Between the Times - 7. Dante

Dante danced.

The music washed over him. The bass vibrated in his bones. Alcohol ran through his veins. The lights, faces, they flickered by. Sweat clung to his skin- his own, strangers'. The night was old enough for none of this to matter much anymore.

The club was celebrating Luna-Light's new album, celebrating their 'fuck the Inquisition' attitude which they were now living out from exile. While this was more the sweet culmination of the club's already valid 'be who you are and have fun with who you want' mindset, the mood was even more boisterous than usual.

Boisterous enough that at this time of night, the smell of sex could be clearly detected even on the dance floor.

Dante didn't care much. His idea of fun was more the dancing itself anyway, everything else... was an option. An occasionally tempting option, admittedly.

"Baby said, when you're talking I go dead, shut your mouth gimme your head."

With the level of volume prevailing, he wouldn't have been able to tell if he was actually singing at all or if he wasn't merely imagining it. Perhaps he was already too hoarse for that.

"I-I-I-I know you really want to."

Somehow, that was his weak spot. That kind of music. It got into his head, played a wicked game there along with the alcohol.

"Baby said, let me taste your silhouette, you can talk between my legs."

A tingle ran over his body, became fine goosebumps despite the heat in here. He wouldn't mind a mouth right now. Either on his own or in some other place. Frank's mouth, preferably, but he was far away...

Hands rested on his hips, a body adapted to his dance movements from behind. Had his thoughts been like a flare? The idea made him smile.

That there was a man dancing with him was out of the question. Taller, broader stature, big hands. Besides, he had enough club experience to know that women didn't approach from behind. And apart from that, the 'Smoky Eyes' was anything but a straight place of entertainment.

One song passed, then a second. The hands wandered over his body. Their sweat-soaked clothes glued them together.

Dante was aware that he was moving in a certain way. He liked to tease, to max out things, but here in the club it was different, everything somehow sharper, going a step further.

He danced with his eyes closed, leaning back, enjoying being held. A smile flitted across his face as a hand settled into his crotch- a little too long to be random or accidental.

Continuing to keep his eyes closed, he turned in the guy's arms, wrapping his arms around his neck. Seconds later, they were breathing the same air.

But the guy leaned a little past Dante and his lips brushed his ear. "You're not even looking at me..."

Immediately, Dante's eyes snapped open and he pushed him off. "Tom, you bastard!"

Tom grinned broadly. "It works every time..."

"You're such an idiot!" Dante complained, rolling his eyes while Tom wrapped an arm around him. However, Tom was also right.

"Come on, let's go."

With an annoyed sigh, Dante let himself be pulled toward the exit.

It was a warm early summer night, but the difference in temperature and the sweaty clothes were enough to make Dante shiver and sober up considerably.

He cast a sidelong glance at Tom, who had just had another heated argument with Armand, and, as so often, refrained from asking whether he had found what he was looking for. Namely distraction.

In order not to spoil their fun with a car ride- or, depending on the point of view, to create the possibility of real fun in the first place- they took a room in a nearby cheap business hotel every time. The double room could be supplemented with a single room pretty simply and really cheaply, but so far their theoretical arrangement had never been put into practice. Sometimes Dante wondered why.

"Why are you doing this, anyway?" Dante wanted to know.

"What?" Tom seemed confused.

"Dancing with me." And by that, Dante didn't mean for them to go to Smoky Eyes at all.

"Because it's fun." For a brief moment, Tom looked as if he couldn't believe Dante didn't understand, but then a mischievous smile spread across his face. He wrapped an arm around Dante's waist and pulled him close.

Surprised by this, Dante had to hold onto him to keep from stumbling around. But then he shuddered as Tom whispered in his ear:

"I like to play with fire, and under certain circumstances you burn exceptionally hot."

Considering that Tom had lost practically everything to a fire, this statement tasted very strange, but Dante's face grew uncomfortably warm nonetheless.

"It's a shame Frank doesn't realize what he's missing."

"But you do?" Dante muttered, a little disconcerted.

Tom laughed and leaned back a little. "Sweetie, on nights like tonight, you would have yourself fucked right there on the dance floor."

An indignant snort escaped Dante's lips. "That's not true!"

"Well, maybe not right on the dance floor," Tom conceded, "but on the sidelines. Against the wall. Shielded by Frank's body." His words had a seductive tone and he added a wink.

"That's not true!" protested Dante again, well knowing that there was a kernel of truth in the words. "Admit it, it's just your own dirty fantasy."

"You want to find out the next chance you get?" Tom wanted to know sweetly, almost with a purr.

"Keep dreaming." Dante started moving again. He liked to dance with Tom, it was true. But his own penchant for teasing and Tom's enthusiasm for playing with fire made for a dangerous mix when they were under the influence of alcohol.

And there were mistakes he really didn't want to make.