by Willa Okati
Enjoy. Take pleasure in. Savor.
“So, you wanna dance?” Christian shouted over the music. The devil-man grinned and began to gyrate, rocking his hips in time with the beat. And Christian ...
... Christian let himself go. He felt the music, some song he’d never heard before, flooding into his veins like a dose of heroin, turning his world inside-out. There was nothing but the sound, the bass beat, and his body moving, moving, moving. He was one with the night and the night was one with him.
He came to himself when the song ended and found that he had switched partners somewhere along the way. Now he faced a sweating guy about his own age with floppy blond hair and a grin that was sexy as hell.
“You dance like an angel,” his partner said in the brief hum between songs. “But more wicked, like you just came from hell.”
Christian grinned broadly, unable to help himself. “That’s me. I’m the angel and the devil on your shoulder.” He shimmied up and down, nice and nasty.
The man seemed to appreciate it, running his hands over Christian’s arms as he came back up. “Me? I think you’re a prince.”
“Thanks,” Christian tossed back, then the music began again, hard and driving. He kept ahold of himself this time, thrusting his hips with each pounding of the bass, watching the faces of the men he danced with as he switched from partner to partner. Each one of them wore the pasted-on horns -- some golden, some brown, some parti-colored. There were those who were good dancers, and he lingered with them. Others weren’t that great at all, and he barely gave them five seconds of his time.
Eager hands passed him from one body to another. He was being manhandled, but not roughly; it was more like he was handed around the way a candy that everyone wanted to taste would be. Being shared and shared alike, but he didn’t care because this wasn’t the Pleasure Palace, and he wanted to be there. The music was in his blood and his body sang along.
The crowd of men he danced with grew tighter and smaller, until Christian was alone in the center. He let himself go again, swooping in circles and fucking the air, rocking in time, and shaking his love-maker for all he was worth. God, it felt good to be alive. He felt like he was shedding the Pleasure Palace as if it were a snakeskin ready to be sloughed off. Stomping on it with his heavy boots. Killing it dead.
When the music stopped, Christian felt more alive than he had in -- weeks, months, maybe even years. The energy around him was almost touchable, and he didn’t have to chant words to himself to keep body and soul together anymore. He could sense the approval of the men he danced with, a close-knit group he’d managed to wedge himself into.
Wiping his forehead with his arm, he shared grins and nods with all of them he could see, and felt hands caressing him from behind -- not as if he were something that came with a price tag, but in appreciation. He realized then why Liam’s words had hit home. At the Pleasure Palace, he did feel like a whore. Out here, he was a god.
So far, Amour Magique was all that Liam had promised and more. He gave a slight shiver at the thought of the creepy little man, who’d outdone himself tonight, but thoughts of Liam were quickly driven from his mind when Devil-boy took him by the arm.
“You dance well,” he said in a low, smoker’s rasp. He smelled like honest sweat and some kind of tobacco. “I think we’ve found ourselves a king, boys.”
A cheer went up from the men around Christian. He twisted, trying to see if they were making fun of him, but they began to slap their hands together in appreciation. The adulation felt heady as a good swig of whiskey, and Christian couldn’t help but ride the high.
He couldn’t help riding something else a moment later as two of the men swooped down on him and picked him up in a chair made out of their arms. Laughing, throwing his head back, Christian let them carry him over to a small padded bench, where they set him down and backed away, bowing. Just as if he were a real king.
Devil-boy came to kneel in front of him. “You are the best dancer,” he said in that ultra-sexy voice. “Tonight, you’re our king. You choose your partners in the circle. We all want a turn, but it’s up to you. You can do nothing but sit here and watch us, if that’s what you want.”
The words went straight to Christian’s head. He laughed again, tossing hair out of his eyes. “No way. I want to dance. The only problem is, who do I choose?” Devil-boy stayed on his knees, looking hopeful. “Maybe later, with you,” Christian promised. “For right now, join us.”
The DJ started up once more, pounding out another thrashing beat that set Christian on fire. “Dance for me,” he shouted, dizzy with the pleasure. “Dance for me, and let me see what you’ve got.”
The horned men looked at him, then at each other, grinned savagely, and began to thrust and twist to the music. Christian leaned back against the cool wall, feeling beads of sweat run down his arms and back, and watched them go. God, they were all so good. And they’d said he was the best. Half of him wanted to get up and go join the rest of the crowd, but he was the special one that night. He got to be the one making choices.
He’d choose wisely.
Devil-boy looked like a good partner, the way he threw himself wholeheartedly into the music, but the blond would also be a good match. A redhead with white horns began his own series of spins and gyrations that took Christian’s breath away.
He opened his mouth, all the better to breathe in the hot air of the club, and let himself go limp, the music washing through him like ocean waves. He felt his cock start to harden, something that hadn’t happened in public in about as long as he’d been -- well, not since high school. He couldn’t help himself. This place got to you. For the first time in way too long, he thought about fucking and being fucked with anticipation instead of dread. And it was all because of these men who were dancing to please him. Him!
The song ended, and the horned men rushed in around him, falling to their knees. Another set began, and they clamored for him to join them, to be the best among them, to choose whomever he wanted. Christian had half-decided on the redhead, with Devil-boy as the next partner in line, when he caught a glimpse of sparkling blue from the corner of one eye.
He looked up sharply. Liam? No, no Liam in sight. Not that he could tell, anyway. But as his gaze swung back around, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
A tall man with spiky dark hair and black-rimmed glasses. Pale. He touched his lips when he and Christian locked gazes, then gave Christian a tentative smile. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. That guy from the other night, the one who gave me ten dollars.
I can’t let this get out. These men, they can’t know what I do for a living.
Christian stood and started to walk forward. The kneeling men parted like water, their hands stroking his calves through the tight jeans, begging for his favor. “You first,” he said, tapping the tip of the redhead’s left horn. The man shivered and moaned as if Christian has stroked his cock. Grinning, he ran his finger around Devil-boy’s right horn. “You after him.” From the groan Devil-boy gave, he was about to come in his jeans.
The power was unbelievable. God, such a high.
“But, first, take this one dance for yourselves.” He felt the men get up behind him, then finally came to a stop facing the chess club man. “I have some business with this guy.”
Like making sure he doesn’t open his mouth about what he’s seen.
I hope.
Chapter Three
Panic. Fear. Trepidation.
The music changed from a hard-rockin’ beat to a slow-moving ballad. The men in Christian’s group exchanged uncertain glances, then moved into one another’s arms. There were just enough of them to go around, leaving Christian out.
“Be good until the next dance,” he called, trying to hang on to the power he had over them. Trying not to show how desperate he was. He hooked his fingers around one man’s horns and stroked them like little cocks. The look the man threw at him was that of someone desperate for a fuck. Someone who’d wait for him. The others
grinned widely at Christian.
He relaxed. A little. He still had to handle Mr. Chess Club, who stood unmoving at the periphery of the circle, his hands clasped together.
Handle. Control. Contain.
“You and me.” Christian felt a little of his Pleasure Palace persona slide into place as he pointed at the man and oozed his way over, then reached up and wrapped his arms around a neck that was actually pretty nice.
Weirdly, though, the guy wore a sweatshirt, as if he were cold, but Christian was sweating even through his skimpy undershirt. The whole thing was bizarre, and he wanted nothing more to do with it than he must.
Still, damage control, right? Self-protection. Defenses. Strategic maneuver. “You want a dance?” Christian purred, just as if he were back at work. It made him sick to be playing the part here in Amour Magique, but he always did what he had to do. It was part of the way he ticked. He got by. Always had, always did, always would.
Mr. Chess Club blinked. He stared owlishly at Christian, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “You actually wanna dance with me? You’ve got a baker’s dozen of fauns who want you, and you’re choosing me for this song?”
Fauns? Oh, right -- the horns. Christian shook his head and put a finger over Chess Club’s lips. “Do you want to talk, or do you want to dance?” he crooned. “Come on, now. Move with the music. Just let yourself go.”
Unfortunately, unless you were into hardcore ballroom, there wasn’t much more you could do with a song this slow except sway. But Christian knew how to work a slow shimmy up against a man that would leave the man seeing stars. He started to dance, using the strength in his arms to manipulate Chess Club into following his movements.
“My name -- God, you can move -- my name’s Ewan,” the man said, hands sliding down to take a tentative hold on Christian’s waist. “I’ve seen you around before, right?”
Oh, shit. Disaster. Danger.
“What do you say we don’t talk about where we’ve met before?” Christian suggested, sliding in nice and cozy. He had a good body, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. “There are so many more important things to do.”
“But you kissed me, man.” Two spots of color bloomed on Ewan’s cheeks. “A good kiss, too. You tasted like lipstick and salt. Not exactly my flavor of choice, ya know, but I liked it on you. Truth to tell, I kinda like you as it is, full stop, know what I’m sayin’?” Fuck, but he had a strong Philly accent. Just about thick enough to cut. Not that bad, though. Wasn’t nasal or anything. Just heavy on the dialect.
Still, his words made Christian wince. “I said, let’s not talk about it, okay?” He forced the tension to drain from his body and swung Ewan around. Plastering his body along the other man’s, he raised up on tiptoe and asked, “How much do you want to keep you from telling? I have some money, or I can treat you right, any way you want.”
“You can treat me right all you want, if it’s like this,” Ewan answered promptly. “Just keep on dancin’, would you? You make me feel like I’m twenty-one again.”
Christian frowned. The guy didn’t look much older than twenty-one. How old was he really?
“Like a kid again, yeah.” Ewan stroked him tentatively. “Really much so. I’d love to finish this song with you.”
Christian could deal. And he could deliver. “Then lighten up, big boy,” he said, moving his groin against Ewan’s. “We’re going to have a good time.”
Wonder if Amour Magique has any nooks or crannies where I can take this guy to give him his payoff? God, I hope those “fauns” don’t smell sex on me when I get back.
But, wait ... I promised Liam. God, what if he just pops up out of nowhere and accuses me of selling myself again? Christian’s lips hardened into a line. I’ll deal with Liam if and when he shows up.
Right now, I’m going to dance.
Afterward, we’ll just see what happens.
The music played on, something soft and sweet about being in a heartbreak town. Christian closed his eyes and swayed. He breathed in Ewan’s scent, noticing that underneath the clean, crisp note of some light cologne, there was the smell of rock. Strange. Did the guy work in a quarry, or maybe down in some caves? He tried for another sniff, attempting to be inconspicuous.
“Hey, easy there. You’re definitely not a dog. But I gotta say, I like your scent, too,” Ewan rumbled softly. “Really nice cologne. I don’t know the names of these brands, though. Is this Old Spice?”
Christian laughed despite himself. “God, no. Old Spice is what you give your dad for Father’s Day. This is patchouli, a male blend. Smell the spicy undertones?” And how creepy was it that they were discussing his scent? “I have a bottle at home.” A one-time indulgence that he’d almost used up. Only a third of an inch remained in the one-ounce bottle.
“Patchouli, huh? I thought that was a girly smell, but what do I know? Works for you, anyway.” Ewan wasn’t such a bad dancer, once he got into the rhythm of the song. Then again, he was copying Christian move for move -- occasionally a beat or so behind, but not doing too bad a job. “Don’t got a dad, myself. Haven’t had one for a very long time.”
“That’s so sad,” Christian said in mock sympathy, looking up into Ewan’s face as if he were the only man on the planet who mattered. “I don’t have a father, either.” Which was true enough. The old bastard had told him he no longer had a son when he found out Christian was gay, so vice versa ...
“Guess that leaves us both to paddle our own canoe, huh?”
Christian thought about Liam and shrugged wryly, not losing track of the slow rhythm. “I wouldn’t say that about myself. Not completely.”
“Oh, so you got someone to take care of you already?” Ewan looked disappointed. “I kinda hoped maybe I could be someone you came to when you needed a hand. No, no, I’m sayin’ this all wrong. Sorry. I meant, maybe I could be someone you saw as a friend. Yeah?”
And I know exactly what kind of friend you want to be. Yep, he’d been right. No money for this one, but he could still pull out with his reputation intact, if he could just find a good hiding place. “Oh,” he said, finger-walking one hand up Ewan’s chest, “I can be a very, very good friend. You just tell me how, and I’ll take you to a safe place.”
Ewan blinked. “Buddy, this is Amour Magique. Every place in here is safe.”
“You’d be surprised,” Christian replied, thinking about the weird room he’d been whisked into when he first arrived. He suppressed a shudder, contemplating the absolute strangeness of it all. Someone must have slipped him something. Good thing he was thinking clearly now.
All too clearly, in his opinion. He ached to be back among the group of men, maybe wrap himself around Devil-boy and breathe in that good, peaty smoke smell. There was something wild and untamed about that whole group, something that called to Christian on a primal level.
One dance, one ... trick, and you can get back to them. Return. Reunite. Rejoin.
He could hear the music turn and figured it was about time. “Do you want to take this someplace a little more private?” he asked in his best cozening tones, the ones he used on customers who liked their “treats” a little too public.
Ewan’s arms tightened around Christian. “Why wouldn’t we stay right here?” There appeared to be honest confusion on his face. “All I want is to dance.”
Christian let go of Ewan in disgust. “You just want to -- damn you!”
Ewan blinked again.
“Listen, you,” Christian came in close once more to hiss fiercely in Ewan’s ear, “you don’t say a single word about where you saw me the other night, understand? If I hear a peep out of you about the Pleasure Palace, I’m walking out of here and I’m not coming back. Are we clear?”
Ewan looked puzzled, but he nodded. “Okay, okay. Jeez, take it easy,” he replied obediently. “I wasn’t gonna say anything anyway, just so’s you know.”
“Good.” Christian let go of the tall man and stepped away, heading back to his padded seat. “And goodbye.”
“But --”
Christian ignored Ewan, sitting himself down in comfort and style. He gave the man a passing glance, noting how he looked lost and forlorn without someone to dance with, then turned his head away. His heart was beating in his throat, rabbit-fast. Oh, God, that was a close one. And I still don’t have any guarantee that he won’t open his mouth. But at least maybe I don’t have to ... I mean, not unless I want to ... which I don’t.
Take that, Liam.
He watched the fauns dancing, admiring the supple strength in each man’s body and his flexibility. He’d swear that most of them were double-jointed. They were paying too much attention to each other for his taste, but he’d get his share soon enough. Besides, he caught a few coy glances thrown his way, as if the men were just waiting to see what would happen next. Wondering who he’d choose.
It startled Christian when he felt a cool hand on his arm. “Come on, man. We didn’t finish the song,” Ewan said plaintively. “Please, come back and dance with me? I swear I won’t make a peep.”
Meaning you will if I don’t dance with you. Damn it! Christian sighed heavily and got up from his throne, letting the other man take his hand. A few of the fauns gave him an odd look, which made him cringe internally. God help him, if this walking danger zone gave him a bad rep among the circle, he’d bite the guy’s dick off when it came time to pay up.
He moved back into Ewan’s arms, letting the sweatshirted arms enfold him. Ewan sighed. “You feel real good, you know that? So light,” he said, sounding utterly contented. “Like a butterfly in my arms.”
Christian rolled his eyes. Like I haven’t heard that one a hundred times. “Thanks,” he replied insincerely, swaying against Ewan’s body. The song was drawing to a close, and he decided that he’d better step things up a notch. “Listen, you. I know what’s going on, and I know you’ll tell everyone if I don’t pay up.”