Page 38 of Survival Game

Kyle blushed scarlet. “Luce, for God’s sake. I can look after myself. I don’t need you being all mother hen on my arse. We’ve had this discussion before.”

Eric drew him closer, putting a possessive arm around his waist. Kyle sank into the cuddle as his boyfriend’s hand drifted down to stroke his arse.

“I can assure you, I have exceptionally good intentions toward Kyle, and he’s special to me.”

Kyle fluttered his eyelashes. “Aw gee. You gonna be my papa bear?”

Eric mock-growled, “If you like that sort of thing, boy, I’m not objecting. I have a leather harness with your name all over it.”

They stared at each and then burst into laughter. Lucinda tossed her hair back but Kyle saw the pleased look on her face.

“Well, all righty then. Come on, Lanie. Let’s get those mojitos we promised ourselves. Let these boys have their dirty fun ‘helping each other backstage.’”

She pointed a finger at Eric. “But if anything happens to my friend, you’ll have me to deal with as well.”

She took Lanie’s hand and dragged her through the milling crowd.

“She’s a little scary,” Eric confessed as they watched them go. “And I wouldn’t want to face her in a dark alley.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said fondly. “She’s great. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me all about it,” Eric murmured.

Kyle ignored that remark, took Eric’s hand and drew him through the crowds toward the stage.

“So, is ‘helping him backstage’ a euphemism?” Eric asked.

“A euphemism for what?” Kyle was distracted by the sight of one of the patrons stripping off to reveal a nice six-pack.

“For us having raunchy sex.” Eric flashed him a wicked grin.

Kyle wished it was. “Sorry to disappoint you, baby. It’s an actual thing. Speaking to the raving drama queens in the back and making sure when the fashion show starts in”—he looked at his watch—“ten minutes, everyone is ready to go.”

Good thing they’d checked. The queens were rebellious, disorganised and ornery. Kyle had to go on stage with a harried apology to the patrons that the show was running late. Finally, everything and everyone was sorted, and he and Eric were able to sit toward the back of the house, both with stiff drinks in their hands, while they watched as Delilah Delish swanned onto the stage.

Kyle’s part was over. Now it was up to the performers and models on stage. He took a deep swig of his drink, leant back and closed his eyes in relief.

Eric nudged him. “She looks pretty good, doesn’t she? I wish I could wear a white fringe dress and a black feather boa like she can.”

Kyle stared at him. “Is that a secret fantasy of yours then? Dressing in drag?” He rather appreciated the idea. He could see that russet hair against a background of pale green headwear and Eric’s long, muscled body squeezed into a—hmm, perhaps a dress like the one Alexander McQueen designed. Shades of deep red, bronze and white with a black feather trail.

Oh, yeah. Kyle’s dick really liked that idea.

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Would it get you hot? Because I’ll do anything that makes you want me.”

Kyle leaned forward and ran a finger over Eric’s lips. “You don’t have to do anything to turn me on. You just do.” He noted with satisfaction the darkening of Eric’s green eyes and the unconscious lick of his lips. Who’s the man? You can still do it to him with just a few words.

“Could my front of house manager please stop making out with his delicious man in plain sight and pay attention to what I’m saying?” The words from on stage echoed in the room. Startled, both looked up to see Delilah glaring at them from heavily made-up eyes. “There’s time to suck his dick later.”

Kyle snorted with laughter and Eric waved at Delilah who blew him a kiss.

“So, my darlings, you all know I’ve been a bit in the wars lately.”

The room erupted in cheers and cries of “Welcome Back, D. We love you!”

Delilah acknowledged them with an incline of her perfectly coiffed wig. Only someone who knew her well would notice she was quite overcome with the support in the room. She cleared her throat, a sound that resounded into the microphone wired on her front.

“Of course, someone in this room”—she cast a withering stare at Mango who sat at the front of the stage—“was an overprotective papa bear and went all dom on my arse, not letting me do as much at the club as I’d have liked.”