We kissed, fingers sinking into flesh and hands gripping. I felt an urge to claim Marco right there, to tear the clothes off of him and to abandon myself to the sex.
The two of us always had an active sex life, one we made sure to keep up even when work was drowning us. But after our quick encounter with that stranger at the club last weekend, our appetites were insatiable. We could barely keep our hands off each other, and I seemed to wake up every morning already rutting myself against him.
Maybe it was just that we hadn’t hooked up with anyone else together in quite a long time. The encounter with Grayson must have unlocked something, I reasoned.
Marco had told me later that Grayson was transgender, although I had no idea at the time. I’d never been with a trans guy before, but the pull I felt toward Grayson was intense. I’d only felt that way about a few other people that I could remember, in fact, Marco being one of them.
All I knew for sure was that touching Grayson and Marco at the same time, and being touched by them, was a shock of pleasure that made me feel like I was a teenager again.
And thank god, Marco felt the exact same way.
“You want to flip me over the couch like last night?” he asked, tracing his fingers along my beard. “Or get back in the shower like this morning?”
I tightened my grip on his side. “Anywhere you want, babe.”
Marco placed his lips against my ear. A thrill shot down my spine as his breath turned into a whisper. “Ten years, Demir. That’s ten years of us working our asses off as a team and making our wildest dreams come true. I love you, babe, and I’m so proud of you.”
My heart leapt. “I love you. And I’m so proud of you, too.”
“Good,” he said, his voice breaking into a laugh. “Now carry me to the shower. I’m ready to start the next decade with my legs wrapped around your hips.”
MARCO
I clicked back and forth between a couple of party graphics on my computer, considering the options for some promotional material. The anniversary party had given Demir and I plenty of excuses to work together, but now that it was passed, we were back to our regular schedule.
Our weekly calendar had for years meant lots of time working apart, by necessity instead of choice. People sometimes asked if we didn’t get sick of each other, working and living together. I always joked that we didn’t see each other enough for that to happen.
Sighing and unable to decide between the designs, I closed the images on the computer. I wasn’t quite sure why we were advertising the party anyway, considering thedance problem, as Demir and I called it.
As in why were the bathrooms so trashed Sunday morning?The dance problem.
How did we possibly sell out of vodka?The dance problem.
Why was I waiting in a line to get inside my own club all of a sudden?The dance problem.
Put more simply, the dance problem was our Saturday night tradition, a popular party that got way too popular and threatened to exceed its capacity.
It was a very good problem to have. It meant profits that were off the charts and free press everywhere I looked. It just also meant the club, most Saturday nights, felt a bit like a teen comedy where someone threw a party while their parents were out of town, and the house ended up filled with kegs and overrun by barnyard animals.
Pushing back from the desk, I decided it was time for a break and made my way from the quiet office out into the club. At two in the afternoon, we weren’t even open to the public yet, but I knew Alex would be behind the bar, crunching numbers and planning for the next weekend.
“Thank the gods of disco,” he chirped when I rounded the corner. His mess of red hair fell in long strands to his shoulders, and a touch of green eyeshadow stood out against his bronzed skin. “I was going to lose my mind taking inventory all afternoon. You got any good distractions for me?”
I slid onto a stool, then drummed my fingers on the bar. “You got any coffee back there? I’m sure I could scrounge up some gossip in exchange for a caffeine jolt.”
Alex grabbed me a mug, and I stretched my arms above my head, yawning. “Haven’t you recovered from the anniversary party yet?” he asked when he returned.
“It’s only been a few days,” I replied. “And just because we snuck off at midnight,” I added with a wink, “doesn’t mean we went to sleep.”
“You two,” Alex groaned. “I can’t believe you still hook up like you got together yesterday.”
“Just a little less romance,” I said, holding my thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. “And not as many long mornings in bed. But that’s only because of our damn schedules.”
“I’m still single out here,” Alex laughed, “but you two are basically Mr. and Mr. Gay Philadelphia.”
My eyes lit up, and I straightened my back. “That reminds me! We did hook up with someone the other weekend.”
“One of your threesomes? It’s been ages.”
