11:01 in madrid. terribly loud, crude music dances in his bones. he can feel every part of him so intimately— the steps he takes, the nasty sweaty bodies and cheap fabrics rubbing against him, the eyes zeroing on him. in the midst, disappearing when the overstimulating colorful strobe flashes black, you exist. left hand wrapped around a sweaty cup, right hand drawing a spell in the air. face glowing in glittery makeup and sweat: lips strawberry glossed, eyes hypnotic with a hot pink blending into deep purple, cheeks lifted and ripened with pink highlighter. he’s unable to look away; he feels so magnetized, so intrigued by the picturesque, artistic vision just that far away from him. the sea of bodies runs far but he wades through awkwardly, stiffly, a slight inclination to jive to the beat meeting an aversion toward touching another sweaty loser. but you come toward him, too, slowly, like you’re beckoning him. is he high? he feels like he must’ve drunken too much, or accidentally ate something laced—this is out of body but inner soul, an attraction so weirdly magnetic. like he just has to get near you, just to say he saw heaven once.
11:07 in madrid. you’re real. you touch him first: you hinge your arms around his neck, swinging your hips towards him. you part the thick sea and sweep him ashore, and give him the kiss of life. you’re feeling daring tonight, you want to be bold, and do something so new, so exciting. he wears the smears of your kiss when you pull back. when his face is pursed up in a jumbled furrow of emotions— “who the hell are you?” he asks, stepping back from you.
11:09 in madrid. bunny draws near. he’s infuriating, you want to turn him inside out, and leave him high and dry. make him watch as you shed your inhibitions and fuck the brains out of his competition, his obsession. the annoyingly independent, yet so naïve fresh meat. the prodigy; the golden boy. you get to sink into his flesh first, desecrate him and greet the rawest parts of him. you get to find his limit, to show him things he’s never seen before, mold him into your little incubator of excellence and human nature. turn him out. you’re two snakes slivering toward the same fresh fruit, but you got there first. it makes it better that you got there first. he gets to watch your nurtured perversion take form over the most interesting erection he’s ever gotten. he stills, and watches from a distance.
11:11 in madrid. sae itoshi surprisingly leaves a shoddy club with a glamorous woman, a shiny diamond in the rough. bunny iglesias follows behind them shortly. they all get into the same car—bunny driving while the pair scoot into the back, sae being kissed reassuringly before he can even process. bunny meets his gaze in the rearview. the night only just begins.
