How he had gotten here ( wherever here was, of course ) didn’t much matter, because there wasn’t much of a difference between aimless wandering and pointed, definitive goals if he ends up in more or less the same place, anyhow. Dimly lit, with a pulsing beat of music that grinds itself into his every joint and bone that he can still feel - he was on his fifth stolen shot, at least he thinks - this club could be any other one lining the busy, weekend streets of the city, or none of them at all, and the boy would find himself in the exact same spot. Perched at the edge of the bar, he isn’t dressed too spectacularly, the plain, black v-neck doing well to keep most of the sober girls off of him - he didn’t reek of money - while boring the drunken ones just enough to have them pour half of their drinks into his mouth ( sloppy, tasteless ) before falling into a bathroom stall with another, far more sober man’s hand between their legs.
Yes, he’s quite comfortable in his spot, having failed to touch his wallet even once throughout the night while still sporting quite the buzz, though with comfort comes restlessness, and he’s just beginning to entertain the idea of skipping to another club when somebody begins to speak to him—or rather, at him. The drawl is attractively humorous at best, repulsive at worst, Kai decides almost immediately upon turning his attention to whoever was favouring him now, and while it’s somewhat of a pleasant surprise to find that his next fan was male ( at least, he thinks—not that it mattered, a mouth was a mouth and a hole was a hole ), the stench of the alcohol on his breath and the pale column of his throat are much too distracting for him to care about much else. It was too easy, what with the haze clouding the boy’s delicate features ( and he thought of himself as pretty ) and the sudden, but not altogether unpleasant, contact between them—too easy to slip a hand between pretty thighs, too easy to grip a fistful of hair and have him on his knees before him. No, the fun would be, of course, when the alcohol has run its course and a yes quickly becomes a no, a beg, a sob for him to stop, so, naturally, Kai finds himself playing along, the eye closest to the stranger’s hand closing softly as he makes no move to shy away from the contact; encouraging it, even.
"How about we start with a name, beautiful, be polite, now."
