Content warning: "Feminine" words are used to describe the trans man's genitalia. Fisting is described in the story. If this is not your thing please move on.
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The late afternoon sun spilled lazily through the wide slider windows of Tristan's apartment, the golden light mingling with the soft rustle of fabric and bursts of laughter. The three of them had sprawled across the bedroom, digging through closets and drawers, pulling out outfits and accessories with the same energy they'd once applied to undressing.
The apartment buzzed with lazy excitement, the kind that hums after a good high and even better sex. The air still smelled faintly of joint smoke and sweat, sunlight filtering through the wide open garden doors as the trio drifted toward the bedroom.
Wolf leaned back on the bed, watching with a lopsided grin as Anna rummaged through Tristan's closet like it was a treasure chest. "What kind of party is this again?" he asked.
"A queer club night," Anna replied, holding up a sheer mesh top against her chest, then tossing it aside. "Everyone shows out. Glitter, harnesses, whatever makes you feel sexy."
Tristan was already shirtless, digging through a drawer with practiced ease.
He stood barefoot, holding up two shirts from the pile to his chest. "Sheer and slutty," he announced, showing off a gauzy yellow button-down, "or slutty and sheer?" He dangled a mesh black one with a wink.
"Yellow," Anna said without hesitation, perched on the bed in one of Wolf's oversized T-shirts. "It's sunny and slutty."
"Perfect," Tristan agreed, slipping it on. The fabric fell lightly over his skin, and he buttoned it halfway, leaving his chest and a hint of stomach exposed. He paired it with slightly oversized dark brown suit pants that sat high on his hips, giving him that loose, effortless charm he wore like a second skin.
Wolf was halfway through shimmying into a pair of soft, flowy charcoal cotton pants--no underwear, of course--when Anna walked over and dropped a bundle of clothes onto the bed.
"Alright, fashion show time. I'm dressing you."
Wolf arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Am I your canvas now?"
"Obviously." She winked and pulled him upright by the hand. "Arms up. Try this--it'll look amazing with your skin."
Laughing, he obeyed. Anna slid a delicate cropped fishnet tank in a muted khaki green over his torso, the fabric hugging him just enough to hint at the firm muscles beneath. She ran her hands down his sides, appreciating the sight. "Perfect. No underwear. Keep the pants."
Wolf looked at himself in the mirror with an amused smirk, the netting clinging to his torso in all the right places. The hem cut off just below his ribs, leaving the soft line of his stomach fully exposed.
"This is basically decorative."
"Exactly," Tristan chimed in, now sliding rings onto his fingers. "You've got the body. Let it do the talking."
Wolf rolled his eyes and smirked.
Anna let out a low, appreciative hum. "You're ridiculously hot."
"You picked it," he said. "This is your doing."
Then Anna disappeared for a minute, and when she came back--Wolf actually whistled.
She wore a cropped, oversized charcoal gray short-sleeve button-up shirt, buttoned only at the top. Beneath it, the sheer wine-red lace of her bra peeked out against her skin. Slouchy low-waisted olive cargo pants clung casually to her hips, with high-waisted sheer black lace panties popping just over the top. Matte oxblood ankle boots with square toes and chunky heels grounded the look, making her taller, sharper--irresistible.
Wolf blinked slowly, mouth just slightly open. "Holy shit."
"You like?" Anna grinned.
"I adore."
Anna turned in a slow circle, her ass peeking out beneath the loose fabric, and shot him a wink. "Good. That's the point."
Tristan sprayed a bit of cologne on Wolf's neck just to lean in and inhale it, muttering, "That's it," with a pleased grin. Anna fastened a necklace around Tristan's throat, then smacked his ass playfully.
Tristan turned with a delighted gasp. "Excuse me."
"You liked it."
"Obviously."
By the time they made it to the club, the sky was a deep navy, the street lit by flickering lamps and the occasional pass of a bike. Tucked down a barely-marked alley, the entrance looked more like a service door than anything else--just a tall, matte-black slab of steel beneath a single red light.
A pair of bouncers stood outside, one tall and blank-faced with a clipboard, the other built like a wall and staring straight through people. There was no line, no signage--just an unspoken understanding that you didn't approach unless you belonged.
Wolf shifted on his feet, eyeing the mix of people being turned away or waved inside. One couple in high fashion ravewear didn't make the cut. A shirtless boy in vinyl pants got in with a nod. It wasn't about looks. It was about vibe. Confidence. The way you carried your freedom.
Anna stepped forward first, chin lifted, posture easy. Her oversized cropped button-up fluttered with her movement, her sheer bra peeking underneath, low-slung cargo pants hanging off her hips, black lace panties just barely visible. She looked like she'd rolled out of a dream and didn't care if anyone followed.
Tristan came next, oozing his usual cool in loose brown suit pants and that sheer yellow shirt, open almost to his navel, chest glinting under the faint light. He offered the clipboard bouncer a familiar smile.
Wolf followed just behind, suddenly hyper-aware of his own skin. The charcoal cotton pants felt looser now, no underwear beneath, and the khaki fishnet tanktop clung to his torso like it was made for this place. He didn't try to pose--just stood there, letting the low hum of adrenaline carry him.
The bouncer looked them over slowly. Anna didn't flinch. Tristan raised an eyebrow. Wolf met the man's eyes and didn't look away.
A pause.
Then the clipboard lifted, and the bouncer nodded toward the door. "Go in."
A breath of relief, masked with a casual smirk. Anna gave Wolf's hand a quick squeeze and led the way.
Inside, the air shifted instantly--thick with bass and body heat. It was dark and pulsing and alive. The walls sweated with sound. Lasers cut through misty fog, painting bodies in flashes of red and violet. Music thundered like a heartbeat with no beginning or end.
There were no mirrors, no stages, no separation--just a sea of people, tangled in dance and desire, every body glowing in their own freedom.
Wolf blinked, breath catching as he looked around.
"You okay?" Tristan leaned in to murmur.
Wolf gave a soft laugh, wide-eyed. "I've never been more okay."
Anna grinned and grabbed both their hands, tugging them toward the crowd. "Let's find the others. Or get lost trying."
The music hit harder the deeper they went, vibrating up through the soles of their boots and into their bones. Smoke curled through the air, catching the light like ghosts, and bodies pressed close without apology--dancing, kissing, swaying in time to a beat that didn't care about control. It just was, primal and consuming.
Anna led the charge, her silhouette flickering in strobes, her cropped shirt open enough now that the lace of her bra gleamed beneath. She didn't push through the crowd so much as melt into it, hips swaying, arms loose, already dancing.
Tristan followed behind, one hand on her waist, the other reaching back for Wolf, pulling him in tight. "Don't think," he said into Wolf's ear. "Just feel."
Wolf laughed breathlessly, already half-lost to the heat. The press of bodies around them was heady--vinyl and sweat, perfume and skin. The music wound around his ribs and shook loose any hesitation. He moved, hips and shoulders catching the rhythm, his hands sliding down Tristan's back, the mesh of his tank clinging to damp skin.
It felt like swimming in desire. All around them: flashes of mouths on mouths, someone getting fingered against a wall, another person on their knees in the crush of dancers, lost in the moment. It was freedom, raw and sweaty and holy.
Anna turned to face them again, eyes glittering, her lips parted as she danced with her whole body. She reached for Wolf, grinding her hips against his with a grin that said she knew exactly what she was doing. He gave back everything she gave--heat, movement, laughter--and when Tristan pressed in behind him, sandwiching him between them, Wolf gasped.
The rhythm swallowed them whole.
They stayed like that for who knows how long, hands and mouths brushing in the dark, tangled in each other and the bodies around them. Every so often, someone passed by and locked eyes--offering, inviting--but they didn't take the bait. Not yet. The three of them were their own orbit.
Eventually, Anna leaned up to speak against Wolf's jaw, her lips brushing his ear. "There's a booth upstairs--balcony level. I think they're there."
Tristan caught the drift and steered them through the pulsing crowd, up a narrow metal staircase that clanged with every step. The balcony opened wide above the dancefloor like a shadowed overlook, bathed in red and indigo.
There, tucked into a crescent booth beneath a web of LED vines, sat a crew that radiated the same chaotic queer magic as Anna and Tristan. Faces lit up when they arrived--cheers, open arms, someone already pouring drinks.
Anna grinned and fell into someone's lap, Tristan followed with a wicked grin, and Wolf--flushed and glowing--took a breath before stepping into the circle, into whatever came next.
The booth was exactly where Anna had said it would be--tucked in the far corner near a mesh-covered window, barely lit, loud with music and laughter. Seven of them in total, some perched on the couch, others sprawled on the floor or leaning on each other, limbs tangled in a way that only came from years of friendship and shared debauchery.
