6. Volt #3
Volt had clothing like that, but he’d wanted to look fancy. And look how that had turned out.
He wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that people were mistaking him for a misplaced waiter, or if that was just adding to the paid-for-sex assumptions, but it definitely didn’t help.
He was so out of his depth with this world of wealth.
Volt gave Wallace a nudge. “I’ll be right back.”
Wallace gave him a searching look, probably worried, but didn’t question him.
Volt left the room. But now what was he supposed to do?
The bathroom? He didn’t need to use the toilet, obviously. But bathrooms had mirrors, and doors that could be closed while you changed your clothes.
He stood in line, for far longer than he would have expected, but at least when he wasn’t holding hands with Wallace no one gave him a second look.
Well, he got one or two appreciative glances, but those he could head off by simply looking away.
When he finally made his way inside the stall, he already had a plan.
He quickly stripped off his bow tie, suspenders, and cummerbund, shoving them inside Wallace’s gift bag and covering them with the tissue.
He slipped out the cufflinks, as well as the tiny black stud buttons that ran down his chest, and put them in his pocket.
Then, he refastened his shirt with the normal white buttons that were sewn in, leaving the last few opened.
He rolled up his sleeves, then slung his jacket over one shoulder.
He didn’t have a belt, since his waist had been covered by the cummerbund. At least the shirt didn’t have pleats. It would have to do.
He studied himself in the mirror, and he looked… Well, a little bit weird without the belt, but at least noticeably different from the wait staff.
He almost turned, when he noticed something else.
His nipples poked through the shirt, the darker areolas faintly visible and the central buds coming to sharp points, straining the fabric.
With his musculature—and the original purpose of the shirt, which was to arouse Prism’s guests with a tight fit—there was no hiding them.
He could control erections in his cock, but he’d never thought about his nipples.
They were just always like that, perky and thick.
He happened to know that Wallace liked his nipples. But probably not at a concert.
Trying not to look self-conscious in the mirror as other men moved around him to wash their hands, he slung his jacket over his arm to carry it in front of his chest. Still weird? Less weird?
Someone gave him an odd look, but hopefully that was because he was blocking the path to the sink. He hurriedly stepped forward and washed his hands, making sure the gift bag stayed safe and dry.
He finally found his way back to Wallace, who was now standing at the edge of the cluster around the guitarist.
Hesitantly, he took Wallace’s hand, still alert to the room.
They were still being looked at, but it was subtle now. Instead of immediate confusion and disdain, he and Wallace were getting slow, secret stares. Curiosity. Puzzlement.
So, the same thing that he’d thought earlier. What was the perfectly normal-looking guy doing with someone so attractive?
And was this going to be their whole life?
A few minutes later, Wallace dug into his pocket to get his phone, slipping his hand away from Volt’s. He looked up a website the guitarist recommended, saving it with a bookmark, and then slid the phone away.
He didn’t reclaim Volt’s hand.
Was that on purpose? Incidental? Wallace was nodding along to what the performer was saying, but was that an excuse to put some distance between them?
“Ah, Wally!” came a voice at his elbow.
Volt turned to see an elegant woman, sequins splashed across her scarlet dress. She walked up to Wallace and gave him air kisses on each cheek, her body somehow never getting close enough to tilt the champagne glass in her elegant fingers.
Volt bristled. Wallace hated that name.
“Hello, Diana.” Wallace’s smile stretched tight across his face and didn’t reach his eyes.
“I didn’t know that you favored the arts.”
He shrugged. “I don’t often make it out to performances. But the arts should be supported.”
She gave a tinkling little laugh. “And who’s this?
” She eyed Volt up and down, assessingly.
He could see the moment when she clocked him.
Sexbot. And then the moment when she did the math, added up sexbot plus fancy event, and came up with spark.
Sentient, but obviously only here to decorate someone’s arm.
She stepped a little closer, ducking her head in a practiced move to look up at him winningly.
“This is Volt,” Wallace said. No further introduction. Not my boyfriend. Not anything.
“Lovely to meet you, Volt,” she purred, extending a manicured hand. She was definitely flirting, and Volt bristled.
This was when Wallace should have claimed his hand. Stepped closer and staked his ownership.
Wallace was staring at a point just over Diana’s shoulder.
Was Wallace embarrassed by him?
“Good to meet you, too,” Volt lied, giving her hand a quick, firm shake. “How do you know Wallace?” He emphasized the full name. Even if Wallace didn’t want to admit their relationship, he didn’t like anyone calling his baby Wally.
She gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, we go way back. I used to date Rick. Do you know him?”
“My brother,” Wallace added, tone flat.
“No,” Volt replied, trying to keep his tone neutral while flailing emotionally, his thoughts splitting off into subroutines that circled around without landing anywhere, clogging up his mind. “We’ve never met,” he added. From Wallace’s stories, he hoped they never would.
Diana grinned, showing perfectly even, white teeth.
“You’d love him. He’s fun. Wally was always the annoying little brother, creeping around after us.
” She laughed, like this was a charming anecdote.
“But of course, he’s all grown up now. We should catch up sometime, Wally,” she said, eyes never leaving Volt’s face.
Wallace made a non-committal sound.
“Oh, and look who’s here!” Diana’s attention was already diverted. “Did you see Ken Roman?” she asked Wallace.
Ken Roman. Ken Roman… Where had Volt heard that? No, he remembered. He didn’t even need to run a search.
Jaya, the woman who’d come to Prism a couple months ago asking for help to escape her pimp, or perhaps her boyfriend, had said he was named Kenneth Roman.
Volt turned his head to follow Diana’s gaze.
This had to be the guy.
He was standing by the bar, talking jovially with another man, and from what Volt could gather, not at all about music.
A young blond woman with impressively large breasts and a designer dress hung on his arm like an accessory.
His thick shoulders, dark hair, and angular face looked enough like Louis Roman that he could easily be his son.
Not that Volt had ever met Louis Roman. He’d only seen pictures in the news of Mr. Roman holding a symbolic shovel to break ground for new construction projects that would disrupt people’s homes, churning over old, shitty apartment buildings in poor neighborhoods for new, shitty apartment buildings in those same neighborhoods that would be even harder for the tenants to afford and need to be torn down again after another few decades of neglect.
He owned expensive properties too, high-end clubs and luxury skyscrapers, but it was the poorer neighborhoods where he had a stranglehold on all the corner stores and little family-owned shops.
They struggled to pay the exorbitant rent while Roman Management couldn’t be bothered to make sure they had clean running water.
Volt wouldn’t have ever known about Mr. Roman—just one more business tycoon working real estate in the city—but when runaway sex workers banged on their back door every year or so, his name was often on their lips.
The first one Volt had met had been Mitchie, an emaciated, frightened teen with track marks up his arms and the saddest blue eyes, who’d enlightened Volt to a whole underworld of the sex trade that he hadn’t truly understood until that moment.
The most recent was Jaya. Who couldn’t run away from Kenneth Roman because he was somehow controlling her son, though Volt and Angel had passed her name along to an organization that should be able to help.
Across the room, Ken Roman laughed, the hearty, too-loud laugh of a man who thought he was on top of the world.
It seemed that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Wallace made another non-committal sound in response to Diana’s question, but she didn’t answer.
Instead, she leaned forward, squeezing Volt’s elbow unnecessarily, and announced, “I’ll just go over and say hello.” She ran her hand down Volt’s arm even more unnecessarily.
Ick.
He watched Diana go over to Ken Roman and repeat the air kiss ritual, then turned back to Wallace.
Who still wasn’t looking at him.
Volt tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t like he wanted to talk with Diana again, or cared what she thought about him.
And, he reminded himself, Wallace was just coming out as queer. This was his first event out with another man. Volt understood that coming out could still be a process, even if most people didn’t give it a second thought. Wallace didn’t need to announce he was dating someone every second.
But it still kind of hurt.
Wallace had turned back to listen to the guitarist, his shoulders just a little hunched.
Volt wanted nothing more than to slip an arm around his shoulders and pull him close. To nuzzle up under that stiff collar and take a nibble of his neck.
Or at least hold his hand. Wallace had said they could hold hands, right?
But now Volt wasn’t so sure. Wallace ought to be coming to his Daddy for comfort… but he wasn’t. Not even a brush of their hands.
Wallace had proclaimed himself ready to show up to an event with a boyfriend, but what if he’d changed his mind? Or what if—and this thought hurt a lot more—Wallace hadn’t realized what it would be like dating a sexbot?