by Jane Kindred
They were able to drink their ale in peace, though it was the weakest ale Macsen had ever had, watching as the place slowly began to fill and the peculiar thumping, blaring music of this realm began to play. A man took the stool to his right and asked him something in English. Macsen asked him to repeat it in Cymraeg, and the man gladly obliged. After a few repeats, he managed to make out that the fellow was asking whether they were staying for some kind of show.
Macsen glanced at Sebastian. “There’s a show, I guess. Should we stay?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Why not? Sounds better than suffering through a dance.”
After a few more exchanges with his new friend at the bar, Macsen understood that a membership was required, which they could purchase for something called three “quid” apiece—three of the single denomination notes August had given them, it seemed. Sebastian handed them over and they signed their names to a list, receiving membership cards in exchange on which their names were penciled in.
Sebastian stared at his for a moment with an unreadable expression before he put it in his pocket with the remaining bills.
“Something wrong?” asked Macsen.
Sebastian took a deep swig of ale before he answered. “That’s the first time I’ve seen my name written identifying me since I was thirteen.” He cast a glance up at Macsen. “That’s not condemnation. It just is. It affected me.”
Macsen fingered the card in front of him. It was the first time he’d used his own name in as many years—perhaps the first time he’d ever written out his name in his entire life. He’d given it as Macsen Pryce, despite the fact that Emrys had never acknowledged him. It was how he’d always thought of himself, defiantly. He wasn’t sure whether seeing it in print made him feel better or worse about that fact. As Sebastian had said, it just was. And it affected him.
They were both too maudlin this evening. He ordered two more pints.
By the time he’d finished his second, the place was considerably more crowded. It hadn’t struck him as odd at first that there were no women in this pub, as pubs and taverns weren’t considered women’s venues where he was from, but he began to notice shocking familiarity between some of the men.
He froze with his drink in his hand as the pair beside Sebastian actually kissed—not a brotherly kiss of two men greeting one another, but an unequivocally passionate kiss of the sort he and Sebastian had recently engaged in. He had a moment of heart-squeezing anxiety that they had somehow sniffed out what he and Sebastian were to each other—whatever that was, precisely—and were mocking them, but the two men were paying them no mind, obviously caught up in genuine attraction to one another. He glanced around with new eyes for the men in this pub, his cheeks feeling uncomfortably warm.
“Sebastian,” he murmured into his drink. “What sort of place is this?”
Sebastian, bless him, had seemed to notice nothing, off in his own reverie. “What’s that?”
He kept his voice low. “Where has August sent us? Look around you. With discretion.”
Sebastian’s eyes slowly tracked the room and settled back on Macsen, wide as silver coins. “I can’t believe she—is this even legal?”
“It’s not hidden,” said Macsen. No one, in fact, was hiding anything. Before he could decide what to do, a loud voice came through an amplifier, apparently announcing the show was about to commence, and the room erupted in cheers and whistles. A gentleman—if a man in nothing but a tight leather waistcoat and tighter leather trousers could be called a gentleman—came through the pub checking for membership cards, and Sebastian and Macsen held theirs up, to his satisfaction.
The lights dimmed, and a raised stage was lit, where the master of ceremonies worked up the crowd, and then he stepped away and loud, pulsing music started, and a man emerged from offstage in some kind of military uniform. Sebastian gripped his arm in the dark, probably having the same irrational fear he was, that this was some kind of trap and they would be arrested. But the man in uniform was…dancing, it seemed—slowly, gyrating and sexual.
Macsen began to feel excessively warm with the crowd pressing against him. The only dancing of this sort he’d ever seen was when Emrys had taken him to a disreputable tavern in Thievesward some years before the incident with the whore, wanting to toughen him up. Two women had come out onto the stage in ruffled drawers and corsets, rubbing against each other and giving the male clientele peeks at their derrieres and breasts that had shocked Macsen to the core. Emrys had laughed at him for blushing.
He was doing so now—and ferociously, if the heat in his face was any indication. The dancer was removing his clothing piece by piece. Macsen glanced to the door, but there was no way past all the men crowded around trying to get close to the stage. The performer had stripped down to a garment that was barely a codpiece, rubbing his glistening, oiled chest and making suggestive thrusts with his pelvis, while men tucked banknotes into the waistband, perilously close to his generous package.
Macsen pulled Sebastian close against him, to protect him, he told himself, but perhaps to touch him too, as he was undeniably aroused despite his discomfort—aroused in a way he certainly never had been watching the women’s burlesque.
Sebastian’s eyes were glued to the stage. Macsen slipped his arm around Sebastian’s waist in front of him, a rush of jealousy overtaking him at the realization that Sebastian found this vulgar, gyrating man desirable. Never mind that Macsen did as well, if somewhat reluctantly. It made him think of that morning he’d come upon Sebastian’s “Dr. Rees” kneeling over Sebastian in his bed, of someone else having Sebastian, and Sebastian wanting it, consenting to be used.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growled at Sebastian’s ear. Fuck the damned crowd. He’d push his way out. As he started forward with his grip firmly around Sebastian’s upper arm, the crowd began to cheer, and Sebastian was pulled from his grasp toward the stage. Macsen stared in shock as a chair was placed in the center of the stage with Sebastian deposited into it looking petrified, though his cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, and the dancer began to—
“Get the fuck away from him!” Macsen tried to shove his way forward, but the crowd was too loud, and no one was paying any attention to him except those he was shoving, who shoved him back with exclamations of annoyance.
The dancer was perched over Sebastian’s lap, grinding in the air against him without quite touching while the music turned slower and more sensual. Sebastian didn’t seem to be protesting. In fact, his hands were stroking the firm thighs, and the dancer was encouraging it, moving Sebastian’s hands around to his bare buttocks, to great applause.
Macsen rammed his elbow into the side of the man next to him to force his way through, and almost managed to reach the stage before the man he’d elbowed yanked him about, yelling in his face. Macsen hauled back and took a swing, hitting him squarely in the jaw, and got himself punched in the eye in return when the man charged at him while he had nowhere to move.
He went for the fellow once more, but the crowd around him wrestled Macsen away, and in the commotion as he was hustled toward the door, Macsen lost sight of the stage, and Sebastian. Two burly men tossed him out onto the brick walk and slammed the door.
Macsen stared at the building, the throbbing sound of music emanating from it like the growl of a beast that had swallowed Sebastian up. He wasn’t going to leave Sebastian to them—whether Sebastian wanted to be left or not. Macsen picked himself up and charged toward the door once more, but before he reached it, the door opened and Sebastian stumbled out.
“Macsen! What happened?”
“What happened?” he roared. “What the hell were you doing? Letting that stranger grope you and—and—”
“It’s not as if I volunteered for it. In fact, I think you volunteered me for it unwittingly.”
Macsen clenched his fists, heat roiling through him with an upwelling of unfamiliar emotion. “
Well, you—liked it!”
Sebastian flicked his gaze upward at the crowd waiting to get into the venue upstairs, some of whom had begun peering over the railing at them. “Macsen, can we talk about this in private?”
“Forget it.” Macsen rolled his shoulders, trying to throw off the absurd tension. It should be nothing to him what Sebastian Swift liked. He was fooling himself to think someone like him would have any meaningful attachments. It wasn’t as if Sebastian belonged to him. Or as if Macsen even wanted him to. “Nothing to talk about, obviously.” He turned and headed up the stairs, but Sebastian pursued him, grasping for his hand, which stung like all hell at the moment. Macsen yanked back the hand with an involuntary hiss, but Sebastian caught it more gently, examining it.
“What happened to your knuckles?” Sebastian searched his eyes. “Did you actually start a row back there? Over me?”
“Nothing to do with you. The diawl wouldn’t get out of my way.”
“Your eye is swelling.”
Macsen ducked his head away from Sebastian’s reaching fingers. “Yes, well—apparently, my face wouldn’t get out of his fist’s way either.” He continued up the stairs. “Where’s your damned sister? She has a vile sense of humor, sending us here.”
“I think she was trying to be supportive,” said Sebastian behind him. “I doubt she’d know exactly what goes on in there. It’s not is if they cater to women.”
Macsen let out a bark of humorless laughter as he reached the street. The elastic had gotten twisted in his hair, and he yanked it out and stuffed it in his pocket, running his scraped fingers through the tangles. A young man smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk gave him an appreciative up-and-down glance, and Macsen’s sudden change of direction to hide the warmth in his cheeks meant he could no longer avoid Sebastian.
“Are we supposed to stand out here all night making ourselves targets while August does Fates-know-what?”
“There’s this place.” Sebastian nodded toward the club. “Looks like a different sort from the other.” Both men and women seemed to be part of its prospective clientele, though the preponderance of patrons appeared to be male. Sebastian gave him an encouraging smile. “You are a rather exceptional dancer.”
“August said it’s not the kind of dancing we’re used to. You can hear the music from here. It’s like the other.”
“I’m sure no one will expect us to take our clothes off.” Sebastian’s expression of certainty mixed with mock disappointment was so absurd, Macsen had to laugh. “Though I suspect you’d be rather exceptional at that sort of dancing as well.”
“Sebastian!” Macsen was mortified, glancing around to see if anyone had heard, annoyed with himself at the little skip of his pulse the preposterous statement had elicited.
“No one can hear us,” said Sebastian. “If they did, they probably couldn’t understand us. We’ve apparently given a marvelous impression of being two backward naïfs from the hills.”
“Not so far off the mark.”
“Let’s just go inside. We can leave if we don’t feel comfortable. I feel more exposed out here on the street.”
Macsen shrugged his acquiescence, and they stepped into the queue for the club, both of them being careful not to stand too close or touch inadvertently. Though Macsen’s head was full enough of ways in which he desired to touch Sebastian that he felt it must be written on his face.
When they were admitted—this time for a fee—it was definitely not what Macsen envisioned as a dance hall. It looked like couples were copulating upright on the ballroom floor. And most of them were men. He did an immediate about-face and ran straight into Sebastian looking up at him with a hopeful expression.
“Looks like I don’t have to figure out how to lead,” he said.
Macsen shook his head, though the look in Sebastian’s eyes was making him want to do whatever he asked. “We are not doing that in front of people.”
“Let’s just watch, like August said.”
Macsen could barely understand him over the thumping bass, but Sebastian took his hand and led him into the interior, and Macsen went as if he had no will of his own. It felt good to have Sebastian’s hand in his, and they certainly weren’t the only men here holding hands.
As blush-inducing as the “dancing” was, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. At least these men remained clothed. He had to admit he was far more comfortable in this venue. There wasn’t the same sort of competitive, aggressive feel here. He’d gotten the distinct impression that he and Sebastian hadn’t measured up to some sort of unspoken ideal at the pub. But here, he’d been smiled at—provocatively—by more than one individual, and he could see many an appreciative eye being cast toward Sebastian. It made him stand closer and hold Sebastian’s hand tighter, but it didn’t seem overtly threatening.
Sebastian snuggled against his side, moving his hips slightly with the music. The motion reminded Macsen instantly of how Sebastian had looked rocking into him, mounted on his cock. It seemed fantastic that the moment had happened only yesterday. And now he couldn’t think of anything else. He drew Sebastian in front of him, facing the dance floor, and wrapped his arms around him, pressing in close so Sebastian could feel his arousal. The wiry frame tensed with a sharp intake of breath, and then Sebastian let the breath out and began to make those subtle rolling motions against him.
Macsen had a new appreciation for this “music”. It was still painfully loud and unsettlingly frantic, but it had a compelling rhythm. He watched the pulsing wave of dancers moving with it, overwhelmed at the sheer number of them.
“Did you ever imagine there were so many?” He had to raise his voice somewhat, but it carried no better than a whisper in here. “Like us?”
Sebastian turned his head, held too tightly in Macsen’s arms to turn around. “Like us?”
Macsen’s skin prickled defensively. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes.” Sebastian nodded solemnly. “I do.”
He fought the urge to shift his gaze away from Sebastian’s intense eyes, while Sebastian rocked and rolled and swayed against him to the beat of the bass, never blinking. It was an effort not to forget where they were and lose all self-control.
“So this is dancing,” said Macsen, moving with him. “I like dancing with you.”
Sebastian looked away at last, a pleased smile on his face, and hugged Macsen’s arms where they wrapped around him.
“There you are.” August’s voice interrupted the moment of synchrony. Macsen let go of Sebastian and stepped back, only to realize the uncompromising fabric of the trousers in this realm left no doubt as to his state. But August seemed to be as unfazed by it as she was by the evidence of his pub brawl in his swelling eye, as if perhaps she’d anticipated both. “Come on, I’ve checked us in already at the Parc.”
* * * * *
They were all quiet on the drive to the inn, which was fortunately brief. If Sebastian wasn’t going to say anything about what they’d encountered at the pub, Macsen supposed it wasn’t up to him to make a fuss about it. They’d just have to be careful about going anywhere August suggested without getting the full details up front. Right now, his mind was on the sleeping arrangements at the inn. He wasn’t sure he could stand to be separated from Sebastian after the strangeness and intensity of the evening.
August, however, had redeemed herself. When they arrived at the inn, she handed Sebastian the room card after ushering them in. “I’m down the hall in Room 302. I’ll see you boys in the morning.”
Sebastian stared after her for a moment before he closed the door and turned to Macsen with an uncertain look. “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind?” Macsen crossed the room in two strides and pinned Sebastian to the door with his body, his palms braced beside Sebastian’s head. “Are you daft?” He silenced any possible response with a kiss, tasting the soft lips with a lazy swipe of his tongue. �
��Fates, you drive me mad. Get this off.” Macsen tugged at the center of the cotton shirt, prompting Sebastian to swiftly cross his arms at the hem and pull the shirt up over his head. While he was busy with that, Macsen slid his hand into Sebastian’s trousers to take the hot, hard cock he knew would be there in his fist. Sebastian made a surprised little yip like an overgrown pup as the shirt came away.
“Hand too cold?” asked Macsen, but Sebastian shook his head rather emphatically. “Do you have any of that oil?” Sebastian bit his lip, stifling a groan at what Macsen was doing, and shook his head again. Macsen drew out his hand, to Sebastian’s evident disappointment, and fished in his back pocket for a little souvenir he’d picked up at the dancehall. “This might work.” He held up the small flexible, transparent pouch that seemed to have some kind of oil inside it. “Someone handed it to me when we first arrived at Club X. I suppose we’re not the only patrons who have the same idea after all that dancing.” He winked and took Sebastian’s hand to lead him to the generously sized bed.
Sebastian tumbled onto the mattress beneath him after Macsen backed him into it. “You’re very…confident…this evening,” he managed as Macsen held him down and ran his tongue over Sebastian’s chest to flick his nipple.
“Do you wish me not to be?”
“Not at all.” Sebastian was short of breath under his attentions. “It’s very nice.”
Macsen came up on his knees, straddling Sebastian, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You liked that performer at the pub, didn’t you?” He moved his hips against Sebastian’s.
Sebastian slid his hands up Macsen’s thighs to hook his thumbs into the belt loops of the canvas trousers. “It was a little overwhelming.”
“But you enjoyed what he was doing.” Macsen let the sleeves slip down his arms and shook off the shirt, grinding teasingly against Sebastian. “Like this.”
Sebastian’s skin was flushed and warm as Macsen rubbed his hands over the slim torso. “I didn’t hate it.”
“I did,” Macsen growled, lowering himself onto his arms in a sort of crouch over Sebastian. “I hated that he was touching you. I wanted to be touching you. I don’t want anyone else to touch you.”