Sounding the Depths

by Maria-Claire Payne

  “What the fuck?” Josh yelled.

  Stretching up to his full height, Ethan laughed out loud at the incredulous look twisting Josh’s near-perfect features. Bet I have your undivided attention now, mate.

  “You did say earlier you were running late.” Still smiling at Josh’s outraged face, he wiped his mouth and took off up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time with his long legs. He kicked the door at the top closed behind him with one boot heel.

  Ethan leaned against the closed door and caught his breath, willing his heart back to its customary steady rhythm. After long moment she pulled out his phone to text his best friend—‘Guess what? First time ever. At first sight—well, I guess this is really second sight… Third? Yah, whatever. I think I’m in love’.

  * * * *

  Emerson stood, one hand resting on Blake’s shoulder. “A toast to our West coast friends!”

  Emerson’s resonating baritone, delivered in his even deeper Kentucky drawl, subdued the raucous noise filling the dance hall. The party guests each paused to hold his or her wine glass, beer mug or shot glass aloft.

  As Blake’s softer tones echoed in the relative silence, the guests grew quieter still. Even those who had known this man for long years worked to decipher his Bronx accent. Those distinct speech patterns had not been at all diminished throughout his thirty-year relationship with his country-boy sailor from the Bluegrass State.

  “We just want…” Blake began, but his voice trailed off as tears gathered in his eyes.

  Emerson laughed and reached for Blake’s hand. “Well, you all know how overwhelmed Mr Sensitive here gets at weddings.”

  Familiar faces, some old, some young, laughed and smiled with the couple who occupied the head table as Blake’s half-hearted attempts to staunch his flow of tears prompted another round of drinks.

  Emerson, sombre now, let his gaze wander across the hundred-plus people in attendance. “Many of you graced our actual wedding in New York last month.” He paused, the thunderous applause swallowing even his megaphone of a voice. “Today, we celebrate a commitment ceremony here in California in hopes every state may soon recognise the sanctity of our union and others like ours.”

  Soft laughter erupted in one corner. The sound swelled until the entire crowd joined in.

  Emerson tossed back his beer and shot the crowd the bird. “All right, you cynical bastards… We admit, thirty days of marriage feel like the past thirty years together all compressed into one hellacious, loooong fucking day!”

  Blake swatted at him, but Emerson caught his hand in his own to pull Blake closer to his side.

  Emerson waited until the laughter had quietened and all eyes were focused on his him once again.

  “Here’s to winning the right, one state at a time, to as much misery as that enjoyed since time immemorial by our heterosexual friends wound tight in the bondage…oh, excuse me, bonds…of matrimony!”

  The guests roared again, raising their glasses one more time, good-natured laughter joining these friends and lovers in warm camaraderie.

  Soft light gave way to electric jolts of multi-hued strobes, the guests watching Blake spar with his partner in mock annoyance again before Emerson reached out with the massive bulk of his pumped guns to capture Blake’s slender form in his vice-like grip and dip him to deliver a resounding, open-mouthed kiss. The applause was swallowed this time in the rising crescendo of music—a mash-up, a pounding techno beat interwoven with the familiar strains of the happy couple’s favourite nineteen-seventies-era club song seducing the guests on to the dance floor.

  * * * *

  “Excuse you!” Lana exclaimed, hugging the wall to make room for the man who was barrelling towards her.

  The grinning bald dude, clutching his tattered shirt closed with his fists, hurtled up the stairs. He seemed oblivious to her presence as she made her way down, clinging to the banister as he sped past her.

  WTF… Lana shook her head. Fucking gay parties, with men crawling out from every corner doing… whatever… She sighed, turning her attention to the task at hand.

  “You’re up.” Lana stuck her head around the corner, eyeing Josh’s position on the small round platform set to ascend through the centre of the stage above them.

  Josh nodded, pulling his cowboy hat down further.

  Lana narrowed her eyes as she watched Josh’s half-assed attempt to conceal his face. Like they had any secrets from each other… Lana raised one eyebrow, realising that the man who had practically knocked her over in the stairwell fitted Todd’s description of the British sailor who seemed to have had some effect on Josh last month…

  Lana sent Josh on his way with one slap of the button on her left before she wound her own way up the stairs and back to the party to watch the floor show.

  She scanned the crowd for the man from the stairs. She figured he shouldn’t be too tough to find—a six-foot-three, gorgeous, bald, black-skinned man would stand out even among all the hot bodies filling the nightclub. Besides, in the event that Emerson and Blake had invited a surplus of guests fitting that description, she’d still find this particular man—she’d search for the one missing most of his buttons.

  * * * *

  Blake eyed the party crowd as they grew quiet. A dancer emerged on his rising platform, their sudden roar drowning out the music as people recognised the man beneath the hat.

  Even fully clothed, Joshua’s honed physique displayed well. He looked perfect—a specimen carved from flawless marble—as he struck his initial pose. Of course, the mix of stretch denim, Spandex and Velcro that formed a second skin and left nothing to the imagination sure enhanced the illusion.

  Illusion? Hell, everyone in that room acknowledged Josh’s singular beauty.

  And then the music rose, louder still, the few partiers still seated rising with the sound.

  The spotlight on Josh’s platform illuminated the nude, oiled cage dancers suspended from the ceiling as well, but Blake saw that pretty much everyone turned to watch the main event. People crowded the elevated stage, jockeying for a vantage point to catch the items of clothing Josh peeled off with each fluid movement until he danced in nothing but his cowboy hat, boots, and a fringed, gossamer-sheer G-string.

  More than one man writhing to the throbbing pulse of the deafening music remembered the first time Josh had danced in this club, sneaking in some sixteen years ago, an under-aged twink chasing his first crush. Blake smiled. He remembered how the young Josh caught the crowd’s attention back then as well. The near-perfect symmetry of his face, topped then by a thick shaggy mop of blond ringlet curls, was marred only by a crooked nose, the result of a piss-poor intern’s botched fix after an emergency room visit when Josh had turned sixteen.

  That boy a distant memory now, the man in his place tonight nonetheless sported the same fearsome beauty, except that those who loved him best, who had watched the boy grow into this man as years had slipped by, recognised those glimmers of sad loss in his eyes tonight—and they grew wistful, recalling his naïve excitement, his innocence, dancing in this same room, so many years ago.

  Blake pulled at Emerson’s arm, his hand going numb under his partner’s fierce grip as they watched Josh dance his salute to their union. They smiled through their tears, shaking off the dark clouds, pulling themselves into the now.

  As the music grew louder still, the lights strobing faster, a surrealistic fantasy of sound and motion, the cage dancers whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Whether their masturbatory gestures simulated sex or they jerked off for real became a moot point. The crowd joined in the fun, simulation be damned. With clothes optional—hell, partners optional—the fondling, sucking, licking, and fucking began in earnest. Stimulation, not simulation, ruled the night as the party shifted into high gear.

  Chapter Three

  Lana made her way back to the head table, leaning towards Emerson’s ear. “Think I’d be accustomed to this by now, huh?”

  Hearing her, Blake leaned over. Lana scowled a
ll the harder when he laughed at her dark expression.

  “Oh, honey, we thought of you too. Here, suck those.” He pointed to the cut-crystal bowl overflowing with lime wedges that had materialised at her place setting during her absence, a matching salt shaker and full bottle of top-shelf tequila keeping company with the bowl of fruit.

  Emerson poured her a shot and one for himself. Lana settled back in her chair, watching her brother’s gyrations whipping the dance crowd into a froth of expensive cologne, perspiration and cum. She wrinkled her nose as the pungent scents filled the air.

  Lana ran her tongue up the length of her left thumb, loaded the wet patch with salt, and licked again. Emerson handed her the tequila and she tossed the shot back, pausing before she sucked the lime wedge between her teeth. Emerson followed her gaze and she stuck out her tongue as he laughed at her discomfiture. Two or three of the heterosexual couples—at least one with a third party joining in—were fucking in the shadows in the corners.

  Lana bit hard on the fruit wedge and sucked it dry. With Alan deployed for another six months and limited Internet access over the next couple of weeks, she’d be riding her vibrator hard when the opening festivities of this five-day debauchery had wound down for a few hours’ respite.

  Emerson poured another round of shots, rumpling Lana’s blonde curls. Lana smiled at him. Good old Em. She knew he at least understood where her thoughts travelled. Lana sighed. Serial deployments suck. She tossed back another shot. And speaking of sucking…

  “Emerson!” Lana leaned in close to raise her voice over the thumping beat. She waved her shot glass at a handsome young man standing several inches above most of the crowd. He stood close to the elevated stage, unmindful of his torn shirt that blew about in the air circulating around the stage, his gaze riveted on Josh.

  “Ethan Gray. Royal Navy. I served with him during the last big wave of joint forces in Iraq. Why?”

  “I caught him coming up the stairs with his shirt like that.”

  Emerson paused, the salt shaker contents pouring, unheeded, on the floor.

  “So my young British friend convinced our Josh to unthaw that block of ice he uses to sheath his cock since Ben—” Emerson hesitated.

  Lana raised one eyebrow.

  “Let’s just note that the only other man in your basement,” Lana tapped her foot towards the floor below them, “was Josh.”

  Emerson righted his salt shaker, Lana watching him watching Ethan watching Josh. Both laughed.

  Emerson nodded towards Ethan. “Perhaps Ethan is exactly who Josh needs right now.”

  Lana shook her head, considering how Josh’s tolerance for players had been at an all-time low this past year. “I bet you a hundred bucks Josh blows him off before the evening winds down—not in the fun way, either,” she wagered, throwing some twenties down in front of Emerson.

  “You’re on!” Emerson exclaimed, pouring another shot. “As a reformed player myself, I’d recognise that love-struck look in Ethan Gray’s eyes anywhere,” he declared.

  Emerson turned around to lift Blake to his feet. “Time to dance, babe,” he murmured, the two leaving Lana to suck her limes and plot.

  For Josh’s sake, she wanted to lose this bet.

  * * * *

  Josh stepped off his platform and pushed his way through the crowd. He nodded here and there towards acquaintances, the tension rising with each back-slap or groping hand he endured until he escaped through a discreet door opening into the private business offices Emerson and Blake maintained on site.

  Josh sighed and turned his attention to sponging himself down in the tiny restroom. He towelled the perspiration and stink from his body, not all of the fluids streaming down his muscled length his own. He dunked his head in the sink full of cold water, the shock of the chill welcome to soothe the heat emanating from his body. He’d forgotten how intensely the club spotlights shone.

  Josh dropped his G-string to the floor, looking around for the jeans and T-shirt he had left there earlier, smiling at the beers chilling in the champagne bucket Lana must have left for him. He flipped the cap from one bottle and sank down into the black leather couch against one wall in the welcome dark of the quiet sanctuary.

  When the door opened, Josh smiled, expecting to see Emerson or Blake.

  “You take another wrong turn?” Josh’s smile twisted into a grimace. This cock-teasing motherfucker carted a big set, following him again.

  “Not much of a Naval navigator if I keep getting lost, am I?” Ethan helped himself to a beer and settled down into an overstuffed chair across from Josh.

  Nonplussed, Josh tensed and relaxed one muscle group after the other. He fought to gain some control over the unaccustomed lack of certainty that flowed through him in this man’s company. Josh’s locked muscles were in contretemps with Ethan’s open gaze and confidence, his casual stance and easy grin leaving Josh with the impression that he came across a bit like a petulant child. He glared at Ethan. “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice raw.

  “I want you to dance with me.”

  The door flew open again. “Here you are. Oh!”

  Josh couldn’t stop his smile as Lana shut her mouth and stopped in her tracks. She squinted in the dim light as she became aware of Ethan’s tall form folded into the chair.

  “All right, then,” she muttered.

  The two men watched her beat a hasty retreat. Josh laughed as he saw Ethan’s eyes widen when Lana thumped his head with one fist before she lurched out of the door again.

  “My twin sister. Can’t hold her liquor.”

  Ethan rubbed the top of his head. “Twins, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Josh stood up, opening a couple more beers and handing one to Ethan. Their fingers touched for the briefest time, their glances locking before Josh looked away, feeling lightheaded at the warmth in Ethan’s dark eyes for that short-lived moment their flesh connected…again.

  Josh cleared his throat, his fingers tingling where his skin met Ethan’s—but the door swung open again before he opened his mouth.

  “I’m the elder by three minutes,” Lana muttered, her words slurring. She reached behind her brother, pulling his cell from his back pocket while she turned to face Ethan. “Hand me your phone.”

  His eyes wide, Ethan obliged.

  Josh shook his head, laughter relaxing the furrow between his brows. “She only slid out first ‘cause she weighed more—her balls are bigger than mine.”

  “Clearly!” Lana handed the phones back.

  She thumped Ethan on the head again and paused to look over her shoulder at him on her way back out. “I have your number now,” she cautioned.

  Josh locked the door behind her. Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Does she mean that in the literal sense or as a figure of speech? Scary girl, that one. No offence, mate.”

  Josh cracked up again. “Dude, you have no idea. No offence taken.” He grinned. “Both, I suspect.” He noticed that Lana had added Ethan to his list of contacts.

  Ethan glanced down at his phone.

  Josh held out his hand. “Let me see.” Sure enough, Lana had added not just Josh’s cell number, but a couple of blips indicated that she had also activated one of Ethan’s phone applications… For chrissakes. He handed the cell back.

  “I like her,” Ethan declared.

  Josh raised a brow and shrugged—but he still felt that jolt of current in his fingers.

  Fuck it. Josh pushed down the rising panic. He refused to let it crowd out the excitement that had been building inside him—in spite of his efforts to deny it—ever since he had seen Ethan standing outside the nightclub doors…

  “What about that dance?”

  Ethan grinned and stepped forward—but stopped just inches from Josh’s body. The faint strains of a slow song echoed in the quiet office. “Do you prefer to lead—or should I?”

  Josh took a deep breath and stepped into Ethan’s loose embrace. “I thought maybe we’d join the party.”

  Ethan pulled
Josh closer to him. “I can hear the music just fine right here,” Ethan murmured, his mouth close to Josh’s ear.

  Josh took another deep breath and let Ethan take the lead, that spicy scent from his cologne familiar…comforting.

  Ethan held Josh closer still, the two swaying to the languid notes of the music that rose from the distant dance hall.

  Josh closed his eyes and rested his head against the taller man’s shoulder, the heat building between them undeniable. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to find Ethan’s gaze meeting his own. “It’s been a long time, dude.”

  “For me too.” Josh started to speak again, but—

  “Hush,” Ethan murmured. He brushed his lips against Josh’s, muffling his half-hearted protest.

  Josh parted his lips, the kiss slow and soft. He moaned when Ethan caught his lower lip between his teeth in a gentle bite. I want more.

  Several minutes later, Ethan lifted his mouth, breathless. “Do you hear that?”

  Josh laughed. They still swayed together in their tight embrace—but the music had changed tempo. He reached up and drew Ethan’s mouth back to his, never missing a beat as the two continued their slow-motion dance in the quiet of the office. “I’m not hearing much of anything,” he murmured, his lips fitting so perfectly with Ethan’s own… except the pounding of my heart.

  * * * *

  A couple of hours later, Josh stumbled into Ethan’s hotel room, weaving towards the bathroom. “I need a shower,” he mumbled.

  Ethan watched Josh drop his sweat-soaked clothes to the floor on his way into the bath.

  He opened a bottle of water and listened to the sound of the pounding stream as clouds of steam rolled out from the open door. Dimming the nightstand light, he turned down the comforter on his bed, the crisp white sheets offering an invitation to relax after the assault on his senses—the dazzle of the lights, the throb of the music, the din of laugher and merriment. He tuned the small radio to a local jazz station settled into one of the chairs near the bed. Then he jumped up again to pace the room one more time.