Chapter Text
I
“Darling, you can’t possibly wear that,” she drawled, pulling on the comfy jumper covering him as she passed by, her high heels clinking on the hardwood floor. Laurent just scoffed, folding his arms. This was the first night of his life when he was getting ready to go out in a club and that was mostly the fault of his new friends. Ever since he started studying arts in Acquitart and moved away from Paris, they had been dead set on convincing him to at least try it. They begged, they tried to bribe him and, eventually, Vannes promised to model for some life drawing sessions in exchange.
“What if I get cold? What if we have to walk home?” he asked, shooting her a challenging look as he sat down to put on his boots. Jord was waiting outside in the car and, as always, Vannes took way too long on her make up. Laurent could never help but be impressed by her skills, despite the fact that he had to refuse her beauty services at least once a week. He thought his eyebrows were thin enough and he most definitely did not need to take care of his pores. No, not even with all the pollution in Paris assaulting them.
“You’re almost definitely gonna be cold, looking like a frigid monk of sorts. Nobody’s gonna get close enough to warm you up,” she laughed, winking and unlocking the door.
He was silent for most of the journey there. Acquitart was a small city, mostly known for its famous Art Academy and its bustling nightlife, comprised mainly of gay venues. The club they were going to was called Vere and it was close enough, but it was always preferable to get a car ride. Vannes and Jord bitched about everything and everyone while Laurent simply rested his head on the window and watched the lights and the people getting more and more pronounced as they got closer to the centre of the city.
Vere was everything Vannes promised, and more, to Laurent’s horror. There was no line outside but there was a sea of people just smoking, flowing in and out through the large doors and getting lost in the spectacle of colourful lights and sounds. “Fuck me, it’s a busy night,” he heard Jord muttering as he parked the car. Thankfully, students couldn’t afford driving that often so there was enough space close to the entrance.
Laurent pulled his jacket closer to his body and followed them inside, trying to avoid physical contact with people as much as he could. About half the crowd was made out of topless, glitter covered, muscular men and he vomited a bit in his mouth. Relief rushed over him when Jord picked a table at the very back of the venue, where they could access the exit and the bar but where they were far enough from the dance floor. “This is positively disgusting,” he grimaced, taking off his leather jacket and sitting down.
“Cheer up, party pooper.” Vannes placed a large Cosmopolitan in front of him. He grimaced again.
“Have you seen those disgusting creatures by the door? One of them was wearing nothing but a jockstrap!” he almost screeched, grabbing the drink and taking a big gulp. He could make it. Just one night. One night and he was free.
Both Jord and Vannes laughed. “Can you believe he’s never been into a club before? Hell, you lived in Paris, kid. What did you do with your life?” asked Jord, taking a swing from his lemon beer.
“I studied and I worked my ass off for this degree. Which is why I’m getting better results than both of you,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. He was just about to open his mouth again when his eyes landed on the door. Or, to be more precise, the person who walked through the door. His hand lingered in the air, falling just a bit, weak at the wrist as his eyes went just a tad bigger.
“That is-…” he murmured, frowning. “…vulgar.”
The man who decided to join the drunken crowd was wearing some tight black skinny jeans, low enough on his hips that his V line almost went down all the way and, most scandalous, a white t-shirt that was cropped short enough to barely cover his pecs. For some reason, Laurent found it to be worse than just being topless, but that was hardly the reason why he was speechless. The man stood taller than everyone around him and he was so-… massive, that his jeans were almost bursting at his thighs. And, for everyone to see, the most outrageous set of abs Laurent had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon.
“Damn, if that’s vulgar, sign me the fuck up,” laughed Jord, starting to wave his hand in front of Laurent’s eyes. “Don’t we draw naked men like, every Thursday? Or are you that deprived?”
Laurent slapped his hand away and glared, making sure to turn his back at the door and, consequently, at the man. “You mean the wrinkly raisins that keep dying off every month?”
“Don’t be mean,” said Vannes, sipping from her cocktail. “Though I would like to draw a lady every once in a while. Those small, drooping butts are haunting my nightmares.” She paused, craning her neck to look over Laurent. “Though I can’t say his ass is too bad.”
“If you’re checking out that abomination of a brute, you’re clearly the one that’s deprived. Go find yourself a girlfriend,” he sighed, downing his drink and getting up to acquire another one. He carefully manoeuvred through the crowd, snarling at anyone who dared get too close or try to engage in some weird courtship with him. He made it to the bar safely and without biting any hands off, which was a success. He leaned against it, letting out a tired groan. His friends kept promising this would be the best experience of his life but he was even more convinced he preferred silent cafés and book stores.
Laurent attempted to make eye contact with the bartender, but the guy was too busy trying to provide change to all the other customers. Just as he successfully got the man’s attention, a large mountain of a body cut his visual contact and he was met with a toned torso akin to a bronze statue. He barely dared to look up.
“This place is insane,” laughed the man as he put away his phone. His smile was ridiculously white, behind full lips and supported by a jaw Laurent feared he would cut himself on. “They should turn down the music, I can barely hear myself think.”
“You’re probably right. You were clearly not thinking when you started talking to me,” he snapped, waving his hand again, trying to get the bartender's attention back to himself.
“Rough night?” asked the brute, leaning lower and breathing hard, clearly having just escaped from the dance floor. There were small, curly hairs clinging to his face and a drop of sweat slowly sliding down his neck. “Maybe a drink’s gonna help,” he added. Laurent wondered just how much the universe had it in for him tonight. “Nik,” he uttered and the bartender turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “A Pomegranate,” he said simply and the man nodded, starting to prepare the drink immediately.
“Pomegranate?” asked Laurent, cocking an eyebrow sceptically.
“It’s a Martini. You seem like a Martini type of guy,” explained the stranger, smiling in the most oblivious way.
“I've never had a Martini in my entire life.”
“Oh.”
They just stared at each other for a few seconds, icy blue eyes fixed on the kind, honey gaze of the other man.
He sighed, resigned. “Can you only afford half a T-shirt?”
All he received was a crystal clear laugh, no hurt behind it. “When you put it that way-… I can always take it off,” he said with a wink. Laurent glared, not at the man but at his torso, eyes following the dark trail of hair getting lost in his trousers.
The drink arrived and it was indeed a Martini but red with pomegranate seeds floating through it like rubies. He looked at it for a bit and sipped carefully.
“Well?”
“Adequate.” He set down the glass and looked at him again. “You’re not wearing underwear,” he stated calmly.
“I’m wearing jeans, why would I need underwear?” he asked and Laurent couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“You look like a whore, that’s why.”
The dark haired man frowned, more confused than angry. Laurent felt a titbit of satisfaction. “Why are you in the biggest gay club in this city if you’re so conservative about everything?”
Laurent shrugged and took another sip. The drink was good and it provided the right distraction from those god forsaken abs. “I'm not here out of choice. My friends seem to think this is an appropriate way to spend their free time and wanted to prove it to me.”
“Well, you got a free drink out of it. Can’t be that bad.”
“I can afford my own drinks,” he spat back, more annoyed than before. What was getting to him the most was how he tried his best to get this guy to fuck off or at least get him angry and yet he just kept trying to make light hearted small talk.
“You could just say thank you.”
He downed the drink immediately, almost choking on the small pomegranate seeds and sliding the glass across the counter. “I can afford my own drinks, thank you,” he replied in a mocking voice. Then, he walked away, but not without glancing at the guy’s body again, still baffled about how some people were not fazed about being covered in so much sweat.