Fic: Let The Light In (The Eagle, AU), Chapter 3
Title: Let The Light In, Chapter 3
Pairing: Esca/Marcus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5k
Warnings:
Summary: Esca's an acrobat, and he has an idea when he meets someone who used to dance in the show
“Oh, no. This isn't going to happen. No way, no how.”
A hidden speaker somewhere underneath the couch started up, vibrating Esca's bum with the heavy beat of the club's music, masking his words. Esca started shaking his head instead, needing to stop Marcus and this Ramon guy, who were moving into place to stand in front of him, almost close enough to touch each of his knees. So he drew his legs together and in, clumsily trying to stand immediately afterwards.
“Sit.” Marcus shoved him down with one hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to make his voice heard over the music. “We need this, both of us need this job. This is training, nothing more, so stay put, watch, and learn.”
“Bugger off. I already know how to - ”
“Sit down, shut up.”
“I'll do whatever the fuck I want, thanks.” Esca stayed sitting anyway, but crossed his arms and gave Marcus a sour look. “Alright. You've got five minutes to pique my interest, then I'm out the door.”
His interest was piqued already. Marcus was looking more fuckable than ever, all dark and brooding, jeans hanging low on his hips, Ramon sliding a hand up beneath Marcus's white vest. And Ramon, well, he was already mostly naked. Sort of cute, all cheekbones and flicky black hair, height and build almost a match for Esca's, a bit heavier in the shoulders but, otherwise, close enough. He had to bend his head back to look Marcus in the eye, just as Esca did, and they were staring at each other now in front of him, loads of eye contact as if this was a done deal and simply a prelude prior to the mega fuckfest to come.
Then they started to move. Esca blindly drained the last of his glass, barely noticing when another was placed in his hand, unable as he was to tear his eyes away from where Ramon's roaming hands were stroking up over Marcus's stomach, lifting the vest as he went. Marcus was towering over Ramon, all muscled and macho, that intense stare being put to good use as he thoroughly eye-fucked Ramon. Then Ramon was pulling the vest up and over Marcus's head, the palms of his hands flat against Marcus's skin as he stripped it off those beautiful arms. The simple act of taking off a shirt, and Esca was dry-mouthed, full aware it was how he'd wanted to touch Marcus all along. It was a caress, the start of something. He hadn't dared allow himself to come close.
“Touch isn't the only trick. There's scent.” Marcus ducked his head down, his nose an inch from Ramon's jaw as Ramon lifted up his face, his crotch starting to dry-hump Marcus's good leg. Well, there was probably an erotic dancer's more technical term for it. “Use all the senses. Touch, smell, sight, taste . . .”
They were shifting against each other, shimmying, hips moving in rhythm as the last inch of belly fat on Marcus jiggled, most of it transformed into taut torso after all the training Esca had put him through. Ramon was running his hands up Marcus's back, while one of Marcus's big, broad hands was taking Ramon's jaw in a firm hold, tilting the angle of Ramon's face in a quietly dominant manner that ended with him licking Ramon across his bottom lip.
Esca heard himself make a wheezy groaning sound, sort of like he'd been punched in the stomach. Thank fuck the hidden speaker would cover it up. All the dance consisted of now was a shirtless Marcus, hands cradling Ramon's arse cheeks, thumbs slipping inside the fabric of Ramon's very-brief briefs as they kissed, slow tongues and wide-open mouths, legs intertwined as they rocked against each other.
“We are not doing that on stage.”
“No?” Ramon's lips shone with spit when he broke it off with Marcus, turning around in Marcus's arms to grin at Esca and rub his bum against Marcus's groin. Rhythmically, of course. After all, it was supposed to be a dance. “Why the hell wouldn't you? Look at him.”
Because I don't much fancy getting an erection while wearing tights in front of a theatre full of six hundred tourists. “Because it's not that kind of show.”
“Oh. What? But, I thought you said . . .”
Just like that, the dance was over. The music continued, throbbing and dirty, but Ramon stopped grinding and started slouching instead, looking kind of pissy while Marcus straightened up, grabbing his vest from the couch and absent-mindedly playing with it in both hands. They could've been two guys waiting in line for coffee, mid-disagreement over something that'd come up in a meeting back at the office. Except for the half-naked thing.
“I said it was supposed to be erotic. Not,” Marcus made sheepish quotes fingers, vest hanging from one hand. “'Erotic'.”
“Dude. Whatever. Fifty bucks, right?”
“Sure. I'll leave it with Benny.”
“Cool. If I didn't need it, I'd say put it toward a private room for this uptight fag. Speaking of, hey, you gonna tip?”
It was said to Esca, Ramon's hands on his hips and like he was entirely unaware he was dressed only in a pair of Calvin's finest.
“Wasn't planning to, no. I'm too uptight to tip.”
“Save it, go get yourself laid. It might make you less of a dried-out bitch.” The smile was cute, no real menace to it. “And, Marcus, sweet cheeks, don't be a stranger.”
Ramon hugged Marcus, kissing his cheek, naked chest to naked chest, and Esca realised that there was something to whatever Marcus had been trying to demonstrate. It was the most platonic hug between unclothed men he'd ever seen. Perhaps the only. His bonk-on thankfully, finally started to wilt. It had been pressing against his fly so hard and for so long now that Esca was fairly sure it'd been marked for life.
“It's Esca?” Hug over, Ramon had leaned over Esca, all his weight held on one hand as he moved in close and raised his voice to make sure every word was heard.
“That's right.”
“Listen up, Esca. This guy's a legend. If you have any cash at all wadded up in your shit -”
“Ramon . . .” Marcus was almost in silhouette now, back to the club lights, looming up behind Ramon, only a few stray beams from the distant stage's spots picking out his ear and the angle of his cheekbone in occasional flashes.
“Nah, c'mon, M. Dance for this guy. Give him the full works, he looks like he needs it.”
“My dancing days are over.”
“No, dude, c'mon. He's supposed to be learning how to touch you. Shake that thing you got in his face and he's going to learn real fast.”
“I don't know . . . what do you think?”
Esca couldn't see Marcus's face at all. The lights picked out the tips of the lashes on one eye for a moment, that was it. His instincts were screaming at him to refuse the offer, almost as loud as other, more libidinous stuff was urging him to say Hell Yes and throw every dollar bill he had in his pockets in Marcus's direction.
“You honestly think it would help the act?”
A shrug. Sometimes Marcus's shoulders were way more communicative than every other part of him. “I don't see that it could hurt.”
“Your knee's okay?” Please, say yes. Fuck, no, say no, it'd be so much better for everyone involved if you say no. But, God, say yes anyway.
“Seems good so far.”
“Then I suppose there's nothing stopping you.”
“Guess not.”
“Not that this isn't a thrill a minute, but I'm up in five.” Ramon slapped Marcus on the arse, then turned to leave, bum cheeks jutting out spectacularly in the Calvins. “You girls have fun. Remember to take it to a suite if this guy's a faster learner than he looks.”
There was no fizzy wine left in his glass, and he'd lost track of how many he'd had. Esca craned his head around, looking for a passing waiter, but Marcus blocked his viewpoint, blocked out the light, leaving Esca sitting in his shadow.
“Eyes here.” Marcus jabbed two fingers towards where his own eyes must be.
“You want me to maintain eye contact? Bit prudey, for a stripper.”
“Not eye contact, dumbass. If I'm going to do this, I expect your full attention.”
“Fair enough.”
The white vest was tossed onto the back of the couch, and now there was a whole bunch of naked Marcus chest rearing up over him. They'd worked together, sweating and shirtless for two full weeks, but the context was all different here and the undeniable attraction Esca had been trying his best to ignore the whole time was bubbling through his veins, stirring deep inside his belly, a pulse building again in the base of his balls. There wasn't enough fizzy wine in the world to ignore shirtless Marcus getting ready to do whatever the hell was about to happen.
He'd gone totally still, eyes closed, Esca thought, motionless as though he was praying or meditating. Then the sleek head started to nod, the motion leading down Marcus's thick neck, entering his shoulders and torso much in the same way the pulse in Esca's nuts was spreading outwards, up his spine and down to the tip of his prick, a warmth that Esca knew would have him ready to pop his zipper in minutes flat.
The dance was taking Marcus over, just as it had that night back in the club with Nattie. He moved like it was thoughtless, effortless, a sturdy sapling bending with suppleness in a gusty wind, snapping back upright then into a full body roll that helped the low light pick out every ridge on Marcus's newly flat stomach. Every inch of that torso deserved to be tasted, smooth skin highlighting tight little nipples, the band of his underwear lying flat and asking Esca to tug it down with his teeth. Marcus was a foot, maybe a foot and a half away, within reach, and Esca's fingers felt twitchy with the need to take hold of Marcus by the belt and yank him closer so he could lay his lips against that one small patch left of jiggle then work his way down.
“Touch me. This isn't a hands-off club and, anyway, that's what we're here for.”
But what if I can't stop? Esca couldn't take the risk, not after what happened with Bastien. It was all too reminiscent, but Marcus was so beautiful like this, all the bullishness gone, dancing and shifting, hips shimmying in a way that made Esca sure he could see Marcus's cock bouncing inside his jeans, no matter how dark it was. His hands were sweating, shaking as he started to lift them at his sides, his head swimming with booze, and he didn't want Marcus to think of him like this, a clammy, quivering knob-end reduced to jelly by a few seconds' titillation.
“Give me your hands.”
Esca complied instantly, obediently, which was not how he usually did things. His hands were taken up and Marcus laid them flat on his chest, which was as warm and smooth and solid as Esca knew it was from their practices, heart beat barely raised by all the activity so far. But his hands weren't there to hold his balance, not this time. He spread his fingers tentatively, Marcus responding by pressing into them, moving closer, pecs shifting as he shook his shoulders like he was trying to twirl nipple tassels.
“Oh, that's a classic.”
“Kickin' it old school. Now, my butt.” Marcus performed a quick spin, twisting around a full five-forty in the blink of an eye, finishing with his back towards Esca, arse thrust outwards, eight inches from Esca's chin. “Grab it.”
“Such charm, how could I possibly refuse? And, didn't that hurt your knee? I thought twisting was bad.”
“It is, it did. I forgot. Grab my ass.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
“I do.”
“But don't fuck your knee up, or else there's no point to this.”
The waiting arse was waggled at him, jeans hanging lower than before as the dance was encouraging them downwards, and two of the most glorious bum cheeks were peeking out at Esca from over the top of the belt, covered in only a thin layer of pale cotton. Esca swallowed on a dry throat and closed his eyes like a fucking wuss, reaching out and taking two handfuls of muscular heaven firmly, digging his fingers in. Fuck it. If Marcus wanted him to grab, then grab he would.
Christ. It seem to signal Marcus to thrust back against him harder, grinding his bum back towards Esca until his knuckles were grazing his nose. Biting distance. Fuck. He pushed with his hands to stop the bum itself actually connecting with his nose, and his treacherous hands sneakily took the chance to dig in deeper, having themselves one fuck of a good grope. Dancers always had nice bottoms, at least to look at, but this one seemed like one of museum standards, perfectly shaped, no podge, soft enough but firm muscle beneath sculpting a shape that Esca's face would fit in between like it was made to measure. Esca felt his cock pulse, fast becoming aware that he must've soaked a patch in the front of his jeans.
“Okay, I think we've proved I can touch you. That's enough.”
“Not yet.” Marcus groaned, not with pleasure but discomfort, carefully bending his knees until he was squatting over Esca's lap, rolling his hips back and forth across where Esca was in danger of making more than a small damp patch. “You need to touch more of my skin. Try my shoulders.”
It was a very gratifying sort of torture. Marcus was supporting himself with his arms either side of Esca's thighs, so the roped, knotted muscle of his arms and shoulders was all bunched up, just as it would be when his shoulders were all that stood between Esca and a painful drop to the studio floor. This time, they weren't taking Esca's weight, and Esca gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate on how hot Marcus's skin was now he'd been dancing a few minutes, how it was as velvety as it looked because he'd never allowed himself to truly acknowledge the feel of it before. He had to acknowledge it, as it was the only distraction from where Marcus's grinding arse was rubbing back and forth over where Esca was now hard enough to cut diamonds. It was clear that Marcus must have done this countless times before, with countless other men sat in the same dark booth, all of them happy to cream their shorts before the dance was done. That was what people paid for. Everything Esca couldn't let happen.
“There. I've grabbed, and I've stroked. Can we leave this now?”
The thrusting stopped, Marcus looking back over one of his shoulders at Esca, skin glistening with the faintest sheen of sweat.
“You don't want me to finish . . . ?”
No, don't stop, keep going, so nearly there . . . “Fuck, no. Get off me.”
“Sure. Sorry.” Marcus collapsed onto the couch beside Esca, reaching out to start pulling on his vest. “Force of habit.”
“Don't I feel special. How's the leg?”
“I'll need a day off to ice it before we do any more training.”
“Right. Yes. The audition.”
Marcus's face was lit up now he was facing the stage, watching Ramon spin around a pole upside down with a, frankly, sloppy technique, but Esca thought he saw the hint of a smile whenever Marcus's head appeared and re-appeared between both the vest and the shirt going over his head.
“Don't tell me you forgot why we're here.”
“It'll take more than you waving your junk in my face to make that happen.”
“Yeah? Like what? I could probably arrange it.”
“Oh, we're so done here.”
The music was too loud for him to be sure, but Esca thought he heard Marcus's low chuckle following him as he stood up from the couch and marched unsteadily towards the exit.
-
“Give me your keys.”
“You've already got them.”
“Your apartment. You only gave me the car keys.”
Esca opened his eyes from where he was leaning back against his car door, hoping that the ground would stop moving under his boots. “I did?”
“You did.”
“Okay.”
There wasn't that much oxygen in the air around Vegas. It was mostly heat, and dust, but whatever oxygen there actually was had hit Esca like a wall soon as he'd left the club, along with the bottle of wine he'd probably drained, and it turned out he was way more pissed than he'd noticed. It was dangerous. Marcus driving Esca's car home had been sexy. Marcus nodding along to the awful dance shite he'd tuned the radio into, hands loose on the wheel, had been sexy. Marcus standing by his building's door, shoulders hunched over, half a smile lifting one corner of his horribly fuckable mouth, was definitely sexy.
“Your keys, Esca.”
“Huh? Oh. Um, they're here somewhere.”
“I'm surprised there's room for anything in those jeans.”
“Better than having room for, I dunno, an elephant in there.”
God, that laugh was both dangerous and sexy, slithering into Esca's nerves, all low and melodious, almost post-coital. It was a good thing Marcus was usually so morose. “Snappy comeback. You found them?”
“Here.”
Catching them with one hand, snatching the keys out of the air where Esca's throw had been off, was seductive, which was stupid, and fucking hell, he was so fucking pissed.
“Okay, door's open. You need a hand?”
“No, I'm good.”
The path from his way from the car to the door seemed twistier than usual, and Esca almost fell into the big spiky yucca thing on his way, but he made it, leaning on the door frame to hold himself up and pointing mutely at his apartment door. Marcus's fingers looked long and deft as they dealt with the two locks quickly, efficiently. Beautiful, hot, capable Marcus, and his lovely long fingers.
“I think that waiter roofied me.”
His stumble through from the hallway into his living room and onto the sofa had been inelegant, but now he was on his sofa, uncomfortable piece of rental crap that it was, and Marcus was standing over him, looking down into Esca's face with a definite smile.
“Seven times, to my count. I'm going to get you some water, which I expect you to drink, and then I'll leave you to it.”
“Hmm? No. No water. Bed. Maybe.” Scatter cushions were stupid, but they were sort of comfy. Esca's eyelids felt heavy, his body shivery now the air had clicked on. “Fucking air. Turn it off.”
“Hell, no. Central air? I'm moving in.”
“Sofa's all yours. Unless I can't make it to the bed, in which case, have yourself a ball.”
“Thanks, but I should get going. Here. Slowly.”
A cold glass of water was pressing into his hand, fingers at the back of his head tugging him upright enough to take a sip.
“You're leaving?” He opened one eye and squinted up at Marcus, all handsome now he was smiling. “You don't have to.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Esca knew he'd regret this in the morning, hungover and heaving his guts up, every word he'd say in the next few minutes probably branded on his brain forever. But he was drunk enough for his mouth to bypass his head, and he opened his mouth, and words came out. A bit slurred,
“Thought I might blow you.”
A pause. “It's late. Forget the water, let's get you into bed.”
He staggered as he got up, lurching into Marcus's wall of chest.
“Is that a yes? I bet I'm better than Ramon.”
Hands steadied him, turning him towards the bedroom. “You need to sleep it off.”
“But -” Shit. He always got handsy when he was drunk. He grabbed at Marcus's hips without thinking. Then, all of its own accord, his right hand decided to slip around, palming what felt like a semi in Marcus's pants. “Ooh. Hello.”
“Esca . . .” His wrist was firmly taken in hand, his palm removed as he nosed his way around the front of Marcus's shirt. “Go to bed. You need to sleep, and I need to get back to Nattie's. She'll be waiting up. You know how she is.”
Nattie's. Bugger. It was a bucket of cold water, right in the nads. “Pft. You're no fun.”
“Here you go. Your water's next to you, if you need it.”
Esca turned from face down onto his back, watching through barely open eyes as Marcus placed the glass on his bedside table. “It's not water I want.”
“But it's what you have. I'll call late tomorrow about training.” Marcus left the bed, standing in the bedroom doorway, his shoulders almost broad enough to touch each side. He was like a walking solar eclipse. “Do you need something to puke into?”
“I'm not that drunk.”
“Glad to hear it. 'Night.”
The bed was spinning like a fairground ride, and Esca could hear Marcus's limp in the cadence of his footsteps across the living room, through to the small kitchen area by the door. Then the door was opened, and closed with a snick, and Esca was alone in his spinning bed with the blast of arctic-temperature air roaring in his ears. He reached down, rubbing at his cock through his jeans, but it had gone to sleep, numb with booze. Esca managed to struggle halfway out of his skinnies before he followed, face down into the pillow, falling into oblivion.
-
Their little audience noticed the difference, whatever the difference was. Noz had left the room before their performance had ended, Cas had looked disgusted. Mads spent the whole time futzing with something on his tablet, but Nattie had been blushing to her roots while Jenna and Frosh had given them a vaguely impressed golf clap. From fellow performers, it was practically an ovation.
It was difficult to say exactly what the difference was. Esca had been drunk and indiscreet too many times to do anything the day afterwards but act like nothing had happened, so that's what he'd done and work had continued as before. But the dynamic between him and Marcus had changed, shifted, an awareness of each other that they'd managed to work into the act without discussion or agreement. Marcus's touch felt more considerate, more measured and he gripped Esca with purpose rather than how before he'd lifted Esca up and held him in place as if he was constructing a set of shelves.
“Hmm.”
“Good hmm, or bad hmm?”
Whatever the difference was, it wouldn't matter either way if it was a bad hmm. It had all led to this, the worry and the work. Esca glanced at Marcus, then back towards Mario, who was staring intently at them both over the tops of his glasses.
“Well, of course, it was marvellous, Esca. Your adagio was perfection. I'd expect nothing less.”
“Uh-huh. Great. That's good.”
“Your work is always exquisite, you know this.”
That sentence had a big But hanging off the end of it. “Thanks. So we're in, right? Tell me we're in.”
Mario pursed his lips and looked aside at Rudy, the secondary choreographer, who made a noncommittal face before staring down at his notes again. Then Mario leaned back in his chair and sighed, steepling his fingers in front of him, and Esca felt his stomach sinking, disappointment already setting in before the words were spoken aloud.
“We have a problem. The tissu act we saw this morning is quite stunning, and we want them, need them. This, you, is also sensational. You're a wonderful artist and your base has performed well, so grounded and true. But the tissu is also two men, and there is a natural limit to the amount of same-sex acts we can include in an adult show designed for a diverse, but in majority, straight audience. You see?”
“That limit being one?” The disappointment was fast boiling up into a flash of anger. “Come on, Mario. This is total fucking crap, and from you, of all people . . .”
Yeah, it was rude. Esca felt like being fucking rude, his cheeks hot with temper now rather than the workout he'd just gone through for nothing. Mario raised an eyebrow at him, a stern father about to administer a spanking, but Esca crossed his arms and stood his ground.
“We have investors, as you are well aware, and I seek to create something wonderful, something to blow the mind, not a plaything tailored toward my own preferences. I think we cannot have another act with two men. It is simple as that, and it is a great shame, because your work here has been terrific. Both of you. You will be picked up elsewhere, I can assure you.”
“Where? I'm not going back to fucking Holland. Mario, don't do this to me.” Esca belatedly remembered Marcus, standing there next to him, still and silent as stone. “To us. Fuck off the tissu guys and take us on instead.”
“People enjoy the tissu. It's our trademark. One moment, please . . .”
Rudy was whispering something in Mario's ear, both of them shooting looks first at Marcus and then at Esca, who was trying to force his breath out slow and calm.
“There is perhaps one option.”
“Which is?”
“You know I think the world of your talents, Esca, and Marcus, it is beyond beauty to see you so much on your feet. Yes, I remember you, and I heard of the accident. It would be,” Mario waved one hand around, mentally searching for a word. “Lamentable to ignore that you have something here, with this. So we'd like to suggest that you audition again, Marcus, and that we try you with one of the female acrobats. Bao, or Qian.”
A small nuclear device detonated somewhere in the depths of Esca's brain. “. . . What.”
“We would, of course, pay you a finder's fee, Esca.”
“Oh, sure, of course. Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It is what it is, Esca. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I can't offer more.”
His fists were clenching and unclenching, desperate for someone to smack. Filled with an impotent rage he knew would solidify into a cold knot of wrath that'd sustain him though a good couple of weeks' froth-lipped ranting, Esca smacked Marcus on the arm, glaring up at him. “Say something. Back me up here. The act would be absolute shite without me, I'm the only one who knows what he's doing.”
“It's a job.” Marcus's eyes were fixed on the floor, his jaw working, two spots of colour spreading across his cheekbones. “I'm in no position to turn it down.”
Esca had never hit anyone in anger. Maybe today was the day to break the habit of a lifetime. “And you'd be happy to throw me under the bus like that?”
“Not happy, no. But I have debts. I owe my family, I owe my mom. I've been sleeping on someone's couch for the last five months because I can't afford to pay rent. I can't say no.”
“You owe me. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me -”
“I get that.” Marcus looked at him, pinning Esca with his eyes, taking hold of Esca's arm. “But try to put yourself in my position.”
Esca shook off the hand. No more touching. “Fuck your position, you fucking Judas.”
“Perhaps, gentlemen, this is a conversation to hold elsewhere.”
Rudy started ushering them out the door, Mario glaring at Esca in disapproval over his notes.
“We'll be in touch, Mr. Aquila.”
He'd never before been kicked out of an audition. Esca marched out of the building like he was carried on a storm front of fury, not knowing or caring if Marcus was able to keep up.
“Will you just . . . Esca! Let's talk about this.”
“There's nothing to talk about.”
Marcus's bag with his change of clothes in was still in the back seat of the car, nestled up all cosy with Esca's until Esca flung open the door, grabbing the bag and throwing down into the sandy gravel of the car park. Marcus finally caught up, limping clumsily in his heavy-duty knee brace.
“What do you expect me to do? In the real world, where I have three maxed-out credit cards and a screwed leg.”
“We'll take the act somewhere else, like Mario said.”
“Where? You said yourself it was going to be hard getting Cirque to insure me. You think anyone else will?”
“I don't know! I don't know what I expected you to say or do, but it wasn't this. You don't do shit like this to . . .”
“To who? Friends?” Marcus grabbed the car door where Esca had climbed into the driver's seat, planning to slam the door closed and to drive off leaving Marcus in a choking cloud of dust. “Is that what you were going to say? I've known you a month.”
“Let go the fucking door or I'll drive off and drag you with me.”
“If you think we're friends, then you'll try to understand.”
“We're not friends.” Esca slapped Marcus's fingers off the car door. “I don't know what we are, and apparently I'm not going to find out. Have a nice life, Mr. Aquila. Here's hoping you bugger your other fucking leg lifting my clueless replacement and dropping her on your big fat fucking head.”
He slammed the door shut and locked it, starting the engine and gunning it, tires spinning in the gravel before the tread caught and drove him away. Waiting at the lights, Esca looked back just the once, and was perversely, grimly pleased to see a tiny Marcus had remained standing in the car park, staring in his direction, watching him leave.
Pairing: Esca/Marcus
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5k
Warnings:
Summary: Esca's an acrobat, and he has an idea when he meets someone who used to dance in the show
“Oh, no. This isn't going to happen. No way, no how.”
A hidden speaker somewhere underneath the couch started up, vibrating Esca's bum with the heavy beat of the club's music, masking his words. Esca started shaking his head instead, needing to stop Marcus and this Ramon guy, who were moving into place to stand in front of him, almost close enough to touch each of his knees. So he drew his legs together and in, clumsily trying to stand immediately afterwards.
“Sit.” Marcus shoved him down with one hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to make his voice heard over the music. “We need this, both of us need this job. This is training, nothing more, so stay put, watch, and learn.”
“Bugger off. I already know how to - ”
“Sit down, shut up.”
“I'll do whatever the fuck I want, thanks.” Esca stayed sitting anyway, but crossed his arms and gave Marcus a sour look. “Alright. You've got five minutes to pique my interest, then I'm out the door.”
His interest was piqued already. Marcus was looking more fuckable than ever, all dark and brooding, jeans hanging low on his hips, Ramon sliding a hand up beneath Marcus's white vest. And Ramon, well, he was already mostly naked. Sort of cute, all cheekbones and flicky black hair, height and build almost a match for Esca's, a bit heavier in the shoulders but, otherwise, close enough. He had to bend his head back to look Marcus in the eye, just as Esca did, and they were staring at each other now in front of him, loads of eye contact as if this was a done deal and simply a prelude prior to the mega fuckfest to come.
Then they started to move. Esca blindly drained the last of his glass, barely noticing when another was placed in his hand, unable as he was to tear his eyes away from where Ramon's roaming hands were stroking up over Marcus's stomach, lifting the vest as he went. Marcus was towering over Ramon, all muscled and macho, that intense stare being put to good use as he thoroughly eye-fucked Ramon. Then Ramon was pulling the vest up and over Marcus's head, the palms of his hands flat against Marcus's skin as he stripped it off those beautiful arms. The simple act of taking off a shirt, and Esca was dry-mouthed, full aware it was how he'd wanted to touch Marcus all along. It was a caress, the start of something. He hadn't dared allow himself to come close.
“Touch isn't the only trick. There's scent.” Marcus ducked his head down, his nose an inch from Ramon's jaw as Ramon lifted up his face, his crotch starting to dry-hump Marcus's good leg. Well, there was probably an erotic dancer's more technical term for it. “Use all the senses. Touch, smell, sight, taste . . .”
They were shifting against each other, shimmying, hips moving in rhythm as the last inch of belly fat on Marcus jiggled, most of it transformed into taut torso after all the training Esca had put him through. Ramon was running his hands up Marcus's back, while one of Marcus's big, broad hands was taking Ramon's jaw in a firm hold, tilting the angle of Ramon's face in a quietly dominant manner that ended with him licking Ramon across his bottom lip.
Esca heard himself make a wheezy groaning sound, sort of like he'd been punched in the stomach. Thank fuck the hidden speaker would cover it up. All the dance consisted of now was a shirtless Marcus, hands cradling Ramon's arse cheeks, thumbs slipping inside the fabric of Ramon's very-brief briefs as they kissed, slow tongues and wide-open mouths, legs intertwined as they rocked against each other.
“We are not doing that on stage.”
“No?” Ramon's lips shone with spit when he broke it off with Marcus, turning around in Marcus's arms to grin at Esca and rub his bum against Marcus's groin. Rhythmically, of course. After all, it was supposed to be a dance. “Why the hell wouldn't you? Look at him.”
Because I don't much fancy getting an erection while wearing tights in front of a theatre full of six hundred tourists. “Because it's not that kind of show.”
“Oh. What? But, I thought you said . . .”
Just like that, the dance was over. The music continued, throbbing and dirty, but Ramon stopped grinding and started slouching instead, looking kind of pissy while Marcus straightened up, grabbing his vest from the couch and absent-mindedly playing with it in both hands. They could've been two guys waiting in line for coffee, mid-disagreement over something that'd come up in a meeting back at the office. Except for the half-naked thing.
“I said it was supposed to be erotic. Not,” Marcus made sheepish quotes fingers, vest hanging from one hand. “'Erotic'.”
“Dude. Whatever. Fifty bucks, right?”
“Sure. I'll leave it with Benny.”
“Cool. If I didn't need it, I'd say put it toward a private room for this uptight fag. Speaking of, hey, you gonna tip?”
It was said to Esca, Ramon's hands on his hips and like he was entirely unaware he was dressed only in a pair of Calvin's finest.
“Wasn't planning to, no. I'm too uptight to tip.”
“Save it, go get yourself laid. It might make you less of a dried-out bitch.” The smile was cute, no real menace to it. “And, Marcus, sweet cheeks, don't be a stranger.”
Ramon hugged Marcus, kissing his cheek, naked chest to naked chest, and Esca realised that there was something to whatever Marcus had been trying to demonstrate. It was the most platonic hug between unclothed men he'd ever seen. Perhaps the only. His bonk-on thankfully, finally started to wilt. It had been pressing against his fly so hard and for so long now that Esca was fairly sure it'd been marked for life.
“It's Esca?” Hug over, Ramon had leaned over Esca, all his weight held on one hand as he moved in close and raised his voice to make sure every word was heard.
“That's right.”
“Listen up, Esca. This guy's a legend. If you have any cash at all wadded up in your shit -”
“Ramon . . .” Marcus was almost in silhouette now, back to the club lights, looming up behind Ramon, only a few stray beams from the distant stage's spots picking out his ear and the angle of his cheekbone in occasional flashes.
“Nah, c'mon, M. Dance for this guy. Give him the full works, he looks like he needs it.”
“My dancing days are over.”
“No, dude, c'mon. He's supposed to be learning how to touch you. Shake that thing you got in his face and he's going to learn real fast.”
“I don't know . . . what do you think?”
Esca couldn't see Marcus's face at all. The lights picked out the tips of the lashes on one eye for a moment, that was it. His instincts were screaming at him to refuse the offer, almost as loud as other, more libidinous stuff was urging him to say Hell Yes and throw every dollar bill he had in his pockets in Marcus's direction.
“You honestly think it would help the act?”
A shrug. Sometimes Marcus's shoulders were way more communicative than every other part of him. “I don't see that it could hurt.”
“Your knee's okay?” Please, say yes. Fuck, no, say no, it'd be so much better for everyone involved if you say no. But, God, say yes anyway.
“Seems good so far.”
“Then I suppose there's nothing stopping you.”
“Guess not.”
“Not that this isn't a thrill a minute, but I'm up in five.” Ramon slapped Marcus on the arse, then turned to leave, bum cheeks jutting out spectacularly in the Calvins. “You girls have fun. Remember to take it to a suite if this guy's a faster learner than he looks.”
There was no fizzy wine left in his glass, and he'd lost track of how many he'd had. Esca craned his head around, looking for a passing waiter, but Marcus blocked his viewpoint, blocked out the light, leaving Esca sitting in his shadow.
“Eyes here.” Marcus jabbed two fingers towards where his own eyes must be.
“You want me to maintain eye contact? Bit prudey, for a stripper.”
“Not eye contact, dumbass. If I'm going to do this, I expect your full attention.”
“Fair enough.”
The white vest was tossed onto the back of the couch, and now there was a whole bunch of naked Marcus chest rearing up over him. They'd worked together, sweating and shirtless for two full weeks, but the context was all different here and the undeniable attraction Esca had been trying his best to ignore the whole time was bubbling through his veins, stirring deep inside his belly, a pulse building again in the base of his balls. There wasn't enough fizzy wine in the world to ignore shirtless Marcus getting ready to do whatever the hell was about to happen.
He'd gone totally still, eyes closed, Esca thought, motionless as though he was praying or meditating. Then the sleek head started to nod, the motion leading down Marcus's thick neck, entering his shoulders and torso much in the same way the pulse in Esca's nuts was spreading outwards, up his spine and down to the tip of his prick, a warmth that Esca knew would have him ready to pop his zipper in minutes flat.
The dance was taking Marcus over, just as it had that night back in the club with Nattie. He moved like it was thoughtless, effortless, a sturdy sapling bending with suppleness in a gusty wind, snapping back upright then into a full body roll that helped the low light pick out every ridge on Marcus's newly flat stomach. Every inch of that torso deserved to be tasted, smooth skin highlighting tight little nipples, the band of his underwear lying flat and asking Esca to tug it down with his teeth. Marcus was a foot, maybe a foot and a half away, within reach, and Esca's fingers felt twitchy with the need to take hold of Marcus by the belt and yank him closer so he could lay his lips against that one small patch left of jiggle then work his way down.
“Touch me. This isn't a hands-off club and, anyway, that's what we're here for.”
But what if I can't stop? Esca couldn't take the risk, not after what happened with Bastien. It was all too reminiscent, but Marcus was so beautiful like this, all the bullishness gone, dancing and shifting, hips shimmying in a way that made Esca sure he could see Marcus's cock bouncing inside his jeans, no matter how dark it was. His hands were sweating, shaking as he started to lift them at his sides, his head swimming with booze, and he didn't want Marcus to think of him like this, a clammy, quivering knob-end reduced to jelly by a few seconds' titillation.
“Give me your hands.”
Esca complied instantly, obediently, which was not how he usually did things. His hands were taken up and Marcus laid them flat on his chest, which was as warm and smooth and solid as Esca knew it was from their practices, heart beat barely raised by all the activity so far. But his hands weren't there to hold his balance, not this time. He spread his fingers tentatively, Marcus responding by pressing into them, moving closer, pecs shifting as he shook his shoulders like he was trying to twirl nipple tassels.
“Oh, that's a classic.”
“Kickin' it old school. Now, my butt.” Marcus performed a quick spin, twisting around a full five-forty in the blink of an eye, finishing with his back towards Esca, arse thrust outwards, eight inches from Esca's chin. “Grab it.”
“Such charm, how could I possibly refuse? And, didn't that hurt your knee? I thought twisting was bad.”
“It is, it did. I forgot. Grab my ass.”
“Alright, if you insist.”
“I do.”
“But don't fuck your knee up, or else there's no point to this.”
The waiting arse was waggled at him, jeans hanging lower than before as the dance was encouraging them downwards, and two of the most glorious bum cheeks were peeking out at Esca from over the top of the belt, covered in only a thin layer of pale cotton. Esca swallowed on a dry throat and closed his eyes like a fucking wuss, reaching out and taking two handfuls of muscular heaven firmly, digging his fingers in. Fuck it. If Marcus wanted him to grab, then grab he would.
Christ. It seem to signal Marcus to thrust back against him harder, grinding his bum back towards Esca until his knuckles were grazing his nose. Biting distance. Fuck. He pushed with his hands to stop the bum itself actually connecting with his nose, and his treacherous hands sneakily took the chance to dig in deeper, having themselves one fuck of a good grope. Dancers always had nice bottoms, at least to look at, but this one seemed like one of museum standards, perfectly shaped, no podge, soft enough but firm muscle beneath sculpting a shape that Esca's face would fit in between like it was made to measure. Esca felt his cock pulse, fast becoming aware that he must've soaked a patch in the front of his jeans.
“Okay, I think we've proved I can touch you. That's enough.”
“Not yet.” Marcus groaned, not with pleasure but discomfort, carefully bending his knees until he was squatting over Esca's lap, rolling his hips back and forth across where Esca was in danger of making more than a small damp patch. “You need to touch more of my skin. Try my shoulders.”
It was a very gratifying sort of torture. Marcus was supporting himself with his arms either side of Esca's thighs, so the roped, knotted muscle of his arms and shoulders was all bunched up, just as it would be when his shoulders were all that stood between Esca and a painful drop to the studio floor. This time, they weren't taking Esca's weight, and Esca gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate on how hot Marcus's skin was now he'd been dancing a few minutes, how it was as velvety as it looked because he'd never allowed himself to truly acknowledge the feel of it before. He had to acknowledge it, as it was the only distraction from where Marcus's grinding arse was rubbing back and forth over where Esca was now hard enough to cut diamonds. It was clear that Marcus must have done this countless times before, with countless other men sat in the same dark booth, all of them happy to cream their shorts before the dance was done. That was what people paid for. Everything Esca couldn't let happen.
“There. I've grabbed, and I've stroked. Can we leave this now?”
The thrusting stopped, Marcus looking back over one of his shoulders at Esca, skin glistening with the faintest sheen of sweat.
“You don't want me to finish . . . ?”
No, don't stop, keep going, so nearly there . . . “Fuck, no. Get off me.”
“Sure. Sorry.” Marcus collapsed onto the couch beside Esca, reaching out to start pulling on his vest. “Force of habit.”
“Don't I feel special. How's the leg?”
“I'll need a day off to ice it before we do any more training.”
“Right. Yes. The audition.”
Marcus's face was lit up now he was facing the stage, watching Ramon spin around a pole upside down with a, frankly, sloppy technique, but Esca thought he saw the hint of a smile whenever Marcus's head appeared and re-appeared between both the vest and the shirt going over his head.
“Don't tell me you forgot why we're here.”
“It'll take more than you waving your junk in my face to make that happen.”
“Yeah? Like what? I could probably arrange it.”
“Oh, we're so done here.”
The music was too loud for him to be sure, but Esca thought he heard Marcus's low chuckle following him as he stood up from the couch and marched unsteadily towards the exit.
-
“Give me your keys.”
“You've already got them.”
“Your apartment. You only gave me the car keys.”
Esca opened his eyes from where he was leaning back against his car door, hoping that the ground would stop moving under his boots. “I did?”
“You did.”
“Okay.”
There wasn't that much oxygen in the air around Vegas. It was mostly heat, and dust, but whatever oxygen there actually was had hit Esca like a wall soon as he'd left the club, along with the bottle of wine he'd probably drained, and it turned out he was way more pissed than he'd noticed. It was dangerous. Marcus driving Esca's car home had been sexy. Marcus nodding along to the awful dance shite he'd tuned the radio into, hands loose on the wheel, had been sexy. Marcus standing by his building's door, shoulders hunched over, half a smile lifting one corner of his horribly fuckable mouth, was definitely sexy.
“Your keys, Esca.”
“Huh? Oh. Um, they're here somewhere.”
“I'm surprised there's room for anything in those jeans.”
“Better than having room for, I dunno, an elephant in there.”
God, that laugh was both dangerous and sexy, slithering into Esca's nerves, all low and melodious, almost post-coital. It was a good thing Marcus was usually so morose. “Snappy comeback. You found them?”
“Here.”
Catching them with one hand, snatching the keys out of the air where Esca's throw had been off, was seductive, which was stupid, and fucking hell, he was so fucking pissed.
“Okay, door's open. You need a hand?”
“No, I'm good.”
The path from his way from the car to the door seemed twistier than usual, and Esca almost fell into the big spiky yucca thing on his way, but he made it, leaning on the door frame to hold himself up and pointing mutely at his apartment door. Marcus's fingers looked long and deft as they dealt with the two locks quickly, efficiently. Beautiful, hot, capable Marcus, and his lovely long fingers.
“I think that waiter roofied me.”
His stumble through from the hallway into his living room and onto the sofa had been inelegant, but now he was on his sofa, uncomfortable piece of rental crap that it was, and Marcus was standing over him, looking down into Esca's face with a definite smile.
“Seven times, to my count. I'm going to get you some water, which I expect you to drink, and then I'll leave you to it.”
“Hmm? No. No water. Bed. Maybe.” Scatter cushions were stupid, but they were sort of comfy. Esca's eyelids felt heavy, his body shivery now the air had clicked on. “Fucking air. Turn it off.”
“Hell, no. Central air? I'm moving in.”
“Sofa's all yours. Unless I can't make it to the bed, in which case, have yourself a ball.”
“Thanks, but I should get going. Here. Slowly.”
A cold glass of water was pressing into his hand, fingers at the back of his head tugging him upright enough to take a sip.
“You're leaving?” He opened one eye and squinted up at Marcus, all handsome now he was smiling. “You don't have to.”
“Yeah, I do.”
Esca knew he'd regret this in the morning, hungover and heaving his guts up, every word he'd say in the next few minutes probably branded on his brain forever. But he was drunk enough for his mouth to bypass his head, and he opened his mouth, and words came out. A bit slurred,
“Thought I might blow you.”
A pause. “It's late. Forget the water, let's get you into bed.”
He staggered as he got up, lurching into Marcus's wall of chest.
“Is that a yes? I bet I'm better than Ramon.”
Hands steadied him, turning him towards the bedroom. “You need to sleep it off.”
“But -” Shit. He always got handsy when he was drunk. He grabbed at Marcus's hips without thinking. Then, all of its own accord, his right hand decided to slip around, palming what felt like a semi in Marcus's pants. “Ooh. Hello.”
“Esca . . .” His wrist was firmly taken in hand, his palm removed as he nosed his way around the front of Marcus's shirt. “Go to bed. You need to sleep, and I need to get back to Nattie's. She'll be waiting up. You know how she is.”
Nattie's. Bugger. It was a bucket of cold water, right in the nads. “Pft. You're no fun.”
“Here you go. Your water's next to you, if you need it.”
Esca turned from face down onto his back, watching through barely open eyes as Marcus placed the glass on his bedside table. “It's not water I want.”
“But it's what you have. I'll call late tomorrow about training.” Marcus left the bed, standing in the bedroom doorway, his shoulders almost broad enough to touch each side. He was like a walking solar eclipse. “Do you need something to puke into?”
“I'm not that drunk.”
“Glad to hear it. 'Night.”
The bed was spinning like a fairground ride, and Esca could hear Marcus's limp in the cadence of his footsteps across the living room, through to the small kitchen area by the door. Then the door was opened, and closed with a snick, and Esca was alone in his spinning bed with the blast of arctic-temperature air roaring in his ears. He reached down, rubbing at his cock through his jeans, but it had gone to sleep, numb with booze. Esca managed to struggle halfway out of his skinnies before he followed, face down into the pillow, falling into oblivion.
-
Their little audience noticed the difference, whatever the difference was. Noz had left the room before their performance had ended, Cas had looked disgusted. Mads spent the whole time futzing with something on his tablet, but Nattie had been blushing to her roots while Jenna and Frosh had given them a vaguely impressed golf clap. From fellow performers, it was practically an ovation.
It was difficult to say exactly what the difference was. Esca had been drunk and indiscreet too many times to do anything the day afterwards but act like nothing had happened, so that's what he'd done and work had continued as before. But the dynamic between him and Marcus had changed, shifted, an awareness of each other that they'd managed to work into the act without discussion or agreement. Marcus's touch felt more considerate, more measured and he gripped Esca with purpose rather than how before he'd lifted Esca up and held him in place as if he was constructing a set of shelves.
“Hmm.”
“Good hmm, or bad hmm?”
Whatever the difference was, it wouldn't matter either way if it was a bad hmm. It had all led to this, the worry and the work. Esca glanced at Marcus, then back towards Mario, who was staring intently at them both over the tops of his glasses.
“Well, of course, it was marvellous, Esca. Your adagio was perfection. I'd expect nothing less.”
“Uh-huh. Great. That's good.”
“Your work is always exquisite, you know this.”
That sentence had a big But hanging off the end of it. “Thanks. So we're in, right? Tell me we're in.”
Mario pursed his lips and looked aside at Rudy, the secondary choreographer, who made a noncommittal face before staring down at his notes again. Then Mario leaned back in his chair and sighed, steepling his fingers in front of him, and Esca felt his stomach sinking, disappointment already setting in before the words were spoken aloud.
“We have a problem. The tissu act we saw this morning is quite stunning, and we want them, need them. This, you, is also sensational. You're a wonderful artist and your base has performed well, so grounded and true. But the tissu is also two men, and there is a natural limit to the amount of same-sex acts we can include in an adult show designed for a diverse, but in majority, straight audience. You see?”
“That limit being one?” The disappointment was fast boiling up into a flash of anger. “Come on, Mario. This is total fucking crap, and from you, of all people . . .”
Yeah, it was rude. Esca felt like being fucking rude, his cheeks hot with temper now rather than the workout he'd just gone through for nothing. Mario raised an eyebrow at him, a stern father about to administer a spanking, but Esca crossed his arms and stood his ground.
“We have investors, as you are well aware, and I seek to create something wonderful, something to blow the mind, not a plaything tailored toward my own preferences. I think we cannot have another act with two men. It is simple as that, and it is a great shame, because your work here has been terrific. Both of you. You will be picked up elsewhere, I can assure you.”
“Where? I'm not going back to fucking Holland. Mario, don't do this to me.” Esca belatedly remembered Marcus, standing there next to him, still and silent as stone. “To us. Fuck off the tissu guys and take us on instead.”
“People enjoy the tissu. It's our trademark. One moment, please . . .”
Rudy was whispering something in Mario's ear, both of them shooting looks first at Marcus and then at Esca, who was trying to force his breath out slow and calm.
“There is perhaps one option.”
“Which is?”
“You know I think the world of your talents, Esca, and Marcus, it is beyond beauty to see you so much on your feet. Yes, I remember you, and I heard of the accident. It would be,” Mario waved one hand around, mentally searching for a word. “Lamentable to ignore that you have something here, with this. So we'd like to suggest that you audition again, Marcus, and that we try you with one of the female acrobats. Bao, or Qian.”
A small nuclear device detonated somewhere in the depths of Esca's brain. “. . . What.”
“We would, of course, pay you a finder's fee, Esca.”
“Oh, sure, of course. Are you fucking kidding me?”
“It is what it is, Esca. For what it's worth, I'm sorry I can't offer more.”
His fists were clenching and unclenching, desperate for someone to smack. Filled with an impotent rage he knew would solidify into a cold knot of wrath that'd sustain him though a good couple of weeks' froth-lipped ranting, Esca smacked Marcus on the arm, glaring up at him. “Say something. Back me up here. The act would be absolute shite without me, I'm the only one who knows what he's doing.”
“It's a job.” Marcus's eyes were fixed on the floor, his jaw working, two spots of colour spreading across his cheekbones. “I'm in no position to turn it down.”
Esca had never hit anyone in anger. Maybe today was the day to break the habit of a lifetime. “And you'd be happy to throw me under the bus like that?”
“Not happy, no. But I have debts. I owe my family, I owe my mom. I've been sleeping on someone's couch for the last five months because I can't afford to pay rent. I can't say no.”
“You owe me. You wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me -”
“I get that.” Marcus looked at him, pinning Esca with his eyes, taking hold of Esca's arm. “But try to put yourself in my position.”
Esca shook off the hand. No more touching. “Fuck your position, you fucking Judas.”
“Perhaps, gentlemen, this is a conversation to hold elsewhere.”
Rudy started ushering them out the door, Mario glaring at Esca in disapproval over his notes.
“We'll be in touch, Mr. Aquila.”
He'd never before been kicked out of an audition. Esca marched out of the building like he was carried on a storm front of fury, not knowing or caring if Marcus was able to keep up.
“Will you just . . . Esca! Let's talk about this.”
“There's nothing to talk about.”
Marcus's bag with his change of clothes in was still in the back seat of the car, nestled up all cosy with Esca's until Esca flung open the door, grabbing the bag and throwing down into the sandy gravel of the car park. Marcus finally caught up, limping clumsily in his heavy-duty knee brace.
“What do you expect me to do? In the real world, where I have three maxed-out credit cards and a screwed leg.”
“We'll take the act somewhere else, like Mario said.”
“Where? You said yourself it was going to be hard getting Cirque to insure me. You think anyone else will?”
“I don't know! I don't know what I expected you to say or do, but it wasn't this. You don't do shit like this to . . .”
“To who? Friends?” Marcus grabbed the car door where Esca had climbed into the driver's seat, planning to slam the door closed and to drive off leaving Marcus in a choking cloud of dust. “Is that what you were going to say? I've known you a month.”
“Let go the fucking door or I'll drive off and drag you with me.”
“If you think we're friends, then you'll try to understand.”
“We're not friends.” Esca slapped Marcus's fingers off the car door. “I don't know what we are, and apparently I'm not going to find out. Have a nice life, Mr. Aquila. Here's hoping you bugger your other fucking leg lifting my clueless replacement and dropping her on your big fat fucking head.”
He slammed the door shut and locked it, starting the engine and gunning it, tires spinning in the gravel before the tread caught and drove him away. Waiting at the lights, Esca looked back just the once, and was perversely, grimly pleased to see a tiny Marcus had remained standing in the car park, staring in his direction, watching him leave.