Futile Devices - 1. "An Odd Job"

"What's your name?" the voice asked. It wasn't a polite or casual question. It was asked with an undercurrent of need, an unidentified yearning.

Luka paused, his fingertips suspended over the smooth cotton of the pillow he'd been fussing with. A silence stretched between them as he lifted his gaze to meet the source of the voice. His eyes, a captivating blend of gold and brown, glinted in the dim light and held a certain mystique that hinted at a wisdom far beyond his tender age.

"Does it matter?" Luka's response was languid, his tone threaded with boredom that didn't quite reach his eyes. The words were not dismissive, but they bore the weight of someone who knew their worth and understood the game being played.

The question's owner, a man of middle age whose suit sat awkwardly on his frame like an ill-fitted second skin, fidgeted near the doorway. His eyes, sharp in their scrutiny yet clouded with uncertainty, lingered on Luka's face for more than a moment's notice before they skittered away to find refuge in the intricate patterns of the carpet below.

"I guess not," he conceded, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment that betrayed his earlier bravado.

Luka straightened up from where he had been hunched over the bed. His fingers danced through his dark brown locks, adding to their disarray in a way that only enhanced his rugged appeal. He looked towards the man, an invitation and warning rolled into one, his eyes seeming to whisper both 'come hither' and 'tread lightly.'

"So," the man began again, clearing the remnants of unease from his throat as he ventured further into the room. "Is this, uh, your...full-time thing? Or just..."

"Look," Luka interjected, gripping the man's stammering with patience. He was perched on the edge of the bed, his body draped in casual attire that did little to hide his lean physique. "You don't have to do this. The talking, I mean."

"I just thought..."

"You're paying for my time," Luka pointed out, his tone as steady as the beat of a metronome. "We can spend it however you want. But if small talk is supposed to make this easier for you, it's not working."

The client flushed, his cheeks blooming into a shade of pink that stood out starkly against the room's dim illumination. With a soft click, he shut the door behind him and began to fumble with his cufflinks, a nervous tick that seemed to buy him some semblance of composure. His gaze darted back to Luka, then away again, as though the intensity in those golden-brown eyes was too much to bear.

"You do this often?" the man ventured after a pause that seemed to stretch endlessly.

"Enough," came Luka's nonchalant reply, accompanied by a dismissive shrug. His posture shifted subtly as he leaned back onto his arms. "You?"

"Not really," the man admitted with an awkward chuckle that fell flat in the silent room. "First time, actually."

Luka studied him, a faint smile dancing on his lips. "Yeah, I figured." The man looked taken aback by the remark, but Luka's words quickly assuaged any sting. "It's fine," he reassured, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper. "Just tell me what you want."

The client hesitated, and Luka sighed inwardly. He'd witnessed this scene countless times before, men who were clueless or ashamed, unsure of how to articulate their desires. He leaned forward, his voice sinking into a sultry whisper as if sharing a well-kept secret.

"Relax. I don't bite," Luka said.

A tentative but genuine smile finally graced the client's face. He settled into an armchair across from the bed, his movements stiff and uncertain. Luka's gaze followed him, assessing and evaluating. The clock on the bedside table ticked softly, filling the room with its monotonous rhythm as they both waited for the next move. In this game of power and persuasion, patience was just as crucial to a player as any other.

"Well," the man began again, his voice softer now. "I guess we should..."

"We should," Luka interjected, his husky voice cutting through the room's tense silence. His form rose from the chair, the soft squeak of leather breaking the quiet as he shifted his weight. Stance was wide and grounded, and he began to close the distance between them. Each step was slow but purposeful, his movements measured and deliberate. His presence was commanding, an unseen force that filled the space and demanded attention.

"Why don't we skip the warm-up?" Luka proposed his words, carrying an implicit challenge. His tone was casual, but his gaze never left the man visibly shaken before him.

The man nodded in response, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. But as Luka stepped into his personal space, that anxiety morphed into something else. For Luka, this scenario was routine, another night spent with another client. However, for this man standing before him, it was an experience veiled in mystery and laced with anticipation.

Luka maintained his practiced detachment throughout. He had mastered keeping others at arm's length while drawing them deeper into his enigmatic world.

Luka moved with fluidity, making even pulling off his T-shirt look like an art form. His eyes, the color of rich chestnut flecked with gold under the gentle light from a nearby lamp, seemed to pierce through everything around them. Though mesmerizing, they offered little invitation beyond their surface.

The shirt slipped off, revealing his torso, the product of nature rather than hours in a gym. Broad shoulders transitioned smoothly into a chest carved with definite lines. Each breath accentuated the subtle play of muscles across his abdomen. The golden hue of his skin spoke of many days spent outside, an outdoor life etched into every sun-kissed spot.

A thin scar on his left ribcage, a whisper against bronzed skin, added character to his rugged appeal. The precise edge of his clavicle framed the hollow at the base of his neck, claiming as much attention as his pronounced jawline. Luka's arms were all about balance: strong but lean, built for versatility more than bulkiness. Veins mapped across sinewy forearms painted him as someone ready for anything. His hands had stories untold. They could be feather-light or firm and commanding, depending on the moment.

The worn sneakers hit the floor with a gentle thud, breaking the silence in the room. Luka's fingers quickly undid the button on his ripped jeans, a swift, habitual motion. The denim glided down his hips smoothly, unveiling muscular thighs and sculpted calves.

His legs were long and graceful, moving seamlessly with a refined grace as if they belonged to an athlete. Beneath it all, he wore snug black briefs that clung closely to him like a second skin. They managed to both reveal and conceal the outline of his 6-inch soft cock. The tight contour of his lower abdomen and the curve of his hips left some mystery intact. A faint trail beneath his navel, hinting at confidence and control, guided the eyes downward.

Luka was, for lack of better words, strikingly charismatic.

Every inch of him seemed deliberately designed, from the distinct angles of his cheekbones to lips that rarely curved into a smile. His eyes were particularly expressive, intense yet aloof, challenging anyone who ventured too near while subtly cautioning them away.

Standing there, Luka exuded pure masculinity. His presence shifted the atmosphere as though each breath drew everyone's attention toward him. He wasn't just visually appealing. He was compelling, drawing notice even without words. As he stood before the client, fully aware of his impact, he maintained a composed and inscrutable expression. This moment was merely routine for Luka, a transaction like any other.

"Do you wanna suck my cock? Want me to fuck your ass?" Luka asked, his voice slightly bored. But the client's eyes differed, exuding an excitement Luka clearly lacked.

"I…wanna eat your ass," the client's voice was a mere whisper. A hint of desperation lingered in his tone, but there was also a note of determination. Luka raised an eyebrow, considering the request. This was different from what he expected.

"Fine," Luka huffed, turning around and bending over slightly. His hands clasped together behind his back, presenting his ass to the client, a silent invitation disguised as reluctance. The man approached slowly, hesitant yet eager. Luka was immediately taken aback by the man's odor as he drew closer. It was intense and not in a good way. It's pungency unpleasant, to say the least.

As the man approached, Luka tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust. His ass was on display now, the thin layer of briefs offering little concealment. The soft fabric molded itself to every contour, emphasizing Luka's perky glutes and defined cheeks. The man's hot breath brushed against the small of Luka's back.

Luka closed his eyes, trying to block out the unpleasant smell as the man kissed a trail up and down his spine before settling on a spot just above the waistband of his briefs. Gently, he tugged at the fabric until it slid downwards, exposing Luka's ass completely. The cold air caressed Luka's sensitive skin, making him shiver lightly.

The client's lips brushed against Luka's ass cheeks, creating soft puffs of air that tickled him. Slowly, he began to nuzzle between them, first one cheek, then the other. His movements were gentle yet insistent, exploring new territory. It wasn't long before he found what he was looking for: Luka's tight rosebud-like anus. With hesitation but growing confidence, he licked around it once before slowly parting Luka's cheeks.

His tongue darted inside, causing Luka to gasp softly despite himself. The sensation was unexpected yet not unwelcome. And despite his disgust, being a pro, Luka played his part, faking his way through what could only be described as the worst rim job of his life.

"Take it slow," Luka said with a sigh, trying to sound like he was enjoying it. He couldn't help but wonder how much longer this would go on. However, the man seemed to sense his displeasure and pulled away quickly.

"I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice barely audible above their breathing. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," Luka said with a small smile, returning to face him. "But...let's try and finish this quickly, okay?" His tone was curt but not entirely unkind. The client nodded eagerly, regaining some of his lost composure as he stepped closer again.

His hands roamed Luka's body, mapping out every curve and hollow with gentle touches. The soft fabric of Luka's briefs caressed his sensitive skin as he reached down to grasp Luka's semi-hard cock in a tight grip. Luka suppressed a groan at the feel of warm hands around him. The man began to stroke him slowly at first, then faster and harder as if trying to prove something.

"That feels good," Luka lied, trying to meet the client's gaze but failing miserably. He closed his eyes instead, focusing on the sensations coursing through his body as the man continued stroking him with surprising expertise for a first-timer. Soon enough, Luka found himself growing hard.

"God, your so sexy," the client whispered, his hand jerking Luka's cock while his runny nose rubbed against Luka's cheeks. Luka closed his eyes, trying to block the man's smell and focus on the job. By now, his cock had grown to its impressive 9 inches, hovering over the sheets. "You're huge, too," the older man commented, his voice laced with excitement.

Luka rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Instead, he turned around once more, presenting himself and finally unveiling his pulsating, throbbing cock to the client. His manhood stood at attention, a sterling beacon of the older man's awaited pleasures.

"Suck me off a bit. I'll fuck you next," Luka directed, his voice heavy with faked expectation and lust. The client obeyed, but it was soon apparent to Luka that the man had no experience and was finding it hard to navigate the intricate contours of Luka's engorged member, let alone master its sucking. Yet, Luka showed patience, guiding the older man through the motions with gentle hands and whispers of encouragement.

Luka's fingers brushed through the client's greasy hair, coaxing him closer to his prize as his hips began to involuntarily rock. The client's lips parted, tongue peeking out as he focused intently on the task ahead. He tentatively licked along the length of Luka's shaft, tasting the sweet pre-cum that dripped from its tip like ambrosia.

As he grew bolder, the client took Luka's cock almost entirely into his mouth, devouring every inch. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked deeply while his tongue flicked and danced on the sensitive underside of Luka's dick like a writhing serpent.

Luka reached down and wrapped his hand around the client's head, steadying him as the older man faltered. "That's it," he cooed reassuringly. "Just take your time...suck that cock...feel it grow harder for you." His words hung in the air like incantations, guiding the client toward a deeper understanding of how to pleasure Luka properly.

As if in response to Luka's words, the client found his confidence growing. He began to explore every inch of Luka's dick with renewed vigor, flicking his tongue against the head of Luka's cock before moving downwards again to trace circles around Luka's thick shaft with his tongue. With each stroke and pull of his lips, Luka could feel his orgasm building.

Suddenly, without warning or provocation, the client gripped Luka's ass firmly in both hands and plunged forward, taking every last inch of cock deep into his throat. He gagged slightly at first but recovered quickly as he bobbed up and down on Luka's lap with newfound enthusiasm, swallowing all of him whole.

Luka gasped at this sudden turn of events, feeling surprised and incredibly turned on by the client's display. "Okay…I guess you're a fast learner," he teased. "Drop the pants," he ordered. The older man smiled, his confidence aroused by Luka's words. In an unscripted move, he tried to come up and kiss Luka, but Luka pushed the client back aggressively. "Nah. I don't do that," Luka groaned, his eyes raging as he gripped the man's collar and tie, choking him slightly. "If you pull something like that again, I'll beat the shit out of you, do you understand?" he warned. The client nodded, seemingly aroused by Luka's dominance. "Get on the bed, on all fours, doggy-style. And spread those fucking cheeks," he demanded, his eyes scanning the client's pathetic attempts at seduction. The older man hesitated for a moment before complying, and Luka couldn't help but frown as he took in the sight of the man's ass quivering before him. He could already smell the musky scent emanating from the client's asshole. It was a pleasant surprise for Luka to notice that the smell was reasonably bearable.

He quickly pulled a condom out of his jeans, tearing open the packet with his teeth and rolling it onto his throbbing erection. He approached the client from behind and positioned himself, his fists gripping the man's hips firmly, preparing to plunge into him fully.

Without any preamble or foreplay, Luka thrust into the client with almost violent force. The client let out a muffled grunt into the sheets, his body writhing beneath Luka's powerful thrusts. Luka could feel every inch of his cock sliding into the tight heat of the client's ass, and he couldn't help but let out a low groan of pleasure.

This definitely wasn't the first time the guy had things stuffed inside his hole, Luka thought.

As he pounded into the client, Luka's free hand reached around to cup the man's balls, squeezing them gently and pulling them up towards his body with each thrust. He could feel the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead as he pushed himself harder and harder, relishing in every slap of skin against skin as he fucked the man mercilessly. Beneath him, the client moaned louder as Luka continued to dominate him, his body trembling with each powerful stroke. Luka could feel it building within him, that familiar wave of pleasure rising like.

But that's what made Luka the best. No matter the circumstances, he could always get off.

As he neared the peak of his sexual arousal, Luka thrust himself even deeper into the client's tightly puckered asshole, feeling the man's fleshy sphincter constrict around him. The heat radiating from his groin was a perfect mix of intense pleasure and a prickling urgency, and he knew that busting his load was imminent. With one final, powerful thrust, Luka let out an animalistic growl of satisfaction and came inside the lubricated latex sheath of the condom, every ounce of his taut, pulsing erection focused on this single moment of climactic ecstasy.

"That was amazing…" the client murmured in a near-whisper voice, almost breaking with emotion as his eyes watered with pleasure and post-orgasmic vulnerability. Luka couldn't help but roll his eyes, his dick already beginning to soften as he slowly pulled out, leaving behind the now-empty void that had only moments ago housed his well-endowed member.

"Yeah…It was great," Luka forced out with an overtone of sarcasm, attempting to sync his emotional energy with the client's rapidly waning heightened sensitivity. He aimed to mimic the man's current state of mind, a balancing act he was all too familiar with.

With the hard lines of age etched deeply into his face, the older man allowed his body to fall heavily onto the bed. His limbs sprawled out in a careless display of satiated exhaustion. The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional labored breath escaping the man's lips.

Luka, maintaining a mask of indifference, detached himself from the scene. He moved with a measured pace, each step carrying him further away from the bed and the lingering traces of their awkward encounter. His destination was the bathroom.

Once inside, he was quick to ignite the faucet. The water rushed out eagerly, filling the room with a comforting hiss. It was as if it was aware of its task. It seemed thirsty for the grime and filth that clung to Luka. His body ached, every inch screaming out for liberation. He craved nothing more than to cleanse himself of the client's invasive scent that lingered on his skin. Luka jumped inside the shower, allowing the water to cascade over his skin as he stood under it. The hot droplets turned into steam that fogged up the small bathroom. He leaned against the cold tile wall, letting the water wash away the client's pungent smell, a scent he'd rather forget.

Several minutes later, dressed in a black hoodie that clung to his frame, Luka moved silently across the carpeted floor. The client's soft snores filled the room. A fat stack of cash peeked out from the man's wallet, a careless invitation that Luka couldn't resist. He hesitated for half a second, not out of guilt but out of pure calculation, before slipping the money into his pocket.

"Thanks for the tip," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips as he pocketed his original fee from the nightstand.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the long, empty hallway. The corridor hum swallowed the noise, an ever-present background symphony of hushed conversations behind closed doors and the distant clatter of housekeeping carts. Luka strode down the corridor with purpose, his chin slightly lifted.

As he moved, he felt the weight of others' gazes. Hotel staff and guests alike watched him pass, their eyes tracking his progress with curiosity and disapproval. A woman in a crisp business suit paused in her conversation to give him a once-over, her perfectly painted lips pursed in judgment. An older man in a worn bellhop uniform looked away quickly, his wrinkled face reddening as if he had been caught staring.

But Luka didn't care. He was impervious to their scrutiny.

"Let them stare," he thought, his stride steady and confident. Their judgment didn't affect him, not when he walked out with a wallet full of their precious morality.

He stepped into the hotel's grand lobby, whistling a soft, carefree tune. The concierge behind the polished oak desk gave him a long, cold look, his eyes narrowed in silent reprimand. But Luka didn't flinch, didn't break stride. His hands were stuffed casually into his hoodie pockets, and his sharp jawline tilted just enough to suggest defiance. As he approached the hotel's glass doors, they slid open automatically, and the cold night air rushed to greet him.

Outside, the city was alive with energy, its pulse steady and unrelenting like a heart that never rested. Snow lined the edges of the sidewalks, dirtied by countless footprints and tire tracks. Luka lit a cigarette with a well-practiced flick of his lighter, briefly illuminating his face before he pulled the hood over his messy hair. The first drag filled his lungs with warmth, and he exhaled slowly, watching as the smoke curled up.

Even at this late hour, the city was bustling. Cars honked in the distance, their headlights cutting through the faint fog like bright beams from a lighthouse. People hurried past him, bundled in thick coats, their breath visible in the cold air. Luka walked with his usual swagger, his sneakers crunching against patches of frozen slush.

Soon, he reached a diner at the corner of the street. Its neon sign buzzed faintly above the entrance. Luka paused momentarily, the lit cigarette dangling precariously between his fingers as he tilted his head upward. Slivers of the dark sky were visible between the towering buildings, like jagged cracks in a concrete prison. He followed the lines of the skyscrapers with his eyes, feeling the familiar weight of the city pressing down on him.

It swallowed everything: dreams, people, and even light. And yet, Luka stood there, unmoved. His breath fogged before him as he took another drag. With one last glance at the looming skyline, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his heel.

The bell above the diner door jingled as Luka stepped inside. He scanned the room with sharp, practiced eyes, immediately spotting his best friend Devin sitting in a corner booth, nursing a cup of coffee.

As Luka approached, Devin looked up, his face lighting up with a crooked grin. His dark curls framed his face, his sharp features softened only slightly by the diner's dim lighting. "You're late," Devin said, leaning back against the vinyl seat.

Luka slid into the booth across from him, shaking the snow off his hoodie. "Didn't realize I was on your schedule."

"Everything's on my schedule," Devin shot back, his grin widening. He tipped his cup toward Luka. "Coffee's terrible, by the way. You're gonna hate it."

"Great," Luka muttered, signaling to the waitress with a subtle wave. "Something to look forward to."

Devin's gaze narrowed as he studied Luka's face. "Rough night?"

"Same as always," Luka said, leaning back against the booth, one arm draped over the backrest. "Dude was a nervous wreck. Had to hold his hand, metaphorically speaking."

"And literally?" Devin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Luka smirked. "Depends on how you define it."

Devin snorted and shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're predictable," Luka countered. "Still sitting here with the same lousy coffee, still wearing that busted jacket I told you to replace."

Devin glanced down at his worn-out leather jacket, its sleeves fraying at the edges. "This jacket's a classic. And I'd replace it if someone didn't keep blowing our extra cash on stupid stuff."

"Tipping stripers is not wasting money..." Luka quipped, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

Devin rolled his eyes but didn't respond, taking another sip of his coffee instead. The waitress appeared, dropping off a steaming mug of coffee in front of Luka without a word. He took a cautious sip and immediately grimaced. "You weren't kidding. This is awful."

"Told you," Devin said, smirking over his cup.

They sat silently for a moment, the din of the diner filling the gaps between their words. Luka looked across the table at Devin, his expression briefly unreadable. The comfort of the silence between them was as tangible as the grimy air of the city they called home. It clung to their ragged clothes, seeped into their bones, and lurked in the shadows of every alley they traversed. Their world, a cruel, chaotic dance of uncertainty, offered no assurances, no guarantees. Every day was a high-stakes game of chance, each night a precarious balance on the knife's edge of survival. Yet, in this tempestuous existence, they had found an anchor in one another, a bond that had weathered countless storms and emerged intact and stronger. It was an understanding neither of them took for granted.

It was their lifeline.

"You remember when we got booted from that last shelter for 'being disruptive'?" Devin's voice cut through the silence, his tone light yet laden with nostalgia.

Luka chuckled at the memory. "Disruptive?" he retorted, shaking his head in amusement. "You mean when you nearly got us arrested after your brilliant attempt at pickpocketing the night manager, and I had to play savior?"

"Meh...semantics," Devin replied nonchalantly, flashing a grin that belied the gravity of their past predicaments. "The point is," he continued, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, "we survived. And we bought that scooter."

"Right...the one that broke down after a week," Luka quipped, raising his chipped mug in a salute to their resilience.

Devin responded with a clink of his own cup against Luka's. Even their failures were celebrated, soothing balms in a world that had repeatedly tried to break them. Yet their bond had never wavered. Together, they were a fortress against the onslaught of life's trials.

As far as they were concerned, their friendship was untouchable.

Luka leaned back against the faded, threadbare booth as he took Devin's face across from him, features Luka could sketch with his eyes closed.

Devin's hair was an almost impossibly golden blonde. His sharp cheekbones and subtle jawline gave him a delicate appearance, contrasted by green eyes brimming with resilience hard-won through years of struggle.

His skin had the extraordinary pallor of a moonbeam gliding across midnights. It seemed the city had cloaked him, untouched by sunlit warmth. Those striking green eyes, bright and transparent as emerald pools kissed by sunlight, held stories untold beneath their surface, echoes of battles that lingered despite his confident smile.

Devin's build was all lean muscle and sinew, a misleading frame that hid robust strength honed not in gyms but from constant scrapping to get by. He possessed an unearthly beauty that entirely slipped free from traditional labels of masculinity or femininity, residing somewhere uniquely his own making on the spectrum.

When Luka saw the faint scar near Devin's left temple, barely visible yet profoundly significant, a wave of memories crashed over him. He thought about that night when they'd earned their marks, escaping from a foster father too drunk to see straight but armed with a shattered bottle. The rush of adrenaline and fear surged back into his mind, along with the relief he'd felt knowing his quick reflexes had saved them from more harm.

The memories hardened his jaw: narrow alleys slick with rain, shelters that never entirely banished the cold, meals snatched on the sly. They'd spent nights curled up in forgotten corners of abandoned buildings, his warmth anchoring Devin against life's chill. The city always tried to break them apart and wear them down. But through all the chaos and uncertainty, Devin had been unwavering, a steady presence in an otherwise unpredictable world.

In those gritty moments, vivid sounds still echoed. The clink of glass shards on pavement mixed with distant sirens singing their mournful tune as they whirled past. The roughness of faded brick walls scratched against their skin as they hid away while stale smoke floated through derelict spots where they'd sometimes crash. The tastes lingered, too, bitter remnants from pilfered bites and sweet victories over hunger. Each morsel savored amidst survival's grind was unforgettable. Laced into every shared glance between him and Devin were all these experiences woven together like threads connecting them eternally in life's haphazard tapestry.

Caught in his reverie, Luka didn't realize he'd been staring until Devin's voice pulled him back. "What?" Devin asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised an arched eyebrow.

"Nothing," Luka managed to respond, shaking off his thoughts. "Just lost in thought."

"Dangerous habit," Devin quipped, his voice light, yet his gaze was intense, searching.

A lump formed in Luka's throat at Devin's words, but he shrugged it off with a smirk. "Yeah, well..."

Devin rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, his pale fingers tapping rhythmically against the side of his mug. As he watched his friend, Luka felt the tension ease from his shoulders. As long as Devin was across the table, sipping terrible coffee and offering sarcastic retorts, Luka knew they'd be okay.

Amid an exchange about Devin's questionable choice of dinner, Luka's phone vibrated on the table, cutting him off mid-sentence. He glanced at the screen, his smirk fading instantly at the sight of the caller ID.

The name Mouse flashed ominously on the screen.

Devin noticed immediately. His emerald-green eyes hardened as he met Luka's gaze. His fingers tightened around his coffee cup and subtly shook his head. "Don't," he mouthed.

Luka hesitated for a split second, his jaw clenching as he grappled with the decision. But in the end, he knew there was only one choice, so he tapped the answer button and set the phone on the table, speaker mode engaged.

"What?" Luka's voice echoed flatly, his eyes flickering up from the half-empty coffee cup in his hands. He leaned back into the worn red vinyl booth seat, a confused crease forming between his brows.

A high-pitched, nasally voice crackled through the phone, breaking the quiet hum of the diner's late-night ambiance. "Luka, baby, why do you sound so hostile?" The voice carried an exaggerated tone of innocence that only deepened Luka's frown.

"Mouse," Luka drawled with dry sarcasm, his thumb fiddling with the silver ring adorning his middle finger. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he added, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Don't give me that attitude, sweetheart. You didn't pick up earlier when I called, so I'm checking in now. You and Devin had a good night?" Mouse chirped, the insinuation evident in his voice.

Devin's eyes flicked to Luka from across the booth, his expression tightening. Luka ignored him, keeping his tone light but laced with sarcasm. "Oh, it was magical," he retorted. "You should've been there. What do you want?"

Mouse's tone shifted then, becoming more pointed. "What I want, Luka, is for you to stop acting like you don't need me." His voice oozed false concern. "I've got another client lined up for you tonight. Both of you. Big money."

Luka snorted derisively, shaking his head as he stared out the graffiti-splattered window at the deserted street. "It's two in the fucking morning, Mouse," he muttered, the exhaustion evident in his voice.

"Your point?" Mouse's voice was laced with a hint of impatience.

"My point," Luka said with more force, his voice sharper now, "is that we're done for the night. You'll get your cut from the first job. That's enough."

"Enough?" Mouse's voice rose, crackling with irritation. "Honey, you don't get to decide what's enough. I do. And I'm telling you, this client's worth it. Don't be stupid."

Devin, quietly seething across the table, leaned forward and gestured toward the phone. His lips formed silent words: Hang up. His emerald eyes were hard with a warning.

But Luka didn't. Instead, he leaned closer to the phone, his voice turning icy as he retorted, "Listen, Mouse. We've been hustling for you, putting up with your constant calls, lousy clients, and garbage promises of 'big money.' We've paid our dues tonight. We're done. If you want to squeeze someone else dry, go find them."

Mouse's laugh was sharp, almost shrill. "You've got balls, Luka. I'll give you that. But don't forget who put you where you are."

"Yeah, I won't forget," Luka snapped back, his golden-brown eyes flashing angrily. "And I also won't forget that if you keep pushing, you'll lose the only two people who actually make you money. Think about that before you start making demands."

The line went quiet momentarily, Mouse's silence more telling than any retort he could have made. His voice was lower but no less venomous when he finally spoke again. "Don't get cocky, kid. You're replaceable."

Luka smirked then, though his eyes were still alight with anger. "Sure, Mouse. Whatever helps you sleep at night. We're done here."

But as Luka was about to hang up, Mouse's voice crackled through the speaker again. "Wait...don't get all high and mighty yet, baby. I'm not fucking around, man. This is big."

Luka froze, his fingers hovering over the screen. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Big? What does that mean, Mouse?"

"You're gonna love this one," Mouse said eagerly, his tone slick and almost too eager. "High-profile client. Real classy. Not the usual garbage you're used to."

Devin's eyes flicked up from his coffee cup, his gaze suddenly alert.

"Who is it?" Luka pressed, his voice laced with suspicion.

There was a pause, Mouse's hesitation palpable even over the phone. "Details aren't important right now," he said defensively.

"The hell they're not," Luka shot back. "If this is so big, why not send one of your new boys? Why us?"

Mouse let out a sharp, irritated laugh. "Because this isn't a job for a rookie." Devin grabbed a napkin from the table and a pen from his jacket pocket, his eyes focused as if preparing for what would come. Luka noticed and sighed, running a hand down his face. Mouse continued, his tone edging into command. "Make sure you're at the address I'm about to give you. 4 a.m. sharp. And for fuck sake, don't be late."

Devin's pen hovered as Mouse rattled off the address. He scribbled it onto the napkin, his handwriting quick and messy. Luka glared at him but said nothing, waiting until the address was complete before speaking.

"This feels off, Mouse," Luka said flatly.

"Trust me, sweetheart," Mouse replied smoothly, though the tension in his voice was impossible to miss.

Luka's lips pressed into a thin line. He ended the call without another word, tossing the phone onto the table more forcefully than necessary.

Devin sat back, tapping the pen against the napkin as he studied the address. "You heard him," he said, his voice carrying a spark of excitement. "This could be huge. High-profile clients don't exactly grow on trees."

"Yeah," Luka responded, his voice icy like a winter's breeze, "and there tends to be a logical explanation behind it."

Devin knitted his brows together, a frown creasing his forehead. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Luka began, leaning forward in his seat, his golden-brown eyes narrowing into sharp slits, "that there's something off about Mouse and this job. The mother fucker couldn't even say who the client was."

Devin shrugged off Luka's concerns, although his initial enthusiasm seemed to dim slightly. "You're reading too much into it. High-risk jobs lead to high rewards. We've had some kinky shit thrown at us before."

Luka sighed heavily, nudging his half-filled coffee mug toward the table's edge. "Let's just get this over with."

Devin nodded in agreement, folding the napkin into a neat square and discreetly tucking it into his pocket.

As their waitress approached their table, Luka raised a hand to signal her. "Check, please."

The woman nodded in acknowledgment and walked away, leaving Luka and Devin marinating in a tense silence.

Luka's gaze drifted towards the window, his jaw tightening. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he muttered. As the waitress returned with their bill, Luka nonchalantly tossed a few crumpled bills onto the table and stood up, pulling his hood over his head for some semblance of anonymity.

The two friends stepped out into the biting cold night and went down the deserted streets, the frosty air turning their breaths into visible puffs of white as they followed the address. About two hours later, Luka glanced at the folded napkin clutched in Devin's hand and then at the hastily scrawled address.

"Did we walk six blocks for this?" Luka questioned, halting in front of an abandoned parking lot. The place was desolate, cracked concrete strewn with debris, rusted gates barely clinging onto their hinges, and devoid of any signs of life. He kicked at a piece of rubble, sending it skittering across the pavement. "This is horse shit. Mouse set us up."

"Perhaps we're early," Devin offered weakly, although uncertainty was evident in his voice.

Luka shot him a glare, his chestnut eyes aflame with frustration. "Early? For what? Just look at this place!"

Devin opened his mouth to offer a counter-argument, but the sudden flash of headlights in the distance silenced him. Both men turned towards the corner of the lot, where a sleek, black luxury car rolled into view, its engine purring like a predator on the prowl.

"Well, that's not creepy at all," Luka quipped, his sarcasm barely masking the knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach.

The car stopped several feet away, its tinted windows shielding the occupants from view. For a moment, nothing happened. Luka and Devin exchanged uneasy glances.

"Do you think they're here to offer us a ride home?" Devin joked nervously.

"More likely a one-way ticket to our graves," Luka shot back, crossing his arms defensively.

The car doors swung open, and several men dressed in dark suits stepped out, their movements precise and calculated. One of them, a tall man with a buzz cut and an air of authority, approached the boys.

"Luka. Devin," the man greeted them, his voice calm yet commanding.

"And you are?" Luka retorted, his tone sharp.

"Security," was the man's brief reply. With a snap of his fingers, two other men moved in. Before Luka could react, he was pinned against the cold metal exterior of the car while one of the men patted him down.

"Hey, hands off, motherfucker!" Luka snarled, struggling against their iron grip. "This isn't some strip joint!"

Devin, who was undergoing a similar search, glanced over at him. "Don't flatter yourself, dude. No one's enjoying this."

"Shut up, Devin," Luka snapped back.

The men disregarded their protests and inappropriate banter. Their movements were methodical and professional. "Security protocol," the first man explained without a hint of emotion.

"Oh, security protocol," Luka echoed mockingly. "Nothing screams professionalism like frisking two guys in the middle of a junkyard at four in the morning."

Once the men were satisfied with their search, they stepped back. The buzz-cut man gestured towards the car, "You can come inside now."

Luka snorted in disbelief. "You fucking kiddin' me?" He crossed his arms defiantly. "Yeah, I'm going to have to pass. We're not going anywhere until someone explains what's going on."

Devin tugged at Luka's sleeve, pulling him aside. "Dude, come on. Let's just go with it."

Luka stared at him in disbelief. "Are you serious? These guys just manhandled us in the middle of nowhere, and you're ready to jump into their car?"

Devin shrugged nonchalantly. "Do you see another way out of here? Plus, it's a nice car. Maybe they've got some snacks or something."

Luka blinked, caught between irritation and disbelief. "Are you for real?"

"If we stay here, we'll freeze. If we go, there's a chance they'll have AC inside," Devin reasoned, his words dancing in the frigid night air. His expression was faint but unmistakable, a hint of mischief playing around the corners of his mouth.

With his brow furrowed in contemplation, Luka pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture of frustration. He muttered a soft oath under his breath, his breath visible in the cold, the words barely audible. "I swear to God if this gets us killed…" Reluctantly, he turned back to the group of men. His voice was firm yet laced with apprehension as he asserted, "Fine. We'll play along. But if I wake up tomorrow without a kidney, I'm suing."

The men remained silent, their faces unreadable. The car door opened softly, revealing an inviting interior that promised shelter from the cold night. Luka climbed in first, his jaw tight like a vice, his body language radiating tension. Devin followed suit, his hand gently nudging Luka in a feeble attempt at reassurance. The door shut behind them with a soft click before the driver pulled away smoothly, and Luka's unease grew as the car glided into the consuming darkness of the night. His chest tightened with every passing second, anxiety gnawing at him like a relentless beast.

He glanced sideways at Devin, curious about their surroundings. His voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "See any snacks?"

Devin's smirk was a silent response. The car's tinted windows seemed to absorb the faint city lights as they sped off, leaving behind the familiar, cold streets and any semblance of control they had.

An hour later, the vehicle stopped smoothly inside a cavernous hangar. Its concrete floors gleamed under the harsh glare of industrial lights. Luka's eyes instinctively darted to the driver, whose calm demeanor remained constant, an unreadable mask. He had spent the last two hours studying the man's every move, noticing how the car circled the same blocks multiple times. He realized it was a diversion tactic, a deliberate ploy to disorient them.

"End of the line," one of the suited men announced in a voice devoid of emotion as he opened Luka's door.

"Lovely. So this is where we die," Luka muttered sarcastically as he stepped out into the hangar's echoing stillness. Devin followed close behind him, his gaze darting around the expansive space.

They were led briskly toward a small room to one side of the hangar. The walls were painted a cold, sterile white, and the faint scent of metal and disinfectant gave off an unsettling hospital-like vibe. A large window dominated one wall, its shutters drawn tightly closed, amplifying the sense of isolation.

A man stood waiting in the center of the room, his posture impeccable. He was tall with broad shoulders that perfectly filled out his tailored business suit, the dark fabric fitting him like a second skin. His hair was neatly combed back, dark strands flecked with grey that glinted under the tamed light. But it was his face that commanded attention. His features were sharp and precise, each angle seeming calculated to project an aura of authority. His chestnut eyes, almost identical in color to Luka's, held a quiet intensity. They were hard to decipher, devoid of warmth but not entirely cold, as if he had all the answers and chose to share none.

He held a phone in his hand, speaking in low tones, his deep voice reverberating softly against the sterile walls. Luka strained to make out the words, but the tone suggested control. As Luka and Devin stepped inside, the man ended the call with a measured click. He tucked the phone into his pocket before turning to face them fully.

"Luka. Devin." His voice was calm and deliberate, carrying the faintest trace of an accent Luka couldn't quite place. He regarded them both with a piercing gaze, his lips curling into what might have been a smile or a smirk. It was hard to tell.

"I'm Mister D," he introduced himself, extending a hand toward neither of them as if his name alone was introduction enough.

Luka crossed his arms over his chest, his stance tense and defiant. Beside him, Devin shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flicking between Luka and Mister D.

"So, Mister D," Luka said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Care to explain why we've been dragged out here in the middle of the night? Or is this your idea of a good time?"

Devin shot Luka a warning look, but Luka ignored it. His gaze was locked on Mister D, firmly holding onto his defiant stance.

Mister D's expression didn't falter. If anything, the faint curve of his lips deepened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Patience," he said. His voice was smooth but edged with authority. "All will be explained in due time."

Luka glanced at Devin, who looked equally unsettled. But neither of them said anything. Luka sighed, rolling his shoulders as he turned back to face Mister D.

"Fine," Luka conceded. "But this better be good."

Mister D's eyes flickered with something. Amusement? Curiosity? It was impossible to tell. "I'm sure you'll be very pleased," he said, his tone dripping with confidence.

Without a word and without missing a beat, Luka and Devin began stripping. Jackets, shirts, and belts hit the sterile floor with mechanical efficiency. Their actions were so fluid that it was clear that this wasn't their first rodeo.

Mister D tilted his head, his expression unchanging. "What exactly do you think you are doing?" he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Luka froze mid-motion, his hands on the waistband of his jeans. He glanced at Devin, who stood shirtless and holding his pants in one hand. Both paused like children caught sneaking cookies before dinner. Luka straightened slightly, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

"Just getting ready for the job," Luka said, the words rolling off his tongue with a practiced nonchalance that failed to mask the underlying tension in the room. His voice dripped with sarcasm as if he were reciting lines from a script he'd long grown tired of. "Usually, things move quicker once the clothes come off." His hands, steady despite his feigned indifference, continued to fold his discarded clothes into neat piles on the table.

Mister D's expression flickered momentarily, his impassive facade disrupted by a brief spark of amusement. It wasn't quite a smile that graced his lips. It was more like the ghost of one, a fleeting indication of some inner mirth. His gaze swept over the scattered clothes with an appraising eye, taking in every detail before finally meeting Luka's golden-brown eyes, which sparkled with a defiance that belied his casual demeanor.

"Put your clothes back on," Mister D ordered quietly, his voice steady and authoritative despite its softness.

Caught off guard, Luka and Devin exchanged glances, their confusion mirrored in each other's eyes. But Luka shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling with an air of indifference. "Suit yourself," he muttered, his voice echoing in the silence that followed.

They dressed quickly then, their movements lacking the fluidity they'd exhibited earlier. Their actions were more mechanical now, rigid and hurried under Mister D's scrutinizing gaze. He waited patiently for them to finish, adjusting the cufflinks on his crisp white shirt with the precision of a man used to waiting. A man unbothered by chaos and comfortable in control. Once they were clothed, he gestured towards two plush armchairs across from him.

"Sit," he commanded, his tone devoid of any request. He lowered himself deliberately into his chair, a silent testament to his authority.

Luka hesitated, his sharp eyes never leaving Mister D as he carefully navigated the space between them. He observed Mister D's every move, studying him before finally taking a seat. Devin followed suit, practically sinking into the plush armchair, the soft fabric swallowing him whole.

The silence that followed stretched. Mister D finally broke it, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting lightly on his knees.

"I am not your client," he began, his tone smooth and measured. Each word was carefully chosen and delivered with the precision of a master storyteller.

Luka leaned back in his chair, a single brow arching in silent question. "So this is some kind of screening?" His voice carried an edge of suspicion, refusing to accept anything at face value.

Mister D's lips curled faintly into his first genuine smile of the night. "Smart boy," he praised, a trace of admiration creeping into his voice. His eyes sparkled with a newfound interest as he studied Luka.

Devin shifted in his seat, his emerald-green eyes darting between Luka and Mister D like a frantic ping-pong match. "So, who's the client?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying his uncertainty.

Mister D's expression returned to its customary neutrality as he studied them with an unreadable gaze. "Have you ever heard of a man named Giancarlo Mezenga?"

Luka frowned at the unfamiliar name, shaking his head in confusion. Devin mirrored his response, their shared ignorance hanging in the air like a tangible entity.

Mister D leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together in a gesture that suggested patience and control. "Mr. Mezenga is a...businessman," he explained, his tone taking on a hint of reverence. "A private man, known only to those who need to know. Occasionally, he requires specific…services."

Luka's eyes narrowed at the ambiguous explanation. "And what kind of 'specific services' are we discussing here?" His voice was sharp, challenging Mister D to reveal more.

Mister D met his gaze without flinching, his eyes never wavering from Luka's intense scrutiny. "That," he said smoothly, "will be explained in time."

Luka tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes gleaming with suspicion. "You've got a lot of mystery going on for someone trying to sell us on a job. Feels like we're walking blind here."

"You wouldn't be wrong," Mister D admitted, his tone infuriatingly even. "But I can assure you, this is worth your time. Financially, it will be more than rewarding."

At those words, Devin's face brightened slightly, the prospect of money temporarily overshadowing his earlier unease. "How rewarding?" He asked eagerly.

Mister D's lips curved again in response, but he didn't answer directly. Instead, he turned his focus back to Luka. "You're cautious. I respect that. But if you're as sharp as you seem, you'll realize opportunities like this don't come often."

Luka didn't respond immediately, his mind racing as he tried deciphering the true meaning behind Mister D's polished words. Finally, he leaned forward in his chair, mirroring Mister D's earlier pose with his elbows resting on his knees.

"And if we say no?" Luka asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mister D remained calm, his chestnut eyes steady and unwavering. "Then you walk away. No harm, no foul. But..." he added, his tone hardening slightly, "you won't get another chance."

The statement's weight hung in the air, its implications sinking in slowly. Devin glanced at Luka, practically bouncing in his seat, his excitement barely contained. Luka saw the unspoken trust there, the bond they'd shared since they were kids. Devin could be impulsive, sure. But Luka knew he trusted him to make the right call. Luka sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of resignation.

"Fine," he said again, his voice reluctant but firm.

Mister D's expression shifted subtly, his faint smile taking on a predatory edge. "Good. Then let's proceed," he said, his tone laced with triumph. Slowly, he rose from his chair and picked up a sleek, black remote from the table. With the press of a button, the shutters along the large window groaned and began to slide upwards.

Luka and Devin watched in stunned silence as the window revealed what lay beyond.

A sprawling landing strip stretched before them. Dozens of private jets were stationed across the tarmac, their polished exteriors gleaming like oversized jewels under the artificial lights. Some were modest, while others were nearly the size of small airliners, their sleek designs exuding a sense of wealth and power that was impossible to ignore.

Mister D turned to them then, studying their expressions with amusement. "I trust you're beginning to understand that Mr. Mezenga is not your typical client."

Devin was the first to recover, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are we, hum...going on one of those?" he asked.

"Yes," Mister D replied calmly.

"We never even left the state," the blonde whispered, causing Luka to glance at him, a fleeting endearment taking hold.

Mister D raised an eyebrow at that, clearly unsurprised by their admission. "Well," he said smoothly, "there's a first time for everything." He gestured towards the door, indicating that it was time to leave. "Shall we?"

Luka and Devin followed Mister D through the hangar and onto the tarmac, the cold air biting at their faces. Luka shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes darting across the towering jets with suspicion and awe. Their lives had just taken an unexpected turn, but whether it was for better or worse remained to be seen.

After three minutes of walking, Luka felt himself halt in his tracks, a sharp intake of breath ripping through his chest. The sight before them was nothing less than awe-inspiring: a gargantuan jet, its form sleek and aerodynamic, adorned in a coat of unblemished white. Gold accents traced the edges of its wings and tail, catching the light and throwing it back with an otherworldly brilliance. Its engines, resting in quiet and ominous silence, loomed large with an air of intimidation that was impossible to ignore. The stairs led up to the concealed cabin, their polished surface glinting under the piercing light, reminiscent of a scene straight out of a blockbuster movie. The plane's tinted windows provided no glimpse into the world contained within. The nose dipped downwards in a streamlined slope, an embodiment of speed and elegance. Emblazoned on its side was the Mezenga insignia, a tastefully minimalist golden "M."

"Holy shit," Devin murmured under his breath, craning his neck.

Luka stood frozen as his keen eyes roamed over every aircraft detail. It wasn't merely the sleek jet that troubled him but the stark contrast between this unfamiliar world and the one he and Devin called home. A wave of alienation washed over him, making him feel like an unwelcome intruder amid high-tech marvels. Mister D was already halfway up the gleaming stairs, a figure of confidence and purpose. Meanwhile, Devin buzzed with excitement, darting after him without hesitation, unable to contain his excitement.

Luka, on the other hand, found himself hesitating.

That is, until Mister D's voice boomed from the apex of the stairs, his body pivoting to fix his penetrating gaze on Luka. "So...are you ready to meet your client?"

(To be continued...)