Basement: Stage
The temptation had been there, when the pull to the hotel began, to lock his door, to partake in the cough syrup in the medicine cabinet, and let the world pass him by as he slept through it all. It was tempting, horribly so, but he couldn't and wouldn't do that. But that didn't mean he was eager for it, didn't mean that he wanted it.
But he went, regardless.
The party changed him, opened him, pushed aside all of his reservations and worries, freed him in a way that he didn't realise he needed. But freedom came with a price, and the price was a lack of freedom in a manner of speaking, though he did not seem to mind it. The straps that circled each limb were cut to fit him, molded to his skin with the heat of his body, the sweat of heavy use. Each strap bore a shiny silver ring, perfect for linking together, for restraining, for freeing in the basest sense of the word. And he didn't mind any of it. It was who he was when you stripped everything else away, peeled away the skin, the muscle to get at what lay beneath, and he relished in this freedom. He was covered just enough to be decent, but barely so, bare feet against the hard floors, a hard drink to warm him up from the inside out, a summertime party, a summertime fest.
It was only natural that he was drawn down, bare feet against the stairs, moving through the hallway, the sale of flesh and other unnamed things pulling him like a siren's song. He didn't resist, he all but ran to be part of it, though his eagerness was not something etched upon his face. He was all slow steps and an easy pace, giving a nod to the auction master as he took his place upon the stage. Folded knees and a bowed head, he waited for the one who would free him more than he already was, who would give him wings and let him fly.