“Four this morning? Got company?” The woman at the counter of the bagel place next to Spencer’s building had been serving him for years, and knew his order of an everything bagel, smoked salmon cream cheese, and a gourmet-brand orange juice by heart. Melba had to be seventy now, and she’d known him through the single years, the marriage to Greg, and beyond. So he guessed she’d earned her nosiness but it still rankled.
“Maybe.” He gave her an arch look. “And put the everything bagel in a separate bag—don’t want to contaminate the sweet bagels.”
He’d picked out a selection of offerings for Del to choose from—cinnamon crunch, cranberry, and blueberry with honey cream cheese on the side. He’d left Del passed out in his bed, sprawled in the center like he’d been there for years. The poor guy needed every scrap of extra sleep he could get, so Spencer had left him a note before heading to his early morning barre class. He’d figured he’d be nice and return with food for them both, but Melba was taking her sweet time filling his order. He hoped Del was still asleep when he made it back. Just the thought of waking him up, maybe sharing another shower together, had him shifting from side to side to avoid getting too aroused in the middle of the bagel joint.
While waiting, he noticed ice cream in the freezer case. They had cherry vanilla. He added a carton to his order with the juice. He’d stash it in the freezer for Del for later.
“Okay, hon, here you go.” Finally, Melba rang him up and Spencer tucked his purchases into his messenger bag and headed back to his building. But as he passed the trendy boutique located in the lobby, he paused. The place sold a lot of club wear for all genders—tight pants, little tops with painfully ironic slogans, and lots of black and silver. Spencer couldn’t say he’d ever made a purchase there, and honestly, he still missed the lo mein of the previous tenant.
But something about the playful arrangement of mannequins in the window made him think of Flor’s party that evening and the unsettled question of whether he was taking Del with him. It would be one of Flor’s typically glitzy productions, tons of people and dramatics, and probably no one would care if Spencer brought a hot date along. If he’d want to come that was. But the more Spencer looked at the display in the window, the more he wanted to bring him, show him off a little. And with his typical decisiveness, he went into the boutique, made a few targeted purchases before continuing his trek to the bank of elevators and his tenth-floor condo.
The condo was quiet when he entered, but somehow it vibrated with a new energy it hadn’t had the day before. He liked having Del here, far more than he’d thought possible. Last night, after dinner, they’d lain in bed and fed their mutual addiction of news shows while cuddling until that dissolved into making out and pre-sleep rubbing off together. And strangely, as much as he’d liked the raw and dirty fucking, the sweet, sleepy kisses were his favorite part of the previous evening, the way Del had clung to him and met him kiss for kiss, need for need.
More than he’d ever had with a partner before, Spencer wanted to take care of Del, do nice things for him simply to make him smile. And to that end, he made a quick tray with the food, juice, and two cups of espresso from his machine. When he carried it into the bedroom, Del was just starting to stretch.
“Did I smell coffee?” he asked before rolling toward Spencer. “Oh! Hey! Breakfast in bed. Don’t think I’ve ever had that. You spoil me.”
“You’re fun to spoil.” Spencer gave him a fast kiss on the head before setting the tray on the bed. “You get started on this and I’m going to take a fast shower to wash off my dance class sweat.”
“Dance class?” Del sounded all hopeful, which made him adorable.
“Just this, sadly.” Spencer gestured at his workout shorts and T-shirt. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry.” Del gave him a pointed leer. “Wanna see how flexible you are when you return.”
A happy tremor raced up Spencer’s spine at that, and he rushed through rinsing off before wrapping a towel around his waist and padding out to the bed where Del had already eaten two bagels and drunk one of the cups of juice.
“So...what do you want to do today?” he asked as he settled next to him on the bed.
“You mean after I fuck you through this most excellent mattress?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Spencer.
Spencer coughed on his espresso. “Yes. After that. I’d like to get a little writing done, but tonight’s my friend’s party...”
“Go,” Del urged. “Just leave me the remote for the TV and don’t bring someone back unless you’re planning to share and we’re all good.”
Spencer had to laugh at that. “Nope. Not planning to pick up someone. You’re plenty more than I can handle. But how would you like to come with me?”
“Won’t it hurt your reputation? I mean you go bringing a SEAL you met on a story—I know you’re super concerned about how that looks, and I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”
“It’s more socialites than journalists at this thing, and this crowd doesn’t ask a lot of personal questions because discretion is valued. And while, yeah, bringing Bacon-the-SEAL might raise a few eyebrows, I think bringing Del, the hot young thing I’m fucking, should be fine. And besides I want to make Flor jealous—he’ll go on about your bone structure and muscles and how you should pose for him and you can play all coy.”
“Discretion is valued?” Del licked his lips. “Is this like a...sex party? Fifty shades of Spencer?”
“Ha.” Spencer had to laugh at the way his brain worked. “I’m sure there will be plenty of hookups and people going home with different people than they arrived with, but no public orgies. More like a rich people’s rave—private club, free-flowing drinks, dance music, and people who should be old enough to know better in pretty clothes having a good time.”
“I do like to dance some.” Del studied him carefully. “Didn’t exactly bring club clothes, though.”
“That’s okay.” Spencer had a feeling he was blushing despite his best efforts. “I might have bought you something.”
“You did?” Del’s eyes went wider than the bagels. “Seriously? Like you’re playing fairy godfather or something, getting me all ready for the ball?”
Spencer had to laugh. “Maybe I want you all dressed up for my own nefarious purposes.”
“Oooh. I like this.” Del’s grin was seriously the best thing ever. “So I get to go as your boy toy in clothes you want to fuck me in later? I’m in.”
“Had a feeling you might be.” Spencer pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But I’m still up for mattress incinerating this morning. I’ll show you the killer arabesque leg lift she had us practice.”
“Oh yes, please.” Del was so damn eager that all Spencer could do was laugh. And despite doing anything public with Del being a risk, he was looking forward to that night, to showing off this beautiful man who he was rapidly coming to care far too much for. He told himself to slow down, harden his heart, but then Del carefully set the tray aside before pouncing on him like an eager kitten, and he knew he was lost.
* * *
“I heated up some food for us,” Spencer called from the kitchen. “I know these types of parties and I can’t guarantee there will be more than nibbles. And I know you by now too—you need way more calories than that to keep going. So I did some fast chicken-and-roasted-pepper paninis for us.”
“Sounds amazing,” he yelled back from where he was getting dressed in the bedroom. Bacon could seriously get used to Spencer’s fancy cooking. And his lifestyle. Usually, when he had leave, he got antsy after a few hours and headed for the hills—literally, going camping or rafting or something to get him out of his own head. After all the times he’d hidden in tight spaces as a kid, he found himself craving wide open spaces as an adult, with buildings often feeling claustrophobic when he had too much time on his hands.
But Spencer’s place didn’t feel confining, especially with the hot-as-fuck guy bringing him breakfast in bed and offering up his body as a buffet afterward. They’d fucked and then he’d dozed some more. When he woke, Spencer was typing away at his laptop on the couch. He’d given Bacon his access code to the gym and rooftop pool, so he’d enjoyed his first non-mandatory swim in forever, glad he’d packed some trunks. And then he’d come back and messed with Spencer’s TV offerings, Spencer leaning against him while he wrote, just like they’d done this hundreds of times before. It was cozy, and lovely, and he could have stayed like that for days.
Now, however, he was wiggling his way into black skinny jeans and the silver shirt Spencer had picked out. It was a clingy metallic mesh fabric, with an almost holographic effect when the light hit it. The deep V of the neck gave it an androgynous look and showed off his chest in a way that made him wonder if he should wax or shave his rogue chest hairs. He’d added a chunky belt he’d found in Spencer’s vast closet and his own boots to give the whole outfit the sort of punk-emo vibe he really dug.
Spencer had clearly been thinking along those lines too as the bag had contained eyeliner and hair glitter. That made him laugh.
“Hair glitter?” he called out to Spencer. “Am I not sparkly enough for you?”
“I was worried about any temporary hair dye washing out completely for you, but the clerk said that stuff comes out in a single good washing. And you seemed to have a...thing about your hair color, wishing you could change it. Thought you might find it fun.” Bearing two plates with sandwiches, Spencer came back into the bedroom.
“I do hate my hair color,” Bacon admitted. “Reminds me too much of my dad and brothers. It’s how the whole town knew I was one of them. Junior, another redheaded Bacon boy.” He sighed as he sprayed the glitter stuff in his hair, which as promised, did darken it, changing it from auburn to more of a shimmery brown. He spent a bit more time styling it than usual—spiking the front so that it would look good with the eyeliner. Which, lord, he hadn’t used in years, but his inner Adam Lambert did a little happy dance as he opened the bottle.
“You need earrings,” Spencer said, giving him a critical-but-appreciative once-over. “And I knew that shirt was going to be hot as hell on you.”
“My earring holes closed years ago.”
“I’ve got magnetic studs around here somewhere...” Spencer set the sandwiches on the nightstand and rooted around in the top drawer of his dresser. “I got them as samples when I did a piece on people who believe in the healing qualities of magnets. Glad I didn’t pitch them now.”
Bacon put them on, and he had to admit, the little silver dots did complete the look. He was transformed, the hardened military operator replaced by a club rat. “I look like Captain Hook on the make.”
“Oh, you would make a sexy pirate,” Spencer growled as he pulled him close. “I’m tempted to mess you up, make us late.”
“I’m not opposed.” Bacon gave him a quick kiss. “But I like anticipation too. Keep thinking of what dirty things you want to do to me afterward.”
“Many.” Spencer nipped at his freshly shaved jaw. “So damn many things. But now we eat.”
Bacon perched on the bed to eat and used the opportunity to ogle Spencer, who was in a simple black T-shirt and black leather jeans ensemble. Each piece was top quality, from the shirt that hugged his lean frame to the narrow leather belt to the polished boots, giving him a very expensive, in-control air.
“You sure this isn’t a sex party? Because I’d totally blow you in public in those pants. Just saying.”
Spencer coughed around a mouthful of food. “Noted. Now behave and eat.”
After they finished the food, they took a taxi to the private club hosting the party, Spencer not wanting to have to worry about parking or drinking and driving. The drive took them out of downtown LA to a side street in West Hollywood and an unmarked building that looked more like a weathered warehouse, not a glitzy club. Spencer spoke to a large man near the entrance who waved them in.
“I’ve thought saying ‘I’m on the list’ only works in movies.” Bacon laughed as he followed Spencer to an old freight elevator that carried them to an upper floor where pulsing music drifted down the corridor.
And then they were in...well, Wonderland was the only word that came to mind. A darkened space broken up with strategic spotlights on performers on platforms and on lavish decorations giving an air of a depraved carnival or circus—hot dancers in tiny lion-tamer outfits mingling with kissing tightrope walkers. Further into the room there was even a trapeze floating above the crowd. And off to the side was an honest-to-god giant gold throne manned by a small man in what appeared to be a ringmaster’s costume.
“Welcome, welcome,” he called to people passing by, and then a more animated, “Spencer, darling, I see you. Come say hello.”
“Flor. Happy birthday, you old—”
“Hush. I’m not old. Just vintage.” The man, who made Spencer look towering, gave him a quick hug. “And who is this delectable young thing with you? A present for me?”
“Ha. This is my friend, Del. And, Del, this is Flor.”
“Oh, Del. Darling, where do you work out? I need your trainer on my speed dial.” Flor made a big show of squeezing his biceps.
“Uh—”
“Del’s up from San Diego,” Spencer said smoothly as he removed Flor’s hand.
“But you come up a lot, yes?” Flor had a trace of an accent—maybe Italian or some other Mediterranean country. “You should let me photograph you. I have a dancer—Tavio—who would look gorgeous next—”
“You’re not photographing Del,” Spencer said far more firmly than Bacon would have thought possible. Was he jealous? Why that thought made his stomach go warm he couldn’t say. But he liked the bossy tone and the possessive hand on his back.
“Darling. I will give you prints. You can be right there, do that growly thing. Rowr.” Flor mimed cat claws. “You’re adorable all fierce.”
“You’re the only person in the world I’d let call me adorable,” Spencer grumbled. “Well, you and Oscar.”
“Oscar, yes. I was so sad that he didn’t feel up to coming out tonight.” Flor made an exaggerated sad face.
“Oscar’s my former boss,” Spencer clarified.
“I have a friend who might pose for you,” Del said to Flor, thinking of Rooster and his love of the camera.
“Oh? Yes, I like this one already.” Long top coat swishing as he moved, Flor linked arms with him and herded him toward the bar, Spencer trailing behind them.
“How do you know Spencer anyway?” He was curious about what was obviously a friendship with a great deal of affection—they had that sort of eye-speak that only long-time friends could pull off.
“Once upon a time, he was the arts-and-entertainment writer for the paper, and I was the photographer they most often sent to work with him. I was, of course, but a child then.”
Del would put money on Flor turning fifty with this bash, but he nodded anyway.
“Then he got promoted to features, and I got my first gallery show—thanks in part to his father’s connections, for which I am most grateful—”
“Nonsense.” Spencer clapped his friend on the shoulder. “My father has always liked you better than me. He loves brokering deals for you. You’re one of his biggest success stories.”
Flor’s demure blush was in stark contrast to the larger-than-life personality. “Yes, well, I try. Now, darlings, what are you drinking?”
Bacon got a beer while Spencer got a greyhound, and while they were waiting for their drinks, Flor was claimed by more partygoers, leaving them to mingle on their own, something Spencer was, not surprisingly, excellent at. Still, it was fun to hang out at his side, watch him work the room. He greeted former newspaper colleagues along with people he apparently knew through his art-dealer father and Flor’s vast social network. Flor and Spencer were kind of like Curly—the hub around which a big network of interesting people moved. Thinking of his friend made Bacon’s chest hurt, and while Spencer was deep in conversation with a pair of female glass artisans he dashed off a quick text to him to see how his recovery was coming.
Spencer really could give classes on the art of small talk, the way he asked such good follow-up questions and knew when to press and when to tread lightly. Not for the first time, Bacon saw why he was such a renowned journalist. The charisma and confidence that laced his every action were every bit as intoxicating as Bacon’s beer, but it was his empathy that really stood out. He knew names, knew which pets and kids to ask after, and somehow had that rare quality of making whomever he was talking with feel like the most important person in the room. Bacon saw how people stood a little taller when he came over, how they basked in Spencer’s attention.
And through it all, he never forgot about Bacon, introducing him and making sure he could follow the conversations. He kept touching him too—a hand on his back or around his shoulders and little reassuring squeezes and pats while he talked with friends. It made his skin heat as if he’d pounded a few shots—it had been a long time since he’d felt publicly “claimed” by someone, and he liked it, probably a little more than he should.
“Do you want to dance?” Spencer asked as they moved away from a group that contained a YouTube celebrity along with a guy who apparently specialized in teaching people to breathe better.
“With you?”
“Or by yourself.” Spencer gave him an indulgent smile. “I’m very content to watch if you want to go have fun. I know who you’re going home with.”
“Yeah, you do.” Bacon gave in to temptation and gave him a fast kiss, something he probably wouldn’t have risked in San Diego, but here, in this crowd, it simply felt right. Later, they could worry about where this thing was headed, but all Bacon knew was that he wanted more. More time with Spencer. More kisses. More meeting his crowd. More touches. More of the settled feeling he got from hanging around Spencer. He wanted to bottle that feeling, store it up for the cold, lonely hours when he could use a memory or two like Spencer.