Reckless Harmony

Nu Jävlar Kör Vi Grabbar!

New York is a beautiful city. Truly is; If you look beyond the people on the streets fighting for their lives and puking in alleys. But Ian ignores that as he's walking down the street in the middle of the night with some people from the fairytail, and some other's that were invited. Tony was the one to take Ian to New York. The guy had gotten a new stripping job which payed better than the last one and he'd said he would pay for taxis, the flight there, food, etc, once they got there. But once they'd gotten there, they'd lost contact in between the clubs and the hookups and the afterparties. But Ian doesn't mind it, he's not exactly missing the guy.

The night is crisp and neon. So beautiful. Everything is buzzing with electricity. Every step Ian takes makes him feel like he can fly. He can't stop smiling as he breathes in the New York air. Everyone is chatting drunkenly, laughing loudly as they stumble into the apartment.

The music starts blaring through the speakers, the lights flicker, and rails are snorted on the coffee table. People are making out in the kitchen, on the couches, in the hallway. Ian snorts a line and looks up at the ceiling. This makes him so happy he could just die.

"Ahh, fuck that's good." He sighs, taking the shot of whiskey someone offers him.

The big black dude with dreads who'd been all over Ian all night walks up to him, smirking. "Fuck, man. You look like trouble."

Ian looks up at him with a grin before leaning in towards the guy's ear, seductively whispering, "You look like you can handle trouble." He bites his earlobe and slides his hands up the guy's t-shirt.

What was his name again? Adrian? Andrew? Antonio?

Fuck, Ian really can't remember. The guy grabs Ian by the hips and grinds their groins together, slowly. The lights flicker and Ian's back is pressed up against the cold tiles of a bathroom wall, the black dude's cock sliding in and out of him fast and hard.

"Mhh, fuck! Harder." Ian moans.

"Fuck, say my name." The dude groans as he hits deep, making them both gasp.

Ian pauses, and the guy seems to catch on.

"André."

"Fuck me harder, André." Ian moans in his ear and the thrusts speed up by a lot, André holds his legs tight as he pushes him flush against the wall, creating the most perfect slide against his prostate. Ian moans wantonly, eyes shut, feeling that impending orgasm creep up on him.

The lights flicker again and he's in a bedroom with several men, one of them is pounding Ian from behind, holding his hair in a tight grip while another is fucking Ian's mouth roughly. He hums in satisfaction around the cock. Some others are standing around, watching in awe, in lust, in want. They grope, knead, and pinch and slap at Ian's body. Some of them call him dirty words, 'slut', 'whore', 'cum dumpster', 'baby'. Ian's vision is blurry.

Another flicker and Ian is in a club, dancing, sweating, moving and singing loudly to the blasting music and vibrating bass. Bodies push him around the dancefloor and he pushes back.

Another flicker and Ian is in a bathroom, bent over a toilet, retching, couching. His head spinning, pounding. His stomach hurts. He's thirsty. He doesn't know how many days have gone by.

Another flicker and he's waking up stark naked with someone he doesn't recognize beside him. He looks to be the same age as Ian. Some other people are passed out on the carpet floor around them.

"Good morning, hot stuff." The boy says, rubbing his eyes.

Ian sighs, sitting up. Time to go get shitfaced again. "Yeah."

"Wow, you were really something last night. Almost had to tap out after round five."

Ian looks back at him. His hair is black and he's got tattoos on his arms. He doesn't remember fucking this guy. But he's not surprised. He replies with a short. "Thanks." Even though he's not even sure to take it as a compliment. "What's your name again?" Ian asks, pulling on his boxers.

"Micah."

Micah. Now he remembers. He was fucking him forever, almost the whole night. Micah had reminded him of someone else in that drugged and drunken haze he was in.

Jesus.

"You coming to eat breakfast?" Ian turns around to look at the boy still perched up on some pillows checking his phone.

He smiles, "Yeah, just a second."

Ian walks out of the dark bedroom to brightness. White all over.

"Fuck, why is it so bright?" He groans, rubbing his temples. The guy who had been hosting the party is in the kitchen, frying bacon and eggs. He's this rich dude, Mac, who has nothing better to do than invite a bunch of hookers and party people over to just drink the night away, Ian had learned that after staying there for some time. A bunch of people with hungover expressions and ruffled hairs are shuffling around the gigantic apartment. Some are still drinking and dancing to the music while others are just chatting tiredly.

Mac turns around, "Marmor floor and morning sun don't mix well for people with hangovers, huh?" He jokes.

"Got any advil?" Ian rubs at his temples, trying to massage the pain away.

Mac looks in the cabinet beside the stove and throws an Advil package to Ian. He pops out three and swallows them all with one clunk of water. Micah walks out in nothing but boxers and a tee. He sits next to Ian. No words are exchanged. The guy with a buzzcut and a strange name he'd met a couple of nights ago... The fuck was the name?

Something with an R.

Riley? No, something Scandinavian. Ruben? No... Rasmus! He's from Sweden. Ian recalls the group singing and chanting some Swedish drinking song together. Ian's never been to Sweden. Should he? Is it beautiful? He should ask him. Rasmus comes up and puts an arm around Ian's shoulder, holding out something. A pill bottle. Oxy?

Ian looks at the buzzcut blonde with blue eyes, he looks high as fuck. Those blue eyes. They remind Ian of someone. Someone he refuses to think about.

"Ready to get the day started?" He smirks, leaning in and placing an unpredictable open-mouthed kiss on Ian's lips. Ian's not even sure he's gay, but who cares? Rasmus is a fucking party animal, that's for sure. He's a lunatic. He's smashed tables, stripped naked and danced without a care in the world, done all sorts of drugs, been arrested for multiple DUI's, etc.

Ian happily accepts a pill being slid onto his tongue from Rasmus's tongue through the kisses.

Rasmus places the pill bottle on the table and turns around to face the group of people in the living room still dancing. "Nu jävlar kör vi grabbar!" He yells in Swedish, turning up the music.

And as Ian looks at the ceiling, he's being consumed yet again.