out on the bed beneath him, clutching his stomach in a fit of giggles. “He’s like this enigma type guy. Oh fuck. It’s so ... so ...” Lance swallowed thickly, wondering how Justin knew. Wondering if Justin was a lunatic for barging in at eight in the morning to spew shit to him. Wondering if he had any tell tale signs of his newfound lust for that enigma type guy. “So?” he queried, letting his eyes dart around the room. “He’s allowed.” “To be a freak?” Justin gasped, throwing his head off the side of the mattress. “To pierce his fucking nipple man?” “Maybe he thinks its sexy,” Lance defended, inching toward the bed. “Maybe it’s erotic or something.” Already his mind was betraying him with frenzied images, and already his dick was starting it’s impassioned rise to meet those images. “Maybe it makes him all hot when it gets tugged on during sex.” Justin stopped laughing and rolled onto his stomach, spearing Lance with a perplexed look. “What the fuck?” he asked. “Lance? What are you talking about?” He knew he’d said too much, and with a leap, he grabbed Justin’s arms and yanked him from the bed, only satisfied when the lanky younger man landed on the carpet with a nice thud. “Get out,” Lance smiled. “Get out, get out, get out. Go bug someone else. I have to get dressed.” Justin crawled to his feet and sighed, switching his baseball hat to face backward. “Well cry me a river,” he snarled, heading for the door. “I thought you’d get a laugh out of it.” Lance shrugged, snapped the door shut behind Justin and rushed for the shower. Rushed to surround himself with steam and hot pelts of water to wash away the thick layer of dirt that seemed to coat him. Guilt he supposed as he unwrapped the complimentary bar of soap. Or shame. Or both. His hands scrubbed over his flesh with brute force, hoping for a cleanliness he wasn’t sure would come. After all, no shower had ever been able to cure deep seeded lust and fascination. NEXT MENU