Dangerous Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  The song ended, starting Mackie’s break. He hopped off the stage. Warren pressed a towel and a hundred-dollar bill at him. Mackie accept the one and gently rejected the other.

  “You’ve been too generous with me tonight already, Mr. Warren.”

  Being able to turn away money was a testament to how financially secure he felt now. It made for a stunning change in his life. Thanks to Alex and Val, he’d managed to put away a tidy nest egg. Besides, at a certain point, a member’s tips started to turn into bribes and expectations that Mackie couldn’t, wouldn’t, fulfill. He sensed that point had arrived with Warren.

  The man leaned in to whisper in his ear. “There’s so much more where that comes from. Let’s go upstairs if you need to feel that you’ve earned it.”

  Mackie shied away, flashing what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “I appreciate it, really I do. But,” he added, cupping himself, “as you can see, I’m already someone else’s boy.”

  Warren’s face fell. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  “I can’t argue with you there.” Mackie shrugged. “What can I say? I, um…love him.” Saying the words out-loud cemented them in his mind. Against all reason, he truly had fallen in love with an alien.

  “You know where to find me if you come to your senses.” With that parting shot, the man went back to the stage and ran his hand up the leg of the boy who’d taken Mackie’s spot.

  Rubbing the sweat from the back of his head, Mackie wandered over to the bar. He flashed a smile at Kitty and placed the towel on the stool before sitting down. Instead of bringing him his usual Coke, she placed a bottle of water in front of him.

  “Val’s orders,” was all she said before moving away.

  “Oh.” Mackie unscrewed the cap and chugged half the cool liquid in one gulp. It was very refreshing, but he preferred the sugary caffeine of his favorite soft drink.

  He finished the bottle on his way to the kitchen. He hadn’t had any dinner, owing to the clandestine meeting. The chef greeted him with his usual good cheer. Before Mackie could ask for anything in particular, the guy ushered him over to the table and put down a bowl of brown mush and another bottle of water.

  Mackie peered into the bowl. “What is this?”

  “Porridge. The real kind, none of that processed crap. Took me a full hour to make it.”

  “Um.”

  “No sugar or cream. No add-ins of any kind. You get it plain. Val’s orders,” he added before Mackie could ask.

  Mackie picked up the spoon, scooped a bit of the stuff up and let it plop down in the bowl again. “It looks disgusting. No offense.”

  “Nah, it’s bland. That’s all. Bon appétit, kid.”

  “Wait!” Mackie said when the man turned to leave. “Can’t I have some raisins or something? That’s healthy, right? Val doesn’t have to know.”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t tell him,” Emil replied.

  Mackie brightened for about two seconds before slumping in his chair. “I would.” That was the problem with being a good sub. Mackie might act the brat, but he still respected Val’s role as his Dom enough to be truthful with him.

  “Like I said…enjoy.”

  He didn’t. The porridge sucked and lay heavily on his stomach besides. He ate it, though, and drank the full bottle of water. After a quick clean-up and change of shorts in the dressing room, he returned to dance. His routine was perfunctory, though. He couldn’t keep his mind on anything except what Val had in store for him later. The control over his food and drink was baby stuff, annoying for sure. It was only the warm-up, he knew. There would be more coming, things he wouldn’t like. Eventually, Val would get around to something that made Mackie happy. All he had to do to get to that point was to endure.

  Easy-peasy.

  * * * *

  Mackie was rethinking his bravado hours later as he stared at what Val had left for him in Mackie’s private bathroom. Two bottles of disposable enemas stood lined up on the sink. There was no note. There didn’t have to be. He knew what to do, and he hated it. Val’s very thought, naturally. Depriving Mackie of what he liked and forcing him to do things he didn’t was the perfect punishment for a brat like himself.

  No one could make him do any of this. He could have grabbed a Coke and made himself a sandwich. Neither Kitty nor Emil would have stopped him. He could dump the enemas in the trash and greet Val with an unclean hole. The man wouldn’t force the liquid up him. But his defiance would be a hollow victory because Val’s ultimate punishment would be to leave Mackie alone, untouched, undisciplined.

  And that would crush him.

  So, he slipped off his shorts and tossed them into the hamper. He scratched along the edge of the cock cage where it chaffed him from hours of jiggling it. Eyeing the first enema bottle, he screwed up his courage and opened it. Then lying on the floor, he bent his left leg and positioned the lubed nozzle against his hole. With a grimace, he slid it in. After a year of taking Val’s humongous cock, this thin piece of plastic barely registered. The solution he squirted up did. He loved warm cum coating his channel. This fluid, not so much.

  He emptied the bottle nevertheless and started counting. The pressure inside his guts built slowly. Ignoring it, he made himself count out three minutes before getting up and relieving himself in the toilet. Then he took a shower before using the second enema. It was just as miserable as the first time, but he did feel clean as a whistle. Hopefully that would earn him a few brownie points.

  As he had the time, he styled his hair. The shaved part was growing out nicely and as he studied himself in the bathroom mirror, he contemplated how he might wear it next. For the moment, it took a bit of gel to tame into something more sexy than wild. Eventually he was satisfied, so he returned to his room, settled on the bed and picked up a magazine to read. All he had to do now was wait.

  * * * *

  Val easily tracked Logan by her scent, at first. When he’d given Emil the orders about Mackie’s food, he’d learned that the woman had left the kitchen within the previous hour. He’d followed her path on foot, as she’d been, but at a brisker pace than the human had used. It had taken little time to reach the T station she’d entered. Once in the crowded space, however, so many human smells made it harder to pick up the thread of hers.

  He wandered around the platform, trying to be inconspicuous and knowing he failed. His size alone caught people’s attention. As did his hairstyle choice, but damn he loved the clean lines and easy care that his Mohawk afforded him. His Hilfiger black bomber jacket and jeans were among the least expensive things he owned and still he didn’t exactly blend into the crowd sartorially, either. He caught the eye of women and men alike. He saw both wariness and interest and ignored both.

  Among the perfume, body spray, natural human odor and stale popcorn, he finally caught the smell that identified Logan. He followed it to the end of the platform and realized it went into the tunnel. He knew that some homeless made camp in the underground network that was intended for subway use only. It was dangerous and illegal to sneak back there, yet with the coming cold, it was done, nevertheless. It helped as well that there were unused portions of the system under the city that were accessible if one knew where to find them.

  The homeless often did.

  He waited until a train came and went before he streaked into the tunnel in its wake. From there, he followed both scents and sounds. He found Logan with a group of five other people of indeterminate gender and age huddling together in an alcove dangerously close to the tracks. Given the smallness of the space and the amount of stuff they had mounded around them, it was as warm a spot as any to hang out in. They all turned startled and hostile eyes in his direction.

  Logan defused the situation immediately. “It’s okay. I know him. What are you doing here?”

  “I was hoping to catch up with what you’ve learned.”

  He squatted down to make himself less imposing. He wrinkled his nose at the fetid smells around him. Humans had evolved into a far more c
ivilized species since his ship had crashed on the planet. Yet, they still had many of their society living without basic needs being met. He would never understand their ways.

  “I hope that’s all right. Matters have escalated, and the family is very concerned.”

  “What’s he blabbing on about?” A male voice asked. The man sat in the corner, wearing a bulky camouflage jacket and a green watch cap pulled down low on his forehead.

  “Like what I was saying,” Logan answered testily, “the drug that’s making guys crazy.”

  The man nodded. “Yeah, yeah, right. Heard of that, you know, when I was up top panhandling.”

  “Hard to miss it. That was some sick stuff,” someone added.

  Others nodded in agreement. “The mayor and everyone’s freaking out.” He chuckled. “They hate it when our kind make a mess in their pretty world.”

  Everyone else thought that was a funny statement, too. Val detected pot among the many smells. That didn’t interest him, of course. He wanted to ask questions yet knew that would piss Logan off, and it was her standing in this part of Boston’s community that would prove useful. He was only there to make sure she was still on the case and to report back to Alex. Although they considered Logan to be part of their hive, the woman didn’t necessarily view them the same way.

  “Yeah,” Logan agreed, “no great loss having Newbury Street smashed up, but those two guys are dead now. And that kind of sucks. Anyone know them?”

  “I did…sorta.” This was from a young-looking female with her knees tucked under her chin. “I seen them around the Square. Harvard,” she clarified, meaning in Cambridge, the city across the river. “I used to go there, you know. Those guys were panhandling in my spot. I’m not sorry they’re gone.” She clammed up with that, resting her cheek on her knees.

  “So, they hung out over there, huh?” Logan directed the question to the girl, but she got no response. She shifted back to the man. “Word is, it’s called ‘vamp’. Makes you feel powerful. A real rush.”

  “No, suh? Well, that explains all the bashing and carrying on and such.” The man waved a dirty hand. “I ain’t into that kind ah shit. I like being mellow. Give me weed every time. And thanks to the good citizens of the Commonwealth, it’s legal now.”

  “Where would you go for something still illegal?” Val felt compelled to ask.

  Crouching in a stinky niche of the subway system was wearing on him. Plus, he couldn’t quite quell his desire to return to the club and see what Mackie was up to. Had the boy complied with his orders? Either way, Val intended to instill some stern discipline. The very thought had his cock stirring.

  The man jerked his thumb in Val’s direction. “Where’d you say you found this igit again? He’s your brotha or something?”

  Logan turned hard eyes on Val. “He’s a pain in my ass, is what he is. Ignore him. Any line you can give me on whose dealing vamp, I’d appreciate it.”

  “You’re not thinking of using that shit, are ya?” When Logan merely shrugged, the guy shook his head. “I got no idea. I like keeping a low profile.”

  No one else volunteered, so Logan stood and would have barreled right past Val if he hadn’t moved out of her way. He followed her back to the station and out onto the street.

  “I’m sorry if my presence proved distracting.”

  She didn’t bother to look at him. “I said I’d let you know if I learned something. You don’t trust me.”

  “It’s not that.” Not entirely, but it didn’t seem wise to be totally honest on that point. Logan had come through for them when it had counted most. It didn’t change the fact that she still acted more like a feral cat that let Emil feed her. Her mental health issues plagued her and so far, no amount of coaxing by the one guy she seemed to trust had convinced her to seek treatment. She was a wild card in the effort to fight Dracul.

  She hunched into her jacket, one that Emil had given her and yet was already dirty and a bit smelly. “I got this. Even the street people who don’t know me recognize me for what I am—one of them. You look like a cover model for GQ.”

  She did glance at him then, her eyes taking in his body with a dismissive sweep. “I bet that’s your idea of dressing down.”

  Because it had been exactly that, Val felt defensive. “I was thinking that if I flash some green around, it might help loosen tongues.”

  Logan croaked out a laugh. “Sure, that would do it, except they’ll give you false information for the sheer fun of watching you chase your tail. I’ve got this,” she said again. “I’m going to Harvard Square to poke around. On my own,” she emphasized.

  Because Cambridge had come up more than once as a relevant location, it seemed like the logical step for her to take. It was possible that Logan could learn something the cops hadn’t. Seeing the wisdom in her plan and sure now that she was doing what she could in their cause, Val didn’t argue the point. “Fine, but shouldn’t you have stayed in the T and ridden there?”

  Logan shook her head. “Spoken like a guy who’s used to getting around town in style. I’ll get there my way. Don’t worry about me. Haven’t you got some pretty boy’s ass to beat or something?”

  Val stiffened at the taunt then let it go. Back on his home world, everyone knew everyone else’s business. It was the nature of the hive. He’d become too used to the private ways of the humans. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll see you back at the club.”

  With that, he peeled off and ducked into the first alley he found. He jumped up and grabbed hold of an old fire escape railing. He climbed quickly to the top of the building, crouched to listen if anyone might be about. Hearing nothing, he began his roof jumping.

  There were few chances to navigate the city in this fashion. One had to be sure the humans were tucked away for the night as much as possible. Prying eyes were the biggest threat to his species’ concealment. For him, the distance between the buildings took nothing to traverse. A human would be risking a nasty fall, not that they couldn’t manage it successfully. Seeing him jump from one building to the next didn’t automatically mean he had to be otherworldly, but it would be an instant YouTube favorite if his movements were ever filmed. He could only imagine Alex’s reaction to that kind of spotlight.

  Besides, at the moment, he needed to expend a lot of energy. So he leaped and ran at full speed. No human could move that fast, making what he did even riskier if detected. He couldn’t help himself. He was too pumped over the idea of dominating Mackie. He’d missed their playing. It had become a way for him to let off steam, as the humans would say.

  The constant need to rein in his natural strength and abilities took their toll. In the old days, he would have sprinted across desolate mountain tops. Or, hacked his way through battling warriors. Discovering the delights of the BDSM lifestyle had given him a better outlet in modern times. It was curious, but the amount of control he had to exert to play safely with his human partners left him drained and content, not frustrated.

  That had been never more so than with Mackie.

  Anticipation made him reckless. By the time he landed on the club’s roof, he’d practically flown across the city. He crouched from a moment, catching his breath, a rare thing for him to have to do. Then he jumped down into the alley and entered the club by the side door. It was fairly quiet, it being a slow night and late at that. Those members who were left were making out with the boys in the lap dance balcony seats or one of the private rooms. He could hear each place where everyone was and avoided them.

  He strode into the kitchen. Only Emil was left, stirring some massive pot of something. A sniff confirmed lentil stew. The man graced him with a glance. “Your boy is full of bland porridge and blander water.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mess with him.”

  Val stopped at the warning. “What?”

  Dropping his ladle, Emil came over to get in his face. “That boy wears his heart on his sleeve. He loves you. So, I say again, don’t mess with him. This time
, you stick or don’t do it at all.”

  Val held back his temper, understanding that his old friend was looking out for Mackie. “I’m only trying to help him get through this Dracul crap. The boy is scared and stressed. I can help him with that.”

  “Sure. A mission of mercy.” Emil batted a meaty hand at Val. “You’re full of shit. You love that boy as much as he does you. Why can’t you admit that?”

  “Because I don’t.” Val let his tone drop to sub-zero. This was not a conversation he was willing to have with anyone.

  Emil’s expression went from bearish to sorrowful. “I know it’s hard, but Mackie isn’t—”

  “Don’t say it!” Val warned, a sudden pressure on his chest making it hard to breath.

  “Robbie.” Emil’s soft volume didn’t hurt any less than an ice pick in Val’s heart would have. “This is the twenty-first century, not the eighteenth. Everything’s different now. Mackie grew up with vitamins and vaccines, antibiotics and healthy food. He’s stronger than Robbie could have ever been, even with your blood in his veins. Don’t let the past destroy what you have with Mackie.”

  Because he was very afraid he might destroy Emil and his beautiful kitchen if he stayed, Val bolted. He sprinted up the back stairs to escape his friend’s well-meaning advice and his own haunted memories. Taking time only to grab a bag he’d packed earlier from his room, he went to Mackie’s and threw the door open.

  A naked Mackie jerked up from his pillow. The magazine he’d been reading slid to the floor. “Sir.”