Omake - Indecent Rhythm

Rating: MA for graphic adult content
Summary: "Outtake" written for the much longer story "Indecent Rhythm." With no inhibitions to weigh them down, a late-night dance lesson quickly heats up...for more reasons than one!
Notes: I was goaded (or...firmly nudged, I suppose) into writing this by Nightengale. The omake eventually became a kind of 'outlet' for the frustration I was having with the story this was written for.

A merengue later, Tristan and Joey stood uncertainly in the center of the darkened studio floor. Why had Duke called them back so late? With the exception of long shadows on the hardwood floor, the surprise evening lesson proved no different than any other. A warm-up together to the same fast-paced song as always. Next would come the familiar lesson, and an hour of trading insults. The tension would thicken to tangibility before one of them called a halt. Workable routine. Clockwork.

One step outside of the comfortable pattern was likely to bring all three of them down.

Duke rose abruptly from the stereo as the second tune began, turning his ear to the speakers with intense concentration. Sensing motion in their peripheral vision, the blond and the brunet turned to it.

They could only see his profile, and precious little of that. The soft silver quality of light from the street traced forehead, nose, lips and chin.

The music was alien to them; slow and aggressive. The rhythm was different – and they knew at once that the change was significant. A smile drew back the silver line caressing Duke's lips, revealing a wet, white row of predatory teeth.

“…Duke?” Tristan hazarded.

“Don't,” Duke ordered, moving away from the stereo, vanishing into the shadows again. He reappeared behind Joey, and the blond started when taut hands stretched across his shoulders, then gripped and pulled up roughly. Joey's posture tightened in response, and the hands smoothed down his biceps; pulled up to mold the pliant arms into a dancing frame. Duke released him. Beckoned Tristan into Joey. The same hands curled against the blond's forearms loosened and rolled over, palms up, summoning with an arch crook of fingertips.

Joey stared hard up at Tristan when the taller boy stepped forward, expression lost in the dark.

“We're going to play a little game,” Duke went on in an undertone; inky shadow pressed hard against Joey's back. The blond could feel the other's clipped breaths on his shoulder. It was getting harder to pay attention.

“Don't worry about the steps. Move however you want. You can grab someone, and if you do, they follow. If someone grabs you, then you follow.”

“But what's the point—?” Tristan started to protest.

“—Other than that, anything goes. Don't think. Don't talk.” He pressed Tristan's left hand into Joey's right without acknowledging that he'd heard. “And don't stop . And so help me, Joey…”

Tristan saw the whites of Duke's eyes in the dark as he rolled them in exasperation.

“…if I hear you counting again…you'll be first.”

“First to what?” Joey asked automatically, learning away from the warm spill of breath that had drifted up to the back of his neck. He was figuring out that Duke had more than a couple of advantages from being a shrimp.

“Don't count and you may not find out.”

“But I gotta count,” Joey insisted, “otherwise I get outta whack and then it ain't pretty.”

“Says you.” Duke slipped to the other side, leaning over Joey's shoulder once more. The silver wet line riding his lips curled up in a secretive smile.

Tristan caught it, but Joey didn't. The brunet's lips parted to voice a question…but it was too late. The pop of flesh striking denim echoed in the empty studio when Duke's hand slipped down and connected with Joey's backside. The blond – already nervous – shied to the side like a frightened colt.

Duke sidestepped him, making for Tristan as swiftly as though he danced on velvet paws. There was that sideways push of hips – Cuban rhythm, Duke explained earlier – and the taller boy was hypnotized by it. Stalking silently on the balls of his feet, Duke closed the space between them. One hand curled over his shoulder, and the other splayed against his chest, forcing Tristan backward.

Despite his confusion, Tristan knew the motion, and followed along gamely. He was being herded away from Joey for the time being, and he knew that, too. Was he just going to let himself be cornered by this slender panther of a man?

Hell. No.

“Goddammit, Tristan, let me lead!” Duke suddenly found the tables turned when his partner caught his wrist and spun him. He had no choice but to go with it, and didn't like it at all. He was supposed to be in control!

Even more aggravating, Tristan neither answered nor obeyed his command. The taller boy owned a frightening amount of skill. Utter, seamless control of his body, no longer the awkward beginner. He seemed transformed by the dark – inhibitions stripped away by the intermittent shadows hiding his eyes.

They circled one another, tense as wolves on neutral ground. One led, the other looked for a misstep to strike. More circles. Forearms raised to shoulder level, palms laid with deceptive lightness just below the shoulder – a barrier. Space remained between them yet, pulsing with energy. The brief moment before lightning strikes.

Pull away and thrust back in. Fight. By the first chorus, the boundaries were erased, and Duke's free hand was pressed flat against Tristan's chest. He pushed at Tristan as the taller body catapulted him backwards, trying in vain to deny the magnetic pull of skin to skin. He tore free at last, only to step willingly, sultrily back into the demanding hands.

Tristan's head shot up, and he broke their tight hold, prodding Duke into a chassé. The older boy's right arm flung out as he stepped quickly to keep up with his partner.

A sweaty, callused palm wrapped around that hand when Tristan simultaneously let go of his left. Duke's ponytail flared out as he whipped his head in the other direction.

Joey's eyes were lost to the shadows of his shaggy bangs.

The hangdog smirk, however, was quite visible.

Payback , those quirked lips hinted archly, and Duke's pulse quickened. His captor spun Duke in on his arm until he was safely tucked against Joey's chest, arm wrapped around his waist. The other arm joined it shortly, lay soft against the flat of his stomach, and something broke inside. As though he'd been willed to by his partner, Duke leaned into him, free hand reaching back to rest lightly on Joey's hip. Vocals wailed smooth and long, and the boys moved sideways with the minor slide. The soles of their shoes hissed across the dusty floor.

Feet together, pivot, step backwards. Don't think. Don't think. Obey your own rule and don't argue. Don't criticize. Let Joey lead.

The blond sensed that Duke was beginning to give way, and dipped him back. Fluid, catlike, Duke's spine arched, whipping across Joey's arm and thigh. Trust. That was it. Trust Joey .

The tension building up around them evaporated, and his hand in Joey's loosened, opposite sliding up just beneath his partner's shoulder blade as though it belonged there. Joey led from then on, until he broke his grip and drove Duke into Tristan's waiting arms. Ready for it, Duke pivoted with practiced grace for a controlled fall against the brunet. His knee hiked, to press inner thigh to hip and tighten the contact for a breath or two. His cheek pressed hard against Tristan's bare shoulder, and they stayed like that for a moment, letting the music catch them up.

Tristan's hand lingered seconds longer than necessary on the back of his thigh. Swept upward into the bend of his knee. Too stricken with heat – rising both within and without – to wonder at it.

At first they danced in pairs, his two students passing him off like a ponytailed basketball to one another. The song was set to repeat – for good reason – and they slowed as it wheeled around for a second pass.

But for the fan in the doorway, the studio was still airless as always. When Duke felt Tristan slide in against his back once more, he wasn't surprised to feel naked skin when his arm curled around the taller boy's shoulder and neck.

Something was different. Joey wasn't moving away.

Strong hands manipulated his body from both sides, Joey's on his hips and Tristan's rising rapidly over his ribs, guiding his shirt up and over his head. The two taller boys stripped him of the fabric in soundless accord, and Duke at last let his free hand snake out to see if Joey was in the same state.

He was. And in a moment, the blond's bare skin was close enough to feel the humidity rising from his flesh. Humidity breathing between wet lips; lips that closed at first tentatively, then with more certainty on the arch of his throat.

Adrenaline hissed in Duke's veins with the same intensity as the music and the wet air sheathing his skin. Blood roared in his ears; heartbeat audible and thundering fast against his ribs.

The music died, and for a span of five seconds, rasping breaths in triplicate twined in the silence alone. Then the sexy synthesized violin and hammering drumbeats started over again, and he could feel a new set of lips nuzzling his ponytail aside and pressing to the back of his neck.

His head arched back against his will, knees buckling at the sudden shift. Hadn't led from the start; didn't care. The heat raged higher, and his legs weren't going to hold him without help. Tristan and Joey obliged, pressing in on their partner and letting their hands bridge his body for support. Blunt, callused fingertips scraped northward along his back – Joey's , his mind identified by position. As Tristan's palms stroked his navel, he was not at all surprised to find that both boys' hands felt much the same.

Tristan was sucking on the side of his neck, and Joey worked his way from the subtle outward thrust of Adam's apple to the stubborn, elfin chin.

His lips on the line of Duke's jaw were shiver inducing, and only vaguely was the ponytailed boy aware of it when the inevitable happened and the two boys ran into one another just below his earlobe.

He heard a muttered curse, and then nervous snickering, which silenced abruptly and gave over to the telltale moist sound of lips. Even without the light, he could easily picture the eager, open mouths crashing together across his shoulder, and the spike of arousal finally pushed him to respond.

Joey moaned into Tristan's mouth when both of Duke's hands detached themselves from their previous business and slid down his chest.

He'd been right all along, Duke thought. Joey's body was deceptively slender. Here, now, he could feel that below the skin the narrow chest was hard and toned. It quivered from fatigue when Joey arched into his touch, and both his palms and the blond's skin were wet with sweat.

Tristan's touch connected with Duke's hips with an electric jolt, and the green eyes widened when he suddenly found the taller boy seamed tightly to his backside. Tristan bent his knees a little, shoes scuffing quietly across the floorboards as his feet spread to accommodate the move. Just enough to cradle his own hips against his teacher's body. Asking him to lean back. To relax just a little, and let Tristan's taller frame support him.

He did, but only for a moment or two. The added heat proved too much for them, and at last, despite the hard humid stickiness of the wooden floor, the three boys ended up tangled there.

Skin squealed against the high-gloss finish. Freed now, Tristan took aggressive control of Joey, letting their teacher watch while he pinned the slightly smaller blond boy to the floor. Dress shoes skidded without traction and were kicked aside in frustration. Joey pushed his heels into the floor and arched his hips, jamming hard into the vee of Tristan's legs while the brunet straddled him. He gripped his best friend's arms, overcome and wild with the sensation when Tristan's lips found their way to a sensitive nipple, and a hitched exclamation ripped through the silence before the music track wheeled around yet again.

Watching them in the vague dark, reaching out and feeling the closeness of their bodies with blind hands, Duke at last managed to swallow his gasps and in a voice roughened even further by arousal, insisted that the two bastards hadn't given him a chance to lead yet. This was his game, dammit, and they'd better play along or he was changing the rules.

And the first one he planned on leading was Tristan. The bigger boy had been in complete control of the situation since the music started, and with a few whispered words to their towheaded companion, Duke intended to strip him of a lot more than just his dominance. Eventually.

Joey squirmed. Ignored the insistent demands of his own body for as long as it took to exert his will on Tristan and get the better of the brown-eyed boy. The two of them wrestled for entertainment, and he knew by practice that Tristan was weak on his left side. It only took pulling his arm out from under him and shifting hard to the opposite side to flip an unsuspecting tiger onto his back.

“All yours,” Joey gasped over his shoulder with a smirk, and Tristan oomphed when a body just a little lighter than Joey's took the blond boy's position across his stomach.

The dragon gazed down at Tristan, cheek silvered by the moonlight and green eyes glowing out of the dark. Long fingers closed roughly over Tristan's wrists and pinned his hands, palms-up, to the floor beside his head. Duke bent to plunder his mouth, demanding that the slightly-parted lips give way under his. He got his way of course – as he generally did – and his tongue coaxed and gentled the boy beneath him with slow licks.

The growing fire between them raged until they were dizzy of it. Tristan snarled with want under Duke's imprisoning body, arching languidly against him, fueling the older boy's resolve to hold him captive even while his writhing pushed the shared desire up another inch. It was so much fun to watch him fall apart when someone kicked out his prop of self-control.

He was so busy seeing just how far he could push the brunet until he snapped that it took him completely by surprise when a third – or was it a fifth? – hand snatched his ponytail and yanked his head back, and his tongue out of Tristan's mouth.

His lips came back together with a pop, and the green eyes narrowed, wincing at the pull on his hair.

“F'get somebody?” Joey teased, and crushed his lips with inexpert haste against Duke's mouth. He bowled the shorter boy over Tristan's side. At the brunet's breathless snickers while Joey and Duke sprawled halfway across their partner's body, one of Joey's free hands whipped out and closed over Tristan's groin. Squeezed.

Given that the area was already a matter of some discomfort, Tristan groaned and fell back. “I'll be good!” He yelped.

“Will f'ya know what's good for ya,” Joey muttered, smirked at his best friend, and then focused his attention on Duke. Impatient at being even momentarily ignored, Duke cheerfully tangled both hands in the sweat-damp blond hair and pulled hard, forcing Joey's lips onto his.

The older teenager tried to ravage Joey's mouth as he had Tristan's, but the other was a step ahead of him, and thrust his tongue against Duke's. Something had happened in the minutes before…changed…and Duke didn't count it as a defeat. Slender arms wrapped around Joey's neck, hungry for more. Demanding that the blond boy stay with him, so that all of this planning hadn't been wasted.

One thing was for certain. This was obviously not Joey's first kiss. What did he think Duke was , an ice cream cone? Some kind of rare exotic chocolate, as much time as he took licking at the inside of the ponytailed boy's mouth. Never mind that said ponytail was knocking his head against the floor at a weird angle. Joey moved with him whenever he shifted, pulling back for a snatch of air and diving back in like a man deprived of water.

From the way he was gasping, Duke just hoped he didn't drown. Because the blond's desperate little breaths were kind of hot too. And so was the old sour taste of orange soda in Joey's mouth. Not because it tasted good – because it really didn't. But it brought home the reality of Joey's proximity with stunning force.

Joey Wheeler. Practically had his tongue down Duke Devlin's throat.

Duke tried to ignore the self-satisfied curl of Joey's lips against his when he just couldn't hold back a whimper at the wet and the heat. Though it really did make him want to whack the other boy on the back of the head.

Unknown to either, Tristan wriggled free and eased as close as he dared. He didn't want to distract them – because watching was fun on its own – but couldn't quite stop himself from reaching up to stroke Joey's hair; the long line of his back. The touch surprised a soft cry out of the blond.

Joey whimpered now; gasped a much-needed breath against Duke's parted lips. Then a wet mouth attached to the back of his neck, and the firm weight of Tristan's body leaned against his. Warm, sticky weight. If Joey was not driven to the point of desperation, if his body was not on fire inside as well as out, he would have complained that it was hot , dammit, and it was too hot to be this close. But before he could speak, Tristan had straddled Duke's thighs, and was leaning over Joey's back, kissing a trail up the furrow of his spine.

Then he felt Tristan's hands on his hips, brushing dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans, and he couldn't have given a damn about the heat anymore. Fuck it. The most important thing was to get those jeans off so he could find out what the hell else they had in mind. Didn't even matter that his conscience was raising an eyebrow at him for wanting his pants off. Not because it was Tristan and Duke…but just because it seemed kind of off-color to want somebody else to shuck you in someone else's house.

Whatever. Tristan seemed willing to oblige.

Duke slithered away from his captors and hauled himself up to his knees. He felt he could see in the dark now – the bodies of his partners were certainly visible to hands and mouth if not to his eyes. Leaning forward, kissing Joey's face, he could tell that the blond's eyelids were fluttering; could tell that his mouth had fallen open. Duke wondered at that, and raised his lips to Joey's, feeling the shaky, half-focused movements of the other boy's mouth as he tried to respond.

Grazing down Joey's stomach, His hands discovered the reason why. The blond's knees were spread wide, one of Tristan's palms buried in his jeans and stroking him; kneading so that Duke could feel the bony ridge of his knuckles moving under the denim. He moved into the open vee of Joey's legs, and helped him move from his knees to sit flat on the floor, using Tristan's body as a support.

Though they could hardly see one another, Duke fancied that he and Tristan shared a glance. The brunet leaned over Joey's shoulder, and Duke met him halfway. This kiss was softer than the last, less a battle for dominance and more a greedy agreement. A promise for later.

Tristan could swear that those green eyes caught even the tiniest glint in the shadows. He shivered at the promise in them. Believed that it was possible to be held captive by Duke without shame.

Joey made a frustrated sound, squirming against Tristan's hand. It had stopped moving now and only made his jeans tighter than they already were. Tristan murmured a low apology, and Duke snickered.

There would be time for everything later. Propriety demanded that they stop – but propriety had forgotten that Téa was gone until Sunday.

Then again, propriety didn't count as much as experience did – and now was not the best time to be introducing the boys – his boys, Duke thought smugly – to the whole bag of tricks.

Tristan, oblivious to Duke's thoughts, resumed his caresses. He gained confidence as Joey let him know with loud approval that he was not going to miss his inhibition, wherever it left to. An experimental nibble at the side of Joey's neck elicited a hearty groan.

“You're welcome,” Tristan smirked against Joey's ear.

“Ass,” Joey growled, “If this was you , you'd be…” He cut off as Duke's hands slid around Tristan's and latched onto Joey's waistband. They tugged his jeans down to his ankles, and then off. Humidity lay on his naked skin like a second pair of pants.

“Goddammit, why does everybody else get to keep their pants on except me ?” The blond protested, less than peeved. The rule about not talking didn't seem to apply anymore. “'Cuz…that ain't fair…” he went on, faintly.

“Oh, believe me,” Duke purred, ushering Tristan's palm out of Joey's briefs so that he could remove them next. “we'll play fair.”

And then all they could hear was the faint whisper of Duke's pants creasing when he moved. Evicted from where they'd been happily wrapped around and stroking Joey into oblivion, Tristan's hands found a new home against the flat of his stomach. Touched the sweet little baby dimple of his friend's navel. Circled it and let his fingers splay wide over the top. Joey seemed to like it – he could tell by the way the muscles tremored underneath the pads of his fingers.

Joey was having a hard time staying upright against Tristan's chest – that was understandable, they hadn't swept the floor tonight and it was slick. He tightened his grip, and the supportee obligingly raised an arm and gripped the back of his neck. They were fine…both shivering with anticipation, dripping with sweat and on the verge of exhaustion…but fine…until…

“ Fuck! ”

An explosive gust of hot air hit his neck when Joey turned his face into the bigger boy's throat. His whole body tensed up, and Tristan's tensed in sympathy. Soft, wet noises coming from down south made the necessary explanations – Duke had obviously just gone down on him.

The blond boy's lighter frame didn't buck, to his credit; only twitched and trembled hard. He was shaking – the good kind that came with wanting it so bad and finally getting it.

Tristan knew what that was like.

He sat down flat, spread his legs, and cradled Joey's body firmly between them with one hand still on his stomach. The other was sliding over the slick taut grain of Duke's hair. It bobbed up and down, to the same rhythm of Joey's rapid-fire breathing.

Tristan still had a few brain cells functioning in the fine motor skills department, and an abstract part of him was always annoyed that Duke's hair seemed so eternally perfect. He and Joey joked often enough before this that it had to be fake. So while Duke was too busy to stop him, he let his free hand wander back and find the elastic holding his ponytail captive, and pulled it out. The dark hair fell in a river over his hand and Joey's thighs, which flashed pale now when a passing car's headlights illuminated the entire studio for a few brief, strident seconds.

Duke yelped. Joey groaned and squirmed in Tristan's grip.

Tristan could see the green eyes glaring up at him.

Glaring up at him from between Joey's legs. Which he could also see right now. Very clearly.

From between…oh.

Oh. Right.

“E-easy…buddy…” Joey snickered breathlessly, far beyond good sense and into the realm of finding absolutely everything hysterical, including his best friend's sudden raging hard-on poking into his back, “…that a…gun in your pocket…or…'re you jus' happy…t'see me?”

Duke apparently didn't like that he didn't have Joey's full attention, and growled. The green eyes flicked down and disappeared into the dark as he concentrated and oh yes, it was worth it. Joey sort of spread out in Tristan's arms, melted into a softly grunting animal that quaked with want and lust and all sorts of other things that they'd have trouble explaining in the morning.

Fuck the explanation. People said that the best cure for a hangover was more beer.

So what if maybe that wasn't true? That's how they'd deal with it. More.

He nuzzled behind Joey's ear and nipped the straining tendon leading down from the corner of his jaw to the bobbing arch of his throat. Joey fell back against his shoulder and gritted his teeth, and Tristan could feel the other boy's whole body squirming and shuddering in a desperate attempt to keep his hips still for just…

A little…

Longer….

One last hot little pushing cry and Joey slumped back, letting go of the nape of Tristan's neck where his nails had bitten in just a little. The two boys stared at one another in the dark, both equally shocked in what they had just witnessed – and what they had let the other witness.

Then Joey let out a long, heavy breath, and relaxed in his partner's arms, deaf to everything but the glowing aftershocks of the experience.

“Is he out?”

The quiet, roughened voice sounded so utterly un-Duke-like that Tristan started at hearing it. He squeezed Joey's ribcage; shifted underneath him. No response but a change in the blond boy's regular breathing. “He's out,” Tristan said.

There was an amused ‘hn,' sound from the other boy's general direction. Duke slid through the striated moonlight along his hip, slinking on all fours like a cat to brace himself on one slim wrist and stretch up to kiss him.

Initially, the idea of kissing Duke just now seemed kind of ‘ew,' – he'd just had that where ? – but when the older boy insisted, he realized that it wasn't so bad, and learned – vicariously – what Joey tasted like. A little salty and faintly metallic. He didn't really taste like anything special, except that it was Joey.

And it was Duke. Kissing him. Sharing the taste at the same time as he ruthlessly plunged his tongue into Tristan's mouth. The guy was already set to go again?

Unbelievable.

A thought struck him, as abstract as all of the others had been.

“He didn't count.”

Duke drew back enough to think properly. “…Excuse me?”

“Joey. He was first, but he didn't count.”

This, apparently, hadn't been the right thing to say. The anger radiated out of Duke for a few nuclear seconds hot enough to feel even in this humidity, and Tristan wondered just what the hell he'd done now .

“Yes…he did count.” Duke retorted. “He counts as much as you do.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes in confusion. “No he didn't. Or if he did, I sure didn't hear him.”

“…Oh.” There was a long, long pause. And then ‘oh,' once again, drawn out, as though Duke finally got the joke. He started to snicker. “Well…that wasn't what I meant by ‘first,' anyway.”

“So what did you mean by first?”

“I'll show you.” Duke's smile was audible, as was the sultry purr in the pit of his chest.

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