Chapter 1: Neon and Need
The bass was a physical thing, a second heartbeat thudding against his ribs. KJ leaned back against a cold metal beam, the rusted scaffolding groaning under the weight of the crowd above. Blacklight painted the world in spectral violet, making the whites of his fishnet sleeves and the neon tips of his fake claws glow. His skin, a canvas of intricate gothic ink from throat to navel, seemed to float in the dark—serpents and saints and intricate geometric patterns moving with each ragged breath.
He’d lost his shirt an hour ago. The black leather shorts, so short they were barely a concession to modesty, clung to his hips. The tail, a soft black faux fur attached to a thin belt, flicked absently against the back of his thigh. He could feel the chill of the air on his stomach, the slick sweat cooling between his shoulder blades.
“You are murdering this look, mi amigo. Straight-up homicide.”
Joel appeared beside him, a burst of color in his sequined alien attire. He shoved a fresh shot of something clear and vicious into KJ’s hand. His dark eyes glittered with mischief. “The people need a performance. Your public awaits.”
KJ knocked the shot back, the burn a welcome distraction. “My public is a bunch of wasted goths and college kids. They’d cheer for a mannequin if it had fishnets on.”
“Sí, but the mannequin wouldn’t have those.” Joel gestured broadly at KJ’s chest, at the defined pectorals laid bare by the costume’s deliberate design. Top surgery had given him this, a silhouette he’d fought for. It still felt like a reclaiming, even now, especially now, in this ridiculous outfit. “You’re a vision. A slutty, tortured, catboy vision. Own it.”
From across the cavernous room, past the writhing bodies under the spinning green and red lasers, Hayden watched. He’d been watching for twenty minutes. The femboy cat was magnetic, a coiled spring of androgynous energy, all sharp hips and fluid motions. The way the tail swayed, the defiant arch of the back as he danced—it was hypnotic. Hayden’s thumb traced the rim of his beer bottle. His own tattoos, the dense sleeves, the stark black lines that climbed his neck and framed his face—a spiderweb on one temple, a moth on the other—felt suddenly like armor he hadn’t chosen.
“You gonna go talk to him,” Shaun’s voice cut through the music, dry and close to Hayden’s ear, “or keep fucking him with your eyes from over here?”
Hayden didn’t look away. “Fuck you.”
“Y’know that’s KJ, right?”
Hayden’s head snapped toward Shaun. “That’s not KJ. Don’t fuck with me.”
Shaun laughed, a low rumble. “Dude. Look at the fucking back tat.” He pointed with his chin. “The big ouroboros with the roses. You were there when Alex got that stupid matching one. I know you’ve seen that shit before.”
Hayden’s gaze laser-focused. The catboy was turning, laughing at something his flamboyant friend said, and there it was. Across the broad sweep of his shoulders, the detailed snake eating its own tail, thorns and blooms intertwined. A piece he’d only ever seen from a distance, on a person who belonged to someone else. To Alex.
Holy shit.
The recognition hit him in the gut, a solid punch of heat. KJ. All that fierce, charismatic energy from the stage, translated into this… this breathtaking vulnerability in leather shorts and kitten ears. The crush he’d banked for years, a dull ember, burst into open flame.
“Go on, big guy,” Shaun nudged him. “Before someone else claims the prize.”
Hayden drained his beer and set the bottle down on a nearby railing with a definitive clink. “Fuck it.”
He moved through the crowd like a ship cutting through dark water, his height giving him a sightline KJ couldn’t possibly have from against the wall. Joel, ever the watchful guardian, spotted him first. He leaned in, his sequins brushing KJ’s bare shoulder.
“Ay dios mío,” Joel whispered, his voice a sing-song tease. “That gothic giant with the face tattoos is making a beeline, cariño. And he is not looking at the decor.”
KJ didn’t look up. He just smiled down at his own fishnet-clad thighs, a faint, self-deprecating scoff escaping him. “Oh, goodie,” he mumbled to himself. The last thing he needed was another drunk admirer thinking the cat ears were an open invitation. He saw Joel, from the corner of his eye, pretend to become deeply interested in his phone, a blatant and tactical retreat.
Then a shadow fell over him, and a voice, deep enough to vibrate through the synthwave noise, spoke.
“You look like you’ve been doin’ good.”
KJ didn’t look immediately. The voice tickled something in the back of his mind, a familiar rumble that didn’t belong to a stranger. He frowned, trying to place it, scrolling through a mental roster of bassists and roadies. He came up blank, and finally lifted his chin.
The air left his lungs in a soft, punched-out oh.
Hayden. Alex’s friend. Well, former friend, from what little he’d heard. Hayden, who used to linger at the edges of parties, a quiet, imposing monument. Hayden, whose new face tattoos—a delicate web on one temple, a stark lunar moth on the other—framed eyes currently fixed on him with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
“Holy shit,” KJ breathed, his voice barely audible over the music. “Hey.” He felt baffled. Stuck on stupid, as his grandma would say. His brain short-circuited, a jumble of he’s taller than I remember and those tattoos are fucking insane and a bright, shocked flare of the old crush he’d never, ever acted on. They’d both been orbiting other people, other catastrophes.
Hayden smiled. It was a slow, transformative thing that carved a dimple into his cheek and made the moth on his temple seem to shift. KJ felt immediately, infuriatingly hot. That damn smile was a work of art.
“How you been, KJ?”
KJ managed to smile back, hoping it looked more like easy charisma and less like a deer in headlights. “Can’t complain. You?” It was automatic, hollow nightclub small-talk.
Hayden’s gaze didn’t waver. “A lot better now.”
KJ knew he blushed. He felt the heat rush up his neck, over his chest, a betraying flush visible even in the blacklight. It pissed him off slightly. He was a frontman, for fuck’s sake. He thrived on attention. This shouldn’t unsteady him.
Hayden leaned a shoulder against the metal beam, closing the space between them by a fraction. The scent of him cut through the club’s stale beer-and-sweat fog—clean soap, faint whiskey, something earthy. “The costume suits you,” he said, his eyes doing a quick, appreciative dip that was far from innocent.
“Thanks. Your ink… the new pieces are incredible.” KJ gestured vaguely toward his own face, his words feeling clumsy.
A slow shrug. “You get an up-close and personal look, if you want.”
The blush deepened. KJ’s pulse was a hammer against his ribs. He forced a laugh, aiming for playful. “You offering a tour?”
Hayden’s voice dropped, just for him. “Only for you.”
Stuck on stupid. Completely stuck on stupid. His heart was a frantic thing trying to beat its way out of his cage. The urge to just reach out and pull Hayden down by the collar, to see if he tasted as good as he looked, was a live wire in his veins. He didn’t, of course. He gripped his own tail instead, the soft fur grounding him.
He needed to move, to break this charged static. He tilted his head toward the pulsing center of the room. “You dance?”
Hayden’s smile turned wry. “I’m a quick learner.”
KJ didn’t think. He just reached out, his fingers closing around Hayden’s wrist. The skin was warm, the faint ridge of a scar under his thumb. The contact was a jolt, simple and electric
The skin was warm, the faint ridge of a scar under his thumb. The contact was a jolt, simple and electric.
KJ didn’t let go. He tugged, and Hayden followed, a massive shadow parting the sea of bodies. The synthwave track bled into something harder, a driving industrial beat that pulsed up through the concrete floor. They found a pocket of space near a pillar draped with torn fabric, the strobing lights carving them out of the darkness in quick, frantic snapshots.
For a minute, they just moved. Hayden was self-conscious, a big man trying to find the rhythm, his movements stiff but willing. KJ faced him, grinning, all sharp teeth and sparkling mischief under the cat ears. He mouthed like this and shifted his hips, a slow, rolling demonstration.
Then it happened. The switch flipped.
KJ’s playful smirk deepened into something more knowing, more dangerous. The nervous energy that had tied his stomach in knots sublimated into pure, unadulterated stage presence. This was his element. Commanding attention. Controlling the vibe.
He turned his back to Hayden.
He leaned back, not quite touching, letting the heat between them speak first. Then he pressed. The soft leather of KJ’s shorts met the rough denim of Hayden’s jeans. It wasn’t an accident. It was a statement.
Hayden’s hands found KJ’s hips immediately, fingers splaying wide over the sharp bones, holding on like a lifeline. KJ started to move. It wasn’t dancing anymore. It was a deliberate, calculated roll of his body, a slow grind that matched the thud of the kick drum. Heat flooded KJ’s neck, his face, a blush he knew was glowing under the blacklight. He could feel the outline of Hayden through their clothes, the solid weight of him, soft but substantial. He wasn’t even hard yet, and KJ could tell how big he was.
He kept grinding, finding a perfect, sinful rhythm.
Hayden’s grip tightened. Over KJ’s shoulder, he saw a few men watching, their expressions sliding from curiosity to open jealousy. One guy in a blood-spattered doctor’s coat shook his head and looked away. The possessive thrill that shot through Hayden was gasoline on a fire. He was fully seen, and he was the one holding him.
Hayden started getting hard. He couldn’t help it. KJ was a metronome of pressure, each backward roll hitting with devastating precision. KJ felt it—the twitch, the gradual, insistent swell against him. He didn’t stop. He deepened the motion, making it more electric, more explicit.
Hayden was fully hard now, a thick line of heat pressed against the seam of KJ’s ass. KJ still rolled, perfectly timed, a master of this particular tension. He caught Hayden with a particularly good grind, a slow drag that made Hayden’s breath stutter.
Hayden groaned, the sound lost under the music but vibrating through his chest into KJ’s back. “Fuck.”
KJ heard it. He smiled, a private, victorious thing, and did it again.
Another quiet groan escaped Hayden, his fingers digging in slightly harder for a pulsebeat before relaxing. “You like that?” KJ asked, his voice barely more than a shaped breath, thrown over his shoulder.
Hayden smiled against the ink of KJ’s shoulder. He dipped his head, his lips almost touching KJ’s ear. “Fuck yes.”
Then his mouth was on KJ’s neck. Not tentative, not questioning. A soft kiss first, a press of lips against the jumping pulse. Then another. KJ kept grinding, a slow, relentless wave. Hayden’s kisses grew hungrier. He opened his mouth, sucking at the salt-damp skin, tasting the night and him. He bit down, just a gentle promise of teeth, and felt KJ shudder in his hands.
The world narrowed to the points of contact: Hayden’s mouth on his neck, his hands on his hips, the hard, urgent heat between them. KJ let his head fall back against Hayden’s shoulder, offering more. The music was a blanket, the jealous glances fuel. For the first time in years, he felt wanted in a way that was simple, hot, and shockingly free. There was no past here.
There was no past here. There was only the beat, the heat, the hard line of Hayden against him, and the dizzying freedom of being wanted so blatantly. The music shifted again, but the rhythm they’d created was their own.
KJ leaned back, his head resting on Hayden’s shoulder, and turned his face. Their eyes met. Hayden’s were dark, the pupils blown wide, holding a question KJ was done ignoring.
After a little longer, KJ grabbed Hayden’s hand and just said, “Come on.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned, threading their fingers together, and pulled. He led them off the dance floor, away from the strobes and the staring eyes, through a dim corridor lined with black velvet curtains. He pushed open an unmarked door, tugging Hayden inside.
It was a small, private room—just a plush circular booth, a low table, and a lock on the door. Soundproofed. The club’s pulse became a muted throb in the walls.
No words were needed when they stepped in. Hayden closed the door. The lock clicked, a final, definitive sound.
Hayden turned and immediately kissed him.
The kiss grew hungry, quick. KJ had to get on his tiptoes but he grabbed the back of Hayden’s neck to pull him deeper into the kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and shared breath, a collision that had been building for years. Hayden tasted like whiskey and promise. KJ poured every ounce of his restless energy into it, his fingers tangling in the short hair at Hayden’s nape.
Hayden walked KJ back into a wall. The impact was soft, swallowed by padded leather. He lifted KJ up, his large hands gripping under KJ’s thighs, and KJ wrapped his legs around him instinctively. The new height let him kiss Hayden more thoroughly, grinding down against the undeniable bulge in Hayden’s jeans.
Hayden broke the kiss, breathing ragged. His forehead pressed against KJ’s. “I want you. Now.”
“Then take me,” KJ said, the words a hot whisper against Hayden’s mouth.
Hayden kissed him again, a hard, claiming press of lips, then adjusted his grip. He carried KJ the few steps to the circular booth, which was wide and deep and dressed in more black velvet. He laid KJ down on it and got on top of him at the same time, his weight a delicious anchor.
Hayden’s hand started wandering. He ran it from KJ’s face, down his neck, over his chest. His thumb rubbed over one of KJ’s pierced nipples, a barbell cool against his skin before Hayden pinched it gently, rolling the metal between his fingers. A sharp, sweet bolt of pleasure made KJ moan into the kisses. Hayden did it again, then switched his attention to the other.
His hand wandered more. He ran it down KJ’s stomach, the muscles jumping under his touch. Then he touched his thighs, skimming over fishnet. Then the inner thighs, a slow, deliberate tease. His palm finally pressed, hot and heavy, against the damp leather between KJ’s legs, rubbing KJ’s vagina from the outside of his shorts.
KJ was slightly jerky, jerking his hips up into his touch more, seeking pressure. A needy sound escaped him.
Hayden moved his hand up slightly and maneuvered it into KJ’s shorts, under the leather and the thin barrier of his underwear. His touch was shockingly intimate, skin on skin. He ran two fingers through KJ’s slit, gathering the wetness there, then teasingly focused on KJ’s clit, circling it with a slick, maddening precision.
He broke the kiss for a second, his breath hot on KJ’s cheek. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He kissed him again, deep and consuming, as his fingers continued their expert work. KJ’s hips rocked, trying to chase the feeling, but Hayden controlled the pace, the pressure.
Hayden pulled his hand out, the sound obscenely wet. He shifted back, kneeling between KJ’s legs, and started taking KJ’s shorts off. He yanked the leather down, taking the underwear with them in one rough, efficient motion. The cool air hit KJ’s skin, followed immediately by the heat of Hayden’s gaze.
He started kissing down KJ’s neck, his chest, lingering on each nipple, sucking the metal into his mouth until KJ was writhing. He moved lower, open-mouthed kisses along his stomach, his hips, the sharp v of his pelvis. He kissed his inner thighs, biting softly, and KJ’s legs fell open wider, an unspoken plea.
Then Hayden’s mouth was on him.
KJ’s back arched off the velvet, a choked gasp ripped from his throat. His hands tangled in Hayden’s hair quick. Not to force, but to hold on, anchors in a sudden, perfect storm.
Hayden ate him out with a perfected, practiced ease. It wasn’t tentative or exploratory. It was confident, intentional, like he’d been thinking about exactly how to do this for years. The flat of his tongue lapped broad strokes, then focused into a pinpoint rhythm on his clit. His fingers, still slick, pressed inside him, curling just right.
“Oh, god.” The words were a broken thing. KJ’s hips stuttered. He’d had head before, but never like this. Never with this kind of focused, filthy dedication that felt less like a prelude and more like the main event. It was overwhelming. Heat coiled tight and low in his gut, urgent and terrifyingly close.
Hayden pulled back for a second, his chin glistening. He looked up the line of KJ’s body, his face fierce between KJ’s thighs. “You sound so fucking good,” he growled, voice ragged.
Then he dove back in. He added a second finger, stretching him, fucking him slowly with his hand while his mouth sucked his clit. The dual sensation shattered KJ’s coherence. Pleasure built in sharp, rising waves, blotting out the muffled music, the room, everything but the feeling of Hayden’s mouth and hands on him. His thighs trembled. The grip in Hayden’s hair tightened.
“Hayden… I’m gonna…”
Hayden just hummed against him, the vibration tipping KJ over the edge.
KJ came with a raw, throaty cry, his body bowing tight as the orgasm crashed through him, intense and shocking in its force. Hayden didn’t stop, working him through it, gentling his touch only as the violent shakes subsided into tremors.
KJ went boneless against the booth, gasping for air, his limbs liquid. Hayden crawled back up his body, kissing his stomach, his sternum, his neck. He tasted of salt and KJ. He finally reached his mouth, and KJ could only kiss him back weakly, utterly spent and unraveled.
Hayden rested his forehead against KJ’s, his own breathing harsh. He was still fully dressed, his jeans painfully tight.