Reckless Harmony

Chasing Stardust

Ian's throat hurts from the face-fucking as he gulps down the hot liquid from his fourth customer tonight. Ugh, Ian's gotta stop. Fourth customer? Is it even worth the money anymore? The club had been bustling with activity, with Ian working on the floor. Providing lap dances to eager patrons, each one willing to pay a premium for just a fleeting moment of attention from the captivating redhead.

Ian sighs, clumsily drying off the smudged eyeliner under his eyes. Whatever drug he'd done an hour before was making him completely drained and exhausted.

"Busy night?" One of the dancers asks, Tony. Reclothing from the gold thong he was wearing.

"What do you think?" Ian asks, sarcastically. With the amount of lap dances he had given tonight, it shouldn't even be a question to the other dancers around him.

Tony, still adjusting his outfit, raises an eyebrow at Ian. "So, Kurt, how'd the cash flow tonight? Any big spenders out there?"

Ian manages a half-smile, though the fatigue in his eyes is unmistakable. "Some generous ones, but you know how it is. The night's got its highs and lows."

Tony grins a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You've been working that charm of yours, haven't you? I bet those lap dances are raking in the bills."

Ian lets out a soft chuckle. "Charm and a little bit of magic, that's the name of the game, right?"

Tony's laughter bounces off the walls in the cramped dressing room. "You're a natural, Kurt. Keep 'em coming with those one-liners, and you might just be rollin' in cash soon."

The words hit Ian like a punch. Is this really his gig now? Swallowing pricks down for a few bucks and grinding on strangers who see him more like a sex toy than a person?

"Take it easy, Tone."

"You too!" Tony hollers as Ian heads out of the club.

Outside is a blur. Ian stumbles into an alley but then, hands. Hands are everywhere—tugging, steering him off to who-knows-where. Did he even put up a fight? Hard to say. Ian just lets himself get dragged deeper into the mess by these hands. But then, there's a moment of stillness, and voices start yelling.

"Hey! Get the hell off him!"

Then Ian's lying on something—concrete, probably—sharp against his shoulder as he drifts off, into oblivion.