One year ago

Lights strobed throughout the dark club. Even in the loft, tucked back from the dance floor and lit with an ambient glow of blue and purple, the bright lights flashed, and multicolored lasers swept across the ceiling. The beat pulsed through the floor, vibrating Theo’s boots.

Only his toes touched the ground. His heels were lifted like a little kid’s because Ken had dragged him onto his lap instead of letting him sit in his own seat. Not that Theo would have had anywhere to sit anyway. All kinds of Ken’s associates were crammed into the loft, knees knocking together as they leaned close to hear their conversations over the pulsing music. Many people stood with drinks in their hands. All kept their heads on a swivel, a force of habit in their line of work, so they could size up the others that Ken invited.

Theo hated being in Ken’s lap, but he was grateful. Many of the sweeping gazes lingered on him. Eyes crawled across his skin, from his boots to the fishnets beneath his ripped jeans to the silk top Ken had unbuttoned the moment he got his hands on it. Even then, his bare knees and chest were not enough for them. Their gaze settled on him for so long that there was no explanation other than they were mentally undressing him and running their hands all over his body.

Women and men eyeballed him in equal measure. Most of the men were probably not even gay, but to them, sex was about power, and the gender of the pretty little thing perched on Ken’s lap was hardly of consequence. They saw him as an ornament, like the heavy gold watch on Ken’s wrist. And so, despite hating it, he was grateful to be in Ken’s lap where familiar hands rubbed his thigh, trailed over his belly, and traced his collarbone.

But it was still hardly a safe place.

Ken perked up beneath Theo’s lap, jostling and making him frown when he upset his drink. The guest of honor had arrived. A new business partner who secured a new line of whatever the fuck Ken was dipping his fingers into now. That was hardly any of Theo’s business, yet he was still expected to be here to celebrate and give his congratulations.

The guards at the top of the steps parted to let the man through. He was middle-aged with thin eyes and a neat goatee who spoke with a thick accent that Theo could not place. When he reached Ken, he took in the half-dressed boy splayed across his lap, then smiled and bowed slightly.

“Mr. Aoi,” Ken held out a hand, brushing against Theo’s arm and upsetting his drink again, “I’m glad you could make it. I know you were tired after all the travel and negotiations.”

“They went smoothly, thanks to you, Mr. Hansen.” Mr. Aoi sat in the only empty seat in the loft when Ken gestured for him to do so. Theo scowled down at the spilled drink staining his jeans. It had dripped into his boot, as well. As Ken and Mr. Aoi exchanged a few more pleasantries, one of the staff materialized beside Theo to take his spilled drink and supply him with a fresh one. Theo immediately brought it to his lips to slurp down half so there was less danger of it sloshing over the rim of the glass as Ken shifted around beneath him.

It tasted how the club smelled – of strong, bitter alcohol and a mix of perfumes and sweat. Ken never let him get anything that tasted decent because he looked fruity enough already. Theo thought that was supposed to be his whole appeal. He sat all small and compact in Ken’s lap, with the man’s broad hand spanning the entire diameter of his thin waist, piercings dangling from his ears, and eyeliner making his baby blues pop.

That broad hand, which had been settled flat over Theo’s belly button, moved to nudge one of Theo’s knees so that his thighs rested on the outside of Ken’s legs. Then Ken spread his legs to press Theo’s even wider apart.

“Do you like what you see?” Ken asked. He wrapped a hand around Theo’s throat possessively, and Theo cast his eyes across the couch to look at Mr. Aoi. He was looking at Theo’s exposed crotch, the glass in his hand empty aside from its ice. There was a pink hue to his cheeks.

“Very much.”

“I did promise you something special if you came to celebrate with me. How about a line from my special stock?” A dime bag flapped between Ken’s pointer and middle fingers, shiny in the strobe lights. “And you can take it off Theo’s tits. Then, if you like the sample, you can eat the whole meal.”

Ken’s hand dropped from Theo’s throat to his crotch. As he palmed the fly of his jeans, the zipper and stiff denim dug uncomfortably into Theo’s cock. But he knew better than to complain. He took another gulp of his drink.

“You mean I may,” Mr. Aoi nodded at the hand covering Theo’s fly, “have Theo?”

Subtleties were sometimes lost across language barriers, and it was best to clarify. Theo was impressed. Mr. Aoi was a smart man. Others had believed Ken was making such an offer when he was not and had their balls removed for it. Ken appreciated Mr. Aoi’s bluntness as well.

“Yes, that is what I mean,” he confirmed. “Theo lay down.”

Theo held his drink out, and someone plucked it from his hand. Then he shifted to sit between Ken and Mr. Aoi on the couch so he could twist and lay back, the top of his head brushing Ken’s lap. One leg remained planted on the ground while the other folded to rest against the back of the couch between him and Mr. Aoi.

Ken popped open the dime bag and dipped his pinkie in to take a quick hit for himself. Then he did it again and pressed the powder to Theo’s nostrils. Theo despised snorting anything. It made his nose burn, itch, and run. But embarrassing Ken in front of his new business partner was not an option, so he sniffed sharply.

“Good boy,” Ken praised, wiping a bit of the powder from Theo’s nose, then pushing it between his lips while he poured the rest onto his sternum.

Theo closed his eyes. The beat pulsed through the sole of his boot planted on the floor. He imagined it vibrated through all the little bones in his feet and ankles, up his tibia and fibula to his femur, then through his hips to spread to the rest of his body. The couch shifted beneath his hips and head as Mr. Aoi leaned over him, one hand on the cushion by Theo’s ear for support.

His thumb was atop a lock of Theo’s hair, pulling painfully on his skull. The folds of the silk shirt were uncomfortable between his back and the couch. He desperately wished to shift but then felt Mr. Aoi’s breath on his skin. He snorted quickly and without much fanfare, as if he had done this a million times, then licked the remaining powder from Theo’s sternum. His thumb brushed the shell of Theo’s ear.

As soon as he sat back, Theo pushed himself up and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He used it to wipe at the saliva shining on his chest. Ken caught his wrist and leaned in to murmur against his ear. “Why don’t you clean up in the bathroom.”

Poor Mr. Aoi. Ken was not even sending them to a hotel room. Theo shrugged, rose off the couch, and then lurched toward the bathroom without giving himself the much-needed moment to center himself amongst the strobing lights and headrush. But people stepped out of the way, so he did not crash into them.

The bathroom was about as well-kept as that in any club Ken frequented. A mirror was cracked, toilet paper and trash overflowed from the bin, and graffiti littered the stalls. Theo wet a paper towel under the tap and wiped the spit from his chest.

But the action meant nothing because a moment later, Mr. Aoi followed him through the door. His arms wrapped around Theo’s body. His tongue trailed up the side of his neck. Theo wondered if the shimmer body lotion tasted good. The wet paper towel fell to the tiled floor with a plop.

Mr. Aoi maneuvered him into one of the stalls. The door pushed in, so there was no room to allow it to close behind them. It banged against the side as Mr. Aoi fumbled with the button and zipper of Theo’s jeans. There were a couple of numbers to call for discrete hook-ups and one or two vulgar drawings on the wall. The toilet had a manual flush, thank god. Theo hated fucking in bathroom stalls with an automatic flush because sometimes it would not stop going off and splashing his stomach with water.

He leaned down to brace his hands on the wall above it. Mr. Aoi shoved his jeans down his thighs with a rushed mutter in his native language that Theo could not understand. His fingers spread over Theo’s ass, palms pressing sweaty and hot to his skin. Then they curled into the netting of his fishnets.

“Hey! No, don’t -,” Theo protested, knowing what was about to happen a moment too late to prevent it. A snapping tear filled the room as Mr. Air yanked the fisted netting apart, ripping a hole in the stockings. He twisted to glare at the asshole, but a rough hand on his shoulder shoved him forward so hard that his hand slipped and ended up in the toilet bowl when he tried to catch himself.

“What the fuck?” Theo hissed, snapping his hand back and shaking the water from it. But he knew better than to try and twist around again. Even in the bathroom, which was more brightly lit than the rest of the club, shadows stretched toward him from beneath the other stalls, peeking up from behind the toilet. His lips pressed together as he swallowed down his disgust.