Spencer Leon Marcus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sexybitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2017-01-13 04:30 pm
sexybitch) wrote in muserevival2017-01-13 04:30 pm
Entry tags:
word of the day: 001
Autolatry
n. 1. The worship of oneself.
There was a surreal undertone of energy that had washed over Spencer that night. Normally, on a night like this, he would be in a gay club, dancing, getting high, getting groped, grinded, sucked, humped, and fucked. In whatever order that happened to come in. Just a week prior, he was given an invitation to this: an LGBT+ Masquerade Ball, that was basically just another night in a gay club, with masks. Or so he thought.
The thrill of the chase is what got him hard just thinking about. Not being able to see their faces, not knowing who they were. There would no doubt be many queer people there that night who had the safety blanket of being able to hide behind a mask, where in the cold light of day, they were stuck in a lonely closet, too fearful to come out. Spencer never knew what it was like to be closeted. Once upon a time, he may have been slightly more straight-laced, and slightly less fucked up. That was before he thought his twin had been kidnapped and murdered. Unless you had lived as an identical twin, you couldn't know the horrific pain that befell you when you thought they were viciously ripped away from you.
Nothing could really excuse the shitstorm he got sucked up into and never wanted to really get out of. Not until he heard Mitchell wasn't dead, but alive and kicking in New York. It was the first time Spencer had to be knocked out his bubble of self-worship, where his very source of being able to live was selling himself for cash. It was nothing but sex, drugs and money. He was lucky to be alive. It wasn't through the Grim Reaper's lack of attempts to take him. A couple of OD's, being beaten and raped once by an angry customer, and some sort of internal fuck up from the boozing that had him barfing blood like an even more fucked up version of The Exorcist.
Still, it didn't sway him back to reality. It was too easy to be drunk and high, and too easy to lose himself in a vortex of sex, because he mostly had the control over that. When he wasn't working, he was playing. Really, there wasn't a lot of difference between the two save for whether one earned him cash or not. Shit with Mitch had fallen through. His brother didn't want anything to do with him, so why not just keep doing what he was doing until he inevitably dropped dead anyway? It was only a matter of time.
Tonight, he still had a pulse, and he was surrounded by countless guys with great asses, healthy packages, and moves that were right up his alley. Spencer was dressed in a mix of black leather, red silk, and velvet; his elaborate Venetian mask with feathers and crystals to match. He was pretty sure he had already fucked a good portion of the guys there that night, but it was thrilling to not be able to know which ones. The voyeuristic/exhibitionist was coming out in him tonight. If he couldn't have that one guy he had been eye-sexing across the club for days, he was damn well going to end the night with at least one orgy.
The song playing was Savage Garden's Mine as he wove his way through the dancing bodies sipping his Black Martini. It was when he had the glass to his lips that he was sure he spotted a familiar body in the crowd. He had spent the better part of two weeks perving on it, he had logged even the finer details down in his mind. Every time he had tried to intercept this guy whenever they happened to be in the same club, something cockblocked it. That kid, the guy taking a phone call, unfavourable lighting throwing shadows into corners of the club.
The guy was in peacock blue and purple with silver accents. It was the shiny purple wet-look leather pants that did it. Spencer knew this guy had an amazing ass, but these pants left nothing to the imagination. Their eyes locked again, though the guy had merely been glancing around as opposed to looking for anyone. He did a double-take when he saw Spencer watching him over the top of his Martini glass. This time, he wasn't going to let him get away. He didn't give a fuck that the guy was dancing with someone else.
Spencer's eyes didn't leave the guy as he wove his way through the many masked faces surrounding him. Not even when he was grabbed by a few guys in his path, who tried to get him to start dancing with them. It was uncharacteristic of him to ditch anyone who wanted to feel him up. But there was a first time for everything. Finally, he they were face-to-face, and Spencer knew this was the guy. It was the dark eyes gazing back through the elaborate mask that was at least the first clue. It was confirmed when Spencer wasted no time in grabbing the guy's ass and pulling him flush up against him.
No words were shared. Spencer captured his lips with his own in a heated kiss and started to dance with him, slowly yet using his hips to grind against him. His lips tasted sweet, like he had been fueled on alcho-pops, though he was sure he could taste a lingering aftermath of the tequila there too. A kiss to start, and body shots later? As far as Spencer was concerned this guy's body was a buffet he was just getting started on...
spencer marcus
( oc )
n. 1. The worship of oneself.
There was a surreal undertone of energy that had washed over Spencer that night. Normally, on a night like this, he would be in a gay club, dancing, getting high, getting groped, grinded, sucked, humped, and fucked. In whatever order that happened to come in. Just a week prior, he was given an invitation to this: an LGBT+ Masquerade Ball, that was basically just another night in a gay club, with masks. Or so he thought.
The thrill of the chase is what got him hard just thinking about. Not being able to see their faces, not knowing who they were. There would no doubt be many queer people there that night who had the safety blanket of being able to hide behind a mask, where in the cold light of day, they were stuck in a lonely closet, too fearful to come out. Spencer never knew what it was like to be closeted. Once upon a time, he may have been slightly more straight-laced, and slightly less fucked up. That was before he thought his twin had been kidnapped and murdered. Unless you had lived as an identical twin, you couldn't know the horrific pain that befell you when you thought they were viciously ripped away from you.
Nothing could really excuse the shitstorm he got sucked up into and never wanted to really get out of. Not until he heard Mitchell wasn't dead, but alive and kicking in New York. It was the first time Spencer had to be knocked out his bubble of self-worship, where his very source of being able to live was selling himself for cash. It was nothing but sex, drugs and money. He was lucky to be alive. It wasn't through the Grim Reaper's lack of attempts to take him. A couple of OD's, being beaten and raped once by an angry customer, and some sort of internal fuck up from the boozing that had him barfing blood like an even more fucked up version of The Exorcist.
Still, it didn't sway him back to reality. It was too easy to be drunk and high, and too easy to lose himself in a vortex of sex, because he mostly had the control over that. When he wasn't working, he was playing. Really, there wasn't a lot of difference between the two save for whether one earned him cash or not. Shit with Mitch had fallen through. His brother didn't want anything to do with him, so why not just keep doing what he was doing until he inevitably dropped dead anyway? It was only a matter of time.
Tonight, he still had a pulse, and he was surrounded by countless guys with great asses, healthy packages, and moves that were right up his alley. Spencer was dressed in a mix of black leather, red silk, and velvet; his elaborate Venetian mask with feathers and crystals to match. He was pretty sure he had already fucked a good portion of the guys there that night, but it was thrilling to not be able to know which ones. The voyeuristic/exhibitionist was coming out in him tonight. If he couldn't have that one guy he had been eye-sexing across the club for days, he was damn well going to end the night with at least one orgy.
The song playing was Savage Garden's Mine as he wove his way through the dancing bodies sipping his Black Martini. It was when he had the glass to his lips that he was sure he spotted a familiar body in the crowd. He had spent the better part of two weeks perving on it, he had logged even the finer details down in his mind. Every time he had tried to intercept this guy whenever they happened to be in the same club, something cockblocked it. That kid, the guy taking a phone call, unfavourable lighting throwing shadows into corners of the club.
The guy was in peacock blue and purple with silver accents. It was the shiny purple wet-look leather pants that did it. Spencer knew this guy had an amazing ass, but these pants left nothing to the imagination. Their eyes locked again, though the guy had merely been glancing around as opposed to looking for anyone. He did a double-take when he saw Spencer watching him over the top of his Martini glass. This time, he wasn't going to let him get away. He didn't give a fuck that the guy was dancing with someone else.
Spencer's eyes didn't leave the guy as he wove his way through the many masked faces surrounding him. Not even when he was grabbed by a few guys in his path, who tried to get him to start dancing with them. It was uncharacteristic of him to ditch anyone who wanted to feel him up. But there was a first time for everything. Finally, he they were face-to-face, and Spencer knew this was the guy. It was the dark eyes gazing back through the elaborate mask that was at least the first clue. It was confirmed when Spencer wasted no time in grabbing the guy's ass and pulling him flush up against him.
No words were shared. Spencer captured his lips with his own in a heated kiss and started to dance with him, slowly yet using his hips to grind against him. His lips tasted sweet, like he had been fueled on alcho-pops, though he was sure he could taste a lingering aftermath of the tequila there too. A kiss to start, and body shots later? As far as Spencer was concerned this guy's body was a buffet he was just getting started on...
( oc )