Chapter 7 #2
Their eyes met, and Ryan grinned. A jolt of lust popped through Art, pressing his semi against the zip of his jeans. He used that energy to grind against Graeme’s backside, telling himself he was just showing his other crush how to move.
It was a mountain of fun. Ryan got into the dancing, grinding and twerking with some of the other guys in a way that looked ridiculous to Art’s eyes, but also hot.
A few more guys tried to move in on Graeme, and both Art and Ryan watched with eagle eyes to see whether Graeme was feeling brave enough to accept the attention.
The shirtless guys were coming on a little too strong, though, so with a quick look and a nod to Ryan, the two of them whisked Graeme off the dance floor and out the door into the cooling night air.
“Let’s try another one,” Ryan said, his voice too loud now that they were outside.
“We can make it a club hop,” Art said, covering up his papa bear concern for Graeme with an impish grin.
There was another club on the same street, and within minutes, they’d gone inside and made their way up to the bar. Once again, Art and Ryan ordered their favorite drinks, then picked something else for Graeme.
“Ooh, this one is sour,” Graeme said, making a face as he tried the new concoction.
“Do you want something else?” Ryan asked, speaking loudly across a different sort of equally loud music to the other club.
Graeme shook his head and took another drink from his glass, face screwed up. “I’m trying to have new experiences tonight, and this is part of it.”
Art’s heart squeezed hard. His innocent little snail was trying so hard to come out of his shell. It was the most adorable and endearing thing Art had ever seen, and it made the things that were pulsing inside him for Graeme throb that much harder.
They joined the crowd on the dance floor the same as they had at the other club, but this time, Graeme kept quiet about his lack of club experience.
That didn’t mean he didn’t get attention, though.
Graeme wouldn’t be able to avoid attention in a gay club if he’d walked in wearing a bag over his head.
He was catnip to gays of the Brighton club scene. Art could see it a mile away.
Usually, he was his own brand of tempting for the other guys at clubs. More than a few seemed interested in him that night. But he wasn’t in the mood to do more than flirt and tease before returning his attention to Graeme and Ryan, where it belonged.
It came as a warm shock that Art felt like his attention belonged to Graeme and Ryan.
As soon as there was a dip in the music, the three of them ducked out of that club and wandered on until they found another.
The drink-ordering ritual was repeated, only that time, the bartender made the drinks extra strong.
By the time they made it out on the dance floor, Art was buzzing, Ryan was pink-cheeked, and Graeme looked completely blurry.
That amped the protectiveness Art felt for Graeme up to eleven.
“I just need the loo,” Ryan told them when there was a lull in the music.
“I think I need some fresh air,” Graeme said breathlessly, gripping Art’s arm.
“You take care of business in here and I’ll escort our princess outside,” Art said.
Ryan nodded, gave them a lopsided, loopy grin, and swayed off toward the back of the club.
“Come on, sailor,” Art said, hooking his arm around Graeme’s waist and ushering him outside.
“I thought I was a princess,” Graeme said with a silly laugh as they staggered through the door as a delightful, older bear held it open for them.
“You’re both, love,” Art laughed. “Princess sailor.”
He walked Graeme down to the corner of the building and positioned him so he could lean against the cool wall of the building.
“How drunk are you, sweetheart?” he asked, feeling a bit swishy himself, but not outright drunk.
“I’m okay,” Graeme said. “I have actually been drunk before, and this isn’t that bad.” He paused, glanced slowly up to meet Art’s eyes, then said, “I had to drink a lot of wine at my wedding to do my duty with Mavis that night.”
Art’s heart broke into a million pieces for his sweet, angelic baby. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry,” he said, caressing the side of Graeme’s face.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, lowering his face a little.
He was silent after that, but Art could tell he was working his way up to saying something more.
Finally, he looked up and met Art’s eyes again before saying, “I’m not a gay virgin, you know.
There was this guy, Damien. I did some work on his garden and then he…
did some work on my garden. But I didn’t cheat on Mavis! ” he added too loudly.
“Of course not,” Art said, leaning subtly into Graeme so that their bodies were pressed together as they rested against the wall.
“But I knew,” Graeme went on. “I knew as soon as he started flirting with me that I wanted him and that it meant I was gay. I did the right thing. I told Mavis right away. I said we should get a divorce, because I wanted to be who I was, and it wouldn’t be fair to her to have a husband who wanted to sleep with men and not her. ”
Graeme was a fucking saint. Art couldn’t think of many other men who would have done the same in his position, especially with his upbringing. It would have taken balls of steel and more courage than he could fathom.
“It was a really quick divorce, and as soon as it was done, I mean, except the paperwork, in November, like, the day I moved out and gave Mavis my key, Damien took me to bed,” Art said, glancing down again. “It was the first time sex felt right.”
Shit, he was going to come in his jeans because of this whole story.
“So where’s Damien now?” Art asked, surprised that he preemptively wanted to rip the man’s balls off, without knowing a thing about him.
Graeme sighed, the entire gesture made looser because of alcohol. “We hardly got out of bed for about two weeks,” he said, then peeked guiltily up at Art. “Then he got bored of me and ghosted me.”
“What?” Art pulled back, furious.
Graeme shrugged and looked so sad Art wanted to cry. “He said I wasn’t fun anymore. He actually said, to my face, that the fun part was turning me and getting me to divorce my wife, but now that he had me, I was boring and he didn’t want me.”
“That bastard!” Art had never felt half as furious in his life. He really would tear Damien’s balls off if he ever met the man.
“I just…it just…it hurts to think that someone I thought I could really love, as the real me, for the first time in my life, would set out to deliberately ruin my life and then leave me,” Graeme said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Sweetheart,” Art said, caressing Graeme’s face.
He then did the only thing he knew how to do.
He pressed his body against Graeme’s again and slanted his mouth over Graeme’s in the hottest kiss he could manage.
Graeme tensed in surprise for a moment, then totally surrendered to the plunder as Art kissed him sloppily.
It was probably the drink, but he was so warm and willing, and for once he wasn’t holding himself back.
“Um, hello?”
Art and Graeme both jumped as Ryan’s slightly foggy question interrupted them.
As soon as they turned to see who had caught them, they jumped away from each other and turned to Ryan.
Graeme wore the look of a guilty child, but Art was far more inclined to ask if Ryan wanted to join them.
The only thing that stopped him was Ryan’s heavily lidded eyes and the gentle sway in the way he stood.
“This might be a good time to mention that I definitely do not feel up to driving back to Hawthorne House tonight,” Ryan said.
Art laughed. “I wouldn’t dare drive in this state either.”
“I didn’t do it,” Graeme said, like someone had a torch in his face and was interrogating him. “I mean, I can’t drink drive.”
“No,” Art said.
“There’s a hotel just over there,” Ryan said, nodding unsteadily across the street and down a few buildings. “Think we should spend the night there?”
“Definitely,” Art said.
They pulled themselves together enough to cross the road and make their way to the tiny, boutique hotel.
It wasn’t anything classy or first-rate.
In fact, as Ryan took charge and got them a room, a single room, Art noted, he had the feeling they were used to drunk clubbers stumbling in to rent a room by the hour.
It didn’t really matter. Their room was on the first floor, so they pulled themselves up the stairs and down the hall, turned the key in the door, and found themselves faced with a double bed.
“Frankly, I don’t even care,” Ryan said in response to the unasked questions and unsaid observations. “I’m that drunk and tired.”
He staggered to the bed, sat down, and started pulling off his shoes.
“I just need the toilet,” Graeme mumbled before lurching off to the bathroom.
As soon as he shut the door, Art sat on the bed with Ryan and started taking off his shoes, too. “You’re not really that drunk,” he said quietly.
“I’m not,” Ryan said, instantly more alert. “But Graeme is. I don’t want him to feel bad about…I don’t know, I just don’t want him to feel bad.”
“You’re a prince,” Art said, leaning over to kiss Ryan’s cheek.
When Ryan turned to him with a look of surprise, Art kissed his lips. That only surprised Ryan more.
“Weren’t you just making out with Graeme on a streetcorner?” Ryan whispered.
“Can’t I make out with both of you?” Art asked in return.
Ryan stared hard at him for several, long seconds before shaking his head and finishing with his shoes. “I’m genuinely too tired for this.”
Art laughed. “Me, too.”
He was too tired to try to explain to his lovely protector that there was nothing wrong with sharing and caring.
True, he’d never been in a throuple before, but there was a first time for everything.
And truth be told, he didn’t think either Ryan or Graeme were ready for advanced gay dynamics like that.
It was okay. He could wait.