Chapter 7
SEVEN
It was a well-established fact in more than one circle that Art was something of a man-whore.
He knew it, his friends knew it, and anyone who had been around him for more than a few minutes knew it.
Both Ryan and Graeme definitely knew it, since he’d plunged headfirst into flirting with both of them in an earnest attempt to make them so flustered with lust that they would, of course, succumb to his immense charms.
There was just one problem with that as the three of them sat packed tightly together in one of the tiny booths in a hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant a few blocks from the beach, enjoying the best curry Art had ever tasted. He really liked both Ryan and Graeme. Very much.
“You cannot be serious!” he laughed far too loudly for the small space, earning frowns and stares from several of the others eating there. “You have never had a curry before?”
Graeme blushed and curled in on himself slightly, like he often did, and in a way that made Art’s pulse race, and said, “Foreign food wasn’t something my parents approved of.”
Both Art and Ryan made disapproving noises.
“Your parents kept you far too sheltered,” Ryan said, taking the last onion bhaji and popping it into his mouth.
“I think that was on purpose,” Graeme said, still looking like he was embarrassed for everything about himself and that it was all his fault.
That expression and the story behind it enraged Art, if he was honest. Nothing fired him up more than the stodgy, fake-religious type that used guilt to control people and suppressed the very things that were most natural about being a sexual human.
It wasn’t even just the anti-gay thing either.
The way those people treated women was just as bad.
He considered it his personal mission to counteract the vicious, controlling, soul-crushing intentions of the conservative class by being as fabulously gay as possible at all times. And at the moment, that meant helping Graeme to realize who he truly was and not to feel ashamed of it.
“Well, it was all bollocks,” he said, banging his hand on the table and earning another round of stares and whispers from his fellow diners.
“Sexuality and gender fluidity has been a key feature of almost every major society that has ever existed. Trust me, I’m an archeologist, I’ve studied and uncovered all these things.
And I can also tell you with complete, academic certainty that there have always been elements of society that sought to crush our sort and stifle anything that smacks of originality that they cannot control.
Whether it’s the queers, women, artists, foreigners, anyone who wears colorful clothing and thinks for themselves, the dull, vicious men who want to hoard all the wealth and make everyone their minion have always tried to lock away experiences and keep everyone sheltered. ”
“Calm down, mister activist,” Ryan laughed, patting the air and glancing apologetically at the other diners. “You’re not running for Parliament, are you?”
Art reined himself in a little with a broad smile and a laugh. “Maybe I should,” he said. “I would show those stuffed wigs in Westminster a thing or two.”
“Knowing you, that thing or two you’d show them is your willy and your balls,” Graeme said with a wide, wary look, reaching for his glass of water.
Both Art and Ryan laughed in reply. Graeme might have been new to the whole being alive and a man with his own thoughts and desires thing, but he was catching on fast.
And it completely spun Art’s heart around.
He wasn’t used to getting emotionally attached to a man before being physically attached.
He’d been physically attracted to Graeme from the moment he laid eyes on him, of course.
Who wouldn’t be? Graeme was the quintessential fresh-faced, English country boy.
It wasn’t just his face either. Art had seen him with his shirt off in the garden a time or two, and Graeme had the sort of body that came from consistent manual labor out in the sun.
Art couldn’t wait for the moment when he could strip Graeme naked and explore every inch of that toned body. He would make Graeme feel so good he’d forget his name.
“We’d better get out of here before we’re tossed out,” Ryan interrupted his thoughts with his half-whispered comment, reaching around the table to gather up the bits and pieces and put them on the plates to make things easier for the restaurant staff.
It was little details like that, the kindness and consideration, that had Art chubbing up for Ryan as well.
It was like he’d been led to the perfect buffet of men.
Ryan was tall and elegant when he wanted to be, but also just as saucy and immature as he was when the moment called for it.
Ryan had a little too much of a conscience, and there was something he was withholding from both him and Graeme, but Art was just as eager to pry it out of him as he was to help Graeme loosen up and embrace his sexy side.
And both had come along at the same time.
“The meal was excellent,” he said as he stood, nodding to Ryan and offering his hand to Graeme, “but now it’s time for the real fun to begin.”
They headed out into the balmy air of Brighton.
Art pulled in lungfuls, tasting the salt, and exhaled with a smile.
He was in the prime of his life, he had a job he loved and a hobby for the summer, and now he had two of the most intriguing men he’d ever met by his sides.
He was absolutely going to make the most of it.
“Do you have a specific club in mind or should we just wander around until we find one?” Ryan asked as they started down the pavement.
“I have no plans,” Art said, shifting subtly to put Graeme between him and Ryan. That felt like the right spot for their gardener to be in. “Let’s just see where the night takes us, shall we?”
He wiggled his eyebrows at Graeme, which instantly had Graeme laughing. Good. That was better than having him shrink away in pearl-clutching terror of all the naughty things Art might do to him.
Correction, all the naughty things Art thoroughly intended to do to him at some point.
There was no shortage of gay clubs in Brighton, and even though it was a weeknight, since the summer was well underway, they were all humming.
The first one they stepped into was a blast of rainbow neon and thumping EDM.
They headed straight for the black-lit bar, and both he and Ryan rattled off their favorite drink order like it was their names.
“And you?” Art asked Graeme, speaking loudly over the blare of the music.
“Er,” Graeme stared blankly at the row of colorful bottles behind the bar. “I’m not really much of a drinker,” he confessed, his blush distinguishable even with the club’s unique lighting.
“Why am I not surprised?” Art laughed, winking at the hunky bartender preparing his and Ryan’s drinks.
“Do you drink at all?” Ryan asked the much more pertinent question.
“Not really,” Graeme said. “My family—”
“Enough said,” Art stopped him, holding up his hand. “Your family isn’t here, they will never be here, and they will never find out about any of this. So what will it be? Fruity? Fiery? Mellow?”
“I don’t know,” Graeme called over the music.
“Let’s go easy on him,” Ryan said, then turned to the bartender and said, “Apple martini. For someone not used to alcohol.”
The bartender nodded, then set to work making Graeme a frou-frou, pretty drink, even adding an umbrella in the glass.
Graeme sipped it hesitantly, then his eyebrows shot up and he drank deeper. “That’s surprisingly good,” he said, then dove into the rest of it.
“Easy does it,” Ryan said, like a good Daddy. “If you’re not used to drink, even an appletini could hit you hard.”
“And that’s our job,” Art said with a laugh, then finished his drink.
The appletini was a good start in their true mission for coming to Brighton.
Art had watched Graeme’s mood shift multiple times throughout the day.
He’d checked his phone a few times when he thought neither he nor Ryan were paying attention.
Graeme had done a bang-up job of pretending like the call from his ex-wife had never come or like it didn’t bother him that the life and world he’d left behind was moving on without him at lightning speed.
Ryan might have been the Daddy of their trio, but Art knew a thing or two about familial rejection and the need to build one’s own life on the ashes of everything he’d thought his life would be.
Which was why, as soon as their drinks were done, he grabbed Graeme’s hand and pulled him out onto the flashing, heaving dance floor.
“Let loose, baby!” he shouted over the noise of the music.
A few of the guys who were already dancing and grinding away, some of them with their shirts off and sweat glistening on their hard bodies, hooted in agreement and turned their attention to Graeme.
“I’ve never been to a dance club before,” Graeme said. He had to shout for Art to hear him, which meant the other guys on the floor heard him as well.
“Club virgin!” one of them shouted.
Everyone hollered, and in an instant, Graeme became the center of the attention of about half a dozen obviously horny gay men.
Ryan went immediately into white knight mode.
Art nearly laughed at the fierce protectiveness that masked his face as he moved in close to Graeme, pretending to dance but actually shielding him from unwanted attention.
Art doubted any of the guys around him would lift a finger to hurt Graeme, but when he saw the uncertainty on Graeme’s face, he moved in closer, too.
“You’ve got it,” he called out over the noise, grabbing Graeme’s hips from behind and moving them to encourage Graeme. “Just loosen up and feel the beat. No one is going to judge you here.”
“Are you sure about that?” Graeme asked, trying to imitate the way Art and Ryan were moving but not doing the best job.
“Yes,” Art and Ryan answered simultaneously.