“This one is for gay and bisexual men.”
I frowned. “These terms aren’t translating for me.”
“Men who are sexually attracted to other men.”
“Fae do not categorize attraction in such a way.” I thought about explaining the ways in which we did categorize attraction, but it felt like too much. I had never experienced this particular category of attraction before, and now was not the time to tell him about it.
“Have you been with other men?”
“No, but that’s not saying much. I don’t engage sexually with much of anyone. Not unless the base need grows too strong to ignore.”
He laughed, pressing closer. “Well, perhaps we’re ill suited, because my base need is always too strong to ignore.”
“I suppose we’ll see if I can satisfy you,” I said, letting my hand roam lower, pressing between his cheeks. “But let’s try to stay focused. Tell me about the club.”
“This club is a hook-up spot for men looking to fuck.” His words were crude, but unbothered at the same time, as if this was how people talked where he was from. “I’m a dancer for a production company that owns a few clubs. I dance on the bar, or in a cage suspended from the ceiling, wearing clothing that you wouldn’t approve of.”
“Do the men fuck you?”
“No, they just look. I’m part of the… ambiance.”
“In tiny sparkly trousers.”
“They’re called shorts. But yes, that was one of my costumes. Our dancing sets the mood, gives the whole atmosphere sexy vibes.”
I closed my eyes, imagining him dancing in a cage in the smallest trousers in the known world. “Like the… twarking?”
He laughed. “Twerking, yeah, and other sensual dances.”
“So that’s what you do for employment?”
“Yes, for now, anyway. I’m trying to get more education, but it’s expensive. I’m… do you have peasants? I grew up very poor, and my parents weren’t in the picture for most of my childhood.”
“A peasant. But you can read?”
“Where I’m from, most everyone can read,” he said. “Even peasants. Well, I mean, we don’t call people peasants. Just, you know. Poor.”
“We don’t use that term. Here, a person is their purpose—a farmer, a soldier, a smith. There is value in the work.”
I let my hand drift lower, over the swell of muscle at the base of his back. His backside was a work of obscenity, round and firm. It fit in my palm as if it had been designed for that purpose. I cupped it and he pressed closer, moaning softly.
“Keep talking,” I said.
“That’s—very distracting. Your hand is very big, and very… good.”
“You seem like someone who can manage multiple things at once.” I squeezed, gently.
He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan, his back arching as he settled into the contact. His voice found its rhythm again. “So I was there with my friend Sky. You’d hate Sky. He’s louder than me and twice as chaotic.”
“I don’t know if I could handle two of you.”
“Probably not. Anyway, the dressing rooms for the dancers weren’t done yet, some issue with the painting contractor, so everyone was getting dressed in this back bathroom, rushing around, excited for opening night. And, okay, this part is a bit stupid.”
“Nothing you have said to me has sounded stupid. Confusing, frequently. Inappropriate, often. Stupid, no.”
“We were twerking. Sky and I get a little competitive.”
“Twerking? Perhaps you could show me.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, for… research purposes.”
