“Austin?” asked Clay.
Austin had stopped, and the music had stopped, and somehow the magic seemed to have melted away, like a promise of a cool breeze on a hot day, remembered, mourned, missed. He wanted to cry. But men didn’t cry. Did gay men cry?
What would Clay think if Austin told him all the aches in his heart, the lost and broken promises. The unfelt, unexpressed love because Mona suddenly decided that Austin was simply, in the end, not good enough for her.
The shiver was back, his body reacting, reaching for something solid when all around him his world was shifting. The ground was moving beneath his feet.
“I don’t know,” he said, being as honest as he could. “I don’t know if I’m okay.”
Another song had started up, one he thought he knew that felt more familiar. The words like old friends, the melody a gentle rush of energy with ideas about following someone you loved to the ends of the earth, to the edge of the sea, of riding the cloud and finding the dream.
It was a faster-paced song than the one before it, and one tiny part of his mind wondered what the band must be paying for royalties to cover such a well-known song? Then he squashed that as Clay took Austin’s hand and tucked it firmly about his own waist.
Clay moved closer and linked his fingers with Austin’s so their palms snugged together and their hips met. And when Clay breathed, his chest pushed against Austin’s chest.
“Show me how to dance to this one,” said Clay, his voice breathy and low, eyes shining as though he believed Austin could show him the way. As though he didn’t know the way already.
Which he did, of course he did. Didn’t he? Or was there something Austin could share with Clay that he didn’t already know? That he could give Clay something he wanted and needed. Something only Austin could give him? It was too much to hope for. Too much of a faraway dream—or was it?
“It goes like this,” said Austin, clearing his throat, it seemed, in the middle of every word. “And we move a little bit faster, you see, to follow the music.”
Clay was not a natural. For all he was so adept at lifting and moving and guiding and shooting, his progress to follow Austin in a simple two-step with a brisk pace was accompanied by stumbles and stepping on Austin’s toes.
The music folded itself around Austin’s heartbeat, and he was able to follow the rhythm. Clay was not, and after the first chorus, he stumbled into Austin’s arms, all elbows and tangled legs.
“I suck at this,” said Clay, righting himself, holding onto Austin’s forearms with hard fingers. “I suck so hard, only nobody knows. I hide it. Been hiding it.” He looked up at Austin, shadows pulling across his face, traces of sweat and frustration beneath his eyes. “You probably want to be dancing with someone else. It’s okay. I’ll just head back—”
“No,” said Austin, his throat closing up hard as he took Clay’s hands in his and laid them on his heart, which was beating fast. “We don’t have to dance. We can do anything. We can hold hands and walk up the road to the ridge and look at the stars—and maybe take dance lessons someplace.”
He meant everything beyond those words, but the words to explain what he really meant simply wouldn't come.
“Leland used to take dance lessons with his mom,” said Clay, though he too seemed to be trying to express something beyond the words. “He’s going to take them with Jamie this winter, he told me. Maybe we could go with them.”
“Maybe,” said Austin. “As for now—”
Never in his life had he felt so tongue tied, the words sticking like pitch in his throat, his mind grappling with the enormity of the step he was about to take, the height from which he would step off into a vast and untried, undiscovered country. Into the new.
Gently, Clay pulled one of his hands from Austin’s trembling grip and curled his fingers, warm pads, around the back of Austin’s neck.
“Can I kiss you?” asked Clay, seemingly unaware that he’d just assisted Austin in jumping off a cliff. “I’m not flirting. I mean it.”
There was a simple truth in these words, echoing in Austin’s heart. It felt different from the time that Clay had flirted with him before, like a playful pup who only wants to have a bit of fun. Now it felt more serious and, at the same time, more heart-true, more honest. More real.
“Yes,” said Austin. His mind raced at the thought of it, mouth suddenly dry, heart beating fast, sweat breaking out in unexpected places. He knew Clay wasn’t messing with him, but he had no idea. Did men kiss each other differently than a man and woman kissed?
“How do we—?” He paused, then girded his nerves to continue. “How do men kiss?”
“Let’s find out,” said Clay with a smile, the smile reaching his blue eyes.
It felt newly born. It had a feeling all its own as he bent forward, half closing his eyes, mouth tense but expectant, and when he felt Clay’s lips on his, electric and firm and new, he almost jumped back. But Clay’s fingers tugged on his neck, tender and gentle but not letting go, pulling Austin close, joining them.
It was a sweet kiss, warm and close and soft, but beneath it pounded waves of potential connection, where they could each reveal themselves to the other, bare to the skin—
“I can’t get it up,” said Austin with a gasp, pulling back. “I didn’t know how to tell you, don’t know how to tell you—” He panted hard, struggling against Clay’s hold. His connection. His closeness.
“It’s okay,” said Clay, tender and close, brushing Austin’s chin with his own, like another kind of kiss.
“No, it’snotokay.” Fear rippled through Austin like a snake. “Mona always made fun of me and finally—”
