I found a spot at the bar, claiming the one lone stool near the end and close to the wall.
"What can I get you?" The twenty-something bartender shouted in my direction.
Something hard? Scotch? No. None of the clubs carried the more expensive brands. Something warm? Brandy? Cognac? Eh. Something&fruity, maybe.
My gaze met his and his boredom, and perhaps aggravation at my delay in answering, gave way to interest. All my fault, I was sure. I hadn't been shielding and I was wanting, needing& something.
I crooked my finger, willing him closer. He came easily, leaning over the bar so that his face was mere inches from mine. Such a handsome thing: sandy blond hair, green eyes, skin all tanned from time spent in the sun. He smelled of alcohol and sweat, of hard work behind the bar.
I sat forward a little and dragged my tongue across his full lips, stealing a taste. He wasn't quite what I was looking for in a feed, but he'd do.
"I want something&sweet."
He swallowed hard and stammered. "I can make you anything."
"Are you sweet?"
I searched his mind, wanting his name, but instead caught flashes of him, his wife, and three kids; of him working two jobs just to make ends meet. When the scent of his arousal became stronger, I smiled and pushed him back, sliding a few hundreds across the counter.
"Just a Sex on the Beach. Please. Keep the change."
The bartender blinked and shook his head in confusion before backing away to grab a tumbler. My drink was set in front of me in a short time and I picked it up, taking it with me as I set off to peruse the patrons of the club one last time.
I let my shields down a little, letting the voices and the thoughts of the crowd in. On the outside, people seemed so happy, but on the inside, there was so much sadness& loneliness... depression& hatred&
Bigotry? Even better.
I drifted off in the direction of that last one, searching a little more intently.
"Fucking queers. Need to stay at their own goddamned clubs."
A male voice. Not young, but certainly not old. I concentrated on finding the owner of that voice, those thoughts. There were others near him. Female. High-pitched voices condemning the man for his words. A few feet away stood a blond man, hands shoved in his pockets, the expression on his face full of disgust.
"You're such a jerk, Ricky. Should have left you at home," a redheaded woman said, rolling her eyes at the man.
I willed her and another blonde woman away as I walked up. The man, Ricky, turned that look of disgust up at me. "What do you want, asshole?"
"Perhaps to know why you're such an asshole, Ricky." I downed the rest of my drink and handed my glass off to the nearest person, willing them away as well.
"How do you know my name?" He searched out into the crowd, yelling. "This guy with you, Sara?"
I moved in closer, calling in the shadows to hide us from the rest of the patrons. The sounds of the rest of the club fell away, and the man, Ricky, looked up at me in horror.
"What the fuck?"
I pushed him back until his back met with a wall. With the tips of my fingers, I caressed his cheek. He started to fight, but I forced him still. He struggled against my will, eyes wide. I closed my eyes, searching his mind.
It took a while to get past the fear and loathing. But it wasn't against us queer folk, exactly& It was mostly against himself. Him being in the closet and all. I'd always said that the worst bigots were people who had desires that they just couldn't handle.
I leaned in and pressed my lips to his ear, whispering. "Why are you so afraid of that part of yourself, Ricky?"
He grunted, a more guttural sound, with no words coming from his mouth. I remembered, then, that I'd forced him still and quiet. I licked at his ear, down his neck, one hand bracing myself against the wall, the other working his belt. When I got it undone, I cupped my hand at his crotch, smiling when he went hard beneath my palm.
His thoughts shifted, an image strong in his mind. A man about Ricky's same age, brown hair, brown eyes, and a body that was lean and tight. Ricky's heart sped up at the thought of the man and I searched hard for a name. A memory flashed before me, of the man on his knees, sucking Ricky off. Of Ricky being scared of getting caught.
Of him throwing the man out afterward, in fear he'd gone too far. In fear that he was going to be outed by&David.
"Tell me more about David, Ricky. Did you like it when he sucked you off?"
I gave him the ability to speak again, but not move. Not yet. The heat in me was rising quickly, and by the way Ricky's body was relaxing, I knew he felt it, too.
"Yes," Ricky hissed.