“There’s this club ten minutes from here. Good DJ, good crowd. We’re already dressed, already out?—”
“I don’t dance.”
“I kinda feel like you could.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay, then you can watchmedance.” Hudson winked.
Shaw snorted. Then surrendered.
“One drink,” he said. “And when I say we’re leaving, we’re leaving.”
“Deal.”
Shaw pushed back his chair. Hudson grabbed his jacket and said nothing, because some victories you just had to let breathe.
The bass moved through the floor and up Hudson’s feet. He swayed his hips to the music, arms up, head back. A bottle of wine and Hudson had no issues giving it his all on a dance floor.
Apparently, Shaw didn’t feel the same way. He had planted himself with his back against the exposed brick wall, drink in hand, eyes fixated on Hudson.
The crowd around him huddled close but wasn’t suffocating. The DJ was good enough that Hudson didn’t have to work hard. He danced with a woman in a red dress for half a song until she drifted off, then with a guy in a button-down floral shirt.
Shaw’s eyes never left him.
Then hands landed on his hips from behind. Hudson didn’t pull away. He kept moving to the beat of the music, never breaking eye contact with Shaw.
Shaw had put his drink down. His fists clenched at his side, jaw working. He ran a hand through his hair.
The stranger’s hands stayed on Hudson’s hips the entire song and Hudson let them.
It was like pulling a pin and waiting.
When the song shifted into something slower, heavier, Shaw pushed off the wall and strode toward him.
It was measured, deliberate, the crowd parting without him seeming to notice it. He stopped in front of Hudson,looked once at the stranger behind him, and the hands disappeared.
Shaw’s palms slid up Hudson’s arms until they came to a rest on his shoulders. He turned him, so Hudson’s back was against his front. His hands settled on Hudson’s hips—the right hands this time—and Hudson exhaled.
Shaw could dance. Of course he could. His body found the rhythm instantly and Hudson followed. He felt Shaw against his back, all of him. He was hard, and Hudson’s body responded by pushing into him.
They stayed like that through one song and into the next, the crowd moving at the edges of Hudson’s awareness. Shaw’s breath warm against his neck.
Then, quiet enough that Hudson almost missed it under the music, “Hudson.”
He stilled.
Shaw’s lips brushed his ear. “You are so fucking hot.”
Hudson’s eyes closed.
“I want you,” he continued.
His mouth was on Shaw’s before he’d fully turned around. It wasn’t subtle. Far from it, actually.
Shaw’s hands were on his face, in his hair, cupping his ass.
Neither of them seemed to care about the crowd.
