Zac didn’t know what he was thinking. All he had known was that he needed to get out of the hotel room before he went completely stir crazy. It was in a part of London of he didn’t know well, and he knew walking down the street alone wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t stop his feet from moving. They carried him into what he thought was a typical gentlemen’s club, but he should have known. He should have fucking known that his deep, buried desires would take him somewhere he didn’t want to ever be seen.
It was a gentlemen’s club, alright. Every single stripper on the stage was a man.
Zac ordered himself two double shots of whiskey. He hated whiskey, but he needed to get drunk fast, and he knew that would do it. He downed them quickly, barely even giving himself enough time to taste the alcohol. All he felt was the burn in his throat and the tingle on his tongue.
He stood at the back of the room and watched. A new dancer walked on, a voice from above identifying him as Princess Harry. A Queen song began to play, and he strutted on. He was tall and thin, almost impossibly so, but muscular, too, no doubt from doing this routine night after night. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but with the way he moved his hips, it hardly mattered. The glittery suit he wore shimmered and seemed to move all on its own, taking on its own life independent of his moves, yet adding to them at the same time. Piece by piece, he stripped out of it, revealing matching silver lame shorts, so tiny as to barely even earn the name. They left absolutely nothing at all to the imagination; as snug as they were, it was easy to tell, even from the back of the room, that they weren’t stuffed. The bulge Zac saw through them was one hundred percent authentic.
Zac couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so attracted to another man. He could try to justify it by reminding himself that this stripper was weirdly androgynous, his beauty equal parts masculine and feminine. But deep down, Zac knew that wasn’t the only reason, and it hadn’t been the reason for any of the other guys who had come before—although, it did appear that he had a type.
By the time the glittery stranger was off the stage, Zac had downed another double shot. That was enough to really have him spinning, his vision blurred and his body almost completely numb. Almost—his need was bubbling up to the surface, demanding to be sated in a way it hadn’t been for years.
He didn’t know how to sate it, though, how to get what he wanted. The stranger had vanished.
Zac fumbled his way to the restroom, thankful that there wasn’t a line. He was able to take his time, then splash his face with cold water, trying to clear the dizziness from his head. He should just go back to the hotel and forget about it all.
He knew he wouldn’t, though. Not until he had found some way to satisfy that craving.
The bathroom door swung open, and it took Zac a moment to realize that the figure standing behind him was one he had already seen that night. A face, smudged with glitter, stared curiously at him in the mirror. Zac blinked to be sure he was correct before he spun around.
“Is Harry your real name?”
“Maybe,” the man replied, his voice deeper and richer than Zac had expected. “What’s yours?”
Zac shook his head. “Unimportant.”
Harry—if that was really his name—raised an eyebrow. The effect was almost comic; his face was as expressive as Zac had been told his was, and he suddenly understood what people meant when they told him they could tell everything he was thinking just from his expression.
He could tell that Harry was debating his next move, wondering if it was worth making a move on a stranger who wouldn’t reveal his name and probably looked terribly out of place. He could tell that Harry wanted this just as much as he did.
And that was why Zac threw caution to the wind and made the first move himself. He crossed the restroom in two large steps, grasping Harry’s face between his hands and crushing their lips together. He didn’t care if every bit of glitter on Harry transferred to him; he wanted to crawl inside the stripper’s skin, if only to know what it felt like to be so confident in your own, so unashamed to show yourself, you real self and nothing but, to the world.
Zac suspected he wouldn’t learn any of those lessons from a kiss, or from the other things he wanted to do, but that was okay. He could at least silence his demons for the night, by giving them what they craved.
He walked Harry backward until he collided with the wall. Zac didn’t know how far Harry was willing to take this, but he was –
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, ladies,” a voice said, shoving open the bathroom door. “Get a room. One the rest of us don’t piss in, preferably.”
Zac reeled backward, afraid the spell had been broken, and Harry would realize he didn’t want someone like him. Harry just rolled his eyes and grabbed Zac’s hand, practically dragging him from the restroom. Harry deftly navigated his way through the club, drawing surprisingly little attention now that he was offstage and dressed relatively normally—though most people didn’t go around in skin tight jeans and shirt unbuttoned, flapping like wings. Zac had a feeling that no matter what he wore, Harry would have stood out in a crowd.
They made their way past the crowd, down a narrow corridor, where Zac nearly collided with a man—he thought—in a rainbow sequined dress and matching platforms. Harry pushed his way through a heavy door, leaving them in an empty alleyway.
Not very romantic, Zac thought to himself. Then again, this wasn’t meant to be romantic.
“Are you staying near here?” Harry asked. “You don’t sound local.”
“I’m not—I mean, my hotel is like three blocks away.”
The chances of this much younger, British man having any clue who Zac was were low. Realistically he knew that. But his brain was still screaming at him that he had to be discrete and careful; even if he had been divorced for well over a year now, he was nowhere near being publicly out. It was something he hadn’t even considered. His sexuality was a part of him that he didn’t even understand, so he certainly didn’t expect his fans to.
He eyed Harry. No, he most likely was not a fan.
“Lead the way, then,” Harry said, offering his hand to Zac with an exaggerated flourish. Zac wondered if he considered himself an actor. He couldn’t imagine this was someone’s first choice of career. Then again, maybe it was. He decided it was best not to ask.
The walk back to the hotel seemed much shorter than the walk to the club had been. It was a fancier hotel than they usually stayed at, but their British tours were shorter, and so the money didn’t have to stretch as far. It made Zac feel self-conscious to walk through the gilt and marble lobby, Harry still topless beside him, staring around as though he’d never seen a hotel like that before. Maybe he hadn’t.
Harry didn’t speak until they were on the elevator. “Pretty posh. What’s a guy gotta do to have this sort of money?”
Zac shrugged.
“Mmm, still not telling?” Harry teased. “Such a mystery.”
“What does it matter?” Zac asked. “What do you need to know about me? Is my name or my job going to stop you from coming into my hotel room?”
“Probably not, no,” Harry replied, looking mock-thoughtful for a moment.
Zac rolled his eyes. The elevator stopped at his floor, stopping him from saying anything else. He didn’t know what to say anyway. If Harry wanted to leave, he was free to do so. The information he was asking for wasn’t necessary for a one night hookup, and he knew that. Zac wouldn’t stop him if he decided to go.
He didn’t.
Zac felt his presence close behind as he walked down the hallway to his room. He fumbled with the key card, a reminder of just how much alcohol he had consumed that night. Most of the effects seemed to have worn off, leaving him surprisingly level headed for someone who was bringing a stranger into their hotel room, but he knew he was still far from sober.
Zac held the door open, motioning Harry into the room.
“Such a gentleman,” he said, his tone laced with just a hint of sarcasm.
The door had barely shut behind them when Harry spun around and pulled Zac in, pressing his lips to his neck. Zac groaned, letting his head roll back to give Harry better access. He decided that he didn’t even care if it left a mark.
“On the bed,” Zac breathed out, walking Harry backward. “Now.”
He continued to walk them both across the room until Harry’s legs collided with the bed, causing them both to fall onto it in an ungraceful heap. Zac didn’t care, though. All he cared about was the beautiful boy beneath him, already practically writhing for him.
Zac kissed a trail down Harry’s uncovered chest, not caring if he ended up covered in glitter. He tasted like strawberries, and Zac wondered how that was even possible. That was just another question for the list of things he decided not to ask. There were things he didn’t need to know, things that were better off remaining a mystery.
When he reached the waistband of Harry’s skin tight jeans, he felt a hand in his hair, tugging him backward.
“I think not,” Harry said. “Come here.”
Zac crawled back up his body, his lips latching onto Harry’s as if they were drawn by a magnet. With a deftness that echoed his on stage moves, Harry rolled Zac over. He didn’t have him pinned, because Zac was clearly the stronger of the two, but he wasn’t going anywhere anyway. Attempting to pin him would have only been a formality, and Harry seemed to know that.
Zac was willing to let him take the lead, though. He had a feeling that even though Harry was clearly younger—by more than Zac wanted to think about—he was easily the more experienced of the two. He let himself go limp and pliable as Harry eased his shirt over his head, then mimicked his own earlier movements, kissing a trail down the chest Zac was glad he’d recently shaved. The hair on Harry’s chest was well groomed; Zac’s was patchy and barely even worthy of the name chest hair.
When Harry reached his waistband, Zac didn’t even try to stop his hips from bucking up. He wanted this, more than he had wanted almost anything else in his life. Why bother to hide it? Play coy? Maybe he looked desperate, but he didn’t care. Harry was still there, still going, and that was all that mattered.
“Mmm,” Harry moaned out, licking his lips as he inched Zac’s pants off and his boxers down.
Before Zac could say anything—not that he had a single good quip prepared—Harry’s lips were on him. His mouth was huge, made for sucking dick, and he was clearly well practiced at it, too. Zac could barely even breath, let alone formulate coherent thoughts. He ran his fingers through Harry’s curls, enjoying the way they seemed to mold to his hand the way Harry’s mouth molded to his cock. He wasn’t about to fall in love or anything, but it was fascinating to see how their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Seeing that, Zac wondered how he could have ever thought this was wrong. How he could have ever thought his urges were unnatural. There was nothing more natural than the sort of pleasure he felt right then, at the hands of another man.
Harry’s hand slid up Zac’s body, his long, thing fingers dancing up Zac’s side like he was playing the piano. Zac idly wondered what the song might be. It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize what Harry was getting at; he only realized it when an index finger tapped impatiently on his bottom lip.
Zac obliged. His tongue darted out first, just teasing. When Harry let out a low moan—maybe a groan, it was hard to tell with his mouth full of cock—Zac took Harry’s hand in his own and sucked both index and middle finger into his mouth. He mimicked Harry’s motions as closely as he could, the synchronicity of it making his head spin.
Harry pulled his fingers from Zac’s mouth with a pop that snapped him back to reality. He watched with wide eyes as Harry’s hand vanished between his own legs. Zac was desperate to watch, but he didn’t dare move. Anyway, seeing what Harry was doing to himself would probably leave Zac way too close to the edge, and the last thing he wanted was to come too soon. It was already very clear that Harry was the younger of the two, and Zac didn’t need another reminder that he was nearing his mid-thirties. He took a deep breath and willed his heartbeat to slow, his adrenaline to just calm the fuck down for a few minutes.
Neither his body, nor his traitorous mouth, seemed willing to comply. “Please, Harry—can you just. Fuck.”
“I can,” Harry replied, chuckling as he pulled back and stared up at Zac. With one eyebrow slightly quirked, he asked, “Do you have a condom? Because this isn’t happening otherwise.”
“I, umm,” Zac stuttered out, then pointed toward the corner, where he’d deposited his duffel bag earlier.
Harry gave him a smile and a nod, then pulled himself from the bed. Zac stared blatantly, especially as he bent over to root through the duffel bag. Considering what they were about to do, Zac supposed taking in the very obscene view was allowed.
Finally, Harry spun back around, a small foil packet in his hand. He waved it around victoriously, and Zac couldn’t stop himself from laughing. His laughter faded away quickly as Harry crawled back onto the bed. He positioned himself, legs on either side of Zac’s, and tore into the condom packet. Zac watched with wide eyes as Harry carefully slipped it onto his dick. Harry’s hands were long and thin, and Zac was practically writhing with anticipation.
“Ready?” Harry asked.
“If you are,” Zac replied.
With another smirk, Harry lowered himself onto Zac, his hips moving so smoothly that it reminded Zac of what he’d seen earlier, on stage. It wasn’t dancing Harry was born to do, though—it was this. Zac would have been happy to remain like this forever, Harry’s hips slowly moving against his, the sweetest, hottest feeling ever enveloping him.
“Oh my god,” Zac breathed out. He didn’t care how needy and desperate he must have seemed; he would likely never see Harry again. There was no need to impress him or make any particular impression. All that mattered was the way it felt right then.
“Mmm, not quite,” Harry murmured, then chuckled. He rolled his hips. “Like that?”
Zac nodded, putting his hands on Harry’s hips, but only to feel the way they moved, fluid like water, not to guide his motions. “Just like that. You’re—it’s perfect.”
If Harry noticed Zac’s fumble, he didn’t show it. That surprised Zac; this strange boy seemed to have a sense of humor all his own. Yet, his face betrayed no amusement at the slip of Zac’s tongue, his movements not slowing or even pausing.
Zac’s head was positively spinning. He hadn’t felt anything like this in—years, maybe. He couldn’t think straight enough to remember, and it wasn’t the sort of thing it was fair to compare anyway. All he knew was that he never wanted this to end, yet he knew it was already far, far too close to its conclusion. He moved one shaky hand to Harry’s dick, gripping it as tightly as he could manage and attempting to match the pace Harry’s hips had set.
“Yes, oh fuck—yes.” Harry let out a chorus of moans and curses that sounded like beautiful music to Zac’s ears.
His own voice sounded pathetic and whiny in comparison, but he hardly cared. He didn’t even care if they woke every other person on the hotel floor. Zac felt alive and okay and normal for the first time in years, and he didn’t care who knew it. This was who he was, and if it felt this good, he knew it couldn’t be wrong.
And like that, he was done. His hips bucked up off the mattress and his vision tunneled, everything but Harry and the way Harry felt fading away into nothingness.
He wasn’t even aware, at first, of the low moan he was making, the sound seeming to come from someone else entirely. Harry echoed in it perfect harmony. His rolled his hips harder and faster, making smaller and smaller circles with each stroke. Seconds later, his own orgasm hit, and Zac could have sworn he could actually see the shockwaves radiating through Harry’s body. Warm come filled his hand and splattered up onto Harry’s own stomach.
Zac watched in awe as Harry pulled his hand up to his mouth and licked it clean, never breaking eye contact until every drop was gone. Zac felt he had contributed next to nothing to this entire encounter, and now that it was over, he wasn’t even sure he could move at all.
All he could do was watch as Harry peeled himself off Zac’s body and stood. He walked, completely naked, to the bathroom, and only once he was out of sight did the spell seem to be broken. With a groan, Zac rolled over and pulled himself from the bed. He tossed the condom into the room’s small trash can, then grabbed his boxers from where they had fallen in the floor. It seemed to take every bit of energy he had to pull them back on, and he was already half asleep by the time he heard Harry’s footsteps enter the room again.
Zac held his breath as he felt the bed shift under Harry’s weight. He hadn’t had the nerve to even consider the possibility that Harry would spend the night. He did not open his eyes, for fear that this was somehow an illusion and Harry was gone after all.
“I hope you don’t mind if I stay,” he said softly, no illusion at all.
“No,” Zac replied. “I mean, no—of course I don’t mind.”
What he didn’t say was that he could remember exactly the last time he had spent the night beside another person, and it wasn’t a good memory. The few one night stands he’d had since the divorce were never more than that, never anyone he wanted to see in the morning. But Harry… well, he wouldn’t mind seeing that face—or body—again.
He didn’t dare say any of that. Instead, he just rolled over, eyes still closed, and wrapped an arm around Harry’s thin waist.
Zac had always slept more soundly on the road or in hotels than he ever did at home. That had been true for as long as he could remember—from the trundle bed in his parents’ old house to the bed he shared with Kate while they were married to the one he shared with no one in his apartment now. That night, though, he slept better than he could ever remember. The night went by in a flash, and when he woke to the sound of the shower running, he felt completely refreshed.
A moment later, Harry walked back into the room, toweling his hair dry. He somehow made yesterday’s wrinkled clothes look like a fashion statement, his shirt buttoned lop-sided, although Zac suspected he had done that on purpose.
“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll stick around for round two,” Harry remarked.
“Why don’t you, then?” Zac shot back.
“Because I actually have a day job, too, and I’m going to be late.”
“What do you do?” Zac asked, knowing it really wasn’t any of his business.
“Today I’m meant to be making about a hundred cupcakes for some sweet sixteen,” he replied, casually tossing the towel down onto Zac’s bare chest. “I work in a bakery.”
Zac just stared. He didn’t know why that surprised him; he didn’t know why anything about this strange young man surprised him.
“I’m sure you have to get to work soon, too,” Harry said, staring down at Zac.
“I’ve got a few hours,” Zac replied. It was true; they had a radio thing that afternoon, leaving him plenty of time to spend with Harry. Yet he knew that no matter what he did or said, this was it. He was leaving. Zac couldn’t very well ask him to skip work for sex, no matter how good the sex had been.
“Maybe I’ll see you later, then,” Harry said, walking backward toward the door. He gave a short wave as he slipped through it. “Goodbye, Zac.”
Zac stared at the door even after it had closed behind him. A million scattered thoughts ran through his mind, but one stood out from the rest: he hadn’t told Harry his name.