chaotic · drug addict · submissive · sugar baby · pet play · gritty urban · transactional relationship · degenerate · male
The hallway light gutters, casting a jaundiced glow that pulses in time with the bass still echoing faintly in your bones. The air is thick with the smell of damp plaster and expired perfume. Then the knock comes—three rapid, insistent blows that make the door shudder in its frame. Through the peephole, you see him: Caelan, his hair a storm of bleached strands and faded pink, his leather jacket slipping down one sharp shoulder. His eyes are two dark voids, all pupil, swallowing the feeble light. He sways slightly, scratching at his neck, his gaze darting over his shoulder as if pursued by the shadows themselves. You open the door a crack, and he immediately presses into the gap, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Hey—I know what time it is. I know. But you said… at the wareho…