Another Saturday, and more snark – you go on with your bad self Marie Sexton!
Today’s snark comes from my first published solo, Under the Influence, available now at Ellora’s Cave. Ben’s been lusting after Max for months, but Max is as unattainable as the PhD Ben’s been chasing. That’s because Max is at goth club Candyland to find a drug dealer, and he can’t afford to be distracted by a sweet thang like Ben. This scene takes snarky a little bit close to pissy, but Max’s freaking out because Ben won’t stay away from the club, and boys will be boys…
“What does it look like I’m doing? Socializing,” Ben answered in a patronizing tone. “Dancing. Drinking.” He raised a dark brow and gave Max a look that seemed to say, well duh.
“Fine,” Max snapped back, wrapping his hand around the back of Ben’s neck, on the spot that was starting to feel like his spot. “C’mon.” With a none-too-gentle tug he used his grip on Ben’s neck to drag him onto the dance floor. “Dance with me.”
Ben gave him an inscrutable look but Max could all but feel his surprise, and he supposed he didn’t blame the guy. After all, he’d been turning down anything but casual conversation for months. Now in the course of a couple of days he’d taken Ben home with him, got a hand-job that was number one on Max’s mental playlist, and now he was dancing with him. Shit, he was giving himself whiplash. He could only imagine what Ben was thinking.
Still, Ben allowed himself to be led into the throng, and when the music slowed down, he let Max pull him in, slide a thigh between his and pull him close with a hand on his lower back and his grip on Ben’s neck.
It was complete self-indulgence and he let himself revel in it, but only for a second. Ben, pressed against him, chest damp where it pressed against Max’s, leather jacket rubbing the back of Max’s wrist as he let his fingers play over the dip at the small of Ben’s back.
He wished he could write it off as needing to get laid, but the picture in his head when he got off at night wasn’t some random guy. No, he was regularly shooting his load to the vision of glittery green eyes in a Cleopatra mask of inky liner; to the memory of Ben’s candy-sweet mouth on his; the rough, hard jerk of Ben’s hand on his dick; the taste and scent of Ben’s cum.
Max dragged his eyes open, not really sure when they’d slid closed but he knew he needed to get his head back on the job. Casting his gaze around, he caught a glimpse of DJ DarqueMaster reading Sugar the riot act in the cage. The little assistant wasn’t paying attention, though. No, his eyes were locked firmly on Ben, and he didn’t look happy. That jealous, proprietary look riled Max all over again.
Using his grip on Ben’s neck, he tugged until he could meet Ben’s gaze. “Seriously, dude, why the hell are you here?” He was all but yelling to be heard over the music, but he could tell Ben heard him well enough by the way his jaw set and all those long, sleek muscles went hard against him.
“Seriously, dude,” Ben mocked with a sneer, “you aren’t my boyfriend, or my daddy. You don’t get to ask questions like that.”
Don’t forget to check out all the other cool snark, starting with Marie’s, by going to mariesexton.net and then clicking on the linkities!