So Fast

by Naranda Ran (那嬾蛇朱藍)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/77111.html)

I don’t understand why I’m enjoying this. I had expected to simply sit in resignation next to the bar, carefully ignoring everyone and drinking some cheap beer, waiting for Kenny to decide he was done so we could go home. Not so. The music is good; addictive beats make my feet and fingers tap, and I’m actually considering making my way to the dance floor. But only in my most daring thoughts. A dance club is no place for me. Its not my thing, not my place, not my people, and if anyone here actually knew that, I doubt they would be so keen on me. Or maybe they would. “Mm, fresh meat,” they might think.

It certainly seems to be the expression everyone has as they look at me. Kenny tells me I’m being silly and urges me towards the dance floor. I cling fast to my seat, pouting.

“No. Way. I’m practically getting a seizure from the lights, and my heart’s gonna jump right out of my chest with that bass. I’m not moving.”

Kenny just laughs. “Dude, you haven’t even had a bit of alcohol yet, and you already feel like that?”

I just give him a look, biting my tongue. He can be a real idiot sometimes. “I thought alcohol usually made people not notice those things….”

Kenny manages to pry my fingers off of the seat by shoving a beer bottle into my hands. “All the more reason to get drunk!”

A stare out at the dance floor, another look at Kenny’s face – he’s grinning in encouragement – and I sigh, taking a chug of the cheap liquor. Kenny’s grin widens.

Two bottles later and the music is just as heart-pounding, the lights just as headache-inducing, and I’m far more willing to be dragged into the mess of color and skin and sweat that is the dance floor. It’s past two in the morning and the dancing is raunchy, downright orgasmic and orgy-rific, which I think is a Kenny word. Stumbling against bodies, trying to find some way to stand up on my own, the only way I’m even able to remain upright is because of the tight press of strangers against me. But then there’s a wrap of arms around my waist, hauling me up and pulling me against a flat body. I hiss in shock, but lean against the stranger as suddenly my world is righted. I have a grounding, something to center on, and I’m finally able to get my feet under me. The press of a flat chest against my back and the whisper of lips against my ear are masculine, the breath of words unintelligible until a heart-pounding second break in the music allows me to hear murmured words of encouragement.

Comforting and supportive hands hold my hips and guide me into the correct sway of motion that allows me remain upright, able to move with rather than against the press of bodies. I closed my eyes against the blinding patterns of multicolored lights, letting them turn red against my eyelids. I’m warmed by the alcohol and the body behind me, pressed close together by the crush of people. The heavy hands rest lightly on my hipbones in an almost protective touch.

I can’t decide what to do with my own hands. The only thing that seems appropriate is letting them rest lightly on the strange man’s arms. A particularly moving bass note in the song makes my body jerk against him, which prompts an answering movement against me. My previous light touch turns into a firm grab as we press closer without any help from the crowd. His delicate touch turns into a swift push. His hips roll against my ass and his hands move up to splay beneath my shirt. My head lolls back against his shoulder, his own coming down to rest against the crook of my neck, nestling there. My brief ability to dance on my own has crumbled at the touch of skin on skin, the hot breath and tongue against my neck more intoxicating than any bottle of cheap beer could have been.

Somehow dancing dissolves into something more primal, akin to the bass beat which pounds into our bodies, urging us to heights of passion that rise and peak and fall so fast it is hardly discernable from the music itself. So fast we are kissing, tongues warring and catching our breaths as quick as we can in the brief seconds our lips aren’t locked. So fast am I pushing back against his body, forward into his touches, unable to control the snap of my hips as suddenly there is skin contact under my pants. I can’t hold in the little noises at the fast grip and squirming fingers pulling at my underwear and catching my cock, petting and rubbing in time to the music. I break lip contact with him, head lolling forwards and mouth open in a loud moan as I watch his hand disappear under the waistband of my pants, my hips twitching automatically into the pace of his hand.

It could last forever. It ends up being rather quick. It reminds me of the whole reason Kenny brought me here: I haven’t been laid in months, since my girlfriend broke up with me, and it shows in my shuddering gasps, the jerk of my hips, the way I desperately clutch his hands to me as they fondle and stroke. Energy-charged pleasure skitters up my back as fingers squeeze my cock, rubbing the foreskin back and forth and his thumb is kept firmly at the slit, rotating in time to the bass. Another hand slips under my shirt and massages the skin at my hipbones. My stomach clenches in pleasure, causing hitches in my moans. His fingers follow the line of my stomach to my ribcage and catch a nipple, rolling and pinching like his other hand is doing in my pants. I roll in pleasure, rubbing into a hardness against my ass that causes his hands to spasm. His fingers never stop petting, playing, stroking. They’re too intimate but I can’t care. I feel so good. His hand delves farther and plays with my balls in his torturous fingers, using his palm to rub against my cock, his nipple-pinching fingers splaying against my chest to hold me in check as I writhe against him. I’m unable to kiss anymore and I pant and groan, all sounds lost in the noise of everything. Teeth find my neck and nip and suck. His tongue laves my clavicle, wet heat turning cold when hit by the air. His arm becomes a bar against my chest, his hand pressing against the spot behind my balls. My eyes roll back at the bolt of sheer pleasure ripping through me, and my hoarse shout breaks out at the exact moment of a lull in the music. But no one turns to see me shuddering violently against a complete stranger as hot cum splatters against his arm and onto my clothing.

Several blurred and unfocused minutes later find me in the bathroom, awakening from my post just-had-an-orgasm-with-a-complete-stran

ger-on-the-dance-floor stupor to Kenny hitting my face with a cold, wet paper towel. I automatically hit out at him, but he just laughs and throws the towel at me.

“Hell, man!” He immediately starts on me, his face the picture of indignant amusement. “I never hook up that fast in these places! Tell me your secret, huh? But only after you clean up….” At that I look down to see that even though my pants have been done up, there is still obvious white spatter along the front. And even if not for that, it’s starting to get rather uncomfortable on the inside. I grimace, hastily attacking the mess with the towel.

Kenny politely looks away as I clean up on the inside, and I manage to get enough of my brain to function to ask: “So what happened…?”

Kenny looks back just enough that I can see his eyebrows rising into his hairline. “You tell me! I was just sittin’ at the bar, talking’ up this real hot chick, when this guy just shows up with you lookin’ like you got the daylights fucked out of you, and told me to tell you ‘Thanks’ and to give you this.” He hands me a business card as I zip up my pants, and I take it, turning it over. My eyes widen, breath catching in shock.

Mark Cosgrove – Hardrock Demolition Industries CEO

Alarmed by my reaction, Kenny is looking over my shoulder at the card. His eyebrows rise again.

“Cosgrove… hey, isn’t that the name of your boss?”

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