Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
PERCY
There are dozens of queer bars within walking distance of our apartment, which was one of the main selling points when we were deciding on a place, but Juno picks Crossing Swords tonight for their “Theydies Night” special.
And since I can plant my sore ass at the bar and drink on Juno’s tab anywhere, I’m not about to argue with them.
I’ve always found bars and clubs fascinating from an anthropological perspective.
The varied forms of communication and in-group behaviors that can’t be seen in day-to-day life, the social organization of who interacts with who and how, the power dynamics—it all makes me itch to whip out a notebook and start jotting down observations.
But I learned a long time ago that taking notes isn’t the best way to act like you fit in somewhere.
Also, the tight jeans Juno squeezed me into had no pocket space to stash a notebook.
After we get drinks, Juno puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a serious look.
“Will you promise to at least try to flirt with someone tonight?”
“I’ll see how I feel once I get a good buzz going,” I say blandly.
“Now, go dance, find a willing victim to drag back to your lair for the night, and let me embrace my inner loner here at the bar.” I plop my ass down on the nearest stool, grimacing at the ache in my muscles again, and wave them off.
“Fine, but I’m not going to let you sit in the same stool all night long,” they warn.
“I won’t.” I’ll move around to different stools so I can get some different viewpoints for my people watching.
That appeases Juno enough that they take their drink and disappear onto the crowded dance floor.
I’ve never seen the appeal of squeezing into a sea of writhing, sweaty bodies and gyrating to grating techno music, but everyone out there looks like they’re having the time of their lives.
I stare at all of the wandering hands and grinding hips with interest and a hint of jealousy as I sip my drink.
Fuck, would it be nice to have someone desperate to run their hands all over me, burying their face in my neck and breathing me in like I’m all the oxygen they need, their hard cock against my ass…
Phew, is it hot in here, or is it just me?
Maybe I can understand the appeal of dancing a little bit.
I squeeze my legs together and fan myself with my free hand as I take another deep gulp of my drink.
With my glass still to my lips, a sturdy body crashes into me from behind. My glass clinks against my tooth and then slips out of my hand, spilling the remaining half of my drink down the front of my shirt before crashing to the floor.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.” The voice is familiar, but over the pulse of the music and the din of other voices, it’s hard to place it right away.
Sure, I’m invisible, no big deal. I swivel in my seat to snap at whoever it is to watch it, but the words die on my tongue immediately at the sight of a pair of big blue eyes.
They widen a fraction in recognition, and his lips twitch from a frown to a smile and back to an apologetic grimace in a matter of seconds.
“Rocky, hey. I didn’t expect…” He looks down at my wet shirt and the glass on the floor, then back to my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a clumsy moron.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him. He stoops to pick up the glass while I grab a wad of napkins from the dispenser on the bar top.
“Here, let me help with that.” Butch takes the napkins from me and starts patting down the front of my shirt.
His large body towers over me, even with the extra height the stool gives me. He smells faintly of beer and something spicy, and the warmth rolling off of him makes me start to sweat almost instantly.
“It’s okay,” I say again. “If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m getting a jumpstart on the wet T-shirt contest.” I laugh weakly and he stops uselessly blotting my shirt to bark out a chuckle too.
He wads up the damp napkins and tosses them onto the bar, then stuffs his hands into his pockets, drawing my attention to the fanny pack strapped around his waist. I’m not one to judge anyone else’s wardrobe, and I know they’re very “in” again right now, but I can’t help but laugh at how unexpected the accessory looks on his massive frame.
Butch follows my gaze.
“Snacks,” he says.
“What?” I’m sure I heard him wrong. I don’t know what he could have said, but he definitely didn’t say he brought a fanny pack full of snacks to the club with him.
He tugs his hands back out of his pockets and unzips the pack, pulling out a couple of protein bars and holding them up proudly.
“In case any of my friends get hungry or too drunk and need something to soak up the booze,” he explains.
“That’s…” I cock my head and smile. “Smart and weirdly sweet.”
He beams, and my body heats all over again. No one his size should look that fucking cute when they smile. He has to be at least six-five, and probably two-fifty of almost pure muscle. He should be intimidating, not cute.
“Thanks,” he says happily, stuffing the bars back into his pack and zipping it back up. “Let me buy you another drink at least.”
“Oh, that’s okay, my roommate actually bribed me to come out by offering to pay for all of my drinks.” I start to wave him off, but he’s not listening. He leans over the bar and flags down the bartender.
“Can I get another of whatever he’s drinking?” he shouts over the music.
The bartender nods and turns to pour my drink, and Butch leans on the bar near me, crowding into me and inadvertently bringing his extremely large pecs inches from my face. My cock aches and I imagine what it would be like to lean forward and drag my tongue along the curves of his muscular chest.
“So, why are you sitting over here all by yourself?” he asks.
I snap my head up so I’m looking at his face instead of staring directly into his man-cleavage.
“As opposed to?” I grab my fresh drink and take a sip.
“Dancing, flirting, parading that cute little ass of yours around the club.” He rattles off some suggestions with a grin, and I sputter a laugh into my drink, the vodka cranberry stinging as it comes out my nose.
It would be way too pathetic to tell him I’m going to need several more drinks before I’m confident enough to flirt or parade my ass anywhere, so I go with a different truth instead.
“I’m dying.”
Butch’s eyes widen in alarm.
“No, I just mean I wish I was dead.” I hurry to clarify, but that doesn’t seem to relax him at all. Apparently, my brand of dramatic sarcasm is lost on him. “Some sadist made me use my muscles for something other than lifting a textbook and I’m in excruciating pain.”
His expression finally smooths out and he smiles again. “That’s the lactic acid buildup,” he explains. “The best thing for it is to keep moving.”
“No.” I shake my head and take another sip of my drink.
But again, he either doesn’t hear me, or he ignores me. He wraps his big, warm hand around my bicep and drags me off my stool. He should meet Juno; they’d get along swimmingly.
“As your personal trainer, I insist that you dance.”
BUTCH
“We’re not at the gym, you have no power over me.” Percy weakly tries to tug out of my grasp, looking longingly back at his barstool.
“A trainer’s job never ends, and I take my job very seriously.” After accidentally spilling his drink on him, the least I can do is to encourage him to keep moving so he doesn’t wake up with horrible muscle cramps in the morning.
“I’ll walk a couple of laps around the block before I go home,” he bargains.
I loosen my grip and turn back to face him right at the edge of the dance floor.
“You don’t know how to dance, do you?”
“I know how to dance.” Percy scoffs and crosses his arms. “I’m just… kind of dorky when I do.”
“Good news is, you don’t have to do it well to get the benefit from it.” I loop my arm around his slender waist and pull him closer, swinging my hips to the beat of the music.
His body relaxes and he sways half an inch closer to me, with a little crease between his eyebrows and his lip tucked between his teeth.
“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He throws his head back to gulp down the rest of his drink, then sets the empty glass on a nearby table littered with other empty glasses.
He drags his fingers through his hair, looking just as determined as he did before he jumped on the treadmill, and steps into the crowd.
I’m right behind him, a giddy feeling making my stomach flutter.
Getting to play coach and shake up Percy’s night is a hell of a lot more fun than I expected to have tonight.
He finds a spot with a little bit of space and shoots me one more “I warned you” look before starting to move his shoulders stiffly to the music.
He makes fists with his hands and kind of swings them side to side while shuffling his feet and looking around at the people dancing near him with a shy grimace, like he’s trying to apologize to all of them for being such an awkward dancer.
I swallow a laugh, and another feeling tugs at my gut. This one is warmer and a little needier. Percy needs a coach tonight more than I thought.
“Come here.” I reach for him, putting my hands on his hips, but I keep a few inches of space between us.
I don’t want him to think I’m a creep just trying to cop a feel or something.
“You have to relax a little. Don’t think so hard about every movement.
” I guide his hips more fluidly from side to side until he relaxes and follows the motion himself.
“I told you,” he huffs, still holding his hands up like he’s either surrendering or just not sure what to do with them.
If I’m going to show him how to do this, I might as well do it all the way. I take his hands and guide them around my neck, then pull his body that last couple of inches closer to mine.
“Anyone can dance, just listen to the music and relax,” I say close to his ear, my nose filling with the slightly musky scent of his sweat and a sweeter smell underneath that.
I move my hips against his to show him and he leans into my body, following the beat stiffly at first, then loosening up little by little.
“I must have missed where dance classes were included in the personal training sessions. Does this count as freebie number two or is it still the first one since it’s the same day?” he asks with a laugh.
“Free add-on, don’t worry about it.” I press my fingers harder into his hips to keep them from wandering. Helping him loosen up is one thing, groping him would be another.
My cock throbs against the small of his back, and I pull my hips back a few inches, hoping he didn’t notice.
“You’re right, this is helping. Thanks, Coach.”
My heart beats a little harder.
“That’s what personal trainers are for.”
We dance to a few songs, our skin getting slicker with sweat and my cock finding its way to the small of his back again without my permission, until he pulls away and turns towards me with a flushed face and a nervous smile.
“Thanks again, Coach.” He clears his throat and tousles his hair nervously. “This is more physical activity than I’m used to doing in a month, and I’m kind of wiped out. I think I’m going to head home, take a hot shower, and pass the hell out for, like, ten hours.”
Disappointment sinks like a stone in my stomach, but it’s probably for the best. If we keep dancing, I might be tempted to offer to walk him home or buy him another drink, and I’m sure that’s the last thing he wants.
“Cool, yeah. I’ll see you back at Sweat in a couple days for your next session?”
He nods, and the shy smile that tugs on his lips draws that needy ache back to my gut.
“I’ll see you,” he says before disappearing into the crowd.