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Julian adjusted his sheer organza trench coat. Below his waist, he wore nothing but chrome-plated greaves that clicked against the submerged steel walkway. This was the "Friction" exhibit—a high-concept intersection of queer subculture and mechanical grime. "Don't fall in," a voice rasped.

"Steady," Silas whispered, his silver-dusted fingers leaving a smudge on Julian’s sheer sleeve. "You’re part of the collection now." nude oil floor gay massage

Julian took a breath and stepped off the ledge. The oil was warm, viscous against his boots. He slipped instantly, but Silas caught him by the waist. For a moment, they were a silhouette of sharp angles and soft fabric reflected in the infinite black floor. Julian adjusted his sheer organza trench coat