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The music was blaring, the club packed with sweaty, writhing people slamming against one another, the air thick with smoke. Dark and slick--once the door shut upon you there was nothing to drive you but the perpetual metallic beat.
Bast was perched atop a column of neon, watching the clock and the crowd and a sweet little redhead with the longest neck he'd seen in decades. Eleven-thirty had passed and his new toy hadn't shown yet.
Disappointing, really. He was quite in the mood to play.
Just as he'd given up, the boy walked in.
Trick was dressed as he had been earlier, becoming almost a shadow in the dark club were it not for his face and hair. He glanced casually about the club before heading for the bar. After speaking to the bartender, he turned back toward the dance floor, one hip resting against the bar.
Bast imagined he could smell the blond. Perhaps he could. He could still taste the salty tang of Trick's palm, tinged with anger and bourbon.
He blended into the background, still and silent as only his kind could be. His hair, clothing, makeup--it was all slick and metallic and violet and matched the walls and ceilings exactly.
Trick was scanning the crowd, but he did it casually. Bast himself wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been looking for it. The bartender tapped the kid on the shoulder and Trick twisted, his body outlined briefly in the light as he reached for a shot glass. Strong, lithe muscles twisted beneath the t-shirt and sharp hips bracketed an obvious erection pressing hard against the tight black jeans.
Hunger, sharp and sweet and irresistible, took hold of Bast, grabbed him in fierce jaws and shook him, and it was almostmore than he could do to not leap down, plaster himself to the lean body and slake his thirst.
He forced himself to stay still, to stay quiet.
To let his hunger and need build.
Trick tossed back the drink, the long line of his throat exposed, Adam's apple working as he swallowed. The glass was put back on the mirrored bar and Trick turned to the dance floor, once again thrown into shadow.
Bast could see him scanning the crowd again before he sauntered in amongst the dancers, moving to the beat seamlessly, not dancing, almost slinking.
Bast didn't let Trick out of his sight, drinking in the movement of the lithe body. That was why he'd approached the boy--Trick walked like a predator, some alley cat pretending to be a tiger. It was intriguing as hell.
Trick moved through the dance floor, covering it twice and then circling it as well. His prowling slowed and then stilled altogether, one hand on his hip, a soft frown on his face.
Bast was convinced Trick was about to give up when the blond head suddenly tilted, eyes scanning the neon poles that framed the dance floor. He froze, nipples tightening as he waited to be overlooked or caught. Excitement tasted like fear in his mouth.
Trick's eyes moved past him onto the next column, and on until he'd scanned them all. Bast let his breath out, disappointed, only to freeze again as Trick's eyes came back to the violet column of neon. A smile brightened the handsome face and Trick began to move toward him.
Oh, yes. Good boy. Very, very good boy. He was vibrating with excitement. Nothing tasted as good as a new conquest.