A collection of short stories, maybe.
Smut, language, violence... adult stuff.
Nothing to do whatsoever with real life, actual people, their preferences etc.
Proceed with caution.
The mass of sweaty bodies on the club's main dance floor moves like a swell on the open ocean, coloured in other-worldly hues by the flickering neon ceiling lights. Right in the center, there is a small opening, around a certain person. The people close to him give him a wider berth to dance, mimicking his flowing movements or simply swaying smoothly around him, while watching him in pure awe.
I am one of them. A silent witness to this mystagogy. I'm sure the other mere mortals around him can't even fathom how lucky they are to witness such grace.
From my seat on the balcony above the dance floor, half hidden in the shadows, I watch Hyunjin dance, lost in himself. His moves are one minute smooth and the next raw and suggestive. He is pure sex on legs, tantalizing, enchanting, dangerous.
He turns and lifts his head in my direction. His gaze cuts through the heavy atmosphere and stretches towards me, unobstructed. He spots me easily through the shadows like a fucking radar. I swear, I see a teasing smile curl his full lips. His demeanor changes. He locks eyes with me and begins to dance in a more deliberate, calculated way.
He seems to be putting on a show, just for me.
I cannot believe it! The audacity!
His hips, no, his whole body moves in slow sensual rolls. His hands reach up to his face to push the sweaty strands of his raven black hair backwards. For a moment only his plush sensual lips are visible, slightly parted, inviting, expectant. As he removes his hands, I catch him looking at me seductively through his eyelashes. His slanted eyes are pitch black.
Everything about him seduces me in this moment. I am so weak for him. He licks his lips slowly and my brain short circuits. I'm suddenly feeling parched. I'm dying of thirst in the middle of the desert and he is my only hope. He takes a bottle of water and drinks to his fill, carelessly –as if mocking me- letting little droplets drip down his chin... down his jaw... streaking his long swan-like neck.
Fuck!
I want to go there and lick his neck, drink the blessed water that touched his skin, his sacred body.
His body is my temple and I want to worship him. I want to pay my respects to every inch of him. He is the holy ground of my prayers and I am but a sinner, begging on my knees for him to grant me access and absolve me of my sins.
Or, let me sin more.
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The shirt he wears is stuck to his body, soaked in sweat, leaving nothing to my imagination. All the lines, dips and soft curves of his toned muscles are clearly defined beneath the semi-sheer fabric.
