by D. J. Manly
David had come out of the crowd to stand at the edge of the dance floor. His eyes were wide. He looked like he was in shock. Vincent moved over to him, dancing in a way which left nothing to the imagination in terms of the movements his hips were doing. The crowd stood on its feet; people whistled, hooted, and hollered. Vincent winked at David, and stood aside.
Two men wearing tuxedos and pulling a wheelbarrow loaded with red roses and chocolate came into view. They bowed to David and left the wheelbarrow in front of him. One of the men handed Vincent a small box and a microphone.
The music died.
David blinked, looked at the roses, and then at Vincent.
Vincent’s hand shook. It took him a moment to speak. “David,” he said. “Today is Valentine’s Day, and although I’ve never been much of a romantic, I’ve discovered that all I needed was the right inspiration. I love you.” He opened the box. “Tomorrow, when Sam Green and Tee Armstrong say their vows, will you say yours with me?” He passed him the open box with the gold band.
David stared at the box.
There wasn’t a sound in the hall.
“You’re not on your knees,” David said, his voice trembling, eyes brimming with tears.
Vincent began to kneel, but David reached over and pulled him up straight and into his arms. “Oh baby,” he whispered against his ear, “you don’t have to be on your knees. You’ve just made me the happiest man alive.”
Some whispers went through the crowd.
“What did you say?” someone demanded. Everyone laughed.
David squeezed Vincent tight then released him, giving him a tap on the ass. “I said yes,” he shouted out. “Wouldn’t you? Look at him.”
There was applause.
David embraced him again and kissed him passionately. There was more applause.
“Now, there’s one other thing you can do for me, sexy,” David murmured in his ear.
“Something else?” Vincent cocked an eyebrow. “Good Lord.”
David laughed. “You can put some clothes on before these men in here eat you alive.”
“On one condition?”
David grinned. “What’s that?”
“Come with me?” he invited. “This stuff has made me so damn horny. I want to ravish you.”
“Yum, I get to have the stripper?”
“You bet,” Vincent growled in his ear.
They started to make their way through the crowd, stopped by well-wishers along the way. Green and Armstrong, the happy couple, were more than impressed with Vincent’s performance. “Can I rent you out for parties?” Tee teased.
“Forget it,” David said, pulling him closer. “He’s not for rent.”
Vincent laughed. “My stripping days are over, it seems.”
“I didn’t say that,” David countered.
Samuel Green passed Vincent a key. “Use the room down the hall, number six. You’ll have privacy there. It’s empty.”
Vincent thanked him. They walked quietly arm in arm back to the room, David twirling one of the roses in his hand. Once inside, David ran his gaze over him, and shook his head.
“What?” Vincent asked.
“You must really be in love.” David giggled. “This is not your style at all.”
“I am, I am in love, madly, and completely,” Vincent said, grabbing him and tickling him, kissing his neck.
“Okay.” David pushed him away roughly and walked over to the bed. “Now I want the real show.”
“Oh, come on,” Vincent said, laughing.
David fell on the bed, balancing on his elbow. “I started seeing some really interesting moves out there. Who taught you those?”
“I’ll never tell.” He grinned.
“So, take off that heart thing that’s driving me senseless, and do it slowly. Finish the show, stud.”
“If I’d known how demanding you were”—Vincent shook his head, laughing—“I would have thought twice before proposing.”
“Oh, I plan to get a hell of a lot more demanding. Wait.”
“I don’t have any music.”
“I can hear the music from down the hall.”
“Aw.” He nodded. “Okay, whatever you want.” He started to move, the muscles in his biceps flexing, his hips swaying, backside clenching. He exaggerated, hamming it up some.
David was laughing, and only sobered when Vincent removed the Valentine loincloth thing and threw it on the bed. David picked it up and took it between his teeth. “Oh baby,” he grunted, “come to Daddy.”
Vincent laughed as he crawled seductively onto the bed.
David pulled him down into his arms. He kissed him hard. “Did you mean it? Do you really want to be with me forever, say our vows tomorrow with Samuel and Tee?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I really mean it. I thought for sure you’d believe me after tonight.”
“Oh, I do baby. I believe you. And I want to. I want to be with you forever.”
Vincent settled down into his arms, undoing his shirt. “Good, so get out of those clothes.”
“I’ve missed you so much,” David moaned, crushing his mouth against his again. “The last time we were together, the memories tortured me every night, kept me awake, kept me hard.”
Vincent nodded, taking off David’s shirt. “Me too,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was a little gun-shy after Doug. You coming along when you did, well, it was damn inconvenient.”
David laughed. “That’s one way to put it. You know,” he said, turning serious, “Doug wants you back.”
“Well, he can’t have me.” Vincent grinned and kissed a trail down David’s chest as he fumbled with his pants. “And Andrew can’t have you either.”
“He sent me flowers. I threw them out.”
“I know.” He looked up, grinning, then yanked David’s pants down.
“What do you mean, you know?”
“I know everything.” He licked his shaft.
David placed a hand in his hair. “Oh yeah?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Like what, for instance?”
“Like ah, right now, your cock is really hard.”
David swatted him. “Like it takes a mind reader for that.”
“How about”—Vincent swirled his tongue around David’s cock—“right now, you’re thinking that you’d like to get me in the shower, and wash all this gunk off my body. And that maybe, just maybe, I could be persuaded to fuck you in there.”
David pretended to consider that. “Ah … yeah, that’s it. You are so good.” He pushed Vincent aside and jumped off the bed. “When your stripping days are over, we can rent you out as a psychic.”
David chuckled as he followed Vincent into the bathroom. He lingered at the door, watching him as he turned on the shower. “What are you doing way over there?” David asked him suddenly.
“It just struck me, you know, I really did dance in that silky heart thing.”
David gave him a sympathetic look as he came over and wound his arms around his neck. “Oh, I know, honey.” He kissed his lips gently. “And you’re just going to have to live with that.”
Vincent laughed softly. “I wouldn’t have done that for anyone but you.”
“I know. That’s why I’ll never doubt that you love me. Now, get in that shower and show me how much.”
Vincent dipped down and scooped David up in his arms.
David struggled. “Hey,” he yelped as Vincent carried him over to the shower, “what are you doing?”
“I’m carrying you over the threshold.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Yeah, I know,” Vincent growled. “I’m crazy about you, baby.”
The End
The Boss
Mac took a sudden step back. “Whoa. That’s not who I think it is, is it?”
Steven peered through the window at the man who was standing in the boardroom: tall, dark wavy hair, incredible blue eyes. He swallowed hard, scarcely daring to breathe. No, no, fate couldn’t be that cru
el, could it?
“What if he recognizes me?” Mac blurted, clutching Steven’s arm. He pulled him aside, out of view of the window.
Steven tried to gather enough saliva in his mouth to articulate words. “Recognize you? Are you insane? You’re not the one who…”
“You’re right.” Mac relaxed and released his arm. “He probably won’t even remember that I was there. You’re the one who made an idiot out of yourself and pranced around naked in front of him. You’re in deep shit.”
“Gee thanks,” Steven sneered. “How could you have let me do that?” He shook his head in desperation then lowered it as several of his coworkers walked by on their way to the boardroom. “There has to be some mistake,” Steven groaned. “He can’t be the same guy.”
“Maybe he’s not the new boss. Maybe he’s just the … I don’t know … janitor?”
“Janitor? Right. He’s the janitor, Mac, dressed in an Armani suit.”
“Maybe he’s union.”
Steven fell back against the wall, face in his hands, in no mood to appreciate his friend’s attempt at humor.
“Steve, we gotta get in there. The meeting has already started. We’re late.”
“Why did I allow you to talk me into doing that?”
“Don’t blame this on me.” Mac pointed at him. “It was your birthday and you drank way too much. I didn’t tell you to—”
“Oh shit … shit,” Steven muttered, clutching his stomach. “I … I can’t … I have to…” He made a dash for the bathroom, and locked himself into one of the stalls.
He leaned against the bathroom door and searched his pockets for some aspirin, trying to keep down the bile. He was going lose his job. He just knew it.
He closed his eyes, his mind rewinding to last night. Yesterday had been his twenty-fifth birthday. Mac had called him at three that afternoon, insisting they go out to celebrate. He’d been relaxing in front of the television watching the ball game.
“No thanks,” Steven had told him. “I don’t want to feel like crap tomorrow. You know we’re meeting the new boss for the first time. First impressions are important.”
“One drink,” Mac coaxed. “Come on, how often do you get to be twenty-five? Your life is slipping away, Steve. You’re not even going to get laid on your birthday.”
Mac was the only other gay man at the advertising agency, at least that he knew about. From day one, they’d become good friends.
“How do you know I won’t get laid? I might,” Steven had replied indignantly.
“Get real. You and Frank have been over for almost six months, and there hasn’t been anyone else since. Come on, let’s go to Sights. I hear they have a new dancer and he’s really hot. It’s two for one on Sunday.”
Sights was a gay strip bar in the Village with the atmosphere of a pub. You could go for a drink and a game of pool, or just sit and watch the dancers. He and Mac had been going there off and on for almost two years. There’s where he’d met Frank. What a mistake that had been.
“Okay, but just one drink. I have to go to my mother’s for dinner first. Come for cake if you want and then we’ll head on over.”
The club was hopping even for a Sunday, and once Steven got there, he was glad he’d decided to take Mac up on his invitation. After all, it was his birthday. They took a table down in front by the stage where they could watch the show, and Mac began ordering drinks.
“Happy birthday, friend,” Mac said as Steven picked up the glass in front of him and stared at it.
“What is it?” He took a sip, making a face.
“Zombie.”
“It tastes like fruit punch.”
Steven couldn’t remember how many of those drinks he put down. All he knew was, they went down so easy. He had no idea what a punch they would pack. By the time he’d finished the fourth one, he was wasted. He watched the dancers waltz on and off the stage, as if in a dream. He screamed, yelled and whistled, feeling higher than a kite.
Suddenly Mac turned into a philosopher. “Ever worry,” he asked, “that you’re going to be an old, lonely old queer, and you won’t have ever done anything wild and crazy?”
Steven settled back in his chair and sighed. “Sometimes,” he said, looking around.
“What crazy, insane thing would you do right now, if you could?”
Steven’s gaze was suddenly riveted to a man sitting at the bar, a glass cradled in his hand. He was facing the stage, casually watching the dancer gyrate to some rock tune. Steven’s head spun and even though he couldn’t see him clearly, he knew he was beautiful, poised there on the bar stool in his black jeans, his thighs slightly open. Steve concentrated for a second on the light blue shirt he wore, rolled up at the sleeves, revealing his strong, tanned forearms. When the man turned in his direction, Steven caught his breath. He wasn’t a man at all. He was a god. His dark hair fell over his forehead in a slight wave, and he bet that his eyes were blue, bluer than any eyes he’d ever seen before, and in Steven’s drunken state, they seemed to glow. “Funny,” he’d said aloud, “even from over here, I can tell his eyes are blue. They’re sensational. He’s sensational.”
“Whose eyes are blue?” Mac leaned closer to him.
“That man at the bar, tall, broad shoulders, sensational body. Yum, I could eat him.”
“Oh yeah.” Mac nodded. “I see him. A hunk. Go get him. He can be your birthday present. Take him home and screw the shit out of him.”
“No way,” Steven said, laughing. “I’m not that drunk.”
“Yes, you are.” Mac laughed. “Tell me, if you could lose all your inhibitions suddenly, what would you do to Mr. Scrumptious over there?”
He’d stared at that guy dreamily, muttering something like, “You’d be shocked.”
“Shock me. Tell me, exactly what you would like to do with him?”
“I … ah…” He gave Mac a bold look then glanced over at the stage. “I’d get up there on that stage and I’d strip just for him, drive him crazy, make him so hard, he’d be begging for me.”
Mac had howled with laughter.
Steven groaned suddenly, his eyes snapping open. He looked around the deserted bathroom. Had he really gone ahead with it? Had he really gotten up there on that stage and … Oh my God. He was going to kill Mac. How could he have let him do that? All those Zombies and then he’d … he’d … no … no … no. That hadn’t been him last night. Who in the hell was that uninhibited sex maniac?
Steven hadn’t even noticed when Mac went over to the bar and spoke to the bartender. He didn’t see him ask the guy in the black jeans what his name was, either. All he knew was, ten minutes later, Henry, the owner of Sights, was at the microphone, announcing the next act. “We have a special treat for you tonight. We have Steve, the birthday boy, who wants to come up on stage and dance, especially for Rob, that great-looking hunk sitting over at the bar.”
Mac had pulled him to his feet before he even realized what in hell was going on. It might have been the crowd clapping and stomping its feet, or the look of astonishment on that stranger’s face, but whatever it was, Steven stumbled up onto that stage and began to dance. He could hardly remember what happened after that. Did he really take off all his clothes? He may have even fallen at that guy’s feet. All he knew was that when he opened his eyes, he was on Mac’s sofa, feeling like he just got hit with a truck. He had awoken Mac, insisting he take him home so he could shower and change before going to work. They both arrived at the agency two minutes before nine, coffee in hand, wondering how they were going to get through the morning with their heads feeling like battered footballs.
Now this! That blue-eyed hunk who’d been dressed in jeans last night was the same guy wearing the Armani suit in the boardroom—his new boss. And if he didn’t remember the drunken fool who’d made an idiot of himself the night before, it was going to be a bloody miracle.
Steven hung onto the bathroom door as he pushed it open. He literally swung off of it for a few seconds. He stood in front
of the mirror for as long as he could stand to look at himself then slashed some water on his face. He knew he had to go in there, although right now he’d much rather have faced a pack of man-hungry lions.
He glanced at himself in the mirror again and winced. His dark blond hair, which usually was full and layered, looked flat, and his skin was a sickly shade of gray. God, he couldn’t drink.
He tried to press the wrinkles down in his light green shirt, but was not successful. He straightened the waistband on his black pants and wondered if he should have worn a tie. Hell, not wearing a tie was the least of his worries. Could he hope the new boss had been just as wasted as he’d been last night?
As he walked down the hallway toward the conference room, he felt as if he were walking the last mile. That door loomed closer and closer and something started clawing at his gut.
He heard laughter and froze. His hand clutched the door handle. Before he could go in, the door opened from the other side. Steven took a step back. Suddenly, he was face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see. And his eyes were blue. Oh God, they were so blue. “Hell … hello.” He stuck his hand out stiffly, averting his eyes. “I’m, ah … my name is … ah…”
“Steve, Steven Hillary,” the man informed him, taking his hand.
“Yes, ah, that’s it.”
“I’m Rob Taylor.” Taylor shook his hand briefly, then released it.
“I know, I mean … good to meet you, sir. How did you … know my name?”
He smiled. “You were the only one on my list not at the meeting.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I was sick. Ah, upset stomach.”
“Are you better now?”
Whoa. This guy had a killer smile. Steven didn’t remember him being this good-looking. No wonder he’d felt compelled to whip off his clothes. “What?”
“Better?” The boss lifted a dark eyebrow. “Are you better?”