First-Time Client (m/m)

I slip through the gauntlet of sweat and naked skin, feeling the press of humid cotton and cool silk against my cheek. I'm not in the mood to lose myself in that throng, moving in pulses against the music. Another day I might enjoy melting into that mass of bodies and becoming a part of a greater whole. It's like merging into a school of fish, shifting and swaying as one to the currents of sound.
No. Tonight I'm focused. I've got a goal in mind, and slipping among the clubbers I go on the prowl.

I know I'd just seen him earlier... a new face. Nice hair, but with wide eyes like he'd just gotten a new style and was self-conscious of wearing a look that didn't quite belong to him yet. I wonder if he's new to town, or if he's new to the scene. Or if he's both.

I spot him, sulking at the bar and feigning interest in his beer. It's a familiar cast: shy fella, afraid to make any moves. Poor bastard is probably hoping desperately that someone would notice him. He's waiting for someone else to make the move.

People can smell a closet case like that from a mile away. Some don't care to put up with that shit. Others get off on it. I can't afford to think about myself though... it's not my job to think of my own needs. Besides, I like a challenge. It's the sorta thing that keeps my skills sharp.

I prepare myself.

The bass thrum of the music is too loud for someone to be heard clearly. Best anyone can do would be to yell “DO YOU WANNA DANCE” and hope a guy can make out your muffled words through some lip-reading. I don't care much for that kind of greeting, and instead I reach out as I walk past his seat.

My fingertips graze his hair and he flicks his head to me as I expected. A swirl of my wrist and that probing touch turns into a a feather-soft caress against his cheek. His eyes widen and his jaw drops, and my lips twitch in a coy smile in reply. I let my gaze relax and go all dreamy. My momentum carries me forward, slipping into the darker corners of the club.

For a moment it seems like he doesn't take the bait, but then there's the pinprick sensation at the back of my head like someone's watching over my shoulder. I grin. I've got reliable senses like that, and I weave around the tables and milling bodies with a well-practiced step. My open silk shirt flares out behind me, but the humidity of the air still blankets my skin and leaves me sweating. I give my hips a little sway as I walk, just bordering on slutty.

Finally I reach the door.

WARNING: EMERGENCY EXIT. ALARM WILL SOUND it says. It's a lie of course, and I feel his hand touch my arm as if to stop me. I rest my hand against the door and turn.

The hunger is in his eyes, eating through the shock. I know how fast it's going and how reckless it seems. Yet I bring a finger up to my lips and let them twitch into a coy smile. I give the door a little push.

It swings open silently and I step through, with a little “come hither” beckon as I do.