Aftermath
Angel Martinez
Dedication
For Kay, who believed before anyone else, and for Mic, who thought it might be fun.
Aftermath
By Angel Martinez
Published by Romance First Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 by Angel Martinez
Cover Artist: Mika Star
Editor: Julie Lynn Hayes
Smashwords
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Chapter One
Getting Home Late
Three hours late, Victor dragged himself home in a foul mood. Bad enough a five o'clock crisis always arose, but Cody couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone when he called. He left messages to say he'd be late, please don't go anywhere. No call back.
Now, sterile silence greeted him. No stereo playing, no smells of cooking from the kitchen, no one to greet him at the door. Nothing. The little rat had probably gone out tomcatting. A tight knot of anger settled in Vic's chest. After their last argument, Cody had broken down, admitting he'd been selfish and irresponsible. He would start taking care of things at home better and be there when Victor finally dragged his weary ass home at night. So he promised.
Victor dropped his briefcase on the floor, fingers numb from exhaustion and misery. He winced at the echo. He and Cody had loved the house when they bought it, with the two-story entrance and the twelve-foot high ceilings, but all alone, the house was too damn big.
He shuffled around the corner to the kitchen to make himself a long, tall rum and Coke, and jerked to a stop. Cody hung in the doorway, his wrists fastened over his head in handcuffs, the connecting chain attached far above to a hook screwed into the high doorframe. His auburn head lolled forward and he was completely naked.
"Cody! Oh my God!" Victor rushed to him and threw an arm around his waist to take his weight. "Sweetheart, dammit, you all right?"
Cody lifted his head, resting it on Victor's shoulder. "Hi, sugar daddy. You're finally home. I'm okay, I guess. Must've fallen asleep."
"Who did this to you?" Victor's dark brows drew together, and his anger trembled under the surface of his muscles.
A bitter laugh bubbled up from Cody. "I did this to me. I wanted to surprise you. Easy to set it up, but once these cuffs lock… well… guess I put 'em on too tight. Couldn’t wriggle back out. Couldn't unhook the chain. Couldn't reach the key." He pointed with his chin to the kitchen counter—the key was in plain sight.
He looked up at Victor with the grin that always melted his heart—half-angel, half-rogue. "Just had to stand here listening to your 'you better be home when I get there, Cody' messages. I'm here, I kept thinking. Not going anywhere."
"You idiot," Victor fumed as he retrieved the key. "What if I'd decided to go out first? What if I hadn't come home until midnight? You could have seriously hurt yourself like this, you damned fool."
Cody groaned when his arms were lowered and sat down hard on the floor. "I'll try to keep that in mind, oh lord of the manor," he muttered, rubbing his wrists and staring at the floor. "There's a pizza in the oven, just gotta heat it up."
"You ordered pizza?" Victor knew he should be trying to be a little sympathetic, but he couldn't get past being angry and worried all at once. "That's your idea of cooking dinner?"
"I made the pizza, dammit, Vic. Crust and all." Cody's voice shook, a bad sign. "I'm not the one stumbling in three fucking hours late."
Victor moved calmly into the kitchen and turned on the oven light to see inside. Sure enough, there was a beautiful pizza in there—olives, onions, peppers, broccoli, the works —with a handmade crust. A little bumpy in places, not the too-smooth perfection of commercial pizzas. Cody had obviously gone to some effort to set up this evening. But some things Victor couldn’t let slide.
"Are you cussing at me, little man?" he asked in a smooth, too-calm voice. "Even after our last talk?"
Cody's head shot up. "No, Vic. I mean, yeah, but I'm sorry. I just... it wasn't real fun stuck like that so long."
"Well, whose fault is that? If you're gonna do dumb-ass things…" Victor came back to him and yanked him up by the wrists. "I should just leave you to them." Though Cody screamed in protest and tried to squirm out of his grip, Victor kept a firm hold. With the open cuffs still attached to the hook, he simply had to fasten Cody’s wrists back into them, putting a distressed Cody right back where he’d found him.
"I'm sorry… please." Cody was dangerously close to whining, even sobbing. "Lemme down. Come on. My arms hurt so bad..."
Victor planted a soft kiss on his lips. "You'll stay there ‘til I say you come down. For being stupid, and for cussing at me."
"I just wanted to surprise you," Cody whispered.
"No tears. You know I hate that."
Biting his lip hard and holding his breath, Cody kept his tears to a single drop that trickled down his perfect, smooth cheek. He'd even shaved before getting himself into his predicament. This wasn't lost on Victor. He smacked Cody on the butt, just once and not too hard. The view was quite nice, he had to admit—Cody's lean muscles all stretched out, the dimples in his gluts standing out. Victor wandered upstairs to the bedroom to change.
He yanked off his tie and kicked his shoes across the room while he fumbled with his pants, wanting to get back to Cody as soon as possible. Then he smiled and slowed down. Let him wait and think. That was the whole problem. Cody didn't stop to think. Granted, this impetuous, mad-for-life part of him drove Cody's art and had drawn Victor so helplessly to him. But it also got him in trouble, again and again.
The last time… Victor shook his head, trying to sweep the thought away like ceiling cobwebs. He didn't want to remember. Not now.
When he slipped out of his shirt, he spotted a white hair amidst the forest of dark curls on his chest. Most likely Cody's doing as well. Still as massive and hard-muscled as when he'd worked construction, damned if he didn't feel he was getting prematurely old some days. He slid into a pair of boxer briefs—the black lycra ones, just to make Cody crazy—and ambled back downstairs.
"Vic, please..." Cody whined as soon as he was back in sight, big, blue eyes pleading.
"I've had a hellish day, little man. Do not get on my very last nerve."
Cody subsided with a sigh, shifting in his cuffs in a pointed way. Victor pretended to ignore him. He moved about the kitchen getting his drink, poured a glass of wine for Cody, and set it where he could see it was for him. Soft fingers of baking pizza scent eased through the kitchen, working their way into every open space. From across the kitchen, a loud stomach growl broke the silence.
Victor looked over the counter at his lover. "Hungry, sweetheart?"
"Yes," Cody breathed, his voice husky.
Victor moved around the counter to see all of him, and his brows shot up. "Well, well, so I see. That for me?" Cody's erection jutted ramrod straight from his body.
He chewed on his bottom lip, his right foot twisting on the tile in agitated half-circles. "I love watching you, baby..."
Victor stepped behind him, letting Cody feel the warmth of his body against his naked skin. Cody's breath caught in a hard gasp as Victor's fingers ran up his ribs to his armpits. He squirmed against the cuffs; his head dropped back when Victor's hands closed over his hips to keep him still.
"Shhh, shhh. You'll hurt yourself." Victor's breath slid over Cody's ear and he moaned, shaft twitching at that simple touch. His hands wandered into the dark red curls at the tops of Cody's thighs as he pressed against him. God, but Cody was so easily turned on. A look, a word sometimes, and the boy was ready to go.
One hand cupped Cody's balls gently, while the other slid to his impressive erection. For a small man, Cody carried a lot under the hood. Victor slid his forefinger up the underside, pressing just below the head in circles before he traced around the rim. With one thing and another, it had been awhile. Too damn long. Cody was already panting.
Victor's hand closed around the shaft, pumping slowly back and forth. A long, sweet moan slid from Cody, the sort that made Victor's balls ache. He felt the hard muscles in Cody's butt tense, saw the lines of definition sharpen on his stomach as he peered over Cody's shoulder.
"Vic, say the words," Cody breathed, his hips beginning to jerk. "Please, please—say the words. I need to hear you say them."
He grinned against Cody's neck and nearly asked what words he meant. Punctuating his speech with hard sucking kisses along Cody's throat and shoulder, he whispered, "Show me how much you love me, my heart. Come for me." Cody shivered and jerked against him and he repeated in Cody's ear, "Come for me. Now."
A strangled cry leaped from Cody as he thrust his hips against the rhythm of Victor's hand. His chest heaved and Victor felt the sac in his hand move and tighten before the first jet of semen rocketed from Cody. His lithe, compact body writhed against Victor, against his cuffs, a hard groan of ecstasy accompanying every pulse of his orgasm. Victor kept up his relentless pumping, milking every possible drop.
When Cody quieted and hung in his cuffs, shaking, only then did Victor reach for the key and let him down. He held Cody up against his chest, worried he might fall otherwise.
"Vic..."
"Mmm?" he hummed into Cody's hair.
"Pizza's burning."
"Screw the pizza."
Cody turned in his arms, finding his feet again, and kissed Victor's jaw with a grin. "Don't do that. You'll burn my favorite parts of you." He neatly avoided the swat at his rump as he slid into the kitchen and pulled the pizza out, only slightly singed.
"You do all your cooking naked today?" Victor asked with a soft laugh.
"Just this last bit." Cody bent to reach into the bottom drawer for a pizza cutter and Vic nearly choked on his drink at such a lovely view.
"It was a nice idea, sweetheart, your surprise. Just next time, could you maybe think of one that won't risk a separated shoulder or maybe worse?" Victor sighed and slid onto one of the counter stools. "I do like the hook, though. Lots of interesting possibilities."
"Such as?"
"Maybe a nice fern or a spider plant—"
Cody snorted in shock. "You can't be serious! I didn't go through all that trouble for a plant hanger!"
"Just for company." Victor plowed into the slice of pizza Cody handed him straightaway, burned tongue and all. "I mean, what if your mother visits and asks what the hook's for? What am I supposed to tell her?" He lowered his voice another half octave. "Yes, Mrs. Fitzroy, that's where I truss your little boy up when I want to ream him good and proper."
Laughing, trying not to choke on wine and pizza, Cody took the stool opposite. "All right. I'll have Jonathan bring a nice plant from the shop tomorrow."
The air in the room grew thick as if an indoor storm brewed. "Go to the nursery yourself and pick something up, Cody. I won't have Jonathan in this house."
Cody's eyes narrowed. "Oh, so now I can't even see my friends anymore?"
"Jonathan's hardly a friend, little man. He's just going to talk you into going out clubbing."
"And?" The shaking returned to Cody's voice. "Am I a prisoner? It's a crime I like to go dancing?"
Victor pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. His voice quiet and even, he watched his hands so he wouldn't have to see Cody's expression. "Dancing is fine. I don't care if you go out every night and shake your little ass. But you let strangers buy you drinks. And pop pills into you. And use you like a sex toy. And dump you in an alley."
He glanced up to see Cody's face crumble; quickly, he looked back down. "I don't want to have to race to the hospital again, sweetheart, not knowing whether you're alive or dead. Sit by your bed, wondering if you'll make it through the night. Jonathan thought it was all just too funny. He watched it happen and he didn't do a damn thing."
Cody's head was buried in his arms now. He made no sound but his shoulders shook spasmodically.
"Cody..." Victor slid off the kitchen stool, hurried around the counter, and wrapped him in his arms. "Don't cry. I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again. Just... no more Jonathan, okay?"
"All right." Cody's voice was muffled against Victor's chest, but he sounded calmer. "I think I'm going to bed."
Tilting his head up, Victor dried those blue eyes. "You want some time?"
Cody managed a smile. "Just enough to clean up. Come to bed soon, Vic. You're so uptight. You need to get laid."
"Oh, you don't even know how bad," Victor growled in mock threat, catching Cody's lips in a searing kiss that promised enough passion for several nights.
Chapter Two
Not So Chance Meetings
Victor woke with a groan, the insistent beep of the alarm knifing into his head. A groggy, heavy pressure filled his sinuses. The clock radio was, of course, on Cody's side.
"Could you maybe turn it off?" Victor growled and rolled onto one elbow, but Cody's side of the bed was empty. He rolled further and reached a long arm out to hit the switch, rubbing at his face wearily. Cody up this early meant one of two things. One of those awful cluster headaches had hit, which Vic doubted since the pain was so awful, Cody would have shaken him awake in panicked agony.
Or he’d been inspired.
Vic slid into a pair of sweats and wandered downstairs where earnest noises of metal on metal drifted out of Cody's studio. Victor chuckled and shook his head. When the muse took Cody, he had to go to it. In the middle of dinner, at three in the morning, right after lovemaking. Vic didn't mind. This was what Cody did. To love Cody was to love his manic ecstasies of creation.
Understanding Cody's art was a different matter. He sculpted in metal and "found objects."
"You mean junk?" The first time inside one of Cody's studios, Victor had scratched his head at the pile of oddments Cody pointed to as his materials.
Cody's smile held all the enthusiasm of a little boy with his first bike. He nodded vigorously. "Yes, sometimes junk. Junk is a terrific resource. But sometimes things you have around, or see in an antique shop or a dime store, or the grocery store. Sometimes a thing you've had around for years and suddenly you take it apart and it's something completely different."
Only five years ago, but it seemed another universe, shivering in the pervasive cold of Cody's first studio, dimly lit and damp, with the ever-present audience of spiders and cockroaches.
Victor started coffee and bagels, took his shower, shaved and dressed, then gathered mugs and plates to take to the present studio. It was clean and bright, built to Cody's specifications. He shoved the door open and watched, lost in admiration.
In cutoffs, work boots, and a heavy, fireproof apron, Cody hammered away at a glowing piece of iron, forcing it to curl and conform to his vision. The light from his furnace painted his pale skin orange and gold, dancing in his hair as if it too were living flame. A miniature Vulcan at his forge, caught in the throes of creative imperative.
When Cody stopped to thrust the iron into a bucket of cold water, Vic cleared his throat. "Can you stop for breakfast, Michelangelo?"
For a heartbeat, those blue eyes stared at him without recognition. Victor waited. Sometimes Cody took a moment to return from his art. "Hey, baby." He finally broke into a huge grin. "Thank you, so thoughtful. Could you set it down for me? You off?"
"Have to be in for nine, yeah." Victor nodded, putting the coffee and cream cheese and jelly bagel down on the table by the door, out of the line of fire. "Listen, sweetheart, I'll probably be late again—"
"Aw, Vic, it's Friday," Cody interrupted mournfully.
"I know, little man, I'm sorry. That presentation to the board is tomorrow. God only knows why they have a board meeting on the weekend. But I've got to have everything ready and half the departments don't even have their data to me yet."
Cody let out a slow breath. "All right. You'll call me when you're coming home?"
Resting one butt cheek on the table, Victor sipped his coffee to give himself a moment. "Cody... I don't want you to feel like you're trapped here. What you said last night, it really got to me. If you go out, would you do me two favors?"
"Anything for you, sugar daddy." Cody chuckled. "Don't you wanna come out, too? Give me a call on the cell and come meet me?"
"Not tonight. Sorry, love." Vic shook his head. "Don't think I'm feeling up to it. Try to come home at a decent hour, all right?"
"Define decent." Cody's grin turned wicked.
"I'm serious here, little man. Before one, one-thirty, if you can manage it. And don't, please, don't go out alone."
Cody rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mom. And I know, I know. No Jonathan."
"Just make me happy. Find someone who'll watch out for you a little. Friends make sure their friends get home safe." Vic advised softly, hoping the message would slide in without throwing off Cody's good mood.
It was such a relief to see him in the studio again. After that one awful night, he’d been sliding between depression and wild bouts of self-destructive behavior. Vic hoped this was the end of the dark time. No more coming home to Cody passed out in a ruin of beer bottles, or not coming home until dawn, or simply sitting on the sofa staring at the wall, or refusing to eat for days.
For a long anxious moment, Cody chewed on his bottom lip, dark shadows wavering in his eyes. "Maybe I'll call Kurt n' Wyatt." He nodded. "Haven't seen them in, oh, God, ages."
Satisfied, Victor stood and gathered up his jacket. "Good idea. I'll see you tonight, sweetheart."
"Hey!" Cody's angry yell stopped him in the doorway. "You forget something?"
Victor looked down at himself, wondering if he'd forgotten his pants or his shoes. Nope, all there. In confusion, his gaze went to Cody and the hurt in those eyes jarred his memory. "Oh, chrissakes... I'm sorry..."
He put the jacket down, went to Cody, and took his sweet face between his hands. Victor tilted Cody's head up slowly and bent with a soft growl to capture Cody's lips, so soft and firm, in a deep, exploring kiss. "Better?" he breathed against Cody's mouth.
Cody's eyes were closed, his expression one of beatific joy. "Oh, man... yeah..."
"Have a good day, little man. Don't forget your breakfast." Victor waved on his way out. Despite the aching feeling of an oncoming cold, he felt better than he had in weeks.
* * * *
Cody leaned forward, listening to Wyatt's story about an odd encounter on the metro with one of those soapbox prophet types. He heard the story, laughed in the right places, but his attention skittered in a thousand directions, his senses bombarded by the energy and excitement of the room.
It was early, the club just finishing dinner service, the music still at conversation level but Cody felt the buzz of the crowd in every pore. He fairly bounced in his seat, nursing his one drink, waiting for the lights to dim.
He had missed this.
The beef market was in full swing already and more than one patron had 'accidentally' brushed up against Cody's chair, but he was being good tonight. Responsible. He'd even called Victor at the office before he left the house to say they were going to Deva, just in case he changed his mind and wanted to join them.
Kurt asked a question. Cody missed the gist of it as his eyes followed a graceful waiter sweep by, his tiny black vinyl shorts practically glued to his ass.
"Hmm? Sorry?"
"Put your eyes back in, Cody." Kurt laughed. "I asked if the big man's joining us tonight."
"Oh." Cody sighed. "No, I don't think so. He didn't sound too good when I called him. All stuffed up and hoarse. I told him to go home to bed."
"And he..." Wyatt prompted, liquid brown eyes glinting with amusement.
"Growled at me and told me not to mother him, basically." Cody wrinkled his nose.
Both of them found this hilarious. "Oh, the poor old bear." Kurt patted Cody's hand. "He frets like a mother hen and doesn't want you to mother him?"
Cody's smile slipped a little. "He's not that bad."
"Not that bad? Cody-bean, have you ever looked over at him watching while you dance?" Wyatt's eyes danced with laughter.
"Well, no, but—"
Kurt draped an arm dramatically over his eyes, stretching the other hand out towards the dance floor, his voice imitating a strangled growl. "So—jealous—can't—watch..."
Wyatt chimed in, reaching both hands out towards the imaginary dancing. "So—beautiful—can't—look away..."
Though he laughed, Cody felt a tightening in his chest as he protested, "He does not do that! You make him sound like some grasping old coot."
Kurt still laughed, but his smile was more sympathetic now. "Oh, hon, we're sorry. No, he's not that bad. Vic's a huge, gorgeous slab of beef. Who wouldn't sell their grandmother to change places with you? He just loves you so much I think he's bewildered by it sometimes."
Mollified, Cody relaxed and returned to normal conversation. That was until a pair of slender, perfectly manicured hands fell on his shoulders.
"Hey, Codelicious! Where the hell have you been?"
The ambient temperature at the table dropped ten degrees as conversation ceased. Cody knew, but he dropped his head back to look up and see who was behind him anyway. Gleaming white teeth in a model perfect face grinned down.
"Hi, J," he said softly, not certain what to do.
"Jonathan." Kurt's tone was frigid, gray eyes hard and flat.
"What? Everybody's still pissed at me?" Jonathan flung himself down in the empty chair uninvited, running fingers back through his black curls. "Cody gets himself into shit when he's out, and it's my fault. Christ, what a bunch of drama queens."
"Maybe it wasn't quite your fault, J, but you didn't do much to help, did you?" Wyatt murmured.
"Please. I'm not anyone's keeper. Cody didn't ask for help. And he's not pissed at me, are you, sweet cheeks?"
Cody stared into his drink. "I'm not supposed to see you anymore, J."
"Not supposed to..." Jonathan's eyes shot wide open. "Shit, Cody, is it time for an intervention? Bad enough you're his little dog slave, now he wants to control who you talk to? He keeping you prisoner in that house? Is that why I haven't seen you anywhere?"
The choice of words made Cody wince. He'd said the same thing to Vic just the night before. "I'm out tonight," he said defensively. "And I'm not Vic's 'slave'."
Jonathan snorted. "Oh, yeah, right. I know the deal. Big man goes off to his corporate high mucky-muck job, and you stay home and play the good little housefrau—cook and clean and meet him at the door with your tail wagging."
"Shut up, Jonathan. It's not like that, dammit." Cody felt his face flush. "There's maid service for the house, and pool service, and lawn service. All Vic asks is that I try not to trash the place and put some dinner on the table sometimes." He supposed he should be angry with Jonathan but seeing him now, that charming smile lighting up the room, he couldn't be. No matter what stupid things he said.
"Whatever. What're you drinking there? Chocolate milk?" Jonathan leaned over to take a sniff of Cody's drink.
"Toasted almond."
"God, Cody, you and your girlie drinks. C'mon, I'll buy you something real." Jonathan lifted a hand to wave down a waiter.
"No, I'm good. I've got all I need."
Shaking his head, Jonathan rose and circled the table. "You are so whipped, Cody." He leaned over Kurt's drink and then Wyatt's in turn. Kurt's fists clenched as he leaned too far into Wyatt in the process. "Even stodgy old Kurt has whiskey."
"Leave him alone," Kurt growled. "Let him drink what he wants."
Jonathan spread his hands in surrender, resumed his appropriated seat, and ordered a scotch. An uncomfortable silence followed, broken only by the soft clink of ice on glass as everyone sipped. It might have stretched on indefinitely but Wyatt suddenly lurched, a hand on his stomach.
"Excuse me," he whispered. He scrambled out of his chair and rushed in the direction of the facilities. After a moment's shocked hesitation, Kurt followed.
"Should we go check? You think he's okay?" Cody craned his neck, trying to see the bathroom door.
"Kurt's got it. You sit tight."
Something in Jonathan's voice didn't sound right, but Cody couldn't put his finger on it.
"Cody." Jonathan's eyes, large pools of sea green, regarded him sadly. "You don't blame me for that night, do you? I mean, I thought you were just having a good time. I didn't know you'd leave with those guys. Or that they'd… well, you know."
"I know, J." The first few days after, he wanted to blame Jonathan. And Vic—for not being there. And the bouncers for not seeing. And anyone, everyone. Except himself. That was when he'd fallen to pieces. When he realized he'd been drugged, raped, and left for dead, and it was no one's fault but his own. Now, confronted with those beautiful, sad eyes, what could he say? "I don't blame you for any of it. I know some people don't agree with me—"
"People who treat you like a five year old."
Cody grimaced. "Don't start, J, please. It's good to see you. Don't mess it up."
The smile that melted a hundred customers' hearts at Jonathan's shop every day returned to glimmer between them. "I've missed you so bad, Codelicious."
Kurt raced back to the table. Wyatt was very sick. Probably food poisoning, he reasoned, though Cody could have sworn he cast a suspicious look at Jonathan. Did Cody want a ride home?
"No, I'm all right. You go take care of Wyatt." Cody's forehead crinkled in concern. "Call me tomorrow. Lemme know how he's doing."
Kurt nodded, worried to distraction, and rushed off again. Jonathan made some insincere sounds of concern, then turned the conversation immediately to lighter things: funny stories, and who was seeing whom, and other juicy gossip. Cody let his thoughts be drawn away, happily distracted. He failed to notice the approaching men until they slid into the two vacant chairs.
"So here's where you're holed up, weasel." The larger of the two addressed Jonathan in a rasping voice that held years of cigarette overuse.
Jonathan's eyes flicked back and forth as if looking for a way out. He still smiled, but his voice sounded oddly strained. "Martin, Colin... hey."
"This the one?" The big one waved a hand at Cody.
What the hell does he mean by that? Cody didn't puzzle over it long. The music was starting.
The heavy pulse and rhythmic bass thump worked under Cody's skin like nothing else. His bones itched with it, his spine vibrating as if it were being used as percussion as well. The only thing keeping him in his seat was the desire not to look too eager. He let the first song bump and thud by, waiting for the energy on the floor to grow.
Those hard, cold eyes staring across at him didn't make sitting still easier. Martin, the big one, leaned with his brutish forearms halfway across the table, shouting directly in Jonathan's ear. Normal conversation became impossible over the music, of course, but Cody had the sudden, horrible thought the man would just as soon bite Jonathan's ear off as speak into it.
He caught the words "sweet little piece", which didn't help his anxious thoughts. Jonathan knew some of the strangest people.
Cody tugged on his sleeve. "J, come dance with me." He motioned to the floor to help get his meaning across in the high decibel atmosphere.
Jonathan leaned close and cupped a hand behind Cody's ear. "You go ahead. I'll join you in a minute. You know how I love to watch you."
The insistent, infectious beat of one of Cody's favorite Depeche Mode songs erupted from the speakers and his feet took him to the floor almost before he could think, winding and weaving through the tables without a single stumble or hesitation. Almost as intense as working in his studio, the dance floor offered the chance to lose himself. Though the cocoon of otherworldly bliss of his art was more spiritual, dancing was purely physical.
When he moved, the world melted into the far distance. His body melded with the music, with the air currents, with the other bodies bumping and gyrating on the dance floor. Partnering briefly, moving on, hands and thighs touched him, though he was rarely aware whose; a model of the vast sweep of life in microcosm, the complex and unfathomable pattern that joined together each individual sway of hip and stomp of feet.
* * * *
Jonathan did watch, avidly. Cody's vertical Kama Sutra was what Kurt called his dancing. Even boring old Kurt came up with a good one now and then. Nothing in the world compared to Cody's lean, heavenly body undulating through its unconsciously sensual movements. Every eye in the club turned his way. Every body on the dance floor gravitated towards him until he became the center of a frenzied mating dance. They all tried to keep his attention. They all failed.
A twinge of conscience hit him then. But no, there was no other way. He'd already argued it all through with himself. He signaled to Martin to wait and sauntered off to join Cody on the floor. For him, Cody smiled and came back from his trance. With Jonathan, he would dance as long as his partner stayed.
It had been the summer after high school when they first got together. Jonathan had been Cody's first lover, though that first fling was short, ending when Cody went off to college in the fall. Three and a half years later, Cody returned, full of new ideas and new fire for his art. He and Jonathan moved in together briefly, but the love affair soon dissolved in a steamy tangle of jealousies and accusations. Miraculously, they remained friends, with the occasional tumble into bed.
All PV, of course. Pre-Victor Szoldos. The goddamned Hungarian grizzly bear ruined everything. Cody fell hard and fast, sickening to watch. Not that the man was lacking. He'd seen Vic carry Cody perched on one arm, and had watched one night when he took on five opponents in an alley, stupid kids looking for an easy fag roll. They got more than they bargained for and Vic walked away with no more than a slight headache. Still, the puppy eyes Cody sent his way, the sudden wish for a house and home and respectability—disgusting.
Jonathan slid up behind Cody, moving with him, grinding against his beautiful, leather-covered ass. Without missing a beat, Cody's arms snaked up to twine back around Jonathan's neck, his body moving in a way that would make Scheherazade herself crazy. Several men looked near fainting at this exhibition—either by hyperventilation, cardiac arrest, or both. When Jonathan slid his hands around front to undo Cody's top shirt button, eager hands joined in to unfasten the rest. Not unusual. Half the patrons would be bare-chested in the next hour. But it was a treat to watch Cody letting half a dozen men undress him.
None of it meant anything to Cody, all part of the dance.
When the music slowed, promising a few minutes of relative quiet, he pulled Cody close and suggested they take a break. That marvelous smile lit up Cody's face as he teased, "Buy me a drink, sailor?"
"Anything you want, sweet cheeks," Jonathan whispered in his ear. If he held Cody a little too tight for a moment, it was only to steady his nerves.
Back at the table, Martin motioned for Cody to sit next to him. "Come on, boy, don't be shy." The ghastly leer Martin offered would have scared off a shark but Cody, always polite, took the offered chair. Martin shoved a full bottle of scotch in front of him. "That's for you, sugar. A little anesthetic. Drink up."
Cody's smile wavered. "Thanks, no. I never drink anything that strong."