by Solace Ames
“Yeah, exactly.” Eduardo narrowed his eyes. He was definitely judging.
“She’ll call you later tonight. And I’ll send you a link to some stuff on, um, polyamory.” He wasn’t even sure if he’d pronounced it right. Polly? Or roly-poly? Damn, this was getting hard. “I’m not demanding your approval. I just want you to know I would never hurt Adriana.”
“This means a lot to me,” Eduardo said, holding up his left hand and pointing to his wedding band.
“Me too,” Jay said. “Look, Paul’s going to pick me up pretty soon. If you stay around, you can meet him. He’s not—I mean—”
Eduardo was already rising to his feet and gathering his magazines. “On a scale of one to killing Ned Stark on Game of Thrones, I’d say this is about a...two. I just need to wrap my head around it, okay? I’ll talk to you later tonight.”
“Yeah. That’s fair.” Jay’s throat felt thick, and he swallowed around the lump. “Talk to you later, man.”
Eduardo waved goodbye from outside the window. They were cool. He should have waited until Adriana was there, but who the fuck knew when that was going to happen. This Wallace guy should have taken better care of himself.
Then he felt bad for blaming someone for their own heart attack.
Then he felt immeasurably better, because there was Paul walking through the door, looking well rested and very sharp. Paul wore a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tight around the biceps, a detail which made Jay swallow thickly for an entirely different reason.
“Hi, Jay.” Paul sat in the chair Eduardo had left. He put a hand on Jay’s chair arm, nice and casual.
“Hi.” Jay squeezed Paul’s hand—he hoped not too spastically—and then dropped his hand back onto his lap. A beam of sunlight from the window reflected off the white gold of Jay’s wedding band, sending a brief and taunting flash into his flinching eyes. “You look like you got some good sleep.”
“I did. A full ten hours. It was mind-blowing. Felt like I woke up into a different universe. How are you doing?” Paul settled back into his armchair, his shoulders broad enough to cover the chipped wooden edges, and looked at Jay with apparent concern.
“I’m a little on edge right now,” Jay said, resolving to be honest. “I just told my best friend that we’re seeing you. In broad strokes—I said we met on the internet. It didn’t go that well. I should have waited until Adriana was here too, I think. We’ve all known each other since tenth grade.”
“What do you mean, didn’t go well? Did you have an argument?”
“Not exactly. He says he needs some time to get used to it. But I still feel like a jerk, even though I’m logically...not a jerk, I guess.”
“I don’t think you’re a jerk.” Paul’s voice had a wonderful calming effect. “Well, I told my erotic photographer I’m dating you. Broad strokes, again. I like that phrase.”
Jay had to laugh. This conversation was insane, but Paul being so deadpan undercut the insanity perfectly. “Hopefully everything will be all right the next time we meet Eduardo—my friend. Maybe we can do a beach barbecue in the new year.” He remembered Adriana in her cat’s eye sunglasses, the seafoam curling around her ankles. “Adriana’s boss could be back on his feet by then.” And maybe I’ll have a job. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, wasn’t even ready to hope about it, but the possibility felt quietly wonderful.
“Is there anything we can do for her? Pick her up at work?”
“No, she gets wound up at work, and she likes to use the car ride home to decompress. Oh...you could give her a foot massage.” The sense of going too fast hit Jay, hard enough that he resisted the impulse to grab onto the armrests. “If you’re not busy later tonight.”
“I’m not busy. I’ve got all afternoon and evening. What would you like to do? Errands, something low-key, something romantic?”
“What?” You heard that, Jay told himself.
“Romantic,” Paul said, enunciating every syllable. “You and me. Is that something you’re comfortable with?” One of his eyebrows was slightly raised.
Jay resolved to be honest again.
“Not entirely. Some of that’s typical background anxiety. I had a few boyfriends in college and we’d hold hands in some places, mainly West Hollywood, but it was—I had to keep stopping myself from looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody was going to kick my ass. And on top of that there’s this.” He held up his left hand. “I don’t want people to think I’m cheating, and I don’t want to take it off, either. I’m sorry. I don’t think this is fair to you. I...” I want to give you what you want. I want to make you happy. “But I like the idea. I really do.”
“Symbols are important,” Paul said gently.
“Maybe there’s some way around this. I know—I’ll check the internet. Did you bring your laptop? This place has free wifi.”
Paul laughed now. His easy confidence was infectious, and Jay was soon smiling too.
“Here’s my proposition.” Paul leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, caught Jay’s eyes, and the rest of the bookstore disappeared, poof, just like that. “There’s a dance studio in West Hollywood that has introduction classes all this afternoon. Salsa, swing, tango. You can take the ring off your right finger and put it over your left.”
Jay looked down. The ring on his right hand was a chunky silver ring with a lapis lazuli star. He’d put it on this morning because it matched his blue shirt.
It fit snugly over his left ring finger, hiding his thin wedding band. The hiding part still felt a little morally weird, but he could live with that.
And he could go dancing with Paul.
“Yeah, fuck internet advice. Let’s go.”
Paul opened the door for him on the way out. Making the world easier for Jay, in a mannered way, and it sent a shivering, floating sensation all the way down to his feet.
Jay had no doubt who’d be leading when they danced.
* * *
Jay chose a salsa class, which made Paul apprehensive at first. He was game for anything, really, but if Jay had the dance memorized through heritage and heart, the pressure would be higher.
But it turned out Jay wasn’t a salsa pro at all. He only knew the basic steps, and Paul picked those up quickly, so by halfway through the class they were more or less matched, equally mostly-but-not-always on beat and having the time of their lives even when they weren’t.
The teacher clapped and shouted. “One, two, three! Five, six, seven!” Paul counted along as he stepped, Jay’s hands pressed in his own. It was almost a game, learning how lightly he could hold Jay and still have him follow.
The energy in this room was amazing. Unlike any of the other dance classes he’d taken before. The usual beginners’ awkwardness and undercurrent of body shame were drowned out by what seemed like...relief. Most of the couples were same-sex, and being allowed this space of formal sensuality was something rare and precious for them.
He felt grateful for it as well, and grateful that he could share it with Jay.
In the later part of the class they practiced turns, and like most of the other couples, ended up with hopelessly tangled arms, laughing and stumbling. And then it worked, miraculously, on the next go-round. Jay stepped away, not so much stepping as flowing and circling like a banner in the wind, and fell right back into his arms, Paul’s hand coming to rest on the small of his back.
“Oh my God,” Jay gasped. “We did it!” He looked so full of life in that moment, so at ease in his elegant body.
Over the tightly woven percussion, a singer wailed in Spanish, and Paul recognized the word dulce for sweet. Amor for love, corazón for heart—he knew the staples of Spanish love songs now, and listened for them.
One, two, three. Five, six, seven.
“We should come back,” Jay said at the end, shaking ou
t his shoulders. The color of his skin had faintly changed, not really darker, but warmer, perhaps. Jay must have noticed Paul staring, because his broad grin curved into something more mischievous.
“I’d love to. I’ll send you a link to the schedule.” As they walked out, Paul put his hand on the small of Jay’s back. Not pushing. Leading, in that special dance sense of the word.
“Well, that was definitely romantic. Although it’s not necessarily sexual, you know? People don’t have to be sleeping together to dance together. It’s like an intersecting dynamic—” Jay waved his hands to illustrate. Outside, the sun was low, and the studio’s pounding music faded into the quiet rumble of leaving cars. A cool breeze rustled through the palm trees that lined the parking lot.
“Yes,” Paul said. “It’s not necessarily sexual. Not like this.” He pulled Jay against him, feeling Jay tense up for half a second then melt into him, warm and as ready as Paul, still dancing to the same rhythm. Paul ran his palm down Jay’s spine until his fingers pressed against a softer area, and he grabbed and pulled and canted Jay’s hips against his own. “I thought about having you so many times in there. You were gorgeous. Are.” Visions of taking Jay against a wall flashed through Paul’s fevered imagination—fuck, even leaning against a palm tree, shaking the fronds with something other than the breeze.
Jay’s lips were half open. Paul kissed him, keeping it light and teasing while his greedy fingers massaged into Jay’s tight little jeans-covered ass. Jay smelled deliciously of faint citrus and clean sweat and crisp cotton, and Paul couldn’t get enough of him, sight or sound or taste or just being with him.
“Wow,” Jay whispered. “Okay. You really need me to take care of you.” He punctuated that with a tempting roll of his hips against Paul’s hard-on. “Can you wait? Or do you want me to blow you in the car?”
Take care of me. Yes. “That’s not very romantic.” The resulting sigh of exasperation reminded Paul just how much he loved teasing Jay. The power play wasn’t as deep as with Adriana, but splashing in the shallow end was a hell of a lot of fun.
“Jerk.” Jay put his head against Paul’s shoulder and hugged him tighter. “Next, you’re going to tell me you don’t put out on the first date.”
“I’m not a slut,” Paul protested. Jay’s chest shook with silent laughter.
“Well, I am. God, you’re terrible. Come on, take me home. Or somewhere, anywhere.”
“Okay.” Paul kissed him on the forehead and regretfully let go, smoothing his palms over Jay’s slim hips.
He was too dazed and horny to remember to open the passenger side door for Jay. That might have been a little over the top anyway, he consoled himself.
Jay didn’t seem to mind. He settled into the passenger seat, fingers tapping restlessly on the door, glancing at Paul every now and then and always smiling.
“There’s a bathhouse down the street I’ve been to a few times,” Paul said. “We could—”
Jay’s smile disappeared and his hands flew up to cover his face. “No,” he moaned.
Paul’s chest tightened and he cursed under his breath for going too far and hitting one of Jay’s roadblocks. He was so free and open and fun to be with, but Paul shouldn’t take that for granted, shouldn’t ever take him for granted. “Bad idea, then. Sorry. What’s wrong? Or do you want to talk about it?”
“I got kicked out of that bathhouse,” Jay said, and moaned again, this time clearly in embarrassment. “I would never show my face there again.”
“Oh.” Well, this was a relieving but confusing development. “What for?”
“Being stupid. I went there with Eduardo one night in college, because we were bored, and neither of us had ever been to one, and it seemed like a big gay milestone, you know? We weren’t planning on sex. I was stoned out of my fucking mind. These three guys were doing a sex train, and someone asked Eduardo if he wanted to be the caboose, and I couldn’t stop laughing. So an attendant kicked me out. I guess if you pay money for a decent place to fuck, you don’t want some asshole laughing at you while singing Thomas the Tank Engine songs, so I don’t blame them.” Jay shrugged philosophically.
Paul pounded the steering wheel to keep from howling with laughter. The image of Jay with a towel around his waist, hands spread in a wounded “why me” gesture—too much.
“See, this is why I told Eduardo the next day, we must never speak of this again,” Jay said. “The vow of silence didn’t last long, though.” He was back in good humor. “I’d be up for it some other time...just with each other, of course. And at some other bathhouse, obviously.”
“All right, then. My place?”
“Yes! I can’t wait to see the studio dungeon. Does it have a St. Andrews kitchenette?”
During the almost hour-long drive from West Hollywood to Venice Beach, they talked so much that Paul never got around to putting any music on. Jay was talkative but never monomaniacal, unlike some of Paul’s more unpleasant clients. He bounced back and forth between topics in a delightfully unpredictable way. And he didn’t ask Paul a lot of questions, but everything Paul had ever told him, he remembered, and wove into the conversation.
“Great location,” Jay remarked when they pulled up at Paul’s apartment. “Looks very traditional, though. I pictured you living in one of those funky buildings with exposed beams they have around here.”
“It’s basically a cement block, I know. But I get a lot of space for the money, and it’s very quiet.”
“Nice.”
Jay didn’t draw out the word too long, but something about the tone, the modulation, whatever, had Paul wanting to reel him in and kiss him until he begged for more. No tie to grab, though. Damn. Instead, Paul traced Jay’s jawline with his thumb before he got out of the car. Jay wobbled a bit when he got out, which was very satisfying.
Paul led him up the stairs, unlocked the door, ushered him in.
“I’m going to pretend not to be impressed by the bed,” Jay said. “But I really am. It’s cool. On an artistic level, I mean, the nickel finish and how they didn’t smooth out the weld marks all the way and—”
“You can take care of me now,” Paul said.
Paul watched for Jay to shiver, wanting to see the signs so badly that he shivered himself. He clenched his hands into fists and tensed his stomach muscles, keeping himself still while the world spun around him. Jay’s transfixed pose was beautifully rich in potential, a wound-up spring, a frozen waterfall.
And then Jay came to him, no other movement—just came. Like dancing. Circling back...and blinking rapidly, as if trying not to fall into a dream. As Jay blinked, his eyelashes caught the light, feathering shadows across his sharp cheekbones. He touched Paul’s forearms with the tips of his fingers, tentative and questioning and hopelessly seductive. It’s a good thing he wants me, Paul thought suddenly. If he didn’t, I’d die. A juvenile thought, shockingly juvenile—then a second later, Jay’s nearness and warmth pushed it right out of Paul’s mind.
Jay’s voice was husky and low, but steady. “Sure, Paul. What do you want? I can’t do everything for you, but I’d do a lot. I’d be a girl for you, if that’s what you like. I like it too.”
“Good.” Paul traced the line of Jay’s collarbone inward, down to the base of his throat, and yes there was the shiver. “You’re beautiful any way, any way at all, and I’d like to dress you up, but not tonight.”
Jay nodded and took a deep breath, maybe in relief, maybe in disappointment. Paul felt the exhalation on the back of his palm, a faint, tickling sensation that was somehow more vividly erotic than most blow jobs he’d ever had.
Paul still wanted that blow job, though. He’d never get tired of seeing Jay on his knees with that eager gleam in his eyes, no kinky variety necessary, just straight-up cocksucking done right.
Which gave him an idea...
“I’ve got a
camera by the side of the bed. Would you like to see how you look sucking me off? We’ll delete it, after.” He should probably have waited after that, to give Jay time to think about it, but he couldn’t resist taking Jay’s hand and rubbing it against his stiff dick, letting Jay feel what he was about to taste.
“Sure. That would be—yes. Sure.”
They moved to the bed, shedding clothes and kissing every other step. Paul did everything he’d wanted to do on the dance floor: run his hands over every inch of Jay’s naked chest, tease and softly squeeze his nipples, kiss his neck and tongue his earlobe.
Jay worked diligently at Paul’s belt buckle and zipper. By the time Paul leaned back against the bed, his jeans were down around his ankles and his cock was well in hand. “You know what I like,” he murmured into Jay’s ear. “On your knees, baby, and fucking give it to me.”
Jay went down with such graceful devotion that Paul couldn’t bring himself to lessen the moment by fumbling for the camera. He could only watch with awe as Jay sucked him in and traced the ridges of his glans with his sly, hot tongue. Then Jay let Paul’s cock slip from his mouth with that dirty-sweet popping sound, looked up and smiled. Wet lips and all.
This moment, on the other hand—Paul grabbed the camera, finally. It was small enough to fit in his palm and not very complicated, thank God, so he managed to get it turned on in time. “Got that smile,” he said. “Oh, you’re going to like this.”
“Sure,” Jay said happily, and went to work on his balls, licking between them, mouthing at them, the bar of Paul’s aching cock stretching diagonally across his face, shaft rubbing against his cheek. There were no words for how good he looked, how good he made Paul feel, no words left anymore. He held on to the words Jay had given him in the back of his mind, anyway, treasuring them. Boy, girl, baby.
Love.
No. Not yet. Maybe soon.
Paul did his best to keep the camera from wobbling. He might have let it slip when Jay started putting his fine, tight throat into play, but managed to recover and keep the camera angled right. He was about to ask Jay to look up when Jay anticipated his desire—such a good boy, fuck—and using his hands on Paul’s hips for leverage, drove himself all the way while gazing upward, his lips stretched beautifully, eyes shining.
