“But you’ll have to admit, there’s some genius there, in simply deciding not to use quotation marks because it clutters the page.”
“It’s not genius, it’s madness,” Liam said, and even though his dander was up, I could tell he was enjoying the exchange.
“Who the hell cares?” Franco shouted. “There he is, and he won’t even look at me.”
Marquis had just come into view. The theme for the night seemed to be some version of hell with the dancers dressed as demons and devils. There were red and orange scarves affixed to the base with air shooting upward, so that they undulated like flames. Marquis wore a studded leather collar and cuffs and a matching black jock strap. His tightly coiled hair was trimmed with a fresh fade, and eyeliner rimmed his eyes. Everything about him looked severe and untouchable, including his impressive physique. Franco said he’d been a gymnast, and I could see that his level of grace and control could only come through years of training. Where the other dancers used the pole more as a prop, Marquis treated it like a combative lover.
His muscular thighs wrapped around the golden rod as he fell backward into a death drop. His hands planted on the platform, and his legs parted in a full straddle before they clutched the pole again. He raised his head and torso from a handstand using only his core strength and the grip of his inner thighs, then, once at the top, slithered sensually back down. I’d never thought of pole dancing as an artform until I saw Marquis perform.
“I know he sees me,” Franco said. “He’s punishing me.”
Franco was becoming more distressed by the minute as the carousel turned and Marquis came closer. The attention to his performance was overwhelming. Dollar bills rained down on his pedestal like autumn leaves. Men who were bolder tucked cash into the elastic of his jock and let their hands linger over his glossy, lustrous skin, blessed to have been able to caress that exquisite body.
“You should be paying for his dinner,” Liam said, his face a mask of lust. That seemed to be the consensus throughout the club.
Marquis was directly in front of our table now, and Franco was completely frozen where he sat, his gaze riveted on the man’s performance. I couldn’t tell if Marquis’s cold indifference was part of his act or if it was calculated to wound Franco, but the exchange between them was tense. Arden, who had none of Franco’s reservations, stood in front of the pedestal and fed bills to Marquis with abandon, an ecstatic expression lighting up his face. I’d seen that look many times before, whenever mischief was afoot. Marquis bent down to whisper something in Arden’s ear, both their gazes turning for a moment to settle on Franco who only frowned and sat stewing in his own stubborn pride.
“What did he say?” Franco demanded upon Arden’s return.
“He thanked me for the tip.” Arden kissed my cheek and squeezed in beside me on our shared loveseat. The carousel continued its revolution with the dancers now entering the backstage area, similar to a luggage terminal at an airport.
“Fuck, what am I going to do now?” Franco said in a panic. Arden stirred his drink and glanced up at him.
“He’ll be coming around again.”
“Will he?”
“Yes, and might a make a suggestion?”
“I’m begging you.”
Arden leaned closer and whispered something in Franco’s ear, and then, the piece that I picked up, “Make sure he comes to you. And make it count.”
By now, we were all heavily invested in the outcome of Franco’s play. The steady beat of the music droned on, and my lover turned to me and said, “I’m still waiting on that dance.”
I led Arden to the dance floor. I’d spent a lot of time in night clubs in my college days and had picked up enough moves that I could hold my own. Arden’s body molded easily with my own, ass cradled by my hips, similar to how we fell asleep at night. He was good at following my lead, and when my hands made their way up his sweat-slick chest, Arden simply unbuttoned his shirt to give me unfettered access. Other men eyed him lustfully, and I made it known by my roaming hands and possessive glower that he belonged to me, and me alone.
“Look up there.” Arden pointed to where Marquis was dancing, this time as an angel. His chest and shoulders shimmered with some iridescent body glitter, and he wore a white harness, feathered over his shoulders to give the illusion of wings. Franco stood at the foot of his platform, his face an expression of utter worship. Marquis slid down the pole and leaned toward him, only to spin away again.
“You think they’ll get back together?” I asked.
“I think he’ll give Franco a second chance but probably not a third.”
“That’s the limit then?”
Arden turned so he could look at me. “A man can only take so much.”
We danced some more, my cock growing stiff against his backside, hard to avoid with Arden grinding on it. I noticed a man over Arden’s shoulder, watching us. I gave him a look that I hoped conveyed we weren’t interested. And then he caught Arden’s eye and nodded. Arden stilled for a moment and turned toward me.
“I’m thirsty,” he said and dragged me to the upstairs bar where I ordered him a bottle of water.
“Did you know him?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Which begged the question of how and why, but Arden offered nothing more. Franco came over to us then, a triumphant smile on his face.
“Well?” Arden asked.
