The voice brought back memories. Of their first times. Clumsy and awkward and so heated they should have both evaporated from it. Of soft hands on his skin and damp lips on his cheeks. Of nights spent away from everything and everyone, knowing each one could be their last but hoping it wouldn’t be. Acting like they had all the time in the world.
Teddy’s arms wrapped all the way around him, holding him close, and Wren felt him hard against his stomach. He tilted his head to the side just a fraction, and Wren took it as permission. As an invitation.
He lost sight of the guy aiming for them. He didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did except Teddy holding on to him, erasing the years between them.
With a growl low in his throat, he opened his mouth and let his teeth rest against the pulsing vein in Teddy’s neck. He wanted to bite, to claim, to leave a mark somewhere visible.
He felt Teddy shiver against him, bucking his hips. Fed off of the reaction. Clamped down on the skin salty with sweat. His own hardness pressed into Teddy’s thigh, grinding there and sending pleasure straight through his system.
A shimmer of something green flashed in a dark corner just behind Teddy’s back. A little vial exchanging hands.
Reality came with the retraction of teeth, the somber pull of air extinguishing the flame of desire. The room itself came back into sharp focus, and Wren’s eyes locked on his target.
“Teddy,” he mumbled against his damp skin, making Teddy pull him closer still.
Wren forced himself to keep his eyes open and not sink into the feeling of being home again. He skated his mouth along Teddy’s neck, up and up to talk into his ear. “Behind you.”
Teddy’s fingers flexed, his shuddering breaths loud, even over the pounding bass. “What?”
Wren curled his fingers into the back of Teddy’s top, lifting the fabric slightly as he coaxed Teddy around as naturally as he could. “Guy in the red shirt. Red hair. Moustache.”
Teddy bowed his head, nosing at Wren’s cheek to whisper, “I see him.”
Wren didn’t know where the act began and ended. All he knew was they didn’t have time to work it out.
“He just slipped a vial to the girl in sequins.” He knew the vial would be long hidden, but two people seeing their faces was better than relying on Wren’s lust-addled mind alone.
“Let’s see if we can talk to them before they break off,” Teddy said.
“If you chase two rabbits, you’ll catch neither,” Wren warned.
“The guy in red. We want the distributor,” Teddy said decisively, pulling out of Wren’s arms and making him want to whimper and beg him to stay.
He swallowed the urge.
“I’ll go left,” Teddy said at the same time as Wren said, “I’ll go right.”
They both startled for a moment before a small smile curved Teddy’s mouth “Still a great team.”
That hit Wren like a punch in the gut. The words “are we still a team?” were on the tip of his tongue when a loud scream sounded from the gallery.
Glass sprinkled from above like raindrops, slashing exposed skin on those directly underneath.
“Saint!” Teddy gasped.
Movement was hard to make out between the strobe lights, shapes disappearing and reappearing in different places between one second and the next. People around them started rushing like a tide released from a dam, and the screams only grew louder in the confusion.
Wren couldn’t see Red anymore, and the seconds were passing too quickly as they were pushed to and fro. One look at Teddy’s face showed his dilemma. Stay with Wren, or help Saint.
Wren’s rational side finally joined in. Fighting against heartbreak, he pushed Teddy toward the staircase. “Go to him. I’ll follow Red.”
“Wren…” Teddy looked torn but there wasn’t any time for a lengthy discussion.
Wren pushed into the crowd in search of his target. He didn’t want to look back. He didn’t want to see Teddy saving Saint from whatever was happening.
The kind, life-appreciating side of him was worried for Saint, hoping he hadn’t been harmed in any way. He tried to convince himself it was the real him. That the jealous creature who just wanted Teddy back, regardless of what happened to anyone else was just a figment of his imagination.
“Get it together,” he whispered to himself, elbowing and stomping his way through the masses.
