Still, he didn’t want to lie dead in bed tomorrow, so he excused himself and gravitated toward the area where food was laid out. The full effect the liquor had on him was only revealed once he rose, and he decided to take the longer route along the wall, just so that he could steady himself against it.
He could vaguely hear Pyro’s voice and spotted the blue Mohawk in one of the rooms next door where some sort of drinking competition was underway.
So much for helping him out, then.
Then again, Clover might have gotten far too used to being coddled. If he’d survived in the streets then he’d be fine being tipsy at a party. His smile widened at the sight of the most perfect tiny tarts with vegetables and meats. At an event like this, he’d expected nachos and wings for food, but lo and behold, someone had put a lot of effort into feeding the guests homemade delicacies.
“Hey there, cutie. Heard your name’s Clover, but it looks like it’s my lucky day.”
Clover snorted. If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard that, he could’ve bought two meals at the Cheesecake Factory, including dessert.
“Yeah? How so?” He asked with his mouth full, turning to the man who’d approached him. He was a muscular specimen who wore his biker vest over bare skin. Tattoos depicting wild animals covered most of the exposed flesh and his eyes were like two lasers cutting patterns in Clover’s flesh.
A warm hand squeezed Clover’s nape, making him freeze while his brain tried to catch up with this new development. “I wanna put your name on our blackboard, pretty boy.”
The flush to Clover’s face was so sudden he got dizzy. His eyelids drooped, but he forced himself to stare up at the man. His brain rang in alarm but his body was too drunk to react fast enough.
“Oh. I’m not sure about that.” He smiled to soften the blow but wasn’t sure how to proceed. This guy was not only twice his size but also technically the host, so Clover didn’t want to spoil this new friendship by telling him to fuck off.
“I know you don’t sell yourself cheap. Drake told me. We may live in the woods, but we’re not savages. We’ve got cash.” The man smiled as he massaged Clover’s nape.
Cash? Drake had told people Clover was a rent boy? The fucking nerve of that guy!
The guy’s hand traveled lower and dove under Clover’s jeans. He should have expected it but he still froze, unsure how to react. The stranger ducked and hauled Clover over his shoulder, hand on Clover’s buttocks and already rubbing the fabric above his hole. The world spun, and he barely registered the howls of encouragement as the floor under him started to move.
“No… that’s not—” he tried, but in this position blood ran to his head, making thinking even harder than speaking without a lisp.
He shuddered, shocked at the ache in his buttock when the biker bit it through his pants, already enjoying what he felt he was owed. A second pair of feet followed close by, and a tattooed hand grabbed Clover’s face, two fingers already sliding up his tongue and making him taste the sharp bite of nicotine and smoke.
“I hear you like threesomes, boy. Bet your throat’s tighter than any pussy I can get around here.”
Clover mumbled around the fingers, torn between biting down, antagonizing the biker, and finding a polite way to get out of this mess. Then again, what talk of politeness could there be when the man carrying him had his hand between his legs?
Pyro’s voice was a godsend Clover hadn’t expected. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”
“You gotta wait your turn if you want a piece,” said the guy carrying Clover.
Pyro’s growl was so loud Clover heard it despite the loud music. “He’s not free-for-all, K. He’s ours.”
“I don’t see him protesting,” the owner of the hand said, scissoring his fingers to obscenely stretch Clover’s lips. But before Clover could have uttered a sound of protest, the digits were out of his mouth, and Pyro’s flame-printed boots came into view. “He doesn’t get a say in this for as long as he rides with us!”
“I’m not for sale either!” Clover protested, looking to Pyro for help. His head was mushy from the moonshine so he wasn’t sure if he was reaching out in the right direction, but hoped Pyro would understand his situation anyway.
“Why’s your friend going around saying it then, huh?” asked the biker still carrying Clover. “Don’t you think it sends a mixed fucking signal?” He turned around to face Pyro, which again brought Clover farther away from his man.
“And who the hell told you he’s available to everyone here, huh? He’s not a whore,” Pyro said, relieving Clover that at least he still felt protective over him, regardless of persisting animosity.