Bad Religion
If It Brings Me To My Knees, It's A Bad Religion
Lights. Glitter. Music. Escape. Lights. Glitter. Music. Escape. Lights. Glitter. Music. Escape. Lights. Glitter. Music. Escape.
Mikal uses the four word mantra to fuel his body as he dances, a hard line of heat pressed to his back. A stranger's sweat mingles with his own, grinding and groping. He doesn't know how long he's been on the dance floor or when his tight mesh t-shirt was pulled from his body but nothing seems to matter but the loud bass through a haze of little white pills. Someone shouts in his, offering to buy him a drink. He nods, blindly following the older man to the bar and accepting a glass of something blue and fruity. It does nothing to sooth the dry feeling at the back of his throat but he gladly accepts a second glass.
The man is speaking to him but the only the Mikal can focus on is the taste of his drink and the feeling of roaming hands up and down his thigh and over his hips. He just nods along to whatever the man is saying and soon a pair of suprising soft lips descend on his own. Mikal opens up to a prying tongue, small hands gripping a tuft of graying hair. No one else in the small venue is bothered by the act of passion. Scorpios, the small gay club is the only place he feels he can let go and be himself. As much as himself he can find through a maze of LSD, marijuana, and any drugs he can get with the flutter of long dark eyelashes and a shimmery pout.
Too soon he's on his knees over a toilet in the same bathroom he was doing lines in an hour ago. The taste of acid and a full-body chill replaces any feeling of euphoria he once had. Only until he can do it again.
Mikal uses the four word mantra to fuel his body as he dances, a hard line of heat pressed to his back. A stranger's sweat mingles with his own, grinding and groping. He doesn't know how long he's been on the dance floor or when his tight mesh t-shirt was pulled from his body but nothing seems to matter but the loud bass through a haze of little white pills. Someone shouts in his, offering to buy him a drink. He nods, blindly following the older man to the bar and accepting a glass of something blue and fruity. It does nothing to sooth the dry feeling at the back of his throat but he gladly accepts a second glass.
The man is speaking to him but the only the Mikal can focus on is the taste of his drink and the feeling of roaming hands up and down his thigh and over his hips. He just nods along to whatever the man is saying and soon a pair of suprising soft lips descend on his own. Mikal opens up to a prying tongue, small hands gripping a tuft of graying hair. No one else in the small venue is bothered by the act of passion. Scorpios, the small gay club is the only place he feels he can let go and be himself. As much as himself he can find through a maze of LSD, marijuana, and any drugs he can get with the flutter of long dark eyelashes and a shimmery pout.
Too soon he's on his knees over a toilet in the same bathroom he was doing lines in an hour ago. The taste of acid and a full-body chill replaces any feeling of euphoria he once had. Only until he can do it again.