& rodeo.
You know something isn't quite right when Thorne, having sat restlessly in their corner for the past fifteen minutes, finally caves and disappears behind the DJ booth to go put in a good word.
The boys are getting married, what do you know. Al would likely frown upon him distributing party favours like pop rocks between the guests, but that didn't stop him from getting a little fizzy himself before showing up just a little late. Someone had to be the life of the party, now that Uncle Sam's protégé was wrapped up tight around that piece of Balkan candy.
He gets the whole thing going. Lights fading from blue to electric purple, disco ball dropping along with the thrumming bass chords of Ginuwine's infamous Pony, spilling thousands of refracted glimmers all across the crowd and the walls of the club. A lighter, violet spotlight follows him around as he wields a silver microphone. He even wore his best crop sequin vest and fringed black leather chaps for the occasion. Time to set the devil loose in this rodeo.
I'm just a bachelor
His ashen voice unfurls the first words to the song. He borrows a cowboy hat from a group of plaid-up butch lesbians that cheer him on with deafening dog whistles, slotting the prop into place so his hair is kept out of his face. Beneath its brim, his amber eyes burn like molten gold, imbued with rampant mischief and giving away the kaleidoscopic heights his mind was on. High enough to go snatch Al's flag from the moon, he was. He faces their table, meeting all those expectant faces that look to him with a wild mix of apprehension and glee. One of the grooms certainly looking a little more ashamed than the other, but both appearing to have a good time.
Looking for a partner
He struts in time with the beat, approaching his friends, hips that had seen too many catwalks swaying as his lithe body moved liquidly through the indigo darkness. Cruel, maybe, but his first victim happens to be Jormun, sitting right there, held taut as a bow and ripe for the taking.
Someone who knows how to ride
Thorne's hand lands on the big man's shoulder, giving it a juicing squeeze before dipping, slipping dangerously down the rocky planes of his chest and belly, down to the top of his thigh. His mouth hovers near the serpent's ear, lime and tequila on his breath as he allows it to caress the outer rim before his teeth give it a playful, gentle tug. He knows this kind of public attention isn't his friend's jam, so he's mindful enough not to linger on him too long – though one might argue that opening the act with him was unforgivable. Arrest him, officer.
Without even falling off
And almost as soon as he's on him, he's gone, winking, twirling along their round table, pretending to whip a lasso in the air, toying with every guest with more or less liberties depending on how well they knew each other, or how much he thought he could get away with.
Gotta be compatible Take me to my limits
Harry's turn approaches vertiginously fast, and the tiefling makes use of the boy's light weight to yank his chair back, buying them both a little room. The ginger looks up at him with a wide, startled grin, one he could just kiss clean off his pretty face. Thorne leans down to sing close to him, eye to eye, dragging his fingertip under the other's chin.
Girl, when I break you off I promise that you won't wanna get off
He flows into an upright position again to swing a long leg over and straddle Harry's lap, standing just over his knees when the chorus breaks.
If you're horny, let's do it Ride it, my pony
Mic held firmly against his upper lip, Thorne drags a bejewelled hand down his torso, over the waistband of his jeans, and begins to press the denim against the crease of his groin between his thumb and forefinger, scandalously framing his crotch as he scoots forward and drops lower on his hinges, seating himself comfortably.
My saddle is waiting Come and jump on it
He rocks in place for the second half, mimicking a horse's languid gait, and offers his young lover a dashing smile before getting off him and readjusting his hat, both of them looking a little tousled. His prowling continues around the table, heading now for the happy couple. Luc laughs and shakes his head, holding an arm out in front of him as though to stop this demonic vision from approaching them. Too late, baby, because he wedges right between you to remind you that you should include the Devil in your union, too.
Just once, if I had the chance The things I would do to you
Thorne fires a quick kiss at them both, smooching their rosy cheeks before sauntering off to haunt a bemused Sanji, even producing a red rose from the snap of his fingers and wedging it between his mate's teeth. Here, for putting up with his nonsense. He then moves on to an adjacent table, nails sifting through the chef's gilded locks as he goes.
He commands the attention of almost everyone in the club, king of raunch with the good vocals, some wild, disembodied screaming letting him know he's been recognised. It's his show now, even just for a couple of minutes, but he milks every second while stars continue to burst behind his eyelids and his thirst for life rockets past the stratosphere.
Lurk all over and through you, baby
He bends over at the waist, a clean, right angle on an arched back, his hand on some guy's knee. Over his shoulder, he makes sure both of his beaus are paying close attention when he shimmies his little butt and rustles the leather fringe of his chaps in time with his movement, their hypnotising flailing earning a particularly loud cheer from the crowd.
Until we reach the stream You'll be on my jockey team
His salacious performance proceeds undisturbed and encouraged by a handful of singles being tucked into the back pockets of his jeans as he makes his way back over to the DJ booth, only to take a sharp right at the last moment and writhe himself around a stage pole. Round and round he twists, spinning, dropping into a criminally low squat and offering a select few a view of his designer underwear.
As the chorus repeats itself towards the song's finale, so does his act begin to wind down. He has a mic to return, but for now he continues to display his glistening, tattooed body in martyred shapes against the pole, a true St Sebastian of his time, if you ask him.
My saddle's waiting Come and jump on it
The club roars with unprompted applause and he laughs, takes a bow, prepares his exit.
"Give it up for those two dolls over there, knotting or tying the knot or whatever they get up to." More laughter, some of it confused. Heads turn in the direction Thorne points at, and hands come together to celebrate Luc and Al's long-time-coming ring swapping. "You make us all believe in something. Here's to your love, darlings."
