Dance’s stupid lover, his stubborn man, is still sitting at his desk, even though Dance told him it was bedtime, right now, two weeks of rehearsals from hell and no time for anything but quickies in the shower, god don’t make me wait. Five months it’s been, since Drin… — Took me— Dance thinks with a little shiver.
Two months since Drin gave up his luxury apartment and moved into this cramped hovel with Dance and Emma. But he’d been spending most of his time at the house from that first night on, taking his place in the kitchen, learning his and Emma’s ways. One month since they got married, taking advantage of the California supreme court decision. His Husband.
Emma seems really glad about it. Drin can talk her around on almost anything, Dance has never seen anyone so close and easy with her besides himself. She has, Dance knows, several other modes that Dance simply can’t fathom. He loves it when they start talking like that, where the words stop mattering– to him, at least, although they get very intense sometimes– and he can tune that out and simply be with the two people he loves most in all this world.
There’s Drin’s gift, the queen-size bed, in his room now, and just enough space for him to stand when he practices. Dance doesn’t mind that he’s given up his pacing-path in there. Drin is worth it. He loves the nights where they both come in to be with him, bringing books and laptops with them. Their feet lean on each other’s, while he does scales like a serenade.
“What is so horribly important that you have to ignore us, our husband?” Dance demands now. “You are leaving in two days. Come and get laid while you can, please.”
“I think it’s you leaving in two days, actually,” Drin returns, “You wanna go?”
“That’s very sudden,” Dance says doubtfully.
Drin is frowning at his laptop, jabbing his way through about a hundred windows at once, “Well, I’ve got this sudden defend-your-program, justify-your-salary, you know the kind of silly business that always comes up at the last minute. I was looking forward to this trip, I really wanted to visit the caves, we talked about it for a month. But now I can’t get away, and she’s gonna be pissed off at me. At least I bought a grownup air ticket. I can convert it over to you, if you’d like to go. Somebody should. Did you see her emails on the conference?”
“It’s always dangerous to let our Emma get bored,” Dance says.
Before she left, she’d discussed, in her scarey quiet voice, ways to murder that damned committee who decided to switch the conference to a cheaper venue than Madrid, and declared themselves fonder of Kentucky-style barbecue anyway. So she had declared it was a trip to enjoy food every night from one or another Spanish city they’d planned to visit. So far she’d found Basque and Catalan and something she claimed came from the Azores.
Drin turns his head from the computer, grins, and starts to laugh. “Oh man, Dance, you are way too right. As always.” He stretches, leans back, sighs.
Dance takes the liberty of resting his hands on Drin’s arms, sliding his hands up Drin’s shoulders, lightly stroking his neck muscles. Dance winces at what he finds. They’re in terrible shape, the poor man must have been up clenching his jaws and hunching into the keyboard all night. He clicks his tongue in disapproval, and starts stroking his fingers along with slightly more pressure, just to assess the knots, not yet working on them.
Drin shuts his eyes. “I will do anything if you can make that little twitchy thing in my right shoulder blade just shut the hell up. I am your slave. Command me.”
“Come to bed,” Dance says, being sultry, “and I’ll make you warm putty in my hands.”
Drin sighs. “I’ll never wake up.”
“I will wake you up, and you’ll feel so happy.”
“Promise?” Drin says, in a pathetic voice.
“Oh yeah,” Dance says, and pummels him a bit harder about the spine.
“God, you’re sexy when you beat me up,” Drin says, but he doesn’t move.
“You’re not exercising enough now,” Dance says, frowning. “Look at you! I should have made you come for a walk when we got up this morning. What shape are you going to be in if I go away for a week?”
“Malnourished, neglected, unshaven, over-caffeinated, and smelly,” Drin says. “But it’s only three days.”
Dance hesitates, lifts one hand from his husband’s rumpled shirt, and flips open his pocket weekly scheduler. “What, three days? Starting what, tomorrow afternoon? Appalling. Bad bad musician, see, we have no engagements to keep us paid and out of trouble. Can you see, we have blank spaces here. Hmm. We– I was going to read scores and learn things. We can postpone this one practice. Yes, we can do it. Yes, we shall take some scores and our new little midi keyboard present that our Drin gave me, so useful and bourgeois. We all knew this weekend was going to be quiet.” Then he puts it back in his pocket.
Drin starts to chuckle. “You’re so amazing.” He puts up his hands and touches Dance, loosely clasping his fingers on Dance’s wrists, drawing his hands down where he can kiss them. “You can use the word bourgeois, and still make me think you’re the hottest thing I’ve had going for me since I bought my car, which is saying something.”
“Hey, if having me isn’t hotter than your car, our Drin can go fuck your leather seats instead,” Dance says.
Drin squints up at him.
Dance can feel himself smirking. “While I watch.”
Drin frowns. “Well, no question there. But you gotta admit, those are also very good seats to fuck in.”
“Yeah,” Dance says. He knows he’s looking at Drin with that goofy look. He’s seen it in the mirror. There’s that happy little smile playing on his mouth. “There’s probably something illegal about those seats. God, the next time we get our Emma in that blue evening dress of hers into that car…”
“That little silk wrap number where it shows off some shocking underwear, unless she’s careful?”
“She’s never careful,” Dance says.
“Not around us, certainly, the woman is a devil. She does it on purpose.”
Another little shiver. Emma has been known to prop up her legs on the couch in such a way that the view goes all the way up her shirt, very deliberately looking at them both when she does it.
“Yeah, we know,” Dance says, his eyes alight. “And we say, there is something else hot going for our Drin too. Someone else.”
“In spite of knowing that my, ah, dance card is a little full right now? So to speak.” Drin tips his head back.
Dance strokes the copper-flecked arms. “She’s… we… I think you should have time for her.”
Drin looks at him a moment. “You say it’s okay to sleep with Emma? You want that?”
Dance nods, ignoring the sudden flare of heat curling up his belly.
“I’ll be careful about it. As much as I’m able to.”
“I know you will, and she does not take us away from each other. I mean– she only wants us to be happy. We want her to be happy too.”
“I know what you meant, my love– only I can’t leave this weekend. So, someone else has to fill in. And Dance, you would be good at making Emma happy.”
“I have our Drin, our husband! you make me happy!”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Drin is glad to hear it, it shines from every inch of him, this happiness.
“You think our Emma is not really happy now?” Dance says it in a rush.
“Uh huh,” Drin agrees, eyes not quite shut, looking at him. Then he cocks up an eyebrow. “I think she’s happier than she’s ever been in her life before, tell you the truth. But not as happy as she could be.” Then he sits up, and he puts both around around Dance’s waist, and hugs him very tight. “She’s that happy for you.”
“Yes,” Dance says. “I know.”
“Is it the same as being happy to kiss somebody yourself?” Drin asks then, and he tugs Dance down to be kissed on the mouth, at some length.
When Drin releases his mouth, Dance is sitting on his lap, sprawled across the chair, and Drin is stroking his ribs in long, smooth, gentle motions. Dance turns his face into the man’s middle, and takes in a deep breath, scenting Drin’s skin, and he gives a long sigh. “No,” he says.
Drin shifts his hand down onto Dance’s hip, strokes up his thigh. “What do you see, in your head, when Emma is wearing that blue dress in my car?”
There is no way a lover like Drin can mistaken the pulse that jumps in Dance’s erection. “Uh,” he says, blinking. “Well, that.”
“That,” Drin says, and he strokes lightly along the underside of Dance’s penis.
“Mmm,” Dance grimaces. He says, “This wanting–girl parts– it is so strange–”
“This is all fine,” Drin says, and he leans down and kisses Dance, arms going around Dance’s shoulders, taking some of his weight. When he draws back, he looks at Dance. “So you want to see under the dress?”
Dance nods tightly. “I’m queer! Why would it–” he gives a little hiss as Drin starts stroking up and down his thigh. “–why would that turn me on?”
“Emma is a very, very–“ Drin is kissing in little wet, cool, touches down Dance’s chest, pushing open his shirt, “–attractive woman. Believe me, I know how people hate that bi label, and I gotta claim it anyway, just admit it, the woman gets me hot. She gets you hot? I’m not surprised. If that was all there was to it, I would keep my knees together like a nun, trust me. Hell, I’m in love with you, why would I be looking at your best friend? But I see her looking at you. And you looking back, love. That longing. It’s not just touch or massage or skin hunger, although that pushes it harder. What do you think?”
“I want to do all kinds of things with her, things she likes, I want to — just like I love kissing you all over,” Dance says. “I mean, at least I can do that. I just don’t know if it would make her happy.”
“Most people love being kissed all over, the way you kiss me,” Drin says softly. He devotes some time to Dance’s nipples, loving the sharp little sigh that comes out of his husband.
“Oh. Yes. Oh. Well, then there’s me,” Dance says. He’s finding it hard to think. “We don’t know if I– if our queerness– if I won’t live up to– making any promises for her.”
Drin gives a little smile. Dance’s hydraulics are normal enough to fail him under total exhaustion or stress, like anybody else. It amuses Drin. Drin says that Dance is young enough that it sure doesn’t happen to him very often compared to other folks.
Dance doesn’t mind struggling with such failures so much when he can relax into meeting the other man’s needs, kissing Drin, urging Drin to take him just as he wishes. Some of those are the most powerfully sexual of his memories, remembering so much more clearly what Drin’s body does to his.
Dance struggles on. “There she is in bed waiting for– for us to service her, to give pleasure like the man is supposed to, and if we can’t handle touching her as a girl likes, and–”
“Dance,” his lover says. “Have you ever run away from Emma?”
“No,” Dance says, frowning.
“You massage her sometimes. You fasten her bra straps for her some mornings, right? You give her a little kiss on the back? On her neck?”
“Does it feel bad or weird or like cardboard fake stuff, or anything?”
“No! She smells good, it makes me happy to help her! I like how she smells. I tell her I do. She likes me to kiss her.”
“Would you like smelling her, the same way you like to lick me? Ahh, I take it that’s a yes?”
“Umm,” Dance says. No point in arguing, his prick has spoken for him.
“What would happen if, one morning, you took that bra off her arms, instead of fastening it?”
“She’d smack me,” Dance says.
Drin starts to chuckle, as if he can’t help it. “And then what?”
“I don’t know,” Dance says.
“I don’t know either,” Drin says.
Dance looks up into the wide amber-colored eyes staring down into his. Then Dance asks, seriously, “You want Emma a lot, I know this, but you want me to go alone? Me to go there for her. You ask her to give herself to me first?”
Drin smiles. “I would love to see you give yourself to her, first. I would love to be there to hold both of you.”
“Should we wait?” Dance says, and feels a coward for even asking it.
“Well,” Drin says, and closes his eyes briefly, and sighs. “If someone isn’t there when the conference is over, those legs go walking around Mammoth Cave all alone, that bodacious booty is getting into all kinds of trouble and thinking up all kinds of–”
“–Scary things to say to me!”
Drin looks at him.
He doesn’t even have to say it.
Dance knows when he’s made the decision. Or had it made for him. “Okay, okay, I must go.” He spreads his hands out on Drin’s chest, hugging him. “I will tell her, our husband can’t sleep with you tonight too, so I will try very hard to make her happy. I think I can.”
Drin smiles. “You’re very brave. I salute you.”
“You can salute me in bed,” Dance says, and tugs on him.