A lie!
A big, fat, desperate lie. That statement Miguel had just dropped? It was pure damage control, a narrative shield he'd hoisted in record time to keep from drowning in the embarrassment clouding his mind.
"You see, I just came down here to grab a drink," Miguel began, his voice draped in an overwhelming, practised calmness.
He watched with a hunter's precision as Fedora's knitted brows slowly softened into a confused blur.
"I don't know what...or why....you are being so rude to me. Does my face remind you of an ex?"
He tilted his head, letting the silence hang for a beat before delivering the hook. "I just walked over here to grab a drink... Remember? 'Bills on me.'" Miguel quoted the waiter's message back to him like a debt collector.
A victorious smirk flashed across his face as he noticed the subtle wobble in Fedora's stance.
Exactly what I thought. He chuckled faintly; the boy's defences were finally beginning to fracture.
But he wasn't done. He wanted total surrender.
"What even makes you think everyone wants you? Not like you are too beautiful. A superiority complex is kind of... not good."
He landed the final blow, stacking the stages of his execution layer by layer. It was genius. He had turned the tables so completely that the air in the room seemed to shift.
Now, look who was embarrassed. The barricade wasn't just breached; it was demolished.
Easier than I thought.
Fedora couldn't even utter a word. His tongue felt like lead, and his brain was a chaotic soup of whiskey and shame.
He had gone down a dark hole tonight, determined to destroy his life with liquor, and here it was, paying off in double folds.
He fixated his gaze on the marble floor, retreating from those piercing, intimidating eyes that seemed to be searching for the very roots of his soul. He stared at the polished stone, watching the reflection of the disco lights dance in mocking, colourful patterns.
Fuck! This was more than embarrassing.
Fedora told his wasted self. He stylishly scanned the room, praying eyes weren't still glued to the wreckage of his dignity. Otherwise, I would just get plastic surgery and start a new life in some rural area as a psych nurse, he lamented inwardly.
"Well, sir, do you have anything to say to me?" Miguel broke the silence, which had stretched into a thick, awkward standoff.
He took a quick, calculated step closer, that smirk carved into his lips like a scar.
Fedora let out a hard, jagged grunt. It took every ounce of remaining willpower, but he finally summoned the courage to raise his head.
He locked eyes with the man, but the contact was dizzying. Those eyes made the room spin faster. He just needed to apologise so this nightmare would end.
Let's get it over with, he mumbled, stealing one last glance at Miguel, who had hitched an eyebrow in smug anticipation.
"Umm... I'm... I am..." Fuck, this wasn't his style.
Fedora wasn't used to being the first to bend, but for some reason, this man had found the lever.
He scratched his neck subtly, his voice a low, raspy whisper. "I am sorry for my actions. I think I have had too many... I'm overstimulated." He rushed the words out as if every sentence burned his throat on the way up.
Miguel just nodded, a slow, patronising rhythm of agreement.
"I'm really sorry, sir," Fedora added again, forcing a nervous, brittle smile while mentally wishing he could roll his eyes out of his skull.
"It's okay," Miguel assured him. His palm found its way cautiously, casually, onto the boy's shoulder.
The contact sent a jolt of electricity through Fedora; a shiver of 'I don't know what I am feeling from this touch' that pricked at his skin.
"It's obvious you've been drinking your heart out. You really look wasted.....relationship issues?" Miguel asked.
The concern was a total mockery; he didn't care about Fedora's heart, but he cared very much about the next step of his plan.
He was finally getting somewhere.
Fedora, still maintaining that strained, fake smile, reciprocated the nod.
He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from the heavy heat of the man's touch. His eyes darted to the spot where those palms had rested before snapping back to Miguel's face.
"You don't have to worry anymore. Since you've apologised, I will gladly pay for the drink you broke. And if you are still interested, my offer still stands."
Fedora plastered another exaggerated, hollow smile on his face, fighting the urge to scream that it was Miguel's fault the bottle broke in the first place. But his brows furrowed in genuine confusion.
"What offer are you talking about, if I may ask?" It took everything Fedora had not to show the pure irritation boiling under his skin the longer this conversation dragged on.
"Oh, about that. I can still cover your bills, and also those of your friends, as I proposed earlier."
Fedora let out a tiny sigh of relief, thinking the transaction was simple. But Miguel wasn't done.
" If only you would let me..." He paused. He couldn't hide it anymore; this boy was doing numbers on his composure.
He was shamelessly stealing sneak peeks at Fedora's fragile, soft frame, the way that leather tank hugged his snatched, bare waist.
It was an absolute masterpiece. Who gives birth to this Eve? he lamented inwardly.
The music swelled in the background, filling the gaps in their silence. Then, an implying, dark smirk stretched Miguel's lips, showcasing his lower teeth.
"Look, I have an Escalade, by the way."
Fedora's lips folded. He had no idea what to do with that information, but he figured if he just indulged the man's ego, it would end faster.
Faster, my foot.
Miguel swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a low, predatory whisper as he leaned in. "All my offers, and any other thing you can wish for... I will get it done." He beat his chest softly, his eyes darkening.
"If you can just follow me outside. To the back of my comfy Escalade. It's been a long time since I had a bitch served... in my car."
He finished the sentence and swiped his tongue across his lips, biting them with a raw, sexual hunger.
He waited for the final reply, already getting high on the thought of cupping that tiny waist with one hand and burying himself in that Chanel-scented skin until the boy pleaded his name in parables.
Fedora went stoic. He was completely frozen, the world stopping as the shock and bewilderment hit him like a physical blow. He scoffed in disbelief, his jaw practically hitting the floor.
'Back of the Escalade. Bitches served in a car'.
"Me! Fedora!! Bitch!!! Served in the back of a car!!! Unto delicacy!!!! Gosh!!!!!" Fedora muttered, the words replaying in his head like a record skip.
A dry, hysterical laugh escaped his lips. Oh, this was the height of it. He wasn't going to stand there and let another man disrespect him.
Never.
Miguel took another step closer, his head hovering over Fedora's, dominant and sure.
The boy hadn't said a word; he was definitely giving in, Miguel thought.
He leaned in further, waiting for the "yes" but what came next?!
It was, by far, the least expected thing any living human being would have the guts to do to him.
Behold, it was no other than a hot, non-withheld, redirective, and resounding SLAP!!!!
To be continued...