Chapter 13 #2
Jamie watched, mouth open, his body hot and skin buzzing, as Tyler started to dance. He wasn’t breathing, didn’t know if he remembered how.
There was music. There were cheers. Lights flashed on and off, and spotlights sliced through the darkness, criss-crossing the stage. But none of that mattered to Jamie.
Everything else in his head had evaporated at the sight of Tyler. Any coherence was reduced to a static haze that sounded suspiciously like: him, him, mine, mine.
All that mattered was him.
His skin glittered gold, and he had a sultry smile in place as he moved.
He arched his neck, one hand sliding down his front as he fell to the floor on his knees.
His hips thrust up toward the sky, matching the beat of the song.
He rolled, crawled, ran his tongue over his lips as he turned those dark eyes to the audience.
Fuck, he was transcendent. Beautiful. Like something from another world. Another planet. Jamie couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to watch Tyler dance forever or shut him away where no one but Jamie could see him like this.
On his hands and knees, Tyler took off his hat and placed it on the head of a woman in the front row. When he winked down at her, she squealed.
Now his hair was loose and wild around his head, shining with the beginnings of sweat as Tyler kept working the stage. He got to his feet, teasing the strap holding the overalls in place. The crowd cheered. A flutter of bills were thrown onto the stage.
Do it, Jamie wanted to shout. Show me, dammit. Show me.
Tyler gripped the fabric, gave the audience a wicked smile, and then yanked. The overalls ripped open, and Tyler tossed them aside as he stayed still, like he was giving the audience the opportunity to feast on his body.
And, fuck, it was a feast.
A black lace jock strap hung low on his hips, the only thing covering him other than the work-boots on his feet. Jamie wanted to take him all in, to really see every little detail of his body, to commit every tattoo and dip and shadow to memory.
But then he started moving again, and Jamie couldn’t breathe. He just couldn’t compute this man being his. This was what he wanted, and Jamie was there to get him.
Jamie had been to strip clubs before. He’d been on hockey teams his whole life. He’d been to clubs catering to straight men and clubs catering to the queer community. He’d survived a few lap dances, although he hadn’t particularly enjoyed them.
He knew he couldn’t march up to the stage and throw Tyler over his shoulder without interfering with the set. He’d get thrown out, and knowing how hard Tyler worked to support himself and Rowan, he’d probably get dumped before they even had the chance to try.
Tyler had invited him here for a reason. He was sharing this part of himself with Jamie, and Jamie knew it was a big deal. That this was an extension of truth and trust.
What Jamie wanted didn’t matter. Not here. Not right now.
The song ended with Tyler kneeling at the edge of the stage, hands behind his head, as his bare chest rose and fell with heavy breaths.
His hair hung in sweaty strands around his face.
The people in the front row reached up to slide bills into the waistband of the jock, and before he knew what he was doing, Jamie was out of his seat.
He approached the stage slowly, staying back until the crowd around Tyler cleared. When he saw an opening, he moved forward, forcing himself to breathe.
Tyler’s body went still when he saw Jamie, his mouth ticking up into a smile. “Oh, hey,” he said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, like he was bracing himself for disappointment.
Jamie needed to fix that. He couldn’t have Tyler doubting them–doubting him–already. “You were stunning up there,” he said, holding Tyler’s gaze.
Tyler’s head tilted to the side, and Jamie could see the shimmer of makeup on his brow and cheeks. “Are you okay? With this?”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Jamie glanced around, a small smile on his face as he saw the blatant envy on the faces of some of the patrons.
An older man in a suit did nothing to hide the deeply carved scowl on his face.
Ignoring him, Jamie turned back to Tyler.
“I’m here for you, and if this is a part of who you are, then I’m in. ”
“Fuck, I wish I didn’t have to work right now,” Tyler said, softly, his eyes full of longing.
Jamie wanted to touch him. Wanted to strip away the distance between them and press their bodies together. “I can wait.”
“I have a break in an hour.”
“I’ll be here.”
Jamie had moved to the bar and was slowly sipping a glass of ice water, trying to keep his shit together.
He’d tried and failed not to stare at Tyler as he worked the club floor in nothing but the tiniest pair of jean shorts he’d ever seen, with the lace waistband peeking out the top.
What the hell was he supposed to do when the man he wanted so badly trailed his fingers over the shoulders of strangers? When he circled his hips on someone’s lap?
When he flashed that sinful, flirty smile at someone else?
Jamie knew it was Tyler’s job. What he was doing here was work just like Jamie playing hockey was work.
“You’re still here,” Tyler came up to him, offering Jamie a tired smile. He’d put a big, cropped t-shirt on and still wore the denim shorts. “I’ve got half an hour if you want to talk?”
Jamie nodded, unable to get his mouth to form words when Tyler was so close to him.
“Come on, then.”
Jamie willed his legs to move, following Tyler down a black-painted corridor and into a cluttered office.
“What is this?” Jamie asked, glancing around.
“The accountant’s office.” Tyler leaned back against the desk, crossing one of his legs over the other. Jamie noticed he wore his black Doc Martens. “They’re not in on weekends.”
Jamie licked his lips, and the buzzing in his hands telling him to just fucking do something reached an overwhelming volume. To save himself the embarrassment of grabbing a fistful of the denim covering Tyler’s ass, he reached up behind his head and grabbed two handfuls of his hair, tugging hard.
Tyler’s head tilted to the side. “Are you okay?”