Chapter One #3
He pictured the eyeliner smudging and running with his tears while some guy fucked him roughly from behind and told him he was pretty.
“How do I get it off?” he asked weakly.
“Use some lotion; you’ll be fine. You can always tell your job it’s from a Halloween party.”
Kilian snorted a hysterical laugh. He could not tell his job anything of the sort because everyone he worked with, and every hockey fan on the internet, knew what he’d been dressed as for Halloween. “Okay, hit me.”
After, he glanced at himself. The liner made his eyes look bigger and darker. Maybe it was the lighting or the club’s smoky air from the fog machine. He still couldn’t hold a candle to Liam’s elfin good looks, but it was nice to imagine.
“Here’s the plan,” Liam told him. “We get tequila shooters, we hit the dance floor, we make out a little and get some big, toppy bears to come running.” He studied Kilian briefly. “Well, bigger. Seriously, how much do you work out?”
Not enough, judging by the three updated workout schedules Kilian’s dad texted him after Kilian didn’t take his call.
“It’s a living,” Kilian muttered.
Liam frowned again. “Whatever. Come on—tequila.”
“Can we make it vodka?”
Liam wrinkled his nose. “You do you.”
He let Kilian order what he wanted despite his clear disapproval.
Part of Kilian wished he were sophisticated enough to drink wine or classy cocktails, but his fake ID wasn’t good enough to test it, especially with alcohol he wouldn’t get buzzed on immediately.
Anyway, he’d developed a taste for the sharp, flavorless burn of vodka.
Another topic Kilian had gotten really into researching was Russia and the various ethnic groups there, for reasons he wouldn’t be sharing with anyone.
Developing a taste for vodka was an upside.
After a few shots, Liam deemed them ready. “Come on. I wanna get fuuuucked,” he said, giggling.
“You’re bossy,” Kilian observed, but he let himself be dragged out onto the floor. He’d gone home with Liam because of his bossiness, despite Liam being the opposite of his type, physically speaking. So far, big guys hadn’t been mean enough.
“Some guys are into the bossy twink thing.” Liam winked.
Kilian was neither a twink, nor was he especially bossy.
Consequently, the guys checking him out were neither rough enough to give him the pounding he was looking for on purpose, nor were they big enough to do it by accident.
He didn’t encourage any of them; it wouldn’t do to make the Liam mistake twice, not when his opportunities to get laid came so rarely.
His handful of admirers would survive the disappointment.
It would be so much easier if Liam wanted to top.
But Liam had struck gold already. Over Kilian’s shoulder, he’d caught the attention of someone with his dance moves, all sultry winks and exaggerated hip thrusts. And now, he was sandwiched between Kilian on one side and a tall, muscly white guy with a tribal tattoo on the other.
Kilian was about to leave them to it and head to the bar for more vodka when a thick arm wrapped around him from behind.
“Hey, sweetheart,” said a voice with a thick Texan accent.
Kilian looked over his shoulder.
The stranger stood a few centimeters taller than him and had a bit more cushion over his muscles than Kilian. He was older, thirty at least, and he had a beard.
“Hey,” he said with a grin.
It only took about ten more minutes of grinding to get the guy into the bathroom, which looked much dingier an hour on. He crowded Kilian into a stall, big hands on his hips, and licked into his mouth as soon as the door closed. Kilian relaxed into it, letting his body go soft and pliant.
“You got a condom?” he asked between kisses.
Spit cooled on his chin. He wanted to wipe it off, but that seemed impolite.
“Shit, yeah,” the guy said. Kilian wondered if it was too late to ask his name. “You wanna…”
Kilian turned around and unbuttoned his jeans. They were so tight he had to do an ungainly little wiggle to get them over his ass, and he pushed down the briefs underneath right after.
A callused hand palmed his cheeks, spreading them apart.
“Your ass is amazing. Ten out of ten. You must do so many squats.”
Squats. Sure. What could Kilian say in response? No, actually, I ice skate for a living? “Thanks.”
Lubed fingers prodded his hole, smearing slick around. “You need prep?”
“I like when it hurts.”
There was a pause, and then the guy’s cock notched against him. He pushed in slow, too slow. Kilian wanted it rough, wanted to be fucked as though he didn’t mean anything. But judging by the way the Texan palmed his side gently, Kilian wouldn’t get his wish.
“Doin’ okay, darlin’?” the man asked.
The accent was wrong. Too musical, too twangy, not thick enough. Not what Kilian wanted to hear from the man behind him, gripping his hips tight as he fucked inside.
“Yeah. It’s good. C’mon, fuck me.”
The man did as he was told. Not hard enough, but the danger of it, the inherent sluttiness of getting railed in a public bathroom, was enough to get Kilian hard.