A shiver rushed down Wren’s spine. He saw the way people danced there. Pressed together, glued to each other. Touching and breathing the same air because there was no space between them.
He wanted Teddy close. He wanted to be in his arms again and pretend that time hadn’t stolen them away.
And underneath that, he wanted to prove something to Saint.
He took a deep breath and tipped his glass against his lips, downing his drink in one large gulp.
“Fine,” he said. “Dance.”
Teddy grinned and threw his own shot back before taking Wren by the hand and leading him toward the throng of people in the middle of the dance floor.
Wren followed like he was hypnotized, equal parts terrified and blind with anticipation.
Teddy found them a small sliver of space just off the center of the floor. He turned to Wren, still holding his hand, and with a small smile he pulled him close so slowly it was like Wren was made of the most precious glass.
Their chests touched, faces stopping inches away from each other as Teddy looked down, and their joint inhale was audible even over the music. Wren could feel Teddy’s rapid heartbeat and knew his own was a hummingbird of movement, unable to slow down.
Teddy’s eyes flashed with something so painfully familiar that Wren had to close his own.
A thumb made its way under his chin as Teddy pushed his head to the side and leaned in to align his lips with Wren’s ear. “No hiding.”
Wren bit his lip to stop himself from whimpering.
It was too much to handle. This was work. They should be professional. This was to blend in. But how was he supposed to endure this brief touch under the guise of professionalism when the world told him personally that he couldn’t have it, that it was wrong?
The bass dropped.
Teddy’s hands found their way to Wren’s hips. They made him sway in place, brushing against Teddy, leaning into him until Teddy was supporting most of his weight.
“Hold on to me,” he said softly, and Wren’s arms cooperated. They rose without him even noticing, wrapping around Teddy’s neck and crossing at the wrists behind his nape. He went up onhis tiptoes, turning his head to hide the remnants of the glow of his eyes.
This close, and this dark, people would notice.
Teddy spun them around, his arms tightening around Wren’s body.
He wondered what they looked like to those who saw them. If they looked just like any other couple dancing on the floor. If they looked like lovers just having a night of fun. Did they look like they’d known each other for years, like they could anticipate each other’s movements and follow them without even thinking about it?
Or was it clear that there was so much distance between them neither of them knew how to cross it?
He wished it were the former. He wished people could look at them and see what he had always known in his heart. He wished it was obvious Teddy was his. Always had been. Always would be.
Wren had been there first, and that meant something. It had to mean something when Teddy still looked at him like he mattered. Like he was still his world.
This close, it was easier to block out the doubts. The thoughts of Nexus and Saint. With Teddy under his hands finally, he could feel his hind brain speak up to demand he stake his claim.
He inched his nose closer, inhaling Teddy’s cedar scent and holding it in his lungs where it belonged. His fingers twisted into the back of Teddy’s hair and he heard him groan.
His.
Teddy was his.
Someone jostled them.
He looked up to find a man approaching, smiling at them. Aiming for Teddy with his arm stretched out as if he’d come and take him.
Something ugly flared inside of Wren, and without thinking, without breaking eye contact, he pushed his head into Teddy’s neck and licked a small stripe up toward his ear.
Teddy’s hands tightened on his hips. “Fuck, Wren…”
