Chapter Text
Ray is sulking in the furthest corner of the booth, nursing his half-drunk cocktail, something fruity that Boston picked before he disappeared God knows where among the crowd in the club. Boston brought Ray here because he was supposed to meet with a friend, which, knowing Boston, probably means one of his fuck buddies. It also means that he’s most likely ditched Ray in favor of getting his dick wet.
This happens often and Ray can’t exactly complain because sometimes it’s him who does the ditching–but tonight, for some reason, he can’t seem to get in the mood for partying. It may have something to do with the music, a beat he can’t quite vibe with. Maybe he’s gotten a bit too used to a different genre, a rougher, harsher one.
He notices belatedly that someone has slid into the empty seat next to him, and he’s about to say that he was actually going to leave when–
“Sand?”
It’s him, it’s unmistakable: the downturned corners of his naturally pouty mouth, his pretty brown eyes, the leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders.
Except his hair is swept back and under the jacket he’s naked, mostly, his chest glistening with sweat–and are those freaking suspenders??
Ray’s throat goes dry as Sand looks down at him with a smile; no, a smirk.
“Here for the show?” Sand asks, or at least that’s what Ray thinks he said. The music is too loud to make out his words, so Ray has to read Sand’s lips, which is distracting in itself.
Ray tries to fix his posture, to come off as unbothered, like he’s not half-convinced he’s hallucinating.
“Not really,” he says. “I don’t need to pay people to get them to strip for me, usually.”
Sand raises an eyebrow, and he leans back minimally; he’s out of Ray’s space now, and he throws his head back and laughs. Ray thinks he might be laughing at him, not with him. He rarely worries about saying the wrong thing, and yet…
“Well then,” Sand says, “’m gonna go entertain my customers. Nice seeing you.” He makes to stand, but Ray stops him with a hand on his arm. “Wait!”
He doesn’t know why he feels so uneasy at the prospect of Sand sitting with someone else. Sitting on someone else? Dancing, flirting with strangers in the club. His customers.
They barely know each other at all. Or, well, they’ve had a few classes together, and Ray has seen most of Sand’s performances at the other bar, the one where Sand wears ugly foreign bands t-shirts that look unreasonably sexy on him and ripped jeans and he growls into the mic and he stares at Ray through half-lidded eyes from time to time.
Sand smiles again, the front row of his teeth showing before he digs them in his lower lip, “Changed your mind?”
“I’m just curious. And bored,” Ray shrugs, gesturing to his watered down drink.
Sand shoots him a long look, which does not make the back of Ray’s neck prickle in anticipation; then he nods and shifts to the side, his knees easily bracketing Ray’s thighs.
He arches his back, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders in one fluid motion, and now that his toned arms are on display, Ray catches the way his biceps flex as he pushes one palm against the wall, caging Ray in the booth.
There’s a heat in Sand’s gaze that’s paralyzing, a novel feeling for someone like Ray, who’s used to being the one directing the orchestra, commanding the game.
Then Sand rolls his hips, his ass barely grazing Ray’s upper thighs for an electrifying millisecond, and Ray shouldn’t be as affected as he is.
There’s a rhythm to Sand’s movements, one that follows the beat of the music, but Ray can barely focus on anything that isn’t the way Sand’s lean muscles jump, his abs and pecs engaged in a dance of their own. Ray wants to touch, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. He doesn’t know the rules to this game, and Sand doesn’t seem to want to bother explaining them to him.
He looks down at Ray with a knowing smile, like he’s perfectly aware of Ray’s predicament, like he’s amused by his helplessness. He revels in the way he has control, Ray is sure. What Ray finds surprising, though, is his own willingness to give in.
Sand lowers his arm, now relying on his thighs’ muscle strength alone to prop himself up, as he slowly lets his hands skirt down his torso. He hooks his thumbs around the suspenders and pulls, then he lets them snap back against his nipples. They’re pert and bright pink like sinful candies in the neon lights. Ray wishes he could roll them between his fingers, put his mouth on them, taste the sweetness and the salt of Sand’s skin.
Ray only realizes his mouth has fallen open when Sand rubs the knuckles of his finger against his chin, a mock caress, and pushes it back closed.
The thing is, Ray didn’t know that Sand could move his body like that, and he’d know, because he’s been sort of paying attention. Sand stays mostly still when he sings, or curled inwards when he plays the guitar. He walks to the edge of the stage to interact with the audience sometimes, wide steps with his long long legs, but that’s pretty much it. So Sand has definitely kept this a secret. From Ray, at the very least. Not from his customers here.
Sand throws his head back, kind of like he did earlier when he was laughing at Ray’s expense, and now Ray has a front view to the veins on the side of Sand’s neck bulging, to his Adam’s apple bobbing. Ray should be allowed to sink his teeth into it.
This is what Sand would look like if he was riding him, Ray suddenly realizes, and the thought is so violently arousing that his whole body shakes with it, a dizzying sort of whiplash.
To make things worse, Sand finally decides to lower his hips so that they’re flush against Ray’s tense thighs, and his ass lands directly on Ray’s throbbing dick. For the first time tonight, Ray is intimately grateful to the loud music for covering the moan that pushes out of his throat.
But maybe Sand heard it anyway, or maybe he felt how hard Ray is beneath him–there’s no way he didn’t, Ray has never been this turned on in his entire life–because he cracks one eye open to peer down at Ray, and his smile is taunting. Which doesn’t do anything to dampen Ray’s arousal, really. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Sand lunges forward, his hands finding the back of Ray’s neck, his fingers curling into the longer hair at Ray’s nape, and he tugs, and he pulls Ray’s head towards himself. Ray’s heart is in his throat, Sand’s harsh breaths are in his parted mouth, he can almost feel the wetness of Sand’s tongue as he licks his lips, and–
Sand slides off Ray’s lap. He picks his jacket up from where he had discarded it and he stands, towering over Ray.
“I only took my jacket off, and that was on the house, so you can keep your money. See ya, Ray.” He winks as he drapes his jacket over his shoulders, and just like that he’s gone.