Re: After the Show; After Party
There went his thoughts of inviting the boy over for a little fun, playful expression shut down quicker than a stage trapdoor. Catty, from the bar, the one who so hated to give her name and so carelessly pushed his buttons. Even her compliment made it sound like she was mocking him, and he listened to her, going ahead with lighting his cigarette and tossing the pack down on the table like a gauntlet, inviting her to take one from it with the careless action.
He took a long drag, and blew smoke towards the ceiling, resisting the urge to cloud her eyes in an effort to see such a composed thing flinch. She was further gone than he was, he noted. He'd arrived long after her, and he wondered how long she'd been waiting around. "I do," he said, with a wry smile. A decent sized package was hardly enough to prove a damn thing to the tabloids. "I had three people try to get their hands down my pants on my way out of the theater, trying to grab my dick and pull it right off. They think it's a fake." His smile turned almost fond, naughty, conspiratorial. He leaned his head in, sliding a hand over his shirt, the heel riding against taut muscles all the way down to his crotch. "I let them get their hands all the way down so they could find out otherwise."