Page 17

Chapter 17

Clubbing

Butterflies rolled in Logan's stomach as their ride share pulled up to the curb outside the gay bar Oz insisted on dragging him to tonight. Wearing Oz's clubbing clothes and about thirty pounds of eyeliner and glitter, Logan didn't even recognize himself in the mirror.

"Are you sure about this?" He hissed at Oz's back as his…whatever Oz was, exited the car.

When Logan had made this deal of theirs, he'd expected to wind up in Oz's bed. Not — Not here .

And definitely…

Definitely not dressed like this .

"Don't worry!" Oz laughed, a deep-throated thing that Logan should not enjoy nearly as much as he did. "It's less revealing than those spandex uniforms y'all prance around the field in on game day. Besides, you look great."

Logan didn't know about that. Oz's clothes were so far off from anything he'd usually wear, and fit ridiculously tight on Logan's larger, muscled frame. For fuck's sake, you could see his abs through the mesh shirt he was wearing and the crop top under that was at least two sizes too small for his chest. And then, of course, there was the little number that'd had Logan damn well ready to call off their entire deal — his future on the team be damned — when Oz pulled it from the lockbox he kept at the bottom of his closet, grinning like a fool from ear to ear.

He called it a kilt, Logan tried to remind himself, resisting the urge to tug the hem down. Braveheart wore a kilt

Yeah, but Braveheart's kilt probably didn't have a slit up the thigh, a traitorous little voice whispered back. Certainly not one that went this high

Maybe Logan should be thankful Oz's lockbox — or the 'Container of Queeriosities' as Oz had called it, laughing — wasn't very big. That he couldn't fit a fucking feather boa or leather harness or some shit inside, too. Something to complete the walking stereotype Logan had caught reflected back at him from the ride share's door when it'd pulled up next to the curb.

The second ride share, that was. The one that'd picked them up from the bar they'd had the first drop them off at on the other side of town. Where Logan could change into his… finery in peace, without having to worry about anyone they knew seeing him. Because the kilt was bad enough; the hem distracting, brushing his thighs as he walked. But combined with the rest?

He tugged at the kilt's hem again, catching the flash of black nail polish and not for the first time hoping he'd be able to get it all off before practice on Monday.

Logan didn't know how he felt, dressing like this, showing off his body. Oz wasn't wrong; Logan's football uniform didn't leave much to the imagination. But that was different. For one, he was used to wearing it. And what's more, he knew plenty of girls — women, he corrected himself — were watching him in it, and that was pretty hot.

Here at a club called 'The Body Shop', however? Logan doubted most of the women would give him a second look, if they even bothered with the first. No, Oz had dressed Logan for other men . A thought that made Logan nervous, certainly. But also?

He swallowed. Sure, Logan would tell anyone who asked that he was straight. But after the past few months of Oz tutoring him in a rather eye-opening range of extracurricular lessons beyond merely the material Logan needed to pass his classes? Let's just say, Logan had learned a lot. And tonight he was learning that, as weird and uncomfortable as his clothing was? It… It turned him on, a little. Not only because of the way it made Logan look — though there was that too — but also the idea of letting Oz dress him like this. Of wearing whatever Oz told him to wear. Letting Oz pick out what he should do, and when he should do it, and how?

They'd barely arrived at the club, and already Logan had quite a lot to process.

Later , he assured himself, even as Oz said, "Let's go."

There was an excited note in Oz's voice, a squaring of his shoulders that was new and unfamiliar. It made him look taller, more confident.

It made him look good .

"Right." Logan nodded, dazed, happy to follow Oz's lead. He tried to ignore how the hand Oz had dropped on Logan's lower back to guide him, both calmed and stirred up the butterflies rioting through Logan's belly in equal measure.

Oz flashed a smile at Logan, broad and beaming. Logan did his best to return it, but managed only a weak little grin.

He didn't understand it. He'd never felt this out of place, not even that second week of school when Noah and Trevor had convinced him to go streaking with them across campus. In hindsight, that'd been an incredibly stupid move. If that had been in Coach's file when he'd hauled Logan into his office, or if someone had called the cops…? Forget the prank on the soccer team with the chickens. That might've been enough to get Logan kicked out on his very naked ass. But this… Technically, he was fully clothed. So why was he so nervous?

Logan let himself be steered towards the brightly lit entrance of the club, a pounding bass pouring out of the front doors every time they opened. He could help but notice Oz was dressed comparatively normal. He'd worn a tight black band shirt and dark skinny jeans, sure. But it could read punk rock as much as 'headed to pick up guys at the gay bar'. Definitely nothing as obvious as what he'd told Logan to wear.

But the funny thing was? As out of place as Logan felt, he wasn't certain he'd ever seen Oz more relaxed. There was even a strut in his step as Oz marched them onward, clearly in his element.

Just how long has Oz been going to gay bars? What else about him don't I know?

The line outside the club was ridiculous, but the bouncer took one glance at Logan, raised an eyebrow, and waved them in.

"See, hot stuff?" Oz grinned, elbowing him as they made for the door. "Didn't I say you looked good?"

Logan's ears burned as he followed Oz into the dark, the pounding bass thumping against his chest, making him feel it in his bones.

"Oz, I don't know that I should be here —"

"Shh. It's okay, Logan. No one's going to ask to check your gay card. Besides, you're with me," Oz said with a wink like that meant something, before grabbing Logan's hand and dragging him towards the bar. "Hey, can we get a couple of shots?"

"How long do we have to stay here?" Logan hissed, trying to ignore the way Oz was standing, flashing two fingers as he leaned over the bar with his shirt riding up over his hip. It showed off a patch of skin that Logan was pretty certain he'd touched and licked and even come on more than a few times. Yet here, in the strobing dimness of the club, it held a wholly new allure.

Logan wet his lips, trying again. "I'm just not sure I'm going to be —"

"Patience." Oz's eyes glittered in the low light, a mischievous smile spreading across his face as the bartender slid two shot glasses their way. "Drink up, buttercup. I want you loose enough to enjoy yourself when we hit the dance floor."

"When we what?" Logan asked, alarmed, as Oz pushed a glass into his hands. "I'm not dancing, okay? I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea that — that I should be here, or anything."

"That you're gonna come your brains out buried balls deep in my throat when we get back tonight, you mean? Sure, Logan. No problem. I can be gay enough for the both of us." Oz winked, then downed his shot.

Logan stared at his. It wasn't that he didn't drink — very much the opposite, actually — but the prospect of getting wasted around so many queer men was intimidating. He knew how straight guys were when they were drunk. Hell, he knew how he was when he was drunk. The idea of being on the receiving end of that?

It made him nine kinds of nervous, but… Honestly, Logan didn't know if he wasn't a little turned on by the possibility, too. Not something he could wrap his head around, not on top of everything else tonight.

That was fine. He could just take it slow. Order a water, or something with a decent amount of ice…

"Again!" Oz ordered, shoving another shot glass into Logan's hand.

Okay, or that.

Logan took a deep breath, and downed it as he looked around. The music was the bone-vibrating sort of loud, and the flashing lights made the sea of bodies on the dance floor a confusing, colorful blur.

"So what do you think, straight boy?" Oz grinned, sliding an arm around Logan's waist. "First time in a gay bar; first impressions: go!"

"It's…fine." Logan was glad his voice was swallowed by the music. Clubs had never been his scene. Too loud, too many bodies pressed too close together. It was like practice, or a game; one without any organization to it — just a mad, chaotic scrimmage set to a beat. There was an anticipatory air to the place too, that made the whole thing feel as if there was a giant orgy waiting to happen.

And the people? They were far more into each other than Logan had expected. Everywhere he looked, bodies were grinding together. Even the women, and Logan wasn't sure how to feel about that. Was guessing he wasn't supposed to feel any particular way about that, which left him only feeling more awkward and unsure; completely out of his depth.

If any of his teammates were there, they'd be making fools of themselves; taking pictures, whistling, trying to chat the women up. But they weren't, and he was. At least Oz was here with him, so…

"It's…nice," Logan answered lamely.

" Nice ?" Oz laughed. "That's it? That's all I get? The same thing you tell your grandma about the knitted hat she gives you on Christmas?"

"No, I mean…It's…" Logan flailed. "It's good there's a — a place like this."

Oz threw him a strange look, the effect magnified by the eyeliner he'd applied just as enthusiastically to his own eyes as he'd done for Logan's.

Looks better on him, though. Sexy. Like some slinky jungle cat, eyeing up his prey…

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" Logan snapped, squirming as he remembered the feeling of Oz's hands on Logan's face; the scrunched expression as Oz concentrated; the low and husky, 'Hold still,' Oz grunted every few seconds as he swept the little brush around Logan's eyes.

Oz's hand tightened on Logan's waist, and he fought the instinct to lean closer. This deal of theirs meant Oz got to do what he liked with Logan's body, not that they were actually dating .

"Okay," Oz finally said. "We'll leave it at 'nice' for now, then. You want another shot?"

"Yes." Logan didn't even have to think twice, desperately needing some help shoving down this feeling of — of being out of place. Of not knowing what to do.

Of not wanting Oz's hands off him, ever; his fingers warm against Logan's bare skin where the mesh of his crop-top left him nowhere to hide.

"Hey, Oz!" called a bearded man in a lurid purple jacket and hair that was more glitter than color. He slid in close to Oz. So close that Logan's hand clenched reflexively around his shot glass.

Get it together , Logan told himself. It's not like you've got any right to be — what? Jealous?

"Eli!" Oz's face lit up. "I didn't think you'd be here tonight."

He leaned in to drop a quick peck on Eli's nearest cheek, and Logan shut down his reaction to that even more quickly, watching the newcomer in place of a better distraction.

"Yeah, plans change." This Eli's attention flicked to Logan, then he smirked. "Who's the fresh meat?"

"Down, boy!" Oz waggled a finger at him, his eyes sparkling with more than just glitter eyeshadow as he laughed. "This is my friend, Logan."

"Logan, huh?" Eli eyed him, then offered a hand like a duchess out of some movie. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah, hi," Logan managed, taking the proffered hand, and wondering if — if he was expected to kiss it or —

"Oh, you're adorable," Eli laughed as he gave Logan's fingers a hard squeeze, before releasing him.

"You should bring your blushing beau to our show," Eli said to Oz, leaning into his side as his gaze raked Logan up and down, eyes lingering on his — his kilt. "In fact, bring him backstage. I dare say I spy an egg on the verge of cracking."

"Egg?" Logan echoed, bewildered.

"Sorry, but your queer-dar is busted, Eli," Oz scoffed. "Logan's shell is made of iron. The fact that he agreed to come tonight is a minor miracle. He's only dressed up like this on a dare."

"Oh! A daring, darling man — and you bring him here ?" Eli's lips curled in a mischievous smile. "That's either very brave of you, or very stupid. Let's find out which."

"Hey —"

Before Logan could say anything, Eli's hand was back in his; tugging him towards the dance floor.

"Eli!" Oz called after them. "Wait, he's —"

But Eli didn't listen, and Oz's warning was swiftly swallowed up by the crowd. As soon as they were in the thick of it, he began to move, the sway of his hips a hypnotic thing. The lights caught his glittery hair as his hands came up to cup Logan's cheeks, urging him closer.

"I'm not —" Logan started, but Eli cut him off.

"You're not gay?" Eli smirked. "Sugar, if I had a nickel for how many times I've heard that before. Still, you're all dolled up to have some fun tonight, right? Then don't worry. You don't need to be any particular color of the rainbow to have a good time. Just dance with me. Or would you rather be dancing with him?" Eli jerked his chin at Oz, staring at them from the dance floor's edge with hot, glinting eyes.

Logan stared back. Part of his mind noticed how the club's pulsing lights emphasized the curve of Oz's cheeks, the lingering pout of Oz's lower lip, the angles of his jaw. But Logan's attention kept returning to those eyes —

Those eyes, and the hunger lurking within.

"Let him see you, sugar," Eli murmured, his mouth at Logan's ear. "Be his daring boy tonight, and show him who you are…"