:The Disco Ball Comes Down: Part of the fun is the glitter. Well in your mind at least. It’s been your fantasy for a month at least, little glimpses that have embedded in your mind. A taunt you plan to put to rest tonight. You pocket a fresh tube of it before you leave for the club because you know exactly where that glitter is going. Times like this are far and few between--special nights with Justin. It takes too much planning. Too many things need to fall into place. The club. The time. The city. It’s late already, after midnight, before you even leave. Justin is in the limo and you ignore him because that’s the way the game is played. But you can feel him. Always. He radiates this sexual energy all the time. Even when he sleeps. It’s insane, a crazy thing you can’t pinpoint. Then again, you don’t want to. ******************** He gets hotter everytime you do this. The game is played with expert ease--a dance you look forward to. Justin is a master in every way. He’s on the dance floor--it’s nearly four in the morning--and his shirt is hanging open. You shift because damn if he can’t make you hard just by being. “Buy you a drink?” some guy asks, but you shake your head and move over a little. He’s not part of the game. Your eyes drag back on Justin and way he’s shaking his hips. Sweat dances along your upper lip and you want to yank him out of the club and fuck him in the alley. But then the game would be over and you’ve waited far too long for this. So you order another drink and slip toward the dance floor. There are only a dozen or so people left out there dancing--three women--the rest men. One has his hands on Justin’s hips. You freeze in a momentary lapse of reason and debate on charging the guy. But Justin turns slowly, licks his lips and his eyes are right on you. Staring. He smiles and his shirt slips off his shoulder.  It incites you to see him and when he turns in the man’s arms, your stomach tightens. You see hands grabbing his ass--the ass that belongs to you--and your drink slips from your hand. Justin keeps grinning but you’re confused. It’s not part of the game. Or is it? **************** Being jealous is not an emotion you’re used to. Anger you can deal with, hurt, sure. But this is beyond it all. Many times you’ve played the game with Justin--creeping out to some club--but this scenario has never played out. Not to this extent. A splash of cold water to your forehead and you wander back out. Justin isn’t on the dance floor. You scan the nearly empty club for him and find him finally spot him with the man from the dance floor. The man’s face is buried in Justin’s shoulder and your strangely entranced. Justin turns and grins, so you hit him back with a sly smile of your own. He’s toying with you--making you squirm. And you’re hard--willing to wait. **************** Justin’s laugh carries through the club and you roar inside. The music continues and you walk over. “Dance with me,” you say through the haze of alcohol. You can see the sweat glisten across Justin’s chest and the way his eyes dance into yours. You can see the tell tale bulge in his pants and the flush in his cheeks. “Maybe,” he says, twisting his gaze away. You grab his arm and drag him back a few feet. “Now,” you demand and you wrap your fingers around his wrist. There is fury in your tone, but it’s not in anger. It’s pure craving, a lustful desire. You’ve waited and done your job by watching him dance. Drink after drink, you sat back and watched him grind. You play well. He plays well. But now you’re tired and more horny than you can recall. Dancing isn’t something you *love* to do, but this is how it goes. You have the sudden urge to be X Rated with him. Drop everything you know and become a sexual predator. Justin’s heels are dug in, and he’s not moving. He’s watching you with amused eyes which makes you crazy so you slip around and wrap your arms around his waist. Your knees press against the back of his, urging him forward. With the tip of your nose, you push the shirt off his shoulder again, then run your hands down his arms taking the shirt with you. “You don’t need that,’ you whisper into his ear. He tries to laugh but it emerges as a low moan and you know he’s caving a little. Slowly his feet begin to move and the DJ replaces the sedate music with a mind blowing thumping remix of some song that sounds vaguely familiar. All you can feel is the bass trembling through you as you step out onto the dance floor. What few people are left seem lost in their own world so you press your crotch against Justin’s ass and dig for the glitter. You have this insane idea to smear it all over his chest so he glitters for you in the shine of the disco ball. Lights strobe obscuring you a bit and the pain in your temples subsides a little. Sexual energy is flying, ripping through you. Justin’s head comes back to rest on your shoulder and you lick his neck because you’ve always wanted to do that in public. It’s nicer than you imagine so you do it again. He shivers in your arms. “Dance with me,” you say again. His hips begin to move and you press against him while you fumble with the glitter. Justin lifts his head and you squeeze some silver goo onto your fingers. While you dance behind him your hand wanders to his chest and you smudge your fingertip across him. His head cranes down and he can see your hands decorating him. Again and again your hand wipes across his stomach, his nipples and his neck. Glitter is floating through the air and you drop the empty tube to the floor. Gripping his hips, you thrust your crotch against his ass, glad for the friction it causes. Justin whimpers and you can only hear it because his head is turned into you. His hands drift behind him and wander down the side of your thighs. “You want me?” you tease. The music encompasses your bodies and you let your hand float between his legs and you *know* he wants you. It’s unspoken but realized that you’ll have sex--crazy hot sex because that’s the way nights like these go. A club, a taunt, then insane sex that will embrace you in ways that most people only dream of. Under it all, Justin is your soul mate--a perfect fit to your puzzle of a life. He turns in your arms and his lips look so red, almost like he’s wearing lipstick. Somewhere underneath, you can smell the other man on him and it drives feral instincts from your soul. You grip the back of his neck and crush your lips to his, sucking and biting until he gasps for breath. His hands are on your ass and you can’t think because you’re dizzy. Only Justin has ever been able to make you feel like that--like you’re on the edge of a cliff with your toes hanging off, looking over, but never actually falling. The ultimate rush. When you wrench away, his lips are even redder and you waste no time. The glitter bounces off the disco ball and nearly blinds you but you manage to stumble from the dance floor, ignoring the shirt that’s crumpled on the carpet, and head for the exit. The limo waits to drive you back to the hotel where you’ll have to sneak in. It’s worth it though, as the door slams and Justin climbs between your legs. He has these incredibly long legs and his knees flank your hips tightly. Glitter is everywhere, floating through the air. It’s in your mouth when he kisses you and in your eyes when he pushes up on his knees to rub his nipple against your lips. You take it because you know what it does to him. It makes him crazy--flushed--and these tiny sounds rip from him. Sounds that make you want to inch over the cliff. Justin loves to claw. Your hair, your back. He bites with careless abandon often leaving teeth marks as a battle scar. “Justin,” you gasp as he snaps onto your shoulder. It hurts--but the pain shimmies down your body to your dick--and you thrust toward him. He always smiles at you. Not a sweet smile but this sinful smile that makes your insides turn to jelly and your body burn. Its so hot perspiration breaks out across your forehead and you struggle to sit up. “Hot,” you mumble, trying to undress with his weight on you. “Thank you,” he says, but he loses his balance and falls backward onto the limo floor. He’s sprawled out as you rip your shirt over your head in a frenzied panic to get cool. Your hair is stuck to your head and you wonder if you’re sick. “Jesus, is it fucking hot?” Justin shrugs with no attempt to move and you watch his body sparkle in the dimness of the runner lights. His hand is between his leg, rubbing, and you wipe at your forehead with the shirt you’ve just pulled off. His hands run down his zipper and you know what he’s planning. So you lean back--as hot as you are--and watch with hooded eyes. Without thinking, you begin to rub yourself. Because he is. Without shifting his gaze from yours, he slides his jeans down over his hips and you aren’t surprised that he’s going commando. Justin does that. “Why you playing?” he asks, nodding toward your hand. “You gonna just sit and watch me?” It’s your turn to shrug. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” He chews on his lip in thought before gripping his cock. “Nothing to me. Either way I win.” This is news to you. “How the hell do you figure that?” Your hand drops to the side and you examine him carefully. “You like your hand better then me?” Justin laughs, this really rich laugh from his belly. A happy laugh. “Well my hand doesn’t talk back to me,” he says. “But it’s not quite as fun as you are.” You’re glad to hear *that* and you yank your own pants down--sports briefs included because you‘re not quite the commando type--but don’t move. The leather sticks to the back of your thighs and you crack the window a little for some air. Now it’s just a battle of wills. Your fingers dance along the skin of your cock and you smile slyly. “I ain’t moving.” He rolls his head to the side and his eyes flutter shut. A soft moan topples from his lips and he strokes himself harder. “Lance,” he sings, bending his knees. “C’mere.” You’re tempted but want to win. Then again, what’s winning if you don’t get to touch him. That glitter is beckoning. Shaking your head no is a half-hearted attempt to rattle him. But he’s not rattled. He’s only thrusting those hips of his into the air and fondling his balls and damn if it doesn’t look like fun. You look down at your own erection and frown. It’s twitching and seems to be leaning toward Justin. “You c’mere,” you try. Justin is lost though, dancing alone. His wrist is a mere blur in your eyes and he looks so beautiful lying there. One final glance at your hand and you slide down to the floor with a thud. The limo is sailing along and you’ve never actually had sex in one before. Too shy or some shit. But not tonight. Tonight Justin is leading the parade with his glittered body and you’re ready to go. “You’re a fucking tease,” you rumble against his ear, shoving his hand aside. You place it on your cock instead and kiss his neck, sucking the flesh without care. A hickey will mean he’s yours--and drive make up crazy--not to mention Chris who will ask a thousand questions. “And I win,” he hissed, arching his back into you. The game is over, you realize, as you lean back on your heels and stare down at him. There’s nothing in the world more important than the way he makes you feel, both inside and out. You fuck, in the limo, with grunts and cries. A mutual release of everything good in your relationship pouring into each other as your bodies move. It’s still hot, as you hover over Justin, moving in and out, but he’s sweating too. And the glitter is now covering your chest too. It’s fitting somehow. :: back :: :: feedback ::