“Nah, it’s all right.” Angelo cut him off and then yawned before he went on. “I was kinda hoping you’d call.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long week, and, uh, is it weird that I’ve missed you?”
Warmth spread through Dylan from his scalp to his toes. “Maybe, but that makes me a weirdo too, because I’ve missed you.”
“It doesn’t feel like we’ve only met six times.”
“Wow. Is that all it is?” Dylan rolled over and dropped his phone on his chest. “Are we counting the club?”
“It’d be four without it.”
The mere thought of their club encounters sent Dylan into overdrive. His skin tingled and heat flooded his groin. “I guess numbers don’t mean much.”
“Not in this context.”
Absorbed as he was by his Angelo-themed buzz, Dylan picked up the bleakness lacing Angelo’s tone. “I shouldn’t ask if you’ve heard from the DRO advisor.”
“So don’t.”
“Um, okay?”
Angelo sighed. “Sorry. I’m just sick of thinking about it. I took my mum to that business advice centre today, and they told her she should sell the house and downsize if she wants to keep the deli, and she basically had a fucking breakdown. She doesn’t seem to understand that this is the last chance she’ll have to make the decisions herself.”
“Is there enough equity in the house to bail out the deli?”
“And then some. She could get a bungalow down the road and forget all about it.”
“What about you? Where would you live? I’m assuming you’d still run the deli for her if she paid the debts off?”
“It was never my plan to stick around, but it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”
“And you could hire some staff?”
“I’d have to. Working it on my own is fucking killing me.”
Dylan didn’t doubt it. His impromptu shift at Giordano’s had been busy, and he couldn’t imagine how Angelo coped by himself at the weekends. “Do you think she’ll sell the house?”
“After this morning? Not a chance in hell.”
“Damn. So what are you going to do?”
Angelo didn’t respond straight away. Dylan listened to him breathe and closed his eyes. If the context of their conversation had been different, Angelo’s gentle exhales could’ve sent him to sleep. Maybe. If sleeping was something that ever came that easy. As it was, Dylan settled for a gentle meditation and wondered if his heart was beating in time with Angelo’s.
“So . . . ,” Angelo said.
Dylan opened his eyes. “Hmm? Sorry, I mean . . . yeah?”
“Are you drunk?”
Was he? He’d felt pretty sober when he’d come home, but Angelo’s voice did strange things to him. Had done since the very first time. Huh. Perhaps he was drunk on Angelo.
The thought made him chuckle. “I’ve had a few,” he said when he’d composed himself. “I’m not twatted, but if you need financial advice, we should probably talk again in the morning.”
“I didn’t call you to talk about that.”
Relief warred with concern. “No? Well, you can, if you ever need to. I can’t give you professional guidance, but I can be your friend.”
“Is that what we are? Friends?”
And then some. But Dylan couldn’t define the pull he felt for Angelo, the ache in his bones when they were apart, and the crazy-hot current when they were together. “We can try. Though I should warn you . . . apparently I’m not too good at separating friendship from fucking, so . . .”
“Are you talking about the BFF again?”
“How did you guess?”
“Because you get all melancholy and shit whenever he comes up.”
“Jealous?”
“Curious, actually.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you fuck like a fella who’s trying to get something out of his system.”
“Says you.”
Angelo chuckled darkly. “Okay. Let’s not go there, eh? Seems like we’ve both got some ghosts to escape.”
“And friends can help each other out with that, right?”
“Yes. They can have dinner together too . . . I mean, if you fancy it?”
Dylan fancied more than just dinner, but it seemed a healthy place to start. He arranged to meet Angelo at Giordano’s after closing time the next day, and they exchanged slightly awkward goodbyes. When Angelo had hung up, Dylan stared at his darkened phone screen, like he could see through it to Angelo’s brooding eyes and lose himself in them. They’d set their date for early evening, but Saturday was club night, in Dylan’s nocturnal life, at least. Would Angelo want to go to Lovato’s after?
The possibility excited and horrified Dylan in equal measure. A dirty night out with Angelo set him on fire, but could he watch Angelo fuck someone else? Turn them inside out with his dick while Dylan stepped aside? He had no right to think not, but as he closed his eyes in the hope of at least a few hours sleep, he was sure of nothing but the fact that the prospect of seeing Angelo again, in any capacity, had given him a near permanent boner.
Chapter Six
Angelo cast a critical eye over the makeshift picnic he’d cobbled together and regretted being so honest with the first woman he’d spoken to at Stratford Citizens Advice Bureau. If he hadn’t made that damn phone call, then Dylan wouldn’t know that he didn’t have a pot to piss in, and perhaps Angelo could’ve found a way to take him on a real date.
Date. Right. You think he’s gonna stick around when the best you can offer him is a fucking cheese sandwich?
A knock at the door interrupted whatever despairing cynicism was coming next. Angelo took a deep breath and untied his apron before approaching the locked deli doors like they were the only thing between him and an unexploded bomb. The prospect of seeing Dylan had kept him upright through a brutal Saturday lunchtime, but now he was here, Angelo’s efforts to make the walk across town worthwhile seemed pretty pathetic.
The temptation to hide in the freezer was strong, but his phone rang in his hand before he could duck away from the front door. Dylan. Angelo answered the call with a swipe of his thumb. “Hold up. I’m coming.”
“Come quicker.”
“Brat.”
“Only for you.”
Angelo ended the call and unlocked the door.
On the other side, Dylan was leaning against the wall, looking a lot more sober than he’d sounded the previous day, though his shadowed eyes told the tale of a late night. “All right, mate?”
“Am now.” Angelo found a smile from somewhere and plastered it on, and the longer he stared at Dylan, absorbing his silky soft hair and spirited gaze, the easier it was to hold on to. “Come in.”
Dylan slipped past him into the deli. “Oh wow. You made food?”
“It’s just some leftovers really. We can—”
“Fuck no. We’re staying in.” Dylan zeroed in on the antipasti Angelo had laid out and popped a green olive into his mouth. “I was going to suggest pizza, but this is so much better. I was drooling over these artichokes the other day.”
Dylan’s enthusiasm was so heartfelt that Angelo couldn’t contain his widening grin. Truth be told, he was sick to death of Italian food and everything it represented to him, but he’d eat a bazillion marinated tomatoes if it made Dylan smile like that. “There’s not much focaccia left, but we can make paninis if you like?”
“Prosciutto and mozzarella? With basil and anchovies?”
Angelo laughed. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
And like magic, any awkwardness that might’ve hung over them faded away. Dylan ate everything Angelo put in front of him and encouraged Angelo to eat far more than he would’ve if he’d been alone.
“You’re going to make me fat,” he muttered, patting his stomach.
Dylan’s gaze lingered on Angelo’s abdomen. “Doubt it, mate. Your body is awesome.”
The ever-present fatigue in Angelo’s muscles
begged to differ, but he pushed the shadows away. “It’s all leftover from my dancing days. I don’t know how much longer it will stick around.”
“You don’t dance at all anymore?”
Angelo shook his head. “I don’t have time.”
It was mostly true. There were studios around Romford that he could’ve trained at, but arsing around in front of a mirror would never be the same as performing on stage, and he didn’t even want it to be. The days when he could barely move were easier to take when he wasn’t missing as much.
Dylan seemed to accept his half answer as he stole the last slice of salami and wrapped it around a caramelised pear. He studded it with Gorgonzola and popped it in his mouth and then speared Angelo with a curious gaze.
Angelo shifted in his seat. Dylan was the master of small talk, but he was sometimes at his loudest when he said nothing at all. “Fuck’s sake,” Angelo growled. “What?”
“Just wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“What you look like when you’re dancing. I mean, you move like a lion, so I know you’re graceful as fuck, but I’m trying to picture you with your legs all pointing up in the air or something, and I can’t.”
Neither could Angelo anymore, but he understood Dylan’s curiosity. Previous lovers had always been intrigued by his profession and fascinated by the things his healthy body could do. “I’m pretty flexible, or at least I can be when I’m fit, and I’m strong too. Male dancers do a lot of lifting.”
Dylan nodded slowly, still chewing. “That makes sense. The way you threw me around in the club had me looking out for some giant, hairy bear.”
“Giant?” Angelo laughed and it chased away some of the tension in his shoulders. “You think only big men can be strong?”
“Not anymore.”
The sudden heat in Dylan’s eyes went straight to Angelo’s pulse, quickening it and warming his blood so fast that it roared in his ears. The urge to jump Dylan was overwhelming, but he swallowed it. Choked on it. And slid from his stool. Tight jeans were no good for stretching, but the pair he wore were so old that they had little resistance left. He braced himself and then cautiously lifted his foot from the floor. Extending his leg was easier than he expected, and lengthening it out felt good—natural—and the ease with which he stretched it up and behind his head surprised even him.
Dylan’s expression was a fucking cartoon. “Wow. That’s incredible.”
“Not really.” Angelo held the pose until his abandoned muscles protested and then slowly returned his leg to earth. “I’ve been doing that since I was nine.”
“Still wow. I can barely do the Macarena.”
“I did a show in Barcelona a few years ago that included those moves.”
Dylan laughed, then his expression turned curious again. “Did you travel a lot when you were dancing?”
“Yeah. Europe, mainly, until I got the gig in New York.” Angelo reclaimed his seat. “I didn’t appreciate it, though. You don’t when you think something is going to last forever.”
Dylan rested his elbows on the counter and cupped his chin in his hands. He’d grown a slight beard since Angelo had last seen him, and it suited him, setting off his grungy T-shirt and the skull pendant hanging around his neck. Dylan seemed to be more metal every time Angelo saw him, and today he looked like a rock star.
“What’s your deal with the club?” Dylan asked. “I know I’ve only, uh, seen you there twice, but you’re a different person there.”
The last part wasn’t a question, but Dylan was so on the money that Angelo nodded. “It’s a release for me . . . a healthy one. I’m a miserable git, in case you hadn’t noticed, but playing at the club gives me some control back.”
“Has it always been that way?”
“Nah. When I first went there, it was because I’m a bit of a perv.”
“Makes two of us.” Dylan licked his lips, and the air between them thickened again, heavy with the weight of what had brought them together three weeks ago in bunker five.
Angelo’s world narrowed to Dylan and the way he’d felt clamped around Angelo’s dick. He sucked in a breath as Dylan leaned forward but pulled away milliseconds before their lips touched. “I need a drink.”
He stood and went to the till and rummaged in the cabinet below. The grappa was exactly where his father had left it, the bulbous shot glasses stacked beside it. He retrieved the bottle and two glasses and slid them across the counter.
Dylan picked up the bottle and studied the label. “Grappa, eh? I haven’t drunk this stuff since a staff jolly to Athens a few years ago.”
“Citizens Advice has office parties in Greece?”
Dylan chuckled. “No, we barely have teabags. I worked in banking before I joined CA. Still in the debt sector, but it was less compassionate and pretty fucking oppressive. I ditched it a few years ago.”
“I’m glad.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. I want you to be happy.”
Dylan stared, and for a fleeting moment, Angelo wished the ground would swallow him whole, but then Dylan reached out and covered Angelo’s hand with his own. “I want you to be happy too.”
Why? But Angelo didn’t say it. Reeling from the sensation of Dylan’s palm on his knuckles, he used his free hand to thumb the cork out of the grappa bottle and pour two meaty measures.
He passed one to Dylan. “Bottoms up.”
Dylan smirked and brought the glass to his lips, and any hope that Angelo may have had of lowering the temperature in the room was dashed as Dylan’s throat worked to swallow the fiery liquor.
I want to fuck his mouth.
As if Angelo had spoken aloud, Dylan dropped his glass on the counter and tightened his fingers around Angelo’s. “So . . . are we gonna take this date to the club, or what?”
“You want to?”
Dylan shrugged. “I wasn’t sure when I thought about it earlier, but I think it would be good for us. There’s a lot going on. Let’s clear the air.”
That Dylan already understood how Angelo’s convoluted brain worked made Angelo’s soul sing. Could they play in the club and build on whatever was brewing between them in real life? With anyone else, Angelo would’ve called it a day weeks ago, but Dylan wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever hooked up with. The way their worlds had combined was bizarre but somehow felt right. “I really did just intend on feeding you dinner.”
“And you have,” Dylan said with an impish grin. “Now come up the road and feed me your cock.”
* * *
Dylan’s skin tingled as he dried himself off from the shower in Lovato’s opulent bathroom. He’d left Angelo at the bar already turning heads. And Dylan couldn’t blame the potential playmates who’d zeroed in on Angelo the moment they’d entered the club. Angelo was beautiful any day of the week, but something had shifted in him as they’d stepped over the threshold—his shoulders had squared and his chin had risen, and there was a confidence in him that was lacking in the outside world. In the club, Angelo became Angel, and Dylan couldn’t wait to play with him.
If someone else hasn’t got there first . . .
But his fears proved groundless when he returned to the bar. Angelo was alone and nursing an amber shot of Jack Daniels.
Dylan swiped it and knocked it back, letting the burn seep into his bones, stoking a fire that was already well lit. He cast a glance around the club. It had filled up while he’d been in the shower, and it was pumping now. The music had been ramped up, and the moans of nearby playmates barely carried over the sultry dubstep beats. Dylan bought more drinks and slid one Angelo’s way.
Angelo stared at it. Dylan nudged him. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t buy you one back. I only had a tenner in my pocket.”
“But you paid for me to get in,” Dylan protested. “That’s worth a couple of bevvies.”
A ghost of a smirk threatened Angelo’s earnest expression. “I didn’t pay. Perks of being an ex-employee.”<
br />
Dylan cast his gaze around the club again, picturing Angelo weaving among the tangles of writhing bodies, delivering drinks, and clearing glasses. Clocking off early and joining the fray. He hadn’t been sure how he’d feel about watching Angelo play with someone else, but now that they were in the club, it was all he could think about. Getting fucked in the basement rooms had sated Dylan’s darkest fantasies, but there was more—always, always more. He’d felt Angel rise in Angelo, but he hadn’t seen it. I need to see it.
At this time of night, the club’s dance floor was basically a blowjob pit. Cast in shadows from the colourful spotlights, Dylan couldn’t see much, but a hot bloke going to town on a fat dick caught his eye. The dude had skills, and Dylan wondered how he’d look with his lips wrapped around Angelo’s cock. How Angelo would look as he got deep throated.
The man finished up with his playmate a little while later. Dylan sidled closer to Angelo, who was playing his role of the quiet brooding top to perfection. “You wanna play?”
“With you?”
Dylan jerked his head at the man who was meandering vaguely in their direction. “And him. I wanna see him suck you.”
Angelo raised an eyebrow and necked his drink. “What are you going to do?”
“Watch. Touch. That okay with you?”
“Are you going to let me fuck you after?”
“I’d imagine so?”
“Then you’d better wave him over.”
The man seemed to be heading towards them now anyway. Dylan chanced brushing a kiss to Angelo’s neatly stubbled jaw and then turned his attention to the approaching man. He took a step away from Angelo and slipped seamlessly into the other dude’s personal space. “Hey. What’s your name?”
“Rhys,” the man replied without hesitation. “You?”
“Dylan. And this is my friend—” Dylan tugged Angelo forward—“Angelo. Would you like to join us?”
The pleasantries didn’t last long. Rhys was clearly an experienced player, and he was on his knees within a few minutes.
Dylan plastered himself to Angelo’s side as Rhys swallowed Angelo’s cock. He pulled Angelo’s shirt over his head and then fused his lips to Angelo’s left nipple. The quickening thud of Angelo’s heart echoed in his ear, and as he bit down, Angelo’s answering groan sent him into overdrive. He stripped his own clothes and moved around Angelo. God, I want to fuck him. But he dampened the craving—for now—and dropped down beside Rhys. “Care to share?”
Dream: A Skins Novel Page 6