Chapter 2: Rough Trade
The muffled thud of the bass through the walls was the only rhythm now, a distant heartbeat marking time in their private dark. KJ lay gasping, the velvet of the booth cool and strange against his sweat-slicked back. The taste of himself was still on Hayden’s tongue when they kissed, a shared secret that made his stomach flip.
Hayden loomed over him, a mountain of ink and heat, his breathing still uneven. The amber light caught the sweat beading along the spiderweb on his temple. He looked wrecked, and it was the most powerful thing KJ had ever seen.
Slowly, Hayden pushed himself up onto his knees, straddling KJ’s thighs. His eyes never left KJ’s face, holding a look of pure, predatory focus. With one hand, he reached down and unbuckled his belt, the metallic scrape loud in the enclosed space. He worked the button of his jeans, tugged the zipper down with a slow, deliberate rasp. He never looked away from KJ.
He shifted, using his other hand to reposition KJ beneath him, sliding him a little further down the booth until KJ’s head tipped back, the world inverting slightly, the chandelier a blur of gold above Hayden’s shoulders. KJ looked up at him, his vision filled with the vast, tattooed expanse of Hayden’s chest, the sharp cut of his jaw, those dark, intent eyes. His own desire was a live wire, sizzling and raw from the orgasm, but sparking right back to life under that gaze.
Hayden shoved his jeans and boxers down in one rough push, just past his hips. He didn’t take them all the way off. The thick, hard line of his erection strained against the dark fabric of his boxer briefs, an obvious, daunting outline.
Holy shit.
The thought was pure, stunned instinct. KJ had seen cocks before, had taken them. But the promise of what was tenting Hayden’s boxers was something else entirely. It was thick, the head a pronounced bulge, the length impressive even concealed. A flush of heat, part nervous thrill, part dizzying excitement, swept through him.
Hayden smiled down at him, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. He saw the flicker in KJ’s eyes, the quick intake of breath. He leaned down, bracing one hand by KJ’s head, caging him in.
“You think you can be a good boy for me,” Hayden asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in the scant space between them, “and take whatever I give you?”
The words landed like a physical touch. The way he said it—the possessive assumption, the rough edge of command wrapped in that deep, calm tone—shot straight to KJ’s core. Hayden didn’t know. He couldn’t know how perfectly he’d just tapped into the secret, hungry part of KJ that craved this exact thing: to be told what to do, to be praised for taking it, to be degraded with words that felt like worship.
KJ’s breath hitched. He nodded, his head brushing against the velvet.
“Use your words, baby.” Hayden’s free hand came up, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they ran along the side of KJ’s face, tracing his jaw.
“Yes,” KJ managed to get out, the word sounding wrecked already.
Hayden’s smile widened, a flash of white in the dimness. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, freeing himself.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
It wasn’t just length, though there was plenty of that. It was the thick, heavy girth of him, the pronounced veins running along the shaft, the broad, flushed head. It was intimidating. Beautiful. KJ felt a clench of actual nervousness deep inside, a primal awareness of the stretch to come. But it was swallowed, utterly drowned, by a surge of frantic excitement. He wanted it. He wanted to feel ruined by it.
Hayden settled back, his gaze dropping to KJ’s mouth. He reached out, his fingers sliding into KJ’s jet-black hair, gripping it firmly but not painfully. He tilted KJ’s head back just a little further, aligning his mouth.
“Open.”
KJ obeyed without a beat of hesitation, his lips parting, his tongue resting behind his bottom teeth. He kept his eyes locked on Hayden’s.
Hayden guided himself forward, the hot, smooth crown of his dick pressing against KJ’s lower lip. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting KJ adjust. The stretch was immediate, the salty-skin taste of him flooding KJ’s senses. KJ relaxed his jaw, letting his head tip back with the pressure, taking him deeper. He felt the head nudge the back of his throat, and he swallowed, willing his muscles to open.
Hayden slid all the way in, his pubic hair brushing KJ’s nose. KJ’s eyes watered slightly from the strain, tears beading at the corners. It was overwhelming—the size, the fullness, the complete dominance of the act. He loved every second of it. He hummed, a low, vibrations of approval deep in his chest.
Hayden gently touched KJ’s cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear track. “You ok, pretty boy?”
KJ just hummed again, “Mhm,” the sound choked but affirmative around the thick shaft filling his mouth.
Hayden’s expression softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something fiercely protective in his eyes. Then it sharpened back into hunger. He withdrew almost all the way, then pushed back in, setting a slow, testing rhythm. He was slightly rough, but not cruel, his hips pumping in shallow thrusts as he got a feel for KJ’s mouth, for his limits.
Hayden couldn’t help the sounds that escaped him. Low, gut-deep grunts. Soft, punched-out moans. Each one was like a match tossed on kerosene for KJ. He loved that, the raw, unfiltered evidence of a man’s pleasure. It broke their cool. It made them real.
KJ let his own moans escape around Hayden’s cock, wet and filthy, sucking hard on the downstroke. The sounds he made seemed to drive Hayden wilder. His thrusts became less measured, more urgent. The grip in KJ’s hair tightened a fraction.
“You’re being such a good boy for me,” Hayden groaned, the praise landing on KJ like a physical blow of pleasure.
KJ moaned wantonly in response, the vibration pulling another ragged curse from Hayden. He picked up his pace, his hips snapping forward with more force, his dick hitting the back of KJ’s throat with each drive. KJ took it, tears now streaming freely, a mix of effort and overwhelming turned-on surrender. He reached up, his hands finding Hayden’s thighs, digging into the hard muscle there, holding on.
Hayden was breathing in harsh gusts, his abdomen tight. “Fuck… gonna come…” he warned, his rhythm stuttering.
But he didn’t finish in KJ’s throat. With a sharp, almost pained sound, he pulled out entirely, his cock leaving KJ’s mouth with a wet pop. KJ gasped for air, coughing slightly, his lips swollen and slick.
Hayden moved with a sudden, fluid urgency. He grabbed KJ by the hips, his hands huge and sure, and effortlessly flipped him over onto his stomach. He guided KJ up onto his knees, his ass in the air, the fishnet sleeves torn and tangled around his arms. Hayden leaned over him, a hot, solid weight along his back, his mouth at KJ’s ear.
“You ready?” he growled, the question rhetorical. His hand slid between KJ’s cheeks, fingers finding the wet, open heat between them, slick from his mouth earlier. He rubbed the head of his cock through it, gathering moisture, not bothering with anything more.
KJ braced his forearms against the velvet, pushing back against the blunt pressure. “Do it. Fucking do it.”
Hayden lined up and pushed.
The initial breach was a blinding, brilliant stretch. It burned, a sharp, bright flash of pain because he wasn’t fully prepared, wasn’t slick enough. KJ cried out, his fingers clawing at the booth.
Hayden stilled, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Breathe, pretty boy,” he rasped, his lips against KJ’s shoulder blade.
KJ dragged in a shuddering breath, then another. The burn receded, melting into a deep, incredible fullness that stole his thoughts. He’d never been filled like this, stretched so completely. It felt like being claimed, from the inside out.
“Move,” KJ pleaded, his voice broken.
Hayden obeyed.
He pulled back and slammed back in, a hard, driving thrust that shoved KJ forward. There was no more gentleness, no more testing. This was raw, unvarnished fucking. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of Hayden’s grunts and KJ’s choked-off cries, filled the small room, overtaking the distant bass.
Hayden set a brutal, punishing pace, one hand gripping KJ’s hip hard enough to bruise, the other fisted in his hair again, holding him in place. Each thrust knocked the air from KJ’s lungs, each withdrawal left him empty and desperate for the next.
“This what you wanted?” Hayden snarled, his control fraying. “This what you needed, you fucking gorgeous slut?”
“Yes! God, yes!” KJ babbled, the degradation sweet as syrup in his veins. The pleasure was a coiled spring, winding tighter with every savage pump of Hayden’s hips. He felt raw, used, perfect. He’d never felt more like himself.
Hayden’s rhythm became erratic, his thrusts harder, deeper. “Gonna come… gonna fill you up…”
The words tipped KJ over. His own orgasm ripped through him, silent and intense, a clenching, white-hot wave that left him shaking and blind. The convulsions of his body pulled Hayden over the edge with him.
Hayden shouted, a raw, wordless sound, and drove in as deep as he could, holding himself there as he pulsed, hot and endless, inside KJ. He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and welcome, his mouth pressed to the ouroboros tattoo between KJ’s shoulder blades as they both rode out the last tremors in the dark, shaking quiet.
He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and welcome, his mouth pressed to the ouroboros tattoo between KJ’s shoulder blades as they both rode out the last tremors in the dark, shaking quiet.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing syncing, of the distant bass vibrating through the floor. Hayden’s sweat dripped onto KJ’s back, cool where it landed on his heated skin. KJ felt utterly hollowed out, blissfully ruined, every nerve singing a raw, quiet hymn.
Hayden eventually softened and slid out of him, a slow, intimate withdrawal that made KJ shiver. The loss of him felt profound, a sudden emptiness that was cold and wrong. He groaned a soft protest into the velvet, the sound muffled and pathetic.
He felt Hayden shift behind him, then a gentle hand smoothing over the curve of his ass. “Easy, baby.” The voice was rough, but the touch was not.
Then Hayden’s fingers brushed the wet, tender flesh between his legs from behind, a casual, exploring touch. KJ flinched, oversensitive, but then pushed back into the contact. A fresh, startling bolt of heat licked up his spine. His body, spent seconds ago, kindled again with a swiftness that stole his breath. He was getting hard, the blood rushing back with a stubborn, eager defiance.
“Fuck,” Hayden breathed, feeling the change under his fingertips. “Already?”
He gently rolled KJ onto his back. The booth’s velvet was cool against his heated skin. Hayden looked down at him, his face shadowed, the amber light carving the sharp planes of his cheeks and the dark lines of his face tattoos.
His gaze was heavy, taking in the sight: KJ’s flushed chest, his hard nipples, the dark smudge of his makeup under his eyes. Hayden’s cock, still wet and glistening, was already thickening again against his thigh. The sight of it, the sheer persistent hunger of the man, made KJ’s mouth water.
Without a word, Hayden hooked his hands under KJ’s knees. He pulled them up, folding KJ easily, and settled KJ’s calves over his shoulders. The position opened KJ up completely, exposed and vulnerable, his ass lifted just off the cushion. Hayden leaned over him, bracing himself on one arm, his other hand guiding himself back to KJ’s entrance.
He pushed in.
This time, the slide was smoother, eased by the mess they’d already made. It was a deep, complete sheathing that punched a low groan from KJ’s chest. The angle was different, impossibly deep, and he could feel every inch. He wrapped his own hands behind his knees, holding himself open, offering himself up.
Hayden began to move, a slow, grinding roll of his hips that stroked something brilliant inside KJ. He watched his own cock disappear into KJ’s body, his jaw tight, his breathing controlled. Each thrust was a deliberate, measured claim.
“You look,” Hayden started, his voice a gravelly scrape, “and sound so good taking me.”
KJ moaned, the praise searing him hotter than the friction. He couldn’t help it. He was putty in this man’s hands, unraveling under his words and his cock. “You like being praised, huh, pretty boy?”
That one made KJ whimper. The term ‘pretty boy’ sliced through him, a perfect, devastating blend of affection and condescension that made his stomach clench with need. He nodded frantically, his head rubbing against the velvet.
Hayden smiled, a dark, satisfied thing, and started fucking him harder.
The earlier pace had been frantic, a race to the finish. This was different. This was endurance. Hayden settled into a powerful, relentless rhythm, each deep stroke making KJ see stars. He lasted a lot longer, his control a terrifying, beautiful thing to witness.
He shifted his weight, his free hand coming up from where it braced him. His fingers, thick and strong, wrapped around KJ’s throat.
They settled there, a loose circle of heat and pressure. Then they tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt, not enough to cut off air, but enough to assert a profound, dizzying control. To remind KJ who was driving this, who owned this moment.
KJ smiled up at him through the haze, his lips parted, and moaned again, the sound constricted and wanton.
“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” Hayden said, partially grunting the words as he drove in again, his hips snapping against KJ’s ass.
He leaned down, KJ’s legs still on his shoulders, actually folding KJ in half. The new angle hit even deeper, a sharp, breathtaking press against a spot that made KJ’s vision blur. Hayden’s face was inches from his, their breath mixing. The hand on KJ’s throat held him perfectly in place.
Hayden picked up the pace a bit more. The slap of skin grew louder, faster. The booth creaked softly beneath them. KJ was babbling, a stream of broken words and pleas that Hayden swallowed with a fierce, biting kiss.
He could feel the coiled tension building again in Hayden’s body, the impending snap. His own orgasm was a second sun, rising fast and inevitable. The pressure on his throat, the crushing depth of each thrust, the filth pouring from Hayden’s mouth into his own—it was all too much.
He came with a choked, silent scream, his body clamping down in rhythmic pulses around Hayden’s cock. The sensation tore a final, ragged groan from Hayden, who followed him over, burying himself as deep as he could go as he pulsed inside him.
Hayden’s grip on his throat loosened, becoming a caress along his jaw. He stayed there, folded over him, inside him, for a long while, their sweat-slicked bodies cooling in the dim, quiet dark. The club’s heartbeat was faint now, a faraway echo.
The club’s heartbeat was faint now, a faraway echo. Hayden’s weight was a solid, comforting pressure, the heat of his skin seeping into KJ’s back. He stayed buried inside him, even as he softened, and the silence between them grew thick and tender, a palpable thing.
Slowly, Hayden lifted himself, his movements careful as he slid out. The loss was a small, cold shock. KJ whimpered softly at the emptiness, the sound embarrassingly needy in the quiet room. He felt exposed, splayed open on the velvet, but before the vulnerability could curdle into shame, Hayden was moving again.
He gently turned KJ onto his back, the soft material whispering beneath him. KJ watched, his limbs heavy, as Hayden stood on slightly unsteady legs to shove his jeans and boxers off completely. He tossed them aside, a pile of dark denim in the corner, then retrieved a few cocktail napkins from the low table. He cleaned himself off with a few rough swipes, his eyes never leaving KJ’s.
He returned to the booth, his large frame taking up space as he settled onto his back beside KJ. Without a word, he opened his arm. An invitation.
KJ shifted, his body feeling used and glorious, and curled into Hayden’s side. He rested his head on Hayden’s chest, his ear pressed right over the steady, strong drum of his heart. Hayden’s arm came around him, heavy and sure, his hand splaying across KJ’s tattooed shoulder blade.
Hayden leaned his head down, his lips brushing the crown of KJ’s hair. “You did so fuckin’ good,” he mumbled, the words a low, rough vibration against KJ’s scalp. “You were perfect.”
KJ smiled. A simple, tired, unfiltered smile into the warm skin of Hayden’s chest. He didn’t have the words. He just nuzzled closer, breathing in the scent of sweat, sex, and the faint, clean soap that was uniquely Hayden. His fingers traced idle patterns through the coarse hair on Hayden’s sternum, over the ink of a soaring raven.
Hayden’s hand stroked up and down his arm, a slow, absent rhythm. The distant thump of the bass finally stopped, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. They heard distant shouts, the clatter of chairs being stacked, the world outside their velvet cocoon packing up and going home.
Neither moved.
KJ’s breaths began to sync with Hayden’s, deepening, slowing. The adrenaline that had gripped him all night—from the performance, the costume, the dangerous thrill of the dance—drained away, leaving a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. His muscles were liquid, his mind blissfully empty of everything but the solid reality of the man beneath him.
Hayden’s breathing evened out into the deep, measured pattern of sleep. His arm relaxed further around KJ, a loose, possessive weight. KJ closed his eyes, listening to that heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of Hayden’s chest. The last thing he registered was the faint scratch of stubble against his forehead as Hayden shifted in his sleep, pulling him infinitesimally closer.
They ended up falling asleep like that.