Warning: There may be triggers here! Please review :). Thanks!
It feels like a dream… a nightmare, really. He looks up to see a tall, thin man in a suit leading him away from the line.
He is lead back, into a dark, smokier corner of the bar. The floor is sticky under his shoes.
A man in a fedora and a ginger are kissing so passionately in the corner, the word hardly seems to apply. Its almost feral, the men's need for each other.
A hand is on his shoulder, pressing him down and forcing him to his knees. He sinks down, his mind disconnecting from his body. The weight remains on his shoulder.
His belly cramps, low, and tight and painful. The muscles are aching from holding back.
He is suddenly aware of the dryness of his mouth. He knows what is coming. He licks his lips.
He senses more than hears the zipper being drawn down.
Dammit! He doesn't wait this. Not now. Not like this. He doesn't want to be the victim.
Silently, he rises, throwing the man's hand off his shoulder.
"Fuck you!" He hisses, slapping away the offending hand. The word comes out as dry as an autumn leaf.
He runs, almost blindly, from the club. Past the man in the fedora running his hands along a pale, slender back. Past the whirling Warblers on the dance floor. Past the bouncer he had charmed earlier.
By the dumpsters behind the bar, he unzips his fly and relieves himself. There is no sweeter feeling.
But, relief doesn't last long. Bile rises in his dry throat. His head spins, and he doubles over as his body purges acid and alcohol.
He stands and wipes his mouth on his sleeve, trying to get rid of the awful taste.
It's time to go home. He reaches for his phone, texts the others to tell them he's leaving, calls a cab.
He leans against the rough brick, letting the air revive him.
He is in control.