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The club was noisy and festive. It didn't have the glitzy polish of a New York City club, but the men there were in high spirits, intending to dance, drink, have a good time and find some action. Julie led the way through the crowd, hauling Ellen by the hand.
Anticipating the open-mouthed stares that usually attended Marcus' entrance into such a place, Thomas nevertheless didn't realize he'd tensed up until he felt a hand settle around his waist, a firm palm over the curve of one buttock. Marcus' other hand latched into Thomas' shirtfront to haul him in for a firm, open-mouthed kiss that was hot, possessive. His fingers caressed Thomas' nipple, his thigh pressing firmly against his groin.
"Mine," he murmured in his ear. "Got it?"
As he started to ease back, giving Thomas an even look, the fist of tension was replaced by something just as fierce, but a lot more welcome. Before he could think too much about it, Thomas clamped his hands on Marcus' hips and brought him back against his body to return the favor, plundering Marcus' lips, lashing him with his tongue.
"Same goes," he muttered against Marcus'
mouth, even as he slid his hand between them, boldly cupping his lover's stiffening erection in the discreet press of their thighs, covered by the crush of people around them and the darkness of the club, the flashing lights.
When he drew back, Marcus' eyes were blazing green. "Christ," Marcus swore softly as Thomas' fingers slid away. "You're going to pay for that. "
"I hope so, Master. " Thomas gave him a quick grin, slipping away as Julie bounced back between them. She seized Marcus' hand as the DJ ripped open a fast tune.
"My God, a trip back to the eighties. Paula Abdul. I was so afraid it would be that hip-hop mess. "
"You can hip-hop. I've seen you. " Marcus forced himself to tear his eyes away from Thomas' broad shoulders flanking Ellen as he guided her toward the dance floor.
"Yeah, but I've never been able to do it with a straight face. " Julie shouted in his ear to be heard as they got closer to the speakers blasting the music. "Not since I realized hip-hop in fast forward can look like someone who needs to go to the bathroom hopping up and down, grabbing their crotch. "
Laughing, Marcus grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto the floor. "We'll see if we can't get him to do some Ricky Martin after this. Something sultry. "
"Oh God. " She rolled her eyes. "If you go all Antonio Banderas on me, I will wet my panties. "
Thomas found Ellen a good dancer. The trick was getting her to relax, so he kept it easy, stayed attentive, worked through a few steps with her. It was hard not to get distracted watching Marcus laugh, twirl Julie out and back into him again. He held her up against his body in a couple Dirty Dancing moves to tease and flirt, but of course Thomas didn't do the same to Ellen. Not only was she too uptight for that yet, his body's reaction to watching Marcus would make it downright embarrassing.
That kiss was still making his lips tingle. Paula Abdul was denying that it was her man's wealth or looks that got her going, that it was just something indefinable about the way he loved her. Though he'd never be such a geek as to own up to the idea that an eighties dance song was speaking straight to his soul, it didn't change the fact that Thomas felt as if she was delivering the gospel down from the mountain, packaged in a sultry rocking beat.
Marcus was beautiful, he was rich. Hell, he was the prince of anyone's fairy tale. But it was deeper than that. Julie had caught it as well. Good at burying the things he doesn't want you to see. . .
Somewhere behind the impossible green of Marcus' eyes, the truth lay. It was closer to the surface in these three days than it had been during their almost two years together. Possessiveness. Violence. Flashes of sorrow and an almost desperate hunger.
I love you.
Did he? Was that what Thomas' own burning ache was, like his soul was being scalded every time he thought of being without Marcus? He'd stopped painting at home, like an addict going cold turkey, because it was that feeling that made him paint himself into a near fatal frenzy. As if by losing himself in his art, Thomas could be pulled into the canvas and become it, never again to emerge into the desolation of a life that couldn't include Marcus.
Emerging into that reality after an intense art session was as stark and cold as being born, leaving his soul naked, shivering, defenseless. So sensitive to light and sound, his mother's innocuous call to come to dinner made him want to pummel something organic with his fists until it was a mass of blood and bone.
Julie called out to Ellen, got her to laugh at their antics. Thomas pulled her up close and spoke into her ear so she could hear him over the noise. "Let's show them how it's done. All you have to do is trust me. " He winked at her, making her flush, and spun her into a fast turn, a modified ballroom step that he turned into a dip and then pulled her up before she could get worried and stiffen up.
Dancing was the first thing he'd ever done that shocked the hell out of Marcus, who assumed that no Southern boy with his background would dare to be a good dancer.
But his mother and sister loved to dance, and his father wouldn't. His mother had taught him all her favorites before he was ten, and he and Rory would take turns impressing her with moves they incorporated into it, acrobatic feats, using Celeste as their test victim.
Rory gave it up when he joined sports and the other boys called him a fag, the ones Thomas pointed out sat on the sidelines at school dances while he and Rory got to turn, twist and gyrate with any girl they wanted to ask.
Back then, he'd covered any doubts about his behavior with comments like that.
His intimidating physique that could lay out anyone who got into his face about it didn't hurt, either. However, the basic plain fact was he loved to dance. Dancing with or near Marcus. . . it didn't get better than that. Marcus' grace at dancing was unpracticed, powerful and unselfconscious.
But Thomas had a few moves of his own. He gave Marcus a challenging wink now and went straight into a full pull-through, making Ellen shriek as he took them into the bebop era to the cranked up Stray Cats tune. Bless the eighties for its unapologetic ebullience, tinged with the naivety of a teenage virgin trying to appear worldly. By the nineties all that was over, of course.
"Want to try something even better?" he shouted at Ellen. She nodded, smiling, flushed with the exertion. He realized now she was a very pretty forty-something. She had a few appealing lines, more gray in her long brunette hair than he would have expected. But she had lively green eyes that, when sparkling with nervous laughter, made the shadows and sadness markedly evident in her face less so.
He transitioned into a two-step with the switch to a song from the Urban Cowboy soundtrack, catching his hand gently on the back of her neck as he turned them, holding her hand at his waist and adding some fancy heel-toeing that had Julie hooting and other dancers calling out encouragement.
"Oh, it's on now," Marcus called back. When the next song started, a sultry Latin number, he launched into the tango.
