Chapter Text
Summer, 2020 —
Rosinante edged around the side of the bar, drawn by the beams of rainbow light flashing from an open door. A muffled dance beat pulsed from within and he could only imagine the sheer size of the crowd from all the additional noise—a cacophony of whoops and yells and chants.
He clutched the ID in his hand. A fake, courtesy of his older brother. It was either going to work as promised, or Doffy was full of shit and it’d be another one of his cruel jokes. But even that seemed a little far for him, and he’d never risk his business, so Rosi had decided to trust him.
The door was unguarded, and for a moment, Rosi thought that he wouldn’t even need the ID. But then a brawny bouncer appeared with a plume of dry ice vapor, like he’d just emerged from a hot shower. Rosinante forced himself to stand a bit straighter as he made his approach.
He held up the ID. His right wrist was adorned with a rubber rainbow bracelet he’d picked up off the street earlier. It had been from a beer garden event and he hoped it would further impress upon the man that he wasn’t just some barely legal twink trying to get in somewhere he shouldn’t.
Because that's exactly what he was.
The bouncer peered at the ID, tilting it slightly, then looked back up. Rosi’s shaggy blond bangs almost hid his eyes entirely, but the bouncer was shorter and managed to get an angle on the boy’s face. Rosi may have looked young, but he had height on his side. He probably could have been a professional basketball player if he wasn’t so clumsy (and if he liked sports).
“Alright, go ahead,” said the bouncer, stepping aside.
Rosi tried to advance casually, but was so nervous that he nearly tripped over his own feet.
He caught himself just in time. Thank god. Rosi’s knees were scraped enough as it was, covered in pink band-aids. His elbows, too.
Beyond the narrow entrance hall lay the dance floor. Multi-colored lights shone vibrantly from all directions, illuminating the throng of people—mostly men—all moving to the beat. Most folks wore colorful, summery clothes, but there was also a lot of skin showing. A mixture of cologne and masculine sweat made Rosinante lightheaded.
He would have liked to dance, too, but knew he was far too clumsy to try. Sidestepping the crowd, he spotted a bar counter in the back.
There were fewer people there, though the bartenders were still rushing to fill drink requests. Rosinante drew closer, mesmerized by how expertly each individual cocktail was mixed and the seemingly limitless options. People asked for all kinds of strange-sounding things, like “Rusty Nail” and “Sex on the Beach.”
At the end of the long counter, Rosinante noticed a man who looked very out of place among the rest of the loud and flamboyant patrons. He sat quietly beside the wall, wearing all dark tones, a glass of amber liquid in one tattooed hand and a hardcover book in the other. A small lamp above him provided scant reading light, though it seemed awfully strange to see anyone reading at a noisy bar.
“Don’t mind him,” a bartender said, speaking as quietly as he could while still being heard over the clamor. “Guy’s a regular, and this place is usually more his style. You know, when it’s not Pride weekend.”
Rosi supposed that made sense, though the man must really have been a loyal customer to go to a place even when the vibe was off. “Surprised he wouldn’t try to find somewhere quieter,” he muttered.
“Every gay bar in the city’s like this right now.” The bartender shrugged. He looked like he was in his late twenties, with light brown hair and a tag that said Clive on it. The tag was surrounded by pride badges and an enamel pin of a martini. “Anyway, enough about him, what are you drinking?”
“Uh.” Rosinante recalled one of the drinks that had already been shouted out. “Fuzzy Navel?”
Clive whipped up the request in a short glass and then slid it across the table. Rosi picked it up. He gave it a sip, liking the peachy flavor despite the sour, overpowering shock of alcohol. He tried to play it cool, though, and not let any distaste show in his expression.
It hadn’t mattered, anyway. Clive had already moved down the bar to help another patron, and the other bartender was even further away.
“Well, aren’t you a cutie?” a low voice rang out behind Rosi. Before he had even turned his head, two men appeared on either side of him. One was thin and had a dark mustache, and the other was muscular. Both were way too old for him.
That was okay. Rosinante liked older men. He turned around to face them.
“What’s your name?” asked the muscular guy, boldly reaching up to brush Rosi’s blond bangs out of his eyes. He was about Rosi’s height. The dark blue tank top he wore did a great job showing off his toned arms, though Rosinante was a bit distracted by the word “Daddy” scrawled in pink, elegant script across the front.
“Cora,” Rosi responded, using a nickname he’d had since childhood.
The mustache guy asked, “You wanna have some fun with us tonight, Cora?”
“Hm, depends,” Cora replied. He sounded cool-headed even though the sudden attention was making his heart pound. He’d never been picked up at a bar before. Was he just supposed to come out and say: “I’m a top, so…”
“Heh,” the mustache guy chuckled. “Not after you get a taste of my cock, you won’t be.”
“Oi, barkeep,” Daddy Tank Top called out to Clive. “Gimme a beer, would ya?”
Clive turned away again, grabbing a bottle and an empty glass.
Tank Top’s finger traced the rim of the glass in Rosi’s hand. “And what are you drinking?”
“Fuzzy navel,” Rosi said. This earned him another derisive laugh from Mustache.
These guys were assholes, Rosi decided, though he wasn’t sure yet how he was going to tell them off. As he thought about it, he lifted his drink to take a sip.
A tan hand entered his field of vision, reaching past the two men to settle calmly over the top of Rosi’s glass.
Rosi looked to his right, meeting the golden eyes of the stranger who had been sitting at the end of the counter. “Don’t,” the man said, gently pushing Rosi’s drink away from his lips.
Rosi’s heart skipped a beat. The first two guys had sent a thrill through him, but this one was activating his fight-or-flight response. Did he somehow know Rosinante had gotten in here with a fake ID? How had he even noticed anything at all—the last time Rosi had glanced at him, he seemed totally absorbed in his book.
When Rosi looked back to where the other men had been standing, he realized that they had both disappeared. “Huh?”
“Never take your eyes off your drink, kid,” the golden-eyed stranger told him. “One of those guys put something in it when he touched your glass.” He turned from Rosi’s shocked face to the equally stunned bartender. “You ever see those two before?”
It was clear that the men had run off the moment they knew they had been caught. But if this regular hadn’t been around to notice… Rosi felt sick thinking about it. He had come here to find a hookup and have a good time, not get assaulted.
The regular was discussing the issue with Clive, while the latter offered to make Rosi a new drink to replace the one that had been drugged.
“Maybe I should just walk this kid home,” the regular suggested. “I was about to head out myself.”
“What?” Rosi turned toward him. “I don’t need to go home. Besides, I don’t know you any better than I knew those guys. Maybe you’re a weirdo, too.”
“Law’s a good man,” Clive vouched. “And maybe he’s right. Best you get home safely.”
Why were they treating Rosi like a kid all of a sudden? Did they suspect he was too young to be here? Would Rosi just make it even more obvious if he complained like a bratty child?
Ironically, this Law guy was definitely the most attractive man Rosi had seen all evening. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to spend a little extra time with him. Maybe Rosi could even flip the situation to suit his needs. “Hm, alright,” he relented, trying to sound like he didn’t care either way.
Law brushed past him, silently expecting Rosi to follow. And Rosi did.
They left the bar using the front entrance, Law nodding to a bouncer as he stepped past (different from the one Rosi had interacted with before, this one noticeably tall). Outside, the streets were flooded with people from Pride, either heading home or filtering into bars and clubs for some additional late-night partying.
‘Guess I’ll just have to try again next year,’ Rosinante thought wistfully. It felt odd to be walking down the street with a stranger, but then again, isn’t that what he had wanted to happen? To find a hot older guy at a gay bar and…go home with him?
“Where do you live, kid?” Law asked.
“Call me Cora,” said Rosinante. “And uh. I actually don’t live anywhere near here.”
Law’s gaze remained fixed on the street ahead. “Of course you don’t.”
“But you do, right? Why don’t we just go to your place? Do you have any alcohol?”
“When I get home, I’m going to bed. Done drinking for the night.”
“Well, thanks to you, I never even got to have a drink!” Rosi complained. “You owe me one!”
Law just sighed.