Chapter Eight Club to the Head

Club to the Head

Present day

There was only one place Demetrios could have taken Jesse.

Set up on the height of a cliff top, away from the main strip, Void was the only late night club in the relatively peaceful Aegleia Beach. Transformed from Niko’s Taverna, whose stint at running discos for the tween and teen crowd had fallen to the wayside, grown up in the same way the clientele it had catered for had, Void had adapted to a new way of life. It was now where the hardcore clubbers came to dance into the early hours of the morning in a multi-level concrete behemoth overlooking the Aegean Sea. The iconic dancefloor, formerly used to entice the younger tourists to the resort, spread wildly beneath a hypnotic light installation and had four cages elevated above, hanging from the ceiling scaffolding, where beautiful men and women gyrated to up tempo dance tracks. Attracting guest DJs from all over Europe and a VIP section popular with the occasional B-list celebrity who hadn’t been able to get into the Mykonos clubs, Void was the place to be. The atmosphere hypnotic, the drinks reasonable, and the late night license appealing, Void was where Demetrios had spent many a night beneath the raining balloons and confetti released in the early hours of the morning to encourage everyone to go home and sleep. Demetrios, however, staggered home to start work.

Jesse had said he wanted to dance. This was where he could fade into the throng, thoughts drowned out by thumping baselines produced from a heady mix of dance tracks designed to make bodies move.

Demetrios had drowned in here many times, too.

He’d danced. And danced. And danced.

Wishing he was dancing with Jesse.

He didn’t have to wait in the queue forming outside, late teens and early twenties club-goers in their tight fitting ensembles had to prove their age, or pay the entrance fee with foreign cash, or wait until the official opening hour of ten p.m., but Demetrios walked straight up to the security outside, dressed the same in his all-black suit, and slapped his hand into the bouncer’s.

“Dem!” Athanasios spoke in Greek. “Not seen you in a while.”

“Busy night?” Demetrios indicated to the queue, many with their phones out, snapping selfies against the backdrop of the sun dipping down behind the sea.

“As always. You want in?”

“Two of us.” Demetrios nodded to Jesse behind him. He was adjusting his glasses, checking along the queue, clearly wondering if his black trousers and black shirt were the right combo for a place where girls wore bikini tops and hot pants and the men weren’t in anything more covering, either.

“Go on.” Athanasios opened the door, loud thumping music flooding out.

Demetrios allowed Jesse to walk in first.

“Elias is on tonight,” Athanasios said as Demetrios stepped in after.

Demetrios nodded in thanks for the heads up. He had hoped Elias wouldn’t be here. He didn’t dance every night, and this was a random weekday. But, they were here now, and it was busy. The chances of them bumping into each other would be slim.

He hoped.

Jesse stopped at the entrance, glancing around the dancefloor. Tanned, muscle-bound men and women warmed up their bodies within their jailed confines and gyrated along to the music from the DJ on the other end, elevated from the maddening crowd and flicking through his set.

Demetrios rubbed a hand on the small of Jesse’s back, leaning into his ear. “You want that drink?”

Jesse turned, blinking out from his trance. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Demetrios angled his head for Jesse to follow and they snaked through those who had been allowed in early and hadn’t made it onto the dancefloor yet, to approach the main bar. The club’s official open time was ten p.m., but the manager let a few in beforehand to help create the atmosphere. So at least it meant it wasn’t three-man deep to get served as it would be later.

Demetrios tipped forward over the bar, checking for the serving staff, Jesse to the right of him, gaping up at the dancer in the cage going through his moves. He took his glasses off too, wiping them on his shirt, then slid them back on, squinting up at the man. Either the strobe lighting was reflecting off his lenses, or he wanted to ensure what he was seeing was right. Demetrios chuckled. He didn’t blame Jesse for giving himself optimal viewing. The man was fit. Big. Gym goer on steroids in nothing but tight leather trousers and a mesh tank top, the usual ensemble for the dance crew.

Demetrios turned back to be served, when a familiar rumble in his ear and a hand gliding up his back had him closing his eyes. It wasn’t Jesse.

“Deme.”

Demetrios met lips he knew as well as Jesse’s. He didn’t pine over these as much, though. If at all. Although Demetrios didn’t return the kiss, his pliancy had been enough for Jesse to rip his focus from the man in the cage to him.

“Athanasios radioed in you were here,” Elias spoke in Greek, resting his hip on the bar. He, too, was in the standard dancer gear of tight leather trousers, black mesh top, eyeliner thick around his blue eyes with chains dangling from his belt loop, a deep gold that matched his hair swept up and over and sprayed with oodles of glitter. Not as well built as the man currently in the cage, but Elias attracted enough attention with his toned and waxed from neck to toe—Demetrios knew—physique. And he loved it. Revelled in it. Gloated about it.

Demetrios still had scars on his knuckles from fighting off the admirers.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Demetrios replied in his mother tongue, because that was Elias’ first language and also so Jesse couldn’t interpret what was being said.

“Resident dancer now.” Elias curtseyed. “Sorry to hear about your mamá.”

“Step mamá.”

Elias rolled his eyes. “Was the funeral today?” He checked out his outfit.

“Yeah.”

“Say no more.” Elias held up a hand, then scooted to the end of the bar and disappeared behind.

“You know him?” Jesse had to raise his voice to be heard over the deafening music.

“Yeah.” Demetrios answered in English, but he didn’t make eye contact and his body stiffened at having to admit it. He should have taken Jesse somewhere else. But he’d counted on it being a weekday. Elias had only worked weekends when he knew him. More than knew him.

“Who is he?”

The man in question popped up in front of Demetrios behind the bar, slamming down a full bottle of ouzo, and clocked onto Jesse beside him, the black ensemble suggesting they were together, along with how close they stood. And it would take Elias less than a second to work out who Jesse was. Demetrios wasn’t sure he wanted to be there when he did.

“Hi,” Elias said in English to Jesse, eyes flicking back to Demetrios, then held out a hand to Jesse. “Elias. I assume you’re here for the funeral, too?”

Jesse slipped his hand into Elias’s, clear caution and confusion emitting from behind his lenses. “Yeah. My mum’s funeral. I’m—”

“Jesse.” Elias took his hand from Jesse’s, giving Demetrios an all-knowing smirk. He picked up the bottle of ouzo and twisted the cap.

“Yeah.” Jesse flicked Demetrios a confused look. “How did you know?”

Elias laughed.

Demetrios bowed his head.

“This is on the house.” Elias waggled the bottle. “In honour of Freya. Bless her soul. Oh, wait, hang on. You need glasses. Ice?”

Demetrios shook his head, but Jesse answered for himself, “Please.”

Elias trotted off and Jesse bumped his shoulder to Demetrios’. “How does he know mum?” He secured his glasses on his nose. “Tell me she didn’t dance in these cages, too?”

“No. Not that I know of, anyway.”

“So how do you know him? More importantly, how does he know me?”

Demetrios twisted to face the dancefloor and rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t avoid it. His stupid mistake in bringing him here. “He’s my ex.”

Jesse flinched. “Ex?”

Demetrios nodded, but didn’t want to offer any more than that. Ex summed it up enough.

“As in…boyfriend?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You of all people must know I’m bi.”

Jesse swallowed, pupils dilating behind the lenses of his glasses. He turned back to the bar, sliding his arms on the surface, and bowed his head as though it was too heavy for his neck.

Three tumblers clanged down on the surface, one filled with crushed ice, breaking the awkwardness growing in decibels along with the music. Elias smiled. The bastard knew he’d interrupted and, as usual, his arrogance meant he wouldn’t care. Demetrios wondered why he’d spent so long with the guy.

Because he was hot between the sheets.

And had zero substance so Demetrios wouldn’t have fallen in love with him.

“There you go.” Elias poured the ouzo into the three glasses and pushed two over to Demetrios and Jesse, lifting the third into the air for a toast. “To Freya.”

Demetrios waited a moment, contemplating if he wanted to toast to Jesse’s mother with the man he’d used to get over her son. But then Jesse grabbed his ouzo and downed the lot, despite having to crunch through crushed ice to do it. His teeth would hate him for that. Then he smacked the glass down and Elias arched an eyebrow as he poured more out for him. Demetrios sipped. He had a feeling he needed to keep all his faculties intact tonight.

Elias was called away, someone thinking he was a barman and him happy to serve when it was to a group of men he could flirt with. Jesse watched him go, eyes trained on him as he sashayed his hips over to the group of English and, more than likely, straight twenty-somethings. Elias liked a challenge.

“How long were you together?” Jesse asked, tearing his gaze away.

Demetrios twisted to face the dancefloor again, elbow behind him on the bar. “About a year…eighteen months if you count the back and forth.”

“Monogamous?” Jesse arched an eyebrow as Elias leaned over the bar to stroke a hand down one of the bloke’s cheeks, his mates all jeering and catcalling after.

Elias would love that.

Demetrios stared into his glass, then knocked some back. “On my part, yes. Can’t speak for him.”

“Huh.” Jesse twisted around to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, gazing out at the bodies brave enough to be the first ones on the dancefloor. “Does Yiannis know?”

“That I’m bi?” Demetrios laughed. “Yes, Jesse. I’m thirty. You think I’d stay in the closet all that time?”

Jesse swished his drink, staring into the cloudy white swirls. Then, “Did mum know?”

“He stayed over. Came to dinner. Was my plus one for a family wedding. Yes, she knew.”

Jesse closed his eyes. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“You asked.”

Jesse knocked back his drink, spun and grabbed the bottle, pouring more in.

Demetrios should tell him to take it easy. The ouzo served here was strong, especially as he wasn’t watering it down with ice anymore. But he wasn’t in charge of him. Jesse was a grown adult. He could take care of himself. He did when in London and hitting the clubs there. Plus, he was at his mother’s wake. If he couldn’t get drunk in her honour, when could he?

Demetrios vowed to remain sober enough to get him home.

Jesse twisted back around and he spoke to the glass when he asked the inevitable, “I meant did mum know about…us?”

Demetrios twisted back to the bar, leaning forward on his arms, and shook his head. “No.”

Jesse copied his stance, clutching his glass in both hands. He said nothing. But there was no sigh of relief, either.

“You made it clear you didn’t want anyone to know.” And Demetrios had kept that promise despite it having killed him. Despite it ebbing away at his insides to create a detachment enabling him to carry on. Despite him wanting to yell it from the rooftops and ask Freya over and over if Jesse was okay, if she’d heard from him, to tell her he loved him too, missed him too and it hurt so damn much not to talk to him anymore.

“I was eighteen,” Jesse said to his glass. “And…mad.”

“At me?”

“Yes.” Jesse downed more of his drink. Swallowed. Hissed. “No. At the world.”

Demetrios nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Me too.”

Jesse waited, watching him.

Demetrio sighed. “I hated him, y’know. Fucking hated him.”

“Who?”

“Babá.” Demetrios met his gaze. “But he was so happy. Your mum made him so happy. And I…forgot to keep hating him.”

Jesse smiled. And it was the purest, most beautiful thing Demetrios had ever seen. As magnificent as the sun setting over Portara. As awe inducing as the Temple of Apollo. As captivating as the marble village of Apiranthos. And it hurt more now than when he recalled that smile in his dreams. Losing it, not having it, burned in his chest and made him heavy with regret. One look from Jesse turned him to mush and he couldn’t understand why he, above anyone else, would steal his heart, take it to England, and never return it?

Demetrios didn’t want it back anyway.

It belonged to Jesse and always would.

Jesse furrowed his brow, biting his lip and cocked his head. “Why did you two split up?”

Elias popped up then, as if he’d been waiting for his cue and he chucked a bare arm covered in oil along Demetrios’ shoulders, nudging his hip to his.

“Because Deme is in love with someone else,” he said, then reached behind Demetrios, grabbed his drink, downed it, winked at Jesse, and handed the glass back to Demetrios.

The aftermath was palpable and Demetrios could do nothing but stare ahead, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Or that he could at least down the bottle of ouzo and drown in liquid aniseed strong enough to tear the paint off the whitewashed walls.

Elias chuckled, fishing something out of his tight leather trousers, nudged Demetrios and snuck the items into his pocket. He then bolted forward into the crowd, toward the nearest cage, and grabbed the ladder lowered to him from the dancer above. He hauled himself up, taking the monolithic creature’s place. Jesse’s gaze trained on him as the DJ said something incoherent into the microphone, causing those that could understand to scream in delight, or maybe it was a Pavlovian reaction. Another dance track started up, increasing the volume as the queue from outside was let in and Elias worked the cage. The night began.

“You being served, mate?” a man asked, sidling up beside him with his girlfriend.

Demetrios shook his head, grabbing the bottle of ouzo, and nudged Jesse away from the bar. They found a spot next to the ledge where they could rest their drinks and watch the dancefloor fill up. Jesse poured himself a drink, downing the lot, then poured another one and discarded the empty bottle on the floor.

“What did he give you?” Jesse shouted over the thud of the bass.

“What?” Demetrios had to turn his head to speak and came so close to Jesse, he could have kissed him.

His heart jumped.

And Jesse inhaled. Exhaled. Chest rising and falling.

“Your ex put something in your pocket,” Jesse said, nodding down to where Demetrios had his hand. “What was it?”

Demetrios removed his hand from his pocket, opening his palm to reveal the two mini bottles of Rush Elias had dropped in there.

Jesse blinked. “Poppers?”

“I don’t know why—”

Before Demetrios could finish, Jesse grabbed one, untwisted the cap, and inhaled the gas through one nostril. With that sharp sniff, Jesse got the best hit, then slammed back his drink, adding to the synthetic high coursing through his veins. Demetrios watched in both awe and concern. Jesse was drowning himself. He was doing what Demetrios had done for years, using chemicals to forget, to push away the bad thoughts and give himself a high to rival the ones he’d once got from a teenage love affair.

Jesse began to move. To dance. Ouzo mixed with the instant hit of amyl nitrate must have relaxed him, inhibitions buried beneath the euphoria. He met Demetrios’ gaze. Grinned. Then grabbed his wrist, making him slosh ouzo onto his jacket sleeve.

“Come on,” Jesse cried over the music. “I wanna dance with somebody.”

Demetrios couldn’t control his reaction then. It wouldn’t matter if Jesse was playing with him. If it wasn’t really Jesse at all. He’d been longing to dance with him again for years and had become a frequenter to this bar hoping, one day, he’d find someone he wanted to dance with as much as he did Jesse. He never had, of course. Elias had filled a gap for a while. But his professional steps, his overconfident moves and his need to be the spectacle had worn thin. He wasn’t Jesse. Jesse was shy. Awkward. Self-conscious and clumsy. And far sexier than a man who gyrated for the pleasure of others watching him.

Whether he was stuck in the past, anchored to what he could have had, Demetrios allowed himself to be led by Jesse onto the dancefloor beneath the hypnotic strobe lighting. He burned for this moment. Even if it stung him in the aftermath.

He handed his drink to a random glass collector and shadowed Jesse into the throng. The music did its job, vibrating through his veins to make his body move. Jesse held his hands in the air, piloting them into the centre, and there he turned and met with the radiating smile that had wormed its way into Demetrios’ heart years ago. Jesse danced how Demetrios remembered, the added artificial aid helping him ease into the rhythm and forget their surroundings quicker than he had in their sober youth. He let himself go, bopping and swaying along to the music-only track. No look-at-me mentality. No swagger. No vanity. He was just a man, feeling the beats of the bass in his heart.

Several songs passed before Jesse came down from his euphoric high. Smile fading, he swayed and held Demetrios’ gaze. That familiar yearning in Jesse’s eyes had Demetrios trembling. Impulse had him closing the gap between them and bravery had him resting his forehead on Jesse’s, rocking in synch to a song only they could hear. But it was pure, unhinged and desperate longing that had him gripping one hand on Jesse’s hip, gliding the other up his neck, and digging wanton fingers in to keep him there.

Dancing with him.

Jesse went limp. Pliable beneath his touch. An extension of Demetrios’ body and filled to the brim with ouzo, he was a slave to what they both offered him. And he closed his eyes, parting his lips, and melted. Demetrios had to hold him up, or he’d crumble to the floor. And they danced. As one.

Closer.

And closer.

Until their lips met.

The kiss was light. Chaste. Until Jesse grappled for more. Taking more. Mouths parting and meeting in a frenzied reunion. And when they drew apart, Jesse opened his eyes, inhaled an intrepid breath, then dived in again. This time with urgency, with hunger, with feverish need. And Demetrios took him, held him, let him, kissing him on the dance floor where it had all begun.

Because they were them. As they had been before. A place where they’d shared their first kiss, which led to many more. And like each year thereafter, when they would find a club to be alone in, to dance in, to kiss in, they swayed to the music, mouths locked together, tongues reunifying, hips gyrating as if nothing could part them.

Oh God, how Demetrios had missed this. Missed Jesse. No one had ever made him feel the way Jesse had. How could they? No matter how many meaningless dalliances he had with men or women, no matter how desperately he tried to capture what he’d once had with Jesse, no one could beat what Jesse gave him.

He didn’t want anyone to.

Jesse dipped away, forehead on Demetrios’, swaying to the music as he wrapped his arms around his neck. He closed his eyes, licked his lips, and a vibrating moan escaped his throat. “Dem?”

“To moró mou?”

Jesse flung his eyes open. “Take me home.”

“Okay.”

“Fuck me.”

Demetrios relaxed his arms around him. “Jesse…”

“I need to feel something that isn’t this.” Jesse pulled away from him, punching his chest where his heart was. “I can’t take it, Dem. Fuck it out of me. Take this pain away. Stop me from feeling.”

“Jesse…” Elbowed and rammed in the back by roaming dancers, Demetrios stumbled into him. “You’re drunk. And high.”

“So?”

“In the morning, you’ll say it was a mistake. I don’t want to hear that. Not from you. It’ll break my fucking heart.” He tried to prevent his voice from breaking too, but wasn’t sure he achieved it.

“You don’t…want me?”

“Yes.” Demetrios grabbed his neck, hauling him close. “I’ve wanted nothing more in my life. But not like this. Not when you won’t remember. I want it right. Not like how it was before. I want to know you want me. Not just someone.”

Jesse stared at him, motionless. Then, without warning, he dived into the crowd, grappling away through the throng of sweaty bodies entangled in a trance of erratic dancing.

“Jesse!” Demetrios darted after him, but the crowd was vast and he lost his view, clambering out from the dance floor into the main area swarming with people drinking and chatting. He looked left, then right. “Jesse!”

“He’s not what I expected.”

Demetrios spun, coming face to face with Elias. He didn’t have time for him. So he rose onto his tiptoes and searched over the roaming heads for the one he could pick out anywhere.

“Would love to know what makes him so…” Elias scrunched up his nose, as if searching for the right word, but whatever that word was, he didn’t believe it. “Special.”

Demetrios dropped back to his feet. “Gamóto, Elias.”

Elias chuckled. “Remember when you asked me to ride you wearing glasses?”

Demetrios clenched his jaw, along with his fist. Whatever he’d seen in this arrogant prick, he’d never know. He didn’t have an ounce of Jesse’s beauty or his passion. Or his timid nature that exuded sex appeal without having to flaunt a honed body and present a fake persona. Jesse was real. Genuine. Candid and indisputable. No one matched up to him. Not even a man who spent hours a day in the gym to create a remarkable body worthy of a magazine front page. Jesse was everything. To him, anyway.

And he might have just lost him again.

“Jesse!” Demetrios called over the heads of the crowd. Futile considering how loud it was and how crowded they were. It was like finding a needle in a haystack.

Elias dipped into his ear. “I can again if you like? It was hot. Seeing as he’s not game.”

Incensed and embarrassed, Demetrios lost control. Of his faculties. His rationale. His mind, and he shoved Elias away before launching forward and punching him in the face.

Several security guards pounced on him after that, and they hauled him through the back where he’d been many times with Elias—this much different—and shoved him out of the fire escape and into the back of a waiting police car.

Void was also notorious for the rowdy Brits who ruined their holidays with drunken brawls. The Hellenic Police were always on standby to take them to sleep off their intoxication in a cell.