Chapter 19 #2
Maggie is a fantastic dancer: sensuous, confident, and fun.
He keeps my hips busy, encourages me to grab his waist, and slides his hands all over my chest. He doesn’t turn me on, not really, but that’s for the best. I focus on dancing with him, and let my mind wander to some nice, safe sexual fantasies.
Safe because they’re in my head, not real, and nothing to be afraid of.
And Young-gi stars in all of them.
I bite my lip as I’m passed to Sam, and he and Jules grind on me, touch me, sandwich me between them so I don’t have to think too hard about moving. I just let myself be moved. And thinking about Young-gi while I get to relax a little bit? Yeah, it’s getting me there.
The first bottle is in my hand a minute later, and I crack it open in front of my nose. Inhaling deeply, I shudder and my eyes roll back.
The hands on me multiply, the shivers race along every nerve ending.
The lights seem to pulse more starkly, brighter brights and dimmer dims, flashing everything in and out as my mind spins.
I grab the first person I can get my hands on, Ry, and pull his face to mine.
His laughing kiss is teasing and enthusiastic, and I hear Maggie whine.
“No fair, kiss me too, babe.”
I’m too hot, too dizzy, too high to think about it. Everything tightens, my breath hitches, I’m so close…
But poppers don’t last long, and I start to come down before I can manage it. I slump in frustration once it’s out of my system, breathing hard. Anger is familiar to me, but I shove it back down. I’m bitter and frustrated, but I can’t let myself lose my temper again. I need to keep a handle on it.
“It didn’t get you there?” Maggie asks, kissing my neck, while Sam is pressing against me from behind, moving so in sync with me that we might as well be one person. “Take the second one, babe.”
I do as he says, my fingers shaking. But being anxious that I won’t be able to get off isn’t helping me relax, and I spend the three-minute high desperate, my need clawing at my insides, ruining the high before it’s even fully over.
“I can’t,” I sob, actually tearing up. My dick is fluctuating between being fully hard, ready to go, and half-mast, soft and sad. I can’t stay hard long enough, can’t keep my mind off my shame and my past long enough, can’t forget who I am for long enough. “I can’t.”
Jules shushes me gently, and Georgie pets my cheek, brushing my tears away. Seeing my distress makes his expression collapse into worry.
“It’ll be alright, Tommy,” he tells me, but the music is so loud I have to read his lips to understand. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay!” I cry, but pull the third popper from my pocket. I don’t even know why I’m trying–while I’m feeling this way, defeated and lost, I probably won’t get there. But I have to try. I’m desperate. I’d do anything to just get some relief.
I take the hit, and my brain untethers. I feel like I have a body but also don’t. I’m swimming in my own self, like I’m a few sizes too big for my insides, but it’s good. A sloshy, warm, relaxed feeling. I’m kissing someone–Ry, I think–and I’m groaning, but I can’t finish. I can’t.
I tear my lips from his, gasping for air like I’m coming up from underwater. I think I’m full-on crying now, my head still spinning a little despite the rapidly fading drug in my system.
“Tommy?” Sam asks, his hand sliding down my arm. But my temper is rising, my frustration a bitter, cruel thing, and I wrench myself away almost violently. Panting hard, shuddering and wavering between defiance and defeat, I storm off the dance floor, shoving anyone who gets in my way.
Young-gi is watching me, his gravitational force pulling me in, and I collapse into the booth beside him and put my head down on the table.
“Shit,” I sigh, then shove myself back up again. “Let’s leave.”
“Did you get what you came for?” he asks.
“Not even close.”
“Seems your drug of choice isn’t good enough.”
I snarl at him. “And whose fault is that? You said I could only use poppers, you said only three, and I did as you asked because I gave my word. So if I’m not satisfied, then it’s on you. Let’s. Fucking. Leave.”
I stand, only to be pushed back into the bench seat by Maggie, who climbs on top of me, the rest of the crew piling into the booth with us. Sam, Jules, and Ry sit on the bench opposite mine, while Georgie leans anxiously on the table and Maggie straddles me.
“Babe, come on, don’t give up,” he says, putting his hands on my chest. “We want to help you.”
“Get off, Mags,” I say tiredly, but I find myself putting my head on his shoulder, anyway. Feeling sorry for myself like a loser. Stealing a hug, since he’s already here on my lap and everything. It’s nice. “I appreciate you, but I’m gonna go.”
“This can’t be healthy,” Maggie says. “Why’d you only take poppers?”
“Who’s your friend?” Sam asks, eyeing Young-gi like he’s a prime piece of steak. “Rawr. Is he the one who bailed you out?”
I ignore that. “I’m just done for tonight, Maggie. Drop it, okay? I don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
And by ‘everyone,’ I clearly mean Young-gi, because he’s the only stranger at the table.
Maggie hums thoughtfully, his gaze also running up and down Young-gi, but less appreciative and more skeptical. “Are you his client for the night or what? Tommy, I thought you were done with that.”
“He’s not my–I’m not still turning tricks, Maggie,” I huff. “He’s my…um…”
“He’s with me,” Young-gi asserts for me, and his hand lands on the back of my neck. “So get the fuck off of him. I’ve been tolerant tonight and let him have his fun, but he said he’s done; that means he’s done.”
Maggie leans back and gets out of the booth, crawling off my lap in the face of Young-gi’s cold anger. He scowls, staring down at me, and puts his hands on his slim hips.
“Tommy, come on, I’ve got other stuff. You know you need it. If this guy doesn’t care enough to let you do this, to know you need it, then he should be the one to fuck off. Even Bruce understood, back when you were with him, and he was head over heels for you.”
“Bruce?” Young-gi asks, almost conversational, too casual. I get a cold shiver down my spine.
“I can’t, Maggie–”
“This is fucked up!” Maggie stops me. “How long has it been, huh? It’s got to be a fucking health hazard by now.
You’ll go insane! I’m fucking sorry for you, Tommy, I feel bad for you, and I want to help you.
So tell him to fuck off and come back to the dance floor with us.
I’ll give you some Molly and we can just vibe until you feel better. ”
It’s tempting. So tempting. My stomach lurches and I grip the table in front of me.
“Help him with what?” Young-gi demands to know. “Feel bad for him, why?”
“It’s none of your fucking business,” I snap, pulling myself away from his grip. “You don’t get to control everything I do. It isn’t fair, okay? This isn’t fair, it’s not fair! I’m trying and I can’t–” I cut myself off and shake my head. “It’s not your fucking business,” I repeat.
“Does he not know?” Georgie asks, hesitant, almost too shy to be heard over the throbbing music. “Maybe we could just explain?”
“Tommy,” Young-gi says, all commanding and shit. “Explain.”
“No!” I whine, putting my head back on the table, on the edge of throwing a fit.
“Come on, Tommy,” Sam encourages, pulling on my hand. “Let us help you.”
“He’s not going with you,” Young-gi snaps. “He already told you that.”
“Well, I think–”
“He needs my–”
“Maybe we should–?”
Everyone starts talking over me at once, talking about me.
Maggie and Sam have their hands on one arm, trying to ease me out of my seat, and Young-gi has his hand on my other arm, keeping me in place as he demands answers I don’t want to give.
Jules and Ry are chiming in, Georgie is anxiously trying to give advice.
And you know what? Fuck all of this. It’s too much.
“Get the fuck off me!” I push them all away and shove Young-gi as hard as I can, managing to move him a few inches deeper into the booth. The force, the impact, eases something in me and I turn in my seat to face him.
“Get the fuck off!” I shove him again, as hard as I can, knowing that I might be bruising his chest, but I can’t stop myself. “Get off me!”
I shove him again, my hands on his chest, until I’m pressing him back against the wall, kneeling on the seat, gasping for air. And he lets me, so maybe I’m not hurting him too badly, after all.
“This isn’t fair,” I choke, running out of steam. “It wasn’t fair. I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t ask for it, to be made into this.”
Young-gi stares up at me while I press against him, my palms flat against the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Wait, are they together?” Jules asks. “Like, together-together?”
“Then why doesn’t he know?” Sam adds. I stiffen as they start up again, their well-meant intentions of helping me grating on my nerves because it’s useless, worthless. “He’d kind of have to know if they were together, right?”
“Tommy, babe,” Maggie murmurs, getting behind me on the bench, wrapping his arms around my waist. Young-gi’s eyes flash to the embrace and I see fire, anger, and possessiveness. I read the emotions on his face in a way I never have before.
“Let go of him,” Young-gi demands. “Enough. No more kissing, no more touching. He’s mine.”
And that just about does it for me, for my temper, because this isn’t fair and I should be allowed to get help! I growl in the back of my throat and scramble out of the booth with Maggie.
“No, Young-gi, fuck you!” I shout, sounding confused and almost drunk, feeling kind of drunk because I can’t think, my thoughts are all too loud, swimming in all the noise. “You don’t get to make this decision for me!”
“What decision?” He follows me, standing toe to toe, grasping my chin in a familiar hold and making me look at him. “Tell me what you’re here for, Tommy. Tell me what you need. What are they helping you with? What’s got you throwing this temper tantrum?”