Dance Party

[Armande]

Armande checked his wallet, confirming the location. He scanned the environs. Nik had always had the best hook ups. Back in the day, anyway. Still, it felt shady. He wore a black silk jacket over a black tshirt and black jeans.  His one concession to color were the dark grey suede shoes.

His hand rubbed his bare chin as he flashed his ID. The thumping behind the door was thunderous and he mostly had to go off of lip reading and guesses. It amused him that he was still carded. He did take care of himself, though.

Hand stamped, the door opened to a rush of music and despite his reserve, he felt a part of himself fall into a rhythm. His walk anyway, each step on the beat. He messaged Nik he was there, even as he went to one of the bars and decided to order. The bartender, a handsome man of about 25 with delicate features, handed him a menu. The man either had to have ear plugs or was deaf. He pointed to the Moscow Mule. He was not one to drink often. But he enjoyed the cool icy tang of ginger spiked pink grapefruit juice and vodka. It was a hit of sweet,  which was as much as he was willing to indulge.

The lights flashed and the music pulsed. A few people caught his eye. These clubs seemed to attract the most beautiful of forms. He wondered what Nik had in mind. One such caught his eye, smokey blue eyes that flashed up and down.

A memory sprung up. Italy, with Nik and Alex and Leonid. La Trattoria. Them young and full of piss and vinegar.  He couldnt help the smile. He waited for Nik. Mostly. But blue eyes seemed to have his number.