Just a Little Coke

Just a Little Coke

You meet Tad Allagash not long after you move to New York, on a Saturday night turned Sunday morning at some nightclub with brightly coloured lights and loud music, something that will soon become a staple of your life's diet. You're drunk, Amanda's drunk, and you probably would have glanced right past him if not for the infectious smile. So you sit and watch him for a while - talking, dancing, weaving through the crowd with ease, and seemingly having admirers wherever he goes - and before you know it, he's appeared in front of you, well shaped lips curving up into that smile.

"You must be new in town. I'm Allagash."

You order him a drink, and he orders the next for you, talking about New York and the scene and various people and their ups and downs. He seems charmed by Amanda - of course, everyone always was - but his conversation stays with you, laughing and talking like he's known you forever. It makes you wonder if this is some talent that he has, to pick up with anyone like the best friend they've never had, because somehow he makes you feel like there's no one more interesting in the world, no one more important to him than you are. It's a heady feeling, one that you like a little too much, but you decide not to question it for the time being. It's much easier just to take another shot of tequila, watching his well shaped lips suck on the wedge of lime.

When Amanda disappears off to dance with some girls, he leans in to you, breath a warm whisper against your ear. It breaks you out of the mellow alcohol soup you've been swimming in, every nerve in your body suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is to you. "Hey, I need a hit. Want to come with me?"

He looks so earnest that even though your previous drug usage has been limited to the lazy blur of marijuana and the occasional hit of sugary bright ecstasy you agree to go with him. Within minutes you're crammed into a tiny washroom stall with him, snorting his white powder from a tiny spoon and fucking flying.

Cocaine isn't like anything you've ever experienced, and it makes the whole world vivid and vibrant, pleasure shivering hot over your skin. Your pulse races, making a strange tempo with the muffled thud of the bass from the club, and you feel like you could do absolutely anything. You try to explain this to Allagash, suddenly needing to say something profound about this moment, but he simply chuckles, warm and low and throaty, which is the most beautiful, amazing laugh you've ever heard in your life. You kiss him for it, because it makes him chuckle again, pushing you up against the wall of the stall and returning the kiss, body pressed warm against you. For a long moment it becomes your entire world, the caress of his lips against yours, the swipe of his tongue, the taste of tequila and lime and salt on his lips.

"I'm not really into this," you try to say, even though your hand is on his ass as you arch up against him. Even though you're very quickly getting hard, pressed against his thigh, grinding against him almost obscenely.

"Me neither," he chuckles warmly, and kisses you again, teeth scraping and nipping at your bottom lip. "But isn't it wild?"

You've heard it said that there's never anything quite like a first hit of coke, and you can believe it now. You feel damn near invincible, kissing this beautiful blonde man in a night club bathroom stall, mind racing along with your hands as you kiss and suck and bite. Before you really know what you're doing you've pulled open his pants and wrapped your hand around a cock as hard as yours, stroking him just because you can, because the way it makes him shiver and gasp makes you feel like god. His skin is hot against yours, and it feels like you can memorize every inch of his cock with your fingers, every ridge and vein, the way he bucks into your touch when you press your thumb against the tightly stretched frenulum under his head. When he returns the touch with just as much enthusiasm, you're hard pressed not to moan, biting hard on your bottom lip as the sensation shoots up your spine white hot like lightning and far better than it's ever felt before.

Part of you is perfectly aware of how fucked up what you're doing is, and it calmly watches and records and takes notes and thinks that something this perverse would make the Time's bestseller list. Somehow that just makes the rest of you more wanton, makes your cock harder, makes you more desperate. It makes you stroke him a little faster, just to feel him buck up into your touch, his free hand clenched on your ass, breath catching in his throat. You let your thumb swipe over the head of his cock with every stroke, smoothing pre-come over his erection and making his skin slick like satin, like fine velvet over heated marble. You want to make him cream himself, want to feel him pulse and come hot and wet in your fingers, feel him bite at your skin as he comes just to try and keep from screaming. Before you realize what you're doing, you're whispering this to him, telling him all of this and more, every lurid detail that would spill out onto paper if you wrote this down.

Allagash groans, low and throaty and beautiful, and even though he immediately chokes it back, you suddenly want to hear a hell of a lot more of that groan. You catch his mouth again, hard and demanding, and the touch of his hand on your erection becomes more erratic, as if he can't focus on anything other than your fingers pumping his cock. "Fuck," he whispers, just that and nothing more, hips thrusting helplessly into your fingers as he comes. You can feel it under your fingers, every shudder of pleasure that cascades through him, his seed spurting hot and slick against your palm. And he does bite, face dropping to your shoulder, teeth clenching down on your skin through your shirt. His hand stills on your cock and tightens just a little around you, and for a moment you think you've come with him, just because of the sharp pain of his teeth paired with the rush of mental satisfaction that tingles through you from knowing you've gotten him off like this.

He still has more sense than you, somehow, enough to press a wad of toilet tissue into your hand, acting fast enough to avoid staining your clothes or his with the proof of this. He cleans up quickly surprisingly efficiently, turfing wadded tissue into the toilet, then catches your mouth again, kisses hot and demanding, fingers curling around your aching cock.

"You're so fucking amazing," Allagash's words are hardly more than gasps against your skin as he kisses wetly, hungrily along your jaw and down your neck. When he nips at your skin it's like fire and ice all at once, shivers of sensation blossoming over your skin and winding over your body. You just rock up into his fingers, nerves singing from his touch, from the elation of his climax and from his kisses, and it's like your entire body is becoming prisoner to this, wound up in silk ropes of pleasure that snake over your body from wherever you touch to him.

"You want to feel something really wild?" he breathes against your ear, and you manage to nod mutely, concentrating on keeping your breath in shivering gasps instead of the cries it wants to be in. He just chuckles, and within seconds he's slipped down to his knees in front of you, covering your aching cock in long laps of his tongue. It's almost enough to make you come immediately, the slick warmth of his tongue turning to cold when the air touches wet skin. Then his fingers curl around the base of your erection, stroking slowly as his lips part over the head of your cock, sucking you into the heat of his mouth. It makes it feel like every inch of your cock is covered by him, covered and stroked and teased and sucked, his tongue pressing against you just so, to the slit at your head, to the sensitive underside, the places that always make you shudder and cry out in pleasure.

You press one hand to your mouth, biting down at the fleshy mound under your thumb, which hurts like hell but keeps you from screaming, keeps you from grabbing his hair and fucking the hell out of that mouth. It's almost painfully good, the pleasure a hot, surging knot of agony in your stomach, needing to break free. You manage to squeeze his shoulder hard in warning, trying to hold back desperately, and it somehow the agony of restraint when you need to come so badly only makes everything feel better, feel more intense.

He doesn't pull back though, doesn't seem to acknowledge your warning at all, but suddenly takes all of you, takes your cock deep into his throat, lips tight at the base, squeezing you as he swallows around you. That's the last straw, and you bite so hard at your skin that you almost break it, forcing back a cry as you come hard, as wave after wave of pleasure bursts through you, overwhelming and uncontrollable. It's all you can think about, the brightly coloured fireworks, the incredible bliss of his hot mouth, and your pulse pounds louder in your ears than any club music.

He doesn't pull back until you start to come down, the waves of pleasure ebbing to shivers, your heartbeat still racing, breath coming in helpless gasps. Then he laps at you slowly, breath hard and fast against your skin, and it's almost painful in its intensity. Still, you can't move to stop him, taking in every moment of agonizing pleasure, letting him tuck you away and straighten your clothes.

Allagash stands and wipes his lips on a piece of tissue, then kicks the handle to flush the toilet, watching you with dark eyes and a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth. "I definitely have to party with you more often."

"Deal," you manage to breathe, wondering what the hell Amanda would say if you dragged him back to your apartment just to do this again. Just so you can hear him moan. The initial rush of the coke has faded a little, into a heady buzz that still makes you feel rather omnipotent, like you could convince Amanda to let you do anything. "But I don't even know your first name."

He laughs, hopping up to peek over the stall door, then opening it and slipping out, washing his hands and running wet fingers through his hair. You do the same, marvelling at the way the water pours over your skin, cold and refreshing. "It's Tad, but everyone here knows me as Allagash. No one can resist an Allagash."

You chuckle, watching him, finding yourself liking him even more, loving his suave self confidence. "I'm beginning to understand why."

He smirks, glancing at the door before grabbing the front of your shirt, pulling you into a hard kiss. His tongue swipes against your lips like a claim, tasting you with a little appreciative little moan. Then he lets go, turning for the door. "See you back in there."

You wait for a moment before following, staring in the mirror and trying to collect yourself a little bit, fingers pressed against lips that look suspiciously pink and swollen from the force of your kisses. As much as you try and remember your girlfriend, you can't shake the realization that you've just had the best sex of your life without even having sex, getting off quick and dirty in a night club bathroom. It's a heady realization, and you know you ought to feel unsettled about it, or at least start questioning your sexuality. But it -was- fucking amazing, and for the moment, that's all you really care about.

When you go back into the club, lighting a cigarette just outside the washroom door, Allagash has disappeared into the crowd. You catch sight of him as you head back to where you last left Amanda, out on the dance floor between two leggy blondes that are almost taller than he is - or is one of them a drag queen? You can't tell and you don't particularly care, and it occurs to you that nothing about Allagash could really surprise you at this point.

"Where the hell were you?" Amanda's at your elbow suddenly, glaring. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"I've been getting really, really high," you tell her matter-of-factly, which turns her glare into a pout.

"And you didn't take me?"

"Next time, baby," you promise, though truthfully, you'd rather just keep Allagash to yourself. "Come on. Lets dance."

He finds you half an hour later, catching you on the dance floor and pressing a folded napkin into your hand. "We're moving on, gotta follow the action," he tells you, yelling to be heard over the music. Then he steps back, lifting a hand to his ear with thumb and pinky outstretched like a phone. "Call me!"

You grin and nod, folding the napkin again and tucking it carefully into your wallet. You have a feeling that Allagash is going to become a rather permanent fixture in your life, and you discover that you don't mind the thought of that at all.

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