Usually, he was his own brand of tempting for the other guys at clubs. More than a few seemed interested in him that night. But he wasn’t in the mood to do more than flirt and tease before returning his attention to Graeme and Ryan, where it belonged.
It came as a warm shock that Art felt like his attention belonged to Graeme and Ryan.
As soon as there was a dip in the music, the three of them ducked out of that club and wandered on until they found another. The drink-ordering ritual was repeated, only that time, the bartender made the drinks extra strong. By the time they made it out on the dance floor, Art was buzzing, Ryan was pink-cheeked, and Graeme looked completely blurry.
That amped the protectiveness Art felt for Graeme up to eleven.
“I just need the loo,” Ryan told them when there was a lull in the music.
“I think I need some fresh air,” Graeme said breathlessly, gripping Art’s arm.
“You take care of business in here and I’ll escort our princess outside,” Art said.
Ryan nodded, gave them a lopsided, loopy grin, and swayed off toward the back of the club.
“Come on, sailor,” Art said, hooking his arm around Graeme’s waist and ushering him outside.
“I thought I was a princess,” Graeme said with a silly laugh as they staggered through the door as a delightful, older bear held it open for them.
“You’re both, love,” Art laughed. “Princess sailor.”
He walked Graeme down to the corner of the building and positioned him so he could lean against the cool wall of the building.
“How drunk are you, sweetheart?” he asked, feeling a bit swishy himself, but not outright drunk.
“I’m okay,” Graeme said. “I have actually been drunk before, and this isn’t that bad.” He paused, glanced slowly up to meet Art’s eyes, then said, “I had to drink a lot of wine at my wedding to do my duty with Mavis that night.”
Art’s heart broke into a million pieces for his sweet, angelic baby. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry,” he said, caressing the side of Graeme’s face.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he said, lowering his face a little. He was silent after that, but Art could tell he was working his way up to saying something more. Finally, he looked up and met Art’s eyes again before saying, “I’m not a gay virgin, you know. There was this guy, Damien. I did some work on his garden and then he…did some work on my garden. But I didn’t cheat on Mavis!” he added too loudly.
“Of course not,” Art said, leaning subtly into Graeme so that their bodies were pressed together as they rested against the wall.
“But I knew,” Graeme went on. “I knew as soon as he started flirting with me that I wanted him and that it meant I was gay. I did the right thing. I told Mavis right away. I said we should get a divorce, because I wanted to be who I was, and it wouldn’t be fair to her to have a husband who wanted to sleep with men and not her.”
Graeme was a fucking saint. Art couldn’t think of many other men who would have done the same in his position, especially with his upbringing. It would have taken balls of steel and more courage than he could fathom.
“It was a really quick divorce, and as soon as it was done, I mean, except the paperwork, in November, like, the day I moved out and gave Mavis my key, Damien took me to bed,” Art said, glancing down again. “It was the first time sex felt right.”
Shit, he was going to come in his jeans because of this whole story.
“So where’s Damien now?” Art asked, surprised that he preemptively wanted to rip the man’s balls off, without knowing a thing about him.
Graeme sighed, the entire gesture made looser because of alcohol. “We hardly got out of bed for about two weeks,” he said, then peeked guiltily up at Art. “Then he got bored of me and ghosted me.”
“What?” Art pulled back, furious.
Graeme shrugged and looked so sad Art wanted to cry. “He said I wasn’t fun anymore. He actually said, to my face, that the fun part was turning me and getting me to divorce my wife, but now that he had me, I was boring and he didn’t want me.”
“That bastard!” Art had never felt half as furious in his life. He really would tear Damien’s balls off if he ever met the man.
“I just…it just…it hurts to think that someone I thought I could really love, as the real me, for the first time in my life, would set out to deliberately ruin my life and then leave me,” Graeme said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Sweetheart,” Art said, caressing Graeme’s face.
He then did the only thing he knew how to do. He pressed his body against Graeme’s again and slanted his mouth over Graeme’s in the hottest kiss he could manage. Graeme tensed in surprise for a moment, then totally surrendered to the plunder as Art kissed him sloppily. It was probably the drink, but he was so warm and willing, and for once he wasn’t holding himself back.
“Um, hello?”
