Page 74 of The Shadows Beyond
“This isn’t really my scene.” Panic wrote itself all over Cinn’s face.
Julien raised his eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”
Darcy linked her elbow through Cinn’s and dragged him across the street to the nearest bar, which was pumping heavy music and teemed with people.
Cinn froze at the threshold. “But aren’t we overdressed?”
“Darling, in the city that lives and breathes fashion, one can never be overdressed,” Julien replied with a smirk, pushing Cinn the final few steps.
Inside, the dance bar throbbed with the pulsating beats of electronica, disco lights enveloping dancers in a kaleidoscope of colours. Fog from a machine merged with smoke from cigarettes to form a hazy mist, transforming swirling figures into intangible shapes.
Straight to the bar, of course.
“Five double whiskeys for you then, Cinn?” Elliot shouted over the cacophony.
Shaking his head, Cinn looked less than impressed, but Julien smiled to himself—Elliot had certainly taken his time warming to Cinn, but the two of them seemed to be becoming fast friends.
Julien easily jostled his way to the front of the queue, to order two Hennessys for Elliot and Darcy, a Kronenbourg for Cinn, and a glass of red for himself—wrinkling his nose at the selection of wine on offer.
Sans Elliot, who’d slipped away from them, they headed into the narrow alleyway garden, where Darcy immediately jumped at the chance to join in with an impromptu poetry slam that was being held. Her floor-length green gown did indeed stick out next to the casual attire of the others. She rocked it though, naturally, throwing her head back and gesturing wildly as she spun out rhythmic prose far easier than Julien could ever dream of, even though she was speaking a second language. If Béatrice were here, she’d be clapping along, encouraging Darcy to climb on top of the bistro table to perform on a makeshift stage.
“What are they shouting about?” Cinn furrowed his eyebrows, head cocked to one side, attempting to glean meaning from the rapidly spoken French.
“Oh, just the fervent echoes of discontent. Societal injustices, the sting of inequality, that sort of thing.”
“Just that, then, huh?”
Julien chuckled and pushed him back inside to the warmth, leaving Darcy to her new friends.
Within moments, Cinn’s jaw hung slack. Julien followed his gaze to find Elliot dancing with a stranger, bodies pressed tightly together as they danced to a rhythm all of their own. Elliot had his tongue deep down the tall, pretty-looking man’s throat, clasping his long blond hair, which was not dissimilar to Julien’s own…
“That was… fast,” Cinn quipped, averting his eyes from Elliot but not quite meeting Julien’s. And then, said so quickly it was as if the words were burning his tongue, Cinn asked, “What’s the deal with you and him, anyway? I mean, have you ever…?”
One week ago, Julien and Elliot sprawling together on Darcy’s rug, several empty bottles of red wine on the coffee table.
Cinn and Darcy asleep on the sofa, mirrored snoring twins.
Elliot, staring into the fire, blurting out, “Are you going to fuck him?”
Julien considering replying, “Who?” but settling for silence to give Elliot the answer he didn’t want.
Elliot leaving the room, and Julien turning to watch Cinn’s sleeping form, studying the rise and fall, rise and fall of his chest.
“Non,” said Julien, emphasising the word with certainty. With two fingers, he gently tilted Cinn’s face to meet his. “He’s my best friend. But we’ve never. And will never.”
Cinn’s golden eyes drilled into his. “And how does Elliot feel about that?”
“Well, he certainly isn’t sitting around crying about it.” Julien gestured to Elliot, who was now grinding against the stranger with remarkable enthusiasm.
From the day they’d met over a decade ago at summer camp—the day Julien had thrashed him at every activity, and Elliot had grinned in delight in response—Julien had loved Elliot. Just not in the exact way Elliot wanted to be loved. However, their relationship had long since moved past the barriers that the situation had created. Mostly.
With a subtle shift of his body, Julien crowded Cinn against the shallow alcove they’d found themselves in. He plucked the beer out of Cinn’s hand and placed it on a shelf.
“What are you doing?” Cinn asked, but the slight hitch of his breath made it clear he knew exactly what was happening.
He didn’t resist when Julien pushed him so far back he hit the wall, Cinn’s hands snaking around to rest on Julien’s hips. Needing no other encouragement, Julien pressed himself into his space, so close their chests collided, and he could feel thethump, thump, thumpof Cinn’s rapidly increasing heartbeat, that seemed to correspond with his own then sync with the upbeat tempo of the music.
Julien cupped Cinn’s face with one hand, and Cinn leaned into the touch at once, closing his eyes and placing his own hand on top. Sliding his hand free, Julien brushed Cinn’s jaw with his knuckles before dusting his thumb over his collarbone, then dipped lower to find the bruise his mouth had marked Cinn with last night. Eyelashes fluttering against Julien’s cheek, Cinn slid slightly down the wall when Julien pressed on the mark while taking the tip of Cinn’s ear between his teeth.
