Mating Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  “Here you go, Duncan,” the bouncer said with a flourish of his arm. “Front row seat. The show’s about to start. I hope you enjoy it. Mackie and the boys have been working hard on the choreography.”

  “Thanks.” Trey sat in the nearest chair. “I’m sure I will.”

  Val gave him a squeeze on his shoulder before leaving.

  Alone with his thoughts, Trey started worrying about his meeting with Harry again. He took in the room as he did so. There wasn’t a huge difference from the old décor. Everything was still mostly black and silver with red accents and more deep purple ones. He knew these were colors that resonated with the aliens. Black was standard for warriors, while the red represented blood, naturally. The purple echoed the hue of their irises. And silver? Well, apparently that was the queen. At least, that was what Emil had told him. Trey hadn’t dared ask any follow-up questions. The look of reverence in the alien’s eyes at the mere mention of their ultimate leader was too intense for casual conversation.

  The whole space was still the epitome of luxury, regardless. Everything was shiny and plush. He’d felt out of place when he’d first entered the club months ago while investigating a murder. Now, he felt comfortable. The velvet seat embraced his backside with the softness of a cloud. The muted lighting managed to make everything appear sexy. There were still platforms with stripper poles at the four corners of the dance floor. Boys already gyrated around to the delight of the patrons. There was some new talent, as well, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty on display.

  An ice-cold glass of beer appeared in front of his eyes. “Here you go, honey. Kitty thought you’d want to start with this.” A gorgeous boy with mocha skin, chocolate eyes and wearing only shiny silver boy-shorts batted his eyelashes as he put the beer down. “If you want anything else, I’ll be close by.” He turned and sauntered away with a swish of his narrow hips.

  Trey didn’t have more than a second to appreciate the sight before Kitty’s voice boomed over the sound system. She asked for everyone to clear the dance floor because the show was about to begin. This was new—actual routines by the go-go boys. He’d caught bits and pieces of their practice sessions during their mission. He knew it was going to be good and a way to take his mind off his impending ‘talk’ with Harry. He settled back with his beer at his lips as the overhead lights dimmed and the men’s conversations dropped off.

  The raucous alternative rock music cut out and the opening strains of something more classic started. It took him a second to realize it was U2’s Mysterious Ways. Spotlights flared on and four boys strutted out onto the dance floor from the back. They were modestly attired compared to the ones still at the poles, wearing white, ribbed, sleeveless T-shirts and ripped jeggings. Their feet were bare, but their hips were draped with scraps of plaid. Mackie and Demi pulled a few paces ahead of Quinn and Jase as they all began their coordinated routine. The boys on the poles began to gyrate around, also in sync with each other.

  None if it mattered, of course. Trey’s focus was on one boy only—Demi. The others were only so much fluttering around the main attraction as far as he was concerned. And that hybrid boy’s gaze homed in on him in a millisecond, too. As he pranced his way forward, Demi kept Trey a captive by his attention. No matter what way the boy twisted and turned, he always landed his stare back on him. Trey couldn’t have looked away if the club caught on fire again.

  The boys’ efforts brought the house down with cheers and clapping. His beer forgotten, Trey leaned forward as if he could get an even better view. Alex and the others had been generous with the position of the table. There was no way that he could be closer to the action or see the dance routine any better. Still, he tried, scooting his chair so close to the brass railing that his knees banged into it. He then gripped it with sweaty palms and white knuckles.

  All the boys were good, but Demi outshone them with an inhuman grace that not even Mackie could mimic. He practically floated across the floor, his feet carrying him so smoothly that it was almost as if he didn’t touch the ground. Trey’s gaze landed on the mesmerizing swing of the boy’s hips. He wasn’t so far possessed that he didn’t notice the pattern of the plaid draped there. He’d assumed Mackie wore his own family’s tartan. The other boys, who knew? But, the pattern and colors hugging Demi jolted a deep memory in Trey.

  It’s the Duncan plaid.

  Demi was honoring Trey’s family in a way that caused a welling of possessiveness deep within him. It left him breathless. This was his boy, whether he willed it or not. Demi believed it to be so, and God help him, Trey did as well. His cock hardened and he didn’t even bother to try to convince it to stand down. Right when Bono admonished the boy in the song to get down on his knees, the dancers dropped in unison. With thighs spread, they threw back their heads and made an O face. That brought the house down, and Trey nearly came right in his pants like a teenager. Then they ripped their tops in two from collar to hem and tossed the shredded remains to the audience. Of course, Demi sent his sailing directly toward Trey. He caught the scrap of fabric and clenched his fingers around it.

  The newly-bared chests were painted in colorful symbols. All the men around him undoubtedly thought they were looking at nonsense markings to accentuate the boys’ toned chests. But Trey knew differently. That was the alien script, although what it said or meant, he had no idea. It only served to highlight Demi’s alien nature, and while it should have scared him, it didn’t. Nothing could put him off his desire for Demi at this point.

  As the show came to an end, the club members tossed money onto the floor. The boys blew kisses to their audience while scooping up their earnings. They all managed to dodge grabbing hands at the same time. In comparison, the boys on the poles jumped off their stages and worked the crowd for tips and cuddles. Naturally, the main four were not going to expose themselves to the kind of attention that could lead their alien lovers and husband to having murderous fits—or in the case of Demi, an avenging father.

  Not if I get there first. That possessive thought reared up and he disturbingly didn’t even try to tamp it down again. He even bared his teeth at a guy who leaned over the rail in an effort to make contact with Demi.

  Trey needn’t have bothered. Demi easily side-stepped the grabby hand and sidled up to the rail by Trey. He grinned coyly. “Did you enjoy the show, Sergeant Hottie?”

  By way of answer, Trey took out his wallet and liberated the Benjamin he’d put there earlier in the day. He’d known about the dancing in advance, and while Demi had access to money Trey could only dream of, he wanted to show his appreciation. It was the only safe way he knew how to. He held it up.

  With his smile firmly in place, Demi gripped the railing with one hand, while plucking the bill from Trey’s grasp with the other. Their fingers touched for a brief moment, the feel of it electrifying. At least for Trey it was. His dick jerked and his face heated. He could tell from Demi’s expression that he knew what effect he had. He morphed his pretty lips into a kissing purse as he leaned closer.

  Trey froze with indecision. He wanted to press his mouth to the boy’s, to take what was being offered. It would be like playing with fire. He knew it would, yet the impulse to take and taste and savor was overwhelming. His ass was half off his chair before he realized what he was doing.

  It all changed in a second. Demi’s expression fell and he pulled back. It took Trey a moment to realize that someone had come to stand behind him. That’s where Demi’s eyes were now fixed. And it didn’t take a lot of thought or imagination to know who it was. Sweat broke out all over Trey’s body as he sat back and looked up.

  “Hi, Harry.” He tried for a polite smile but feared he failed miserably.

  Surprisingly, Demi’s father didn’t grab him by the throat and snap his neck. He didn’t even shoot him a menacing look. Instead, he inclined his head with a mere tightening of his lips. “Good evening, Sergeant Duncan.”

  The man’s attention shifted back to his son. “Demi, go back to the
dressing room now before the patrons get the wrong idea about your—availability.”

  Surprisingly, Demi didn’t so much as frown at the order. “Yes, Papa.” He batted his eyelashes at Trey, however, before he twirled around and practically skipped away.

  Trey took the opportunity to down a good amount of his beer before facing Harry again. “Um, you wanted to talk?”

  Harry watched until his son had left the room before replying. “Yes, if you would please come up to our apartment. This is too public a place and Lucien insists on joining us.”

  Okay, that added an element of concern. As scary as Harry could be, his human husband put the capital F in the word fierce when it came to their son. Trey figured the goings-on at Dracul’s castle must have been conveyed to the man and he had a few choice warnings he wanted to personally give Trey. Not that he could blame the guy. Demi was precious and in need of protection.

  He took another slug of his beer before putting it down and standing. “Yeah, sure. Lead the way.”

  He walked through the club in Harry’s wake like a man condemned. It took a few seconds for him to remember he still clutched the ruins of Demi’s T-shirt. He stuffed it into his pocket, knowing it was still visible but unwilling to drop it. Fuck it. If Harry and Lucien didn’t like this obvious show of devotion, they could kill him for all he cared. It would be worth it.

  * * * *

  Demi headed straight for the boys’ dressing room, both delighted and suspicious that his fathers wanted him to be there. They’d been acting weird since returning from Wales. There had been lots of furtive, quiet discussions that always stopped the moment Demi came into the room. Something was up, and usually that meant he wasn’t going to like the turn his life was about to take.

  In the meantime, though, he was going to bask in the glory of the show being such a success. And in particular, the thrill of receiving the hundred-dollar bill that he clutched from Trey was making it nearly impossible to keep his feet at human speed. He wanted to race with glee. After a couple of months of nearly no communication, Trey had not only come tonight, he’d bathed Demi in the warmth of his undivided attention.

  The man wanted him. There was no denying that now. It had been one thing for Trey to offer up his vein to keep Demi alive and get hard in the process. It was something else entirely for him to focus his attention on Demi as he had tonight. That had been unpremeditated and unscripted. The man’s hard-on had been visible to Demi’s excellent vision, and knowing Trey desired him was an emotional and physical high that sent him into a delirium of happiness.

  “Oops, sorry.” Jase almost ran into him racing out into the corridor.

  The guy was buttoning up his white coat as he undoubtedly headed to the kitchen. Dancing was fun for Jase, but he loved cooking and he loved Emil. The usually mild-mannered chef had gone into full possessive-warrior mode when other men had pawed at the boy. Jase hadn’t intended to linger on the dance floor once their routine was done so that Emil would have no cause to go medieval on some guy’s ass. It was kind of sweet, actually, and the obvious devotion on both sides was enviable.

  “No worries,” Demi called out to Jase’s retreating back before continuing on.

  The dressing room was packed, Alex having given Mackie free rein to hire more go-go boys. Club Lux was back, better than ever. There was a relaxed, almost carefree, feeling about the place that Demi had never experienced before with his family. Dracul’s demise had lifted the pall that had blanketed everyone for centuries before Demi had been born. It was easy for him to slip in and go through to the shower room without the others noticing. He wanted a few more minutes to himself.

  He had his own cubby here now, where he kept some clothing. He headed directly there to take off what little he had on. The jeans were no big deal, something he tossed into the communal hamper once he’d shimmied out of them. The plaid was different. He managed to leave it in place, even as he pulled off his pants. The feel of the wool along his skin was delicious. Had Trey noticed how this was the Duncan tartan? He expected so because Trey was sharp like that, missing nothing. It had been an honor to represent the Scottish clan that he dared to hope he’d someday join.

  His cock took advantage of its freedom by springing up almost immediately. It caused him to whip off the plaid so as not to risk soiling it with pre-cum. Thank God no one else was around to see his lack of control. Having waited an eternity for his body to mature in this way, once it had, there was no stopping it. It had only been a few months, ever since he’d started to feel weird, since his dick had been making demands. After a lifetime of just lying there, it had suddenly become the one thing his day had to revolve around.

  It was ridiculous, yet perfectly normal. So said Papa after Dad had mortifyingly entered Demi’s room one morning while he was taking his morning wood in hand. Yeah, that had been a kill-me-now kind of moment followed by an equally cringe-worthy ‘talk’ with his non-human parent later in the day. Apparently, his alien side was mega horny. He had an indeterminant number of years ahead of him where jerking off multiple times a day would be necessary if he didn’t want excruciatingly painful balls.

  Grabbing a scrunchy for his hair, he raced to one of the showers. By the time he’d twisted his hair up into a messy bun, his cock was practically jerking itself. It was as if the thing was sentient. He could practically hear it calling to him to hurry up and give it relief. He curled his fingers around the shaft with one hand while turning the water on with the other. The spray hit his chest around the same time that he came.

  Honestly, it was almost clinical, like peeing, simply a biological necessity with little pleasure to be had, although the intensity of the orgasm made his head spin. He pitched forward, slapping his free hand against the wall to remain upright. He bit back the low groan pushing past his lips, too. The last thing he wanted to do was call attention to himself. Likely he wasn’t the first or last boy to masturbate in this shower, but he still didn’t want to become an object of teasing. His emotions were volatile these days, and he didn’t trust himself to take it with good humor.

  When he felt steady enough to let go of the wall, he clutched at his balls and squeezed. He continued to milk the shaft at the same time, determined to drain every drop of cum. Later in bed, he could do this again with less urgency. At least, he hoped he could. He wanted to enjoy it while picturing the look on Trey’s face as he’d watched him dance.

  Once his dick hung spent, he lathered up his chest to wash off the symbols painted there. He hated to remove them because they proclaimed his love for the human cop. The writing had been Mackie’s idea, and each of the boys had latched onto it with enthusiasm. It was a secret message for their husband and lovers. No one else in the club would know it to be anything other than pretty pictures. Of course, only Demi had known the language. He’d painted the others before Quinn had copied the writing onto Demi’s chest. While he knew Trey hadn’t understood what he’d seen, it had still been one of the best parts of the show for Demi.

  He didn’t care, either, that his family could read the message. He wasn’t ashamed of how he felt about the human. After all that Trey had done for them, they should welcome him, too. Nevertheless, he was prepared to get an earful from his fathers later that night. Or, maybe not. They weren’t acting their usual selves, so he had no idea what they were thinking these days.

  The sounds of raucous laughter cut through the pounding water. He quickly finished up, dried and threw on a fresh T-shirt and jeans. Having spent the vast majority of his life living with adults, he was happy to be able to hang out with boys of his own age. Sort of. He didn’t like dwelling on how different he was from the others. It was enough that they saw him as a contemporary. Years of loneliness had made him awkward around others. He hadn’t known how to act with people of his own level of maturity, so he’d lashed out, been bratty as a kind of defense. He felt differently now. Although his emotions were running riot along with his physical discomforts, he was also more comfortable in his in
teractions. He liked being with other boys.

  “Demi, sweetie,” Mackie called out from across the room. “Come join us. We’re celebrating our smashing success.”

  The redhead sat on one of the new sofas in the expanded dressing room along with Quinn. They were sipping what looked like flutes of champagne. Mackie held a full one out to him as he approached.

  Demi eyed the glass. “If you think I’m going upstairs with alcohol on my breath…” Part of him was thrilled at the idea, but the more practical side knew his fathers would kill him if he did.

  Quinn giggled. “It’s only sparkling cider. We’re not trying to get you into trouble.”

  “Oh.” Pleased that his friends were concerned about him, he took the offering and plopped down between them. The cold drink was marvelous and the bubbles tickled his nose, just like how the real stuff was supposed to.

  Neither of the other two had bothered to shower. They sat with their painted chests still on display. All around them, go-go boys bustled about, getting ready to go on, or coming back to clean up from their previous rotation out on the poles and giving lap dances. Demi liked the company but didn’t envy any of them. His dancing was purely for fun, and his ambitions went beyond being an entertainer, even if his fathers would allow him to be a go-go boy. Which of course, they never would.

  It didn’t matter. He intended to follow in Papa’s footsteps and become a doctor. His experience caring for Dafydd had cemented that interest. He knew he could be good at it. His other ambition was more prosaic, yet within reach and more thrilling. He wanted to be like Mackie, a husband—Trey’s husband, to be exact. Silly as it was, since returning from Wales, he’d started imagining what his wedding would be like. He’d also secretly tried out various versions of his new name—Demetrius Duncan, Demi Duncan, Demi Stelalux-Duncan. That last one was a mouthful, so he was leaning against it. The family name was entirely made up anyway. It had no real meaning other than as an effort to fit into human culture. Whereas, the Duncan name was a continuation of Trey’s family line. He wanted to be part of that tradition.