Class-A (HBTC Short Story)

    Music vibrated the fabric of the building, vodka ran riot in his veins, the coke snaked into his brain, his brain, his brain... His head was going to explode. The bass beat repeat, repeat, over, and over, and over, swell bending the corridor, floor curling before him, walls falling away, away...
    Simon pressed his palm to the wall and stopped, waiting for the world to level out. He'd been high before, been hammered before, been both together many times over, hoping, believing it would feel different. He'd get the buzz, the thrill, the ride of his life, but it never came. All he felt was numb, and a little amused he was as hard as rock and could have shagged for hours without getting anywhere. He'd done that a few times, too.
    Set off again, swagger...stagger...up that impossible hill. He kept his eyes focused on the doorway ahead, the kitchen-makeshift-bar-source-of-light-and-life, a dazzling rectangle non-existent in the dim-yellow crowded crazy mass of people and empty bottles that refused to roll.
    "You OK, mate?"
    "Huh?" Fatal error, turning his head to see who'd asked. Concerned? No, standard greeting. He compensated, over-compensated - or hadn't moved at all - and stumbled sideways into the soft wall. Soft wall?
    Simon fell against him, merged with him. They kissed, lips, tongues, unable to breathe, hands under shirts, in pants grasping and tugging, too hard, too futile. What am I - oh, f**k it. Air, he needed air, and threw his head back, a hot mouth clamping to his neck, sucking so hard he'd swear to f**king God his jugular was about to burst.
    Yet the pain, sharp and exquisite, barely registered through the fog of too-much-s**t.
    "You got a room?" asked the vampire courier who'd brought the coke and stayed to share it. He gazed into Simon's soul, all helter-skelter shiny eyes and fellatio-velvet lips.
    "'s wrong with here?" No answer required, Simon devoured the too-willing mouth of his date-for-the-moment, gorging unfulfilled. B**w job, hand job, no job, no-blow-go-go. He giggle-murmured, hungry and insatiable, against lightly stubbled skin. "You're gonna s**k me off, yah?"
    The guy laughed in his face. "How much?"
    Simon replayed the question and snarled. "F**k you."
    A shrug of agreement. "I'm game. Hundred quid."
    "I don't pay for sex." Before the b**tard could squeeze in another insult, Simon kissed him again, taking what was his, payback for insolence.
    "...f**k are you doing?"
    S**t. S**t. S**t. He peeled their lips apart and ran his finger over his tongue, capturing a smear of saliva with which to brand his accomplice. "One sec." He swivelled on the spot into a full-force slap.
    "You cheat! You b**tard! How could you do this to me? How could you?" Slap pummel thump thump blam blam blam. "You!" Thadum. "You!" Thadum. "You think you're better than me? Well, you're not!" Ooh, growly girl, hot-horny angry in my face-space. She concluded her assault with a sneer at them both, backing off, eyes blazing. Is she high, too?
    For a moment, Simon thought she would spit on him, but she was too dignified and he was too wrong. She turned and marched left-right-along the curvy corridor, shoving people aside as she took flight.
    "Shit." Quick f**k, or fix things? He needed her. Or someone. No, it had to be her. He shrugged helplessly at the guy wet-lipped and wanting, and went after Jess.

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