I wish you would write a fic where:
Please take us further into your mind palace where bejeweled pass-around party boy saxon lives 🙏
He could tell it was the guy's first time.
Not just because he'd been to most of the parties Jeffrey threw over the years, knew the rotating cast, but because the bejewelled beast a few tables away was avoiding glances. Like he wasn't even hoping to get taken home after this. Like he didn't know that's where the money was, in the after-party.
It was alluring. That kind of innocence didn't stumble into these places often. He approved of Jeffrey's change in catering. He'd have to mention it when he saw him tonight.
The next time the man moved past their table, empty tray of drinks in his hand, he let his knuckles brush a thigh. And what a thigh it was, framed with diamonds, flexing every step. The guy flinched-- and wasn't that a fun reaction, impossible to fake, the kind of thing you couldn't train into your entertainment.
"What? Fuck off," he said, and then seemed to catch himself. Flushed. "I'm. Sorry, S-sir."
An opportunity. To act offended, or to be gracious? He was probably working this party to make his tuition money. But, no, closer inspection revealed wrinkles under his eyes, the kind of bulk that settled unnaturally on a 22-year-old on steroids. Older, then, and maybe even natural. That would be a change, wouldn't it?
"Oh, it's fine," he said, deciding a nervous specimen like this might need some time. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."
A full-face twitch. A tilt to his head. Scared. It was delicious. Damn, he really had to corner Jeffrey and figure out where he'd found this guy.
"Uh," a glance around the room. "Thank you?"
"Men like you don't often end up here."
Furrowed brow. Offence taken. He hadn't meant it as a compliment, so that was fine.
"Find me later," he said, slipping a bill into the man's bejewelled thong. Leaning into the sting of it. "There's more where that came from."
