Well, maybe a couple looking for a place to have a quickie. From what he saw on the dance floor, though, that wouldn't be a problem for most. They went at it where they stood. Others danced alone next to couples tangled together, fucking with or without their clothes on.

It was amazing. It was terrifying. So much freedom. No limitations.

Quentin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Hush ... hush ... get through this. It's only a moment. One second in time. Breathe, and then it'll be over.

Opening his eyelids, he turned around to look at the wreckage he'd claimed as his hiding place. Piles of scarred wood sat against the wall, what he supposed were the pieces of a bar. Spanish oak, he thought, remembering from another time and place how that particular wood gleamed and shone no matter how hard folks used it, or for what reason.

It was a shame to waste such good material. The bar could have been fixed. So many things couldn't. He hated to see a work of art torn apart like trash. It had been a thing of beauty, and now it was ruined.

Stone-faced, Quentin pivoted back toward the dance floor. Silent, he watched the clubgoers. Idly, using one foot for leverage, he rocked his chair of scarred Spanish oak. Back, forth, back. Taking his time.

He breathed. In, out, in, out, in, out. Slow and steady.

He felt a little dizzy. Low blood sugar, of course. His stomach had been sour and sick-feeling, so once again he'd put off eating before coming to the club. The thought of ingesting anything, even a glass of juice, made him nauseous.

Not that he wanted to steady himself. He was empty. The way he should be. Nothing less than what he deserved, after all.

"You still treatin' yourself the way you wouldn't handle a dog?"

Quentin looked up. He smiled at the man who'd come to join him. He, at least, was welcome there. He always would be. "Zach," he said, caressing the name on his tongue. The sound of it tasted good. Leather and hay and the great outdoors. "Zach, you came."

"Always do, with you." Zach leaned against the guardrail of Quentin's balcony and winked at him. Quentin couldn't help chuckling back. He felt suddenly free and easy in his skin. Zach always made him forget about his worries. "Don't tell me you didn't eat before coming out tonight."

Yeah, he could forget about his worries, that was, except when Zach reminded him. Quentin flushed and glanced down a little--but not entirely away. He didn't want to take his gaze off the tall man, dark as ebony, strong-armed and long-limbed. Zach had taught Quentin how to ease up. He'd always lounged, even when he worked. He'd made everything look so easy...

"I've missed you," Quentin said, not answering the question. "You were gone for so long this time."

"You know I don't stay away. How could I? Man would have to be crazy to leave someone like you. Damn, Q, you're pretty as a girl."

"Hey!"

Both of them laughed.

"You with that long, shiny hair and those big old 'please, please hurt me' eyes," Zach teased. "We know who wears the pants, is all I'm sayin'."

Quentin's eyelids lowered. "Just because I'm most often on the bottom doesn't mean I'm a woman."

"Hell, no." Zach's own eyes, chocolate brown, darkened with want. "You put it to me so good the last time we were together." He dropped down into a lazy crouch, reaching out. Almost touching Quentin's thigh. Not quite. He drew in a deep, lusty breath before he glanced back up. Quentin hadn't looked away. If it were up to him, he'd watch Zach all night long.

Zach's fingers curled and uncurled. "Tell me a story, Q."

Quentin couldn't help broadening his smile into a grin. "What do you want to hear?"

"Anything I ask for?"

"Anything. I promise."

Zach looked up with darkly smoky eyes. "Tell me about the last time we were together. You and me. And I want details, Q. Give it to me. I want to hear it again."

Quentin drew in a sharp breath. Beneath the zipper of his loosely fitted khakis, he felt his cock begin to swell. Being near Zach was enough to arouse him. Hearing the man's bedroom voice in public made him hard. "I'll embarrass myself." Not that he'd deny Zach. He just wanted to hear him speak again.

But Zach knew what game Quentin was playing. He sank down fully onto his knees. "You don't feel like telling me? Then how about I tell you something I remember? Last time I was here, like this..." He flashed a look up at Quentin. Pure sex. Breathtaking. "...we were in the stables. No one else around but the horses. Just you and me. Nighttime. Dark velvet sky. Bright stars. And me..." He shifted. "...right here. Only the way I recall, you weren't wearin' so many clothes."

"Zach," Quentin breathed, his cock rising. He reached out as if to touch the closely shaven head. "Go on."

Zach knew what he was doing, Quentin could tell, and Quentin loved every second of it. "You were spread out on a square bale of hay. Legs wide open. Your gorgeous cock, man, so fuckin' good, standing tall just for me. I rubbed my hands along your legs." He ghosted the motion, up and down. The hairs on Quentin's legs rose and tingled at the almost-touch.

Zach leaned in, closer still, his mouth almost on Quentin's swelling erection. "I was right here," he said, the words coming in short bursts. "Already made you come once. Smelling you. Pure, rich manliness. Ripe. Hard day's work. Hard night's play. My hand and my fingers on you. Solid. Heavy. Ready to go pop. Then my mouth, my lips. Tasting you. Salty. Musky. Even better than that rich wine Ricky brewed. You remember what kind?"

"Mead," Quentin breathed. "You're remembering mead. Heavy and smoky, tasting of heather. I was like that to you."

"No. Oh, no." Stroke, stroke, stroke. Heavy-lidded look. "So much better." Zach licked his mouth. "Took you between my lips. Just licking at the head. Little drops of come on my tongue. So sexy. So fuckin' sexy. Thought I'd go off myself, just from the way you felt in my mouth."