Chapter 01 : The Art of Efficiency - 效率之道
It was a particularly chilly night.
City lights glimmered in the distance as the streets buzzed with life, bustling and loud as if night had forgotten its role. The cold breeze hit his face, sharp and grounding, reminding him that he was alive—part of this sleepless crowd too. Not by choice. Never by choice.
But he had a job to do.
It wasn’t a job he liked to mention or talk about, but money was money, and time was money. Cole wouldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t nervous. Not because it was his first time—that had been four years ago—but because this time was different. Very different.
This time, his client had… interesting taste.
Not that Cole didn’t know how this worked. He did. He knew exactly how it worked. It was just new to him—to do this with a man. The order was an hour of power play and other related themes. He never thought he was popular with men, either. He was bisexual, sure, but his clients were usually women—older, freaky, strange. Men were rare, and he’d never accepted one before. Not that the offers never came. He just usually wasn’t their type.
This was going to be a long night.
He moved easily through the dimly lit lobby and down the stairs, familiar with the route. The VIP room, of course. His client had offered ten thousand dollars. That alone explained why Cole had “reluctantly” agreed.
He knocked softly on the white door marked with a large red VIP sign—pure courtesy. Then he pushed it open anyway.
One of Cole’s rules was simple: don’t look at the clients. Lowered eyes didn’t see shame. Eye contact was too intimate. Ironic, considering everything else.
The universe, unfortunately, didn’t care about his rules.
The moment he stepped inside, he nearly collided with—
Wow.
His brain short-circuited, caught somewhere between confusion and genuine fear. This was not the time for that. He forced himself back into focus, standing there dumbly for the first time in four years.
The man in front of him—almost a lifetime shorter, if Cole exaggerated—was holding his gaze without effort. Sharp, curious dark eyes. A smirk.
“Hello! Nice to meet you,” the man said, British accent clear and unmistakable.
Casual. Like this was a coffee meetup.
Cole blinked. Was he being trolled?
“Hi,” he replied anyway, short and natural, lowering his gaze immediately.
He locked the door with a quiet click and began removing his jacket and belt in smooth, practiced movements. For a moment, the only sound was breathing.
“Why so eager?” the man teased. “Shouldn’t we flirt first?”
Cole paused—and made another mistake.
He looked up.
The man was sitting on the edge of the bed, white satin sheets stark against his all-black outfit. Cole’s observant habits kicked in automatically. Middle mullet. Expensive clothes. Black hair. Structured features, high nose. Asian, if he had to guess—despite the accent. And something else: his legs were moving, restless.
“Staring at me like I’m an exotic dish,” the man said lightly. “Do I look that good?”
The British lilt softened. His voice wavered.
“You want BDSM for your first time?” Cole asked calmly, cutting straight through it.
“Well, I showed up for it,” the man replied, tilting his head. He mimicked Cole’s jacket-removal motion with a smile. “I just didn’t expect you to be so eager to… you know.”
His legs stopped moving. His hands started trembling instead.
Cole didn’t comment. He stepped forward, placed a knee between the man’s hips, and traced his chest through the sheer fabric. His hand settled at the man’s neck—not tight, but commanding. The man’s heart was racing. Cole could feel it.
He ignored the shudder. Drew closer. Broke his own rule and met his eyes.
This was the last chance to back out.
The man didn’t.
His eyes smiled—daring, soft, seductive all at once.
“Then I’ll be in your care,” he murmured, grabbing Cole by the hair and pulling him into a kiss.
Cole froze for half a second—surprised, blindsided—then snapped back into professional focus. He reclaimed control, deepening the kiss and pressing the man back onto the mattress.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Cole warned, voice low and steady. “This isn’t beginner play. I won’t hold back.”
The man smiled, flushed against porcelain skin, and cupped Cole’s cheek.
Cole cleared his throat.
“Also—safe word,” he said, like it had almost slipped his mind. “If anything’s uncomfortable, you say bike. We stop.”
“Bike?” the man echoed.
“Yeah. No one says that accidentally.”
A single nod.
“You talk a lot for someone so quick to get to business,” the man said, desire open and unashamed. “Now can we stop talking?”
That was all the confirmation Cole needed.
The room was already prepared. Cole never left a client unsatisfied.
The rest of the night blurred into heat, movement, and things better left unspoken.
..
Cole picked up his clothes from the floor, getting into them just as quickly as he had tossed them, shame slowly creeping in. That embarrassment lasted for more than an hour, an hour and a half. He never took more than the agreed-upon time. He felt eyes on him but ignored them for now, busying himself with looking like he had never touched a human in his life.
“You really value efficiency. I transferred your money, by the way,” the pretty man commented, playful and lazy, his voice hoarse for a different reason now as he lay leisurely on the bed. Cole was kind of used to his accent.
“I just don’t like wasting time,” Cole answered, despite telling himself to ignore the guy.
“I feel sore all over. I envy you for recovering so fast,” the man said again. Cole heard the sound of the bed shift when weight was lifted, and didn’t look back.
“Skill issue,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and immediately wondered what the hell was wrong with him today.
“Rude. I didn’t get your name, by the way. also you have nice tattoos.” Cole heard him say in the same lazy, teasing tone, along with a muttered string of words in a language he didn’t recognize.
Cole paused and sighed, that annoying question again. Why did people never take a hint?
“I don’t do names. Sorry,” he replied firmly, monotone, the same answer he gave all the time. Without looking back or saying another word, he tightened his belt and, with the speed of a man on fire, opened the door, walked through, and closed it behind him, leaving the night of shame, bliss, and desire behind.
The pretty man watched him go, noticed how his ears had reddened despite his icy demeanor, shrugged, and chuckled to himself as he snapped a picture of his hickeys, sending it to a friend. He had just lost his virginity, American edition.
…
Cole silently walked toward his bike, heart and mind heavy with shame and embarrassment, and his body sore as well. The guy he’d just laid had the sharpest fucking teeth and nails he’d ever felt. It was hard to pretend it didn’t hurt, and that only made everything worse. Inside, he was drowning in shame and guilt; outside, he was marked by it. No matter how numb he had gotten, these “business meetings” would always trigger the worst feelings in his heart.
He rested his head against the cold handles of his bike, taking a moment to breathe. Then he put on his helmet, fastened it, and started the engine. The bike roared angrily as he sped through the still-busy road, as if it were saving him from this place, from all this filth.
The cold breeze hit his face again, familiar and full of countless scents: food from street vendors, perfumes, and flowers from a nearby park. It calmed his troubled heart. The speed, the roar of the engine, silenced his chaotic thoughts and wiped away the memories of the night. He felt lighter now, ready to return to his apartment.
When he got back, the apartment was silent. The lights were off, and there was no trace of life except for the faint glow in the kitchen. Tristan was probably at some party or with his girlfriend, and Jack… Well, he rarely saw Jack. This worked to Cole’s advantage, since the apartment wasn’t that large to begin with, three rooms, an open kitchen, a living room, and a shared bathroom. It was what they all found affordable.
Since the bathroom was empty, he took a long shower, scrubbing every inch as if he were changing skin, trying to erase all traces of the night. His tattoos were the only witnesses to his shame. He listened to his comfort playlist, deliberately ignoring his mind replaying the events of the night, something that rarely happened, and ignoring the heat he still felt. Slowly, he drifted toward the peace of sleep. He will wake up tomorrow, and none of this would matter anymore.
