by Lisa Worrall
Scott's thighs tingled with the pounding of the music as they made their way across the floor to the booths. He felt more than one hand trail over the curve of his ass between the door and their destination, but he ignored them, keeping his gaze on Will's back as he followed him. He could see Jay, head and shoulders above the crowd, his arm draped around Erik as he laughed at something the other man said to him. Jay spied them and Scott acknowledged him with a wave of his hand, reaching out and curling his fingers into the hem of Will's shirt so that they weren't parted. He kept his gaze as impassive as he could when Will turned at the pull on his clothing and simply held onto Scott's hand, and then continued to push through the sea of bodies.
"Hey, guys." Erik grinned, when they reached them, and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. "Glad you could make it."
"Todd's on soon," Cal said from his position in Damon's arms on the booth's leather seat.
"Looking forward to it," Scott replied, accepting the two beers that Jay held out to him and handing one to Will.
"Where's everyone else?" Will asked, leaning against the handrail and crossing his ankles.
Damon and Cal got up from the couch and stood beside the two men. "Todd and Marcus are in the dressing room and David and Brent disappeared upstairs to the office for a little," Damon grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "alone time."
"What do you think of the club? Insane isn't it?" Cal hugged Damon from behind and rested his chin on his boyfriend's shoulder.
Scott nodded, stepping back when someone pushed past him. His breath hitched in his throat when he collided with Will's solid chest and his attempt to lurch forward again, upset his balance. Fuck! He waited for the ground to come rushing up to meet him, but it didn't as he was hauled back against Will, a strong arm around his waist steadying him. His head dropped back onto Will's shoulder as if his neck muscles had suddenly lost all control, his cheek against the warmth of the other man's tanned throat. He was unable to prevent the shiver that prickled up his spine when Will's deep, rich voice murmured into the shell of his ear, "You okay?" I was fine until you put your big, muscular arms around me and then breathed all over me. Scott nodded and attempted to step away, but Will obviously had other ideas as his hold tightened. Sighing, Scott let Will take his weight and lifted the bottle in his hand to his lips, and the other he placed over the top of Will's, swallowing when Will entwined their fingers.
For everyone else around them, the display would look like a normal couple showing their affection. For Scott, the feel of Will's heart beating against his back, the other man's crotch against the crack of his ass, and his warm breath against his hair—it was torture. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
"We're out of champagne!" Jay wrapped his arm around Erik's neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. "How many should I get? Two, three?"
"Three!" Damon shouted, waving his empty champagne glass at Jay. "It's got bubbles." He giggled, sliding his hands up Cal's forearms. "I like bubbles."
Cal grinned down at his boyfriend, his face open and adoring. "I think you've already had way too many bubbles."
"Bubbles are wonderful," Damon insisted, his voice already slurred. He reached out a hand and gently punched Will on the arm. "Don't you agree? Back me up here. I mean," he ticked them off on his fingers like a list, "you've got, Bubble Wrap, Bubblicious, bubble hats, blowing bubbles." He smiled wistfully. "I love blowing bubbles, they're foamy. And there's chocolate that has bubbles in it and, of course," he waved his champagne glass, spilling some on the floor, "bubbles in champagne that go right up your nose and make it all fizzy."
Scott laughed raucously as he watched Damon. The guy was obviously three sheets to the wind and judging from Cal's fond smile, this over the top version of Damon was one he was well acquainted with. "Bubble hats?" he queried, feeling Will's laugh rumble against his back.
"They're the hats with the balls on the top."
"Damon, those are bobble hats." Will chuckled, sipping at his own drink.
The realization of his mistake slowly crossed Damon's face and he giggled uncontrollably for several minutes—much to the other men's amusement. He finally got himself under control and wagged a finger at Will. "Okay, I'll give you that one. But they should be called bubble hats. Maybe there's a gap in the market—I could make a fortune." He slapped a hand to his forehead. "I almost forgot bubble baths! You have to let me have that one, there is nothing like a long, hot bubble bath."
"Baby, we're gay, but even we're not that gay." Cal gave Damon a sloppy kiss on the cheek and joined in the other men's laughter, before grabbing Damon's hand and pulling him onto the dance floor.
Scott gulped down the rest of his beer. They were alone. His gaze searched for Erik and found him in animated conversation with a stocky man in a black suit. Will's nearness was driving Scott insane. He had to get away. He couldn't think when Will was this close. The man's scent filled his nostrils and in his peripheral vision he could see the pulse beating in Will's throat. He had this primal instinctive urge to press his lips against Will's neck and feel his life fluttering against his tongue. God! I've got to get out of here! Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about making a fool of himself, because Will chose that moment to loosen his hold and mutter gruffly, "I need the bathroom."
"Okay." Scott forced down the ridiculous feeling of disappointment that flowed through him at being out of Will's arms. For Christ's sake, a moment ago you wanted him to let you go! He watched Will weave his way through the crowd and sighed, running a shaking hand through his dark hair.
"It's nice to see."
Scott started when he felt warm breath fan across his ear, and he turned to gaze into Erik's slightly glassy eyes. He'd obviously had quite a lot of champagne too. "Hey," he said, his lips curving into a smile. "What's nice?"
"The way you look at him." Erik dropped a wet sloppy kiss to Scott's forehead. "The love you have for him is written all over your face." Erik was distracted by someone coming over for a hug, so his arm dropped from around Scott's shoulders and he turned away.
Scott's stomach bottomed out, and his jaw dropped open. No, no, no, no, no! Holy fuck! He wanted to shout at Erik and demand he take it back. No, I can't be! That's not what this is—is it? Grace had been right. Except he wasn't just setting himself up for a fall, he was nose-diving off a cliff into the abyss. But when? How? It had crept up on him so quietly over the last eight months of bickering and disguised glances that he hadn't even noticed. Scott Turner was in love with Will 'white picket fence and happy ever after' Harrison. Only he wasn't going to be Scott's happy ever after, would never be Scott's happy ever after. Scott sighed, swallowing the rest of his beer in his despair. What the fuck was he going to do, now?
Will did need the bathroom, but that wasn't the main reason he had for getting the hell away from Scott Turner. The feel of the other man's lean, but muscled frame pressed up against him, had had him hardening in his pants with every shift of weight. Then why didn't you let him go when you righted him? He mentally grabbed his inner voice and slapped duct tape on its mouth, fed up with its constant interference. Obviously, he liked torturing himself with what he couldn't have, that's why he hadn't let Scott go. He'd only meant to keep him from falling, but when that firm ass had fit so snugly against him, he couldn't seem to come up with a good enough reason to let him go. They had an audience for crying out loud, how would it have looked to the others if he'd let Scott fall flat on his face, or not shown any affection? Their cover could be blown.
"Pathetic, Harrison," he mumbled aloud and made his way down the long corridor, following the signs for the bathrooms. As he lifted his hand to push open the bathroom door, he heard raised voices coming from farther down the corridor. He ignored the glare thrown at him by the man pushing past him to get into the bathroom and inched his way along the wall and saw that the dressing room door was open. Coming from inside he could hear Todd's voice, high pitched and pleading.
"I didn't tell him anyth
ing. He just thinks they're pictures of home; he won't even look at them. Please, baby."
"How could you be so stupid?"
Will flinched at the meaty sound of flesh upon flesh.
"Why do you make me do these things? You bring them on yourself."
The voice was gruff and filled with menace, but with all the commotion of men coming in and out of the bathroom, Will couldn't quite make out everything. Marcus must be standing farther away from the door.
"Please, don't. I'll be good. I'll do whatever you want. I won't go over there again. I promise."
"Did you offer yourself to him like I told you to?"
"Yes, but he didn't want me."
"That's because you're nothing. Why would he want a useless little whore like you? You're nothing without me. What are you?"
"Nothing," Todd whimpered. "Nothing."
"That's right and don't you ever forget it. Now get on your knees, we only have a few minutes. Oh, and Todd? Make it good, you don't want me to be angry, do you?"
Will walked into the bathroom and joined the line for the urinals. Anger pulsed through him. Fucking bastard. He wanted to grab hold of Marcus White and beat him down. Wanted to make him whimper as he had just made Todd. Wanted to have him cowering before him, as Todd must have been in that dressing room. Wanted to—
"Will, you're here! Todd's going to be stoked. Where's Scott?"
Will's head snapped up as if it were on a spring, staring in stunned silence as the man who had called his name closed the stall door behind him and walked over to the sinks where he soaped and rinsed his hands. "Marcus?" he said incredulously. "I thought you were in the dressing room with Todd."
"I was, but I get nervous for him when he's performing," Marcus said, grimacing. "You'll always find me in the bathroom before a gig. I threw up on stage in Portland once." He chuckled, sticking his hands under the dryer. "Todd gets nervous enough without worrying about my weak stomach. It's ridiculous really. I mean, I'm fine as soon as he sings that first note, but it's all the build up before hand." He checked his hands were dry and padded over to give Will a hug. "I keep telling Brent to put more bathrooms in this place. The line is always horrendous, which is why I closet myself in here for half an hour before a gig, otherwise I'd embarrass myself." He grinned widely, his blue eyes sparkling, and slapped Will on the shoulder. "Anyway, I'd better get back to him. Now is about the time he usually decides he can't go on. I'll see you out there."
Will nodded, forced a smile on his face and watched the big man stroll out of the bathroom, unable to believe what he was seeing. Marcus had been in the bathroom for at least the last half an hour? He ran a hand through his hair and shuffled forward as the line moved. A million other thoughts pin-balled around his head, but only one was lit up like a flashing neon sign.
If Marcus had been in the bathroom—who the fuck had been in with Todd?
Chapter eight
Scott glanced up and watched Will walk toward the booth through the sea of writhing bodies. He frowned at the unreadable expression on the man's face and stood when Will paused on the dance floor and beckoned to him. Putting his drink down on the table, Scott ignored Jay's leer and made his way down the steps and onto the dance floor. He weaved his way through dancing bodies until he came to a stop before Will. He couldn't stop the gasp that left his lips when Will slid warm hands around his waist, and pulled him against a hard, muscled chest. Scott ran his hands up Will's chest and wound his arms around the column of his neck, burying his fingers in the soft waves of blond hair. He noted for the first time, the flush on Will's cheeks. "What's wrong?"
Will pressed his lips to Scott's ear and began moving his hips to the pounding beat of the music, swaying against his lean body. "When I was looking for the bathroom, I heard raised voices from the dressing room, so I eavesdropped. I heard who I thought was Marcus telling Todd how he was nothing and a whore, and asking if he'd offered himself to him—which I assume was you—and then I heard Todd being hit."
"And?" Scott raised his eyebrows, trying to concentrate on the sound of Will's voice and not the warmth of Will's breath on his skin. "Wait a minute, who you thought was Marcus?"
"I ducked into the bathroom and Marcus came out of one of the stalls. He told me that he locks himself in there for half an hour before each show, 'cause he gets sick to his stomach with nerves. It wasn't him, Scott. He's not the one abusing Todd," Will hissed, his hands moving slowly up Scott's back, kneading the muscles beneath the skin.
"What?" Scott pulled back and gazed into Will's eyes in stunned amazement. He tried desperately not to give in to the shudder that coursed through him as Will's fingers retraced their path down his back, his thumbs dipping below Scott's waistband and resting on the belt holding up his pants. Focus, Turner, focus, Goddammit! "Then who the fuck was it?"
"I don't know," Will replied, his tone frustrated and angry. "I couldn't make out the voice, there was too much noise behind me in the corridor, and whoever it was must have been farther away from the door than Todd."
"Will?" Scott gasped, when Will's fingers slipped over the curve of his ass, bringing them closer. His hips involuntarily jerked against Will's. "What are you doing?"
"Brent's watching us," Will said softly.
It was a pitiful excuse, he knew, but the warmth of Scott's skin was searing against his cheek and he needed to touch, to taste. He'd beat himself up about it later. Fueled by the beer pleasantly speeding through his blood stream, he lowered his head and flicked his tongue out against the pulse fluttering in Scott's throat. He hummed at the vibration of the other man's low moan against his lips when he sealed them over soft skin. Long fingers curled into his shoulders, holding on, and Will could have sworn he felt the thickening length of Scott's shaft against his thigh. The tap on his shoulder had him inwardly cursing and he reluctantly lifted his head, annoyance clear on his face as he glanced up at Brent.
"Come on, you two, enough of that." Brent leaned in close to be heard over the music. "They're about to announce Todd." Brent leered at Scott and ran a blatant hand over his ass. Will felt a curl of satisfaction in his gut when Brent's eyes widened, knowing the other man wasn't prepared for the iron grip Will had on his fingers. "What are you doing?"
"Brent, you're a nice guy." Will shrugged nonchalantly and kept his tone even and conversational. "And I get that you want to fuck Scott's tight little ass. Can't say I blame you, because being inside here, burying yourself hard and deep, where it's hot and wet, it's like nothing you've ever felt before." He smoothed his other hand over the swell of Scott's ass, ignoring the total disbelief on his partner's face. "And who knows, maybe at one of the gatherings you'll get your chance. But, out here, in the real world," he tightened his grip on Brent's fingers, satisfaction tightening his gut at the wince the other man couldn't hold back, "his ass, and everything else he has, belongs to me. So, unless you want to lose your hand, or your tongue, it's probably a good idea if you keep them to yourself. Do we understand each other?"
Brent's gaze narrowed slightly, his only show of anger, and he nodded. "I think you've made yourself perfectly clear." He rubbed his fingers when Will dropped them and smiled apologetically at Scott. "I'm sorry. I tend to get a little carried away."
"No harm done," Scott replied, sliding his arm around Will and rubbing his nose against the big man's cheek. "Will, let's go find a seat to watch Todd. Come on, baby." Scott guided Will over to the booth and pushed him down onto the couch, sitting next to him and leaning into his side. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I need a drink." Will ignored Scott's question and leaned forward to grab one of the champagne bottles from the table and put it to his lips. Tipping his head back, he let the wine bubble and fizz over his tongue then glide down his throat, the dryness expanding in his chest and hitting his stomach with a satisfying sigh. Will rested his head against the cushions and closed his eyes.
He didn't know how he had managed to keep from beating Brent to a bloody pulp when he'd put his han
ds on Scott—again. Who the fuck did the guy think he was? He'd looked through him as though he wasn't even there and just fawned all over Scott. Touching him with those slimy, sleazy hands of his.
Chugging back more champagne, Will could see Scott keep glancing at him, but he kept his gaze firmly on the stage area as they waited for Todd to come out. He knew Scott was confused—how could he not know? He knew the other man wanted answers, but what was he supposed to say? That the sight of another man putting his hands on Scott had anger so white-hot burning in his belly it took all his training not to just punch him in the face? That hearing Todd's abuse firsthand had left him sick to his stomach? That every fiber of his being had told him to run into that room and stop what was happening? Or knowing that he had to stay on the job left Todd open to more abuse. How the fuck was he supposed to forgive himself for that?
"We've got a real treat tonight!" Will's gaze found the DJ at the mike, and the lights stopped flashing, changing to give the room a muted ambience with the sole spotlight on the stage. "The Rose is proud to present, singing live especially for you—Todd Campbell!"
Staring at the stage, Will watched Todd walk out with his guitar and climb up onto the stool. There was a soft, slightly nervous smile on the man's lips and Will swallowed hard. How many times had Todd smiled like that after he had been dealt a punch? He wondered where the bruises were tonight. Where they wouldn't show, obviously. But he must have bruising, regular bruising. How the fuck did he explain that to Marcus? Unless Marcus is in on it! Fuck! He took another swig of champagne and closed his eyes, letting the sound of Todd's voice wash over him as he introduced the first song.