Punk and Zen (4 page)

I set the lights to give off a bit of a flicker, since
there’s nothing like the “dungeon-disco” effect, and checking my mix for the
next tune, I closed my eyes and sank into the groove, at peace and at home in
my little musical world, feeling fine, just fine, thank you. Of course that
moment of peace couldn’t last. What is it they say, “When you least expect it,
expect it?”

I felt a gentle touch on the bare skin of my back, and
as I opened my eyes, I saw a hand holding a plastic cup of water. That was
nice. Wow, sometimes Trace could really set me off, and sometimes she could be
just so damn sweet, so considerate, it drove me fuckin’ crazy.

It was like she’d been raised in my home—nobody ever
said they were sorry. Okay, well, my parents would force us to say it if we got
caught doing something, but otherwise, nobody ever said those words; they “did”
it instead.

For example, if Nico and I had an argument and it was
his fault? Later on, he’d say something like, “Hey, um, wanna go play some
video games? My treat.” Or if it was me, I’d catch up with him and hand him a
cup of hot chocolate or something. Our parents did it too. I mean, if they were
“wrong” (which, of course, never happened), they’d pick up a book one of us
wanted or take that person out for a Saturday afternoon—something along those
lines. We “did” it; we didn’t just say it. Well, okay, I was known to say it on
occasion, but I always backed it up with an action because “actions speak
louder than words.”

Trace “did” it, too, although she might every now and
then say it, but usually not.

I took the cup and gratefully tossed back and
swallowed more than half of it before I realized it was a tequila pop (tequila
and 7-Up) and not water. As the combination of sourness and soda fizzled
against the back of my throat, my eyes opened wider, and I gulped down what was
left in my mouth before handing back the cup.

“Hey, thanks, Trace, but I’m not drink—” It wasn’t
Trace. It was Blue.

I was momentarily speechless as I pushed my headset
from my ears. No one ever, and I mean
ever
, had entered that booth
before that either I didn’t know or didn’t personally invite. This was unheard
of. This was—

“Your friend let me in,” she told ABC me,
neatly plucking the cup from my fingers with a smile. “She figured you wouldn’t
mind.”

A setup. That’s what this was. I looked back out into
the room and didn’t have to scan far. Trace was right by the “request” window,
smirking at me, and I leveled my eyes on hers as I leaned over to catch her
ear.

“Trace, what the fuck?” I asked her in a loud whisper.
Invading my domain and all—sheesh, you know?

Trace tweaked my hair again. “You’re so fucking cute
when you’re mad.” She laughed, then reached up and kissed me. Her lips were
soft and full but pressed hard against mine, and when she finally let go, she
bit my lip. I tasted blood.

“If you did some of the things I would”—she stroked my
cheek—“you’d have more fun.” Trace drew a finger across my lip, taking the red
stain she’d left with it, and I watched, angry, stirred, and mesmerized, as she
slid it between her lips. What was wrong with me, that I let her get to me like
that? I couldn’t stop her if I wanted to, and I wasn’t sure I did.

Trace smiled as she brought her hand down. “Mmm,
delicious,” she commented, then smirked at me. “Now go have fun. I fuckin’ dare
you.” Her smile turned wicked, a flash of teeth, eyes sparking her challenge. She
held my eyes a moment, then gave me her back, dismissing me.

My mind swirled as I straightened up and faced my
“guest.” The carbonation burned through my stomach, the tequila sent a flush
through my body, warming my skin and thrumming in my chest.

Blue simply observed me, cup in hand and eyes narrowed
in consideration. “I told your friend I wanted to speak with you, and she said
she’d help me out, since she’d interrupted,” she paused a moment and set the
cup on the ledge behind her, “our earlier conversation.” She stepped closer to
narrow the short distance between us.

Okay, so this game was a little different than I
thought it would be. I wasn’t expecting this more, well, forward sort of
behavior. Okay, though, maybe that was my fault. I’d been the one to start
changing the rules, anyway. She reached out, and I stepped back a little
nervously, smacking against my sound board.

Oh yeah, the sound board. I was working—or supposed to
be, anyway.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” I agreed and smiled. “We can talk.
I, um, I’ve got to set my tunes,” and I gave my attention to the board. We were
so close my hip brushed against hers. Did I mention this wasn’t a very big
space?

I slipped my headphones back on and checked the play
status on the disc. Everything was going smoothly and exactly where I wanted it
to. I ran nimble fingers across the dials, then grabbed the next two discs,
setting them up in succession; they would fade beautifully into one another. I
closed my eyes as I tested the mix, listening, sinking into the music’s mood,
my fingertips resting lightly on the knobs as I adjusted the program, tweaking
a ABC bit here and there to get it perfect. Oh yeah, there it was. This
was going to be nice, very nice. I swayed along with the beat and set a few
automatic times, tweaking the sound and moments until they were perfect too.

A soft fingertip slid slowly down my bare back, and I
forced myself to control the light shiver it caused. Hands strayed to my hips,
and Blue danced with me. I could feel the heat of her body on my back as I
locked the mix on the board, and as we swayed in time together, I realized she
was slightly taller than me.

She was subtle as she pressed up against me, and I
felt the light touch of her lips on my neck as I caught the rhythm with her and
swayed to the beat. She nibbled her way up to my ear. God, I love that. Well,
if I hadn’t been stirred before, which I was, this situation had just jumped me
up a little higher, but it was time, more than time, to take it in hand.
Maintaining body contact, I twisted around, and, glancing up at her eyes for a
moment, grasped her hips, bringing us closer. We moved together for a few
moments, then I brushed my lips up along the line of her neck, then to her ear.
She inhaled sharply, and I smiled. I love it when things work the way they
should.

“I have to check the board,” I whispered, lightly
kissing the skin right below.

“How are you going to do that if I don’t let you go?”
she murmured into my hair, readjusting the grip she had and holding me firmly.

I brushed my lower lip against her earlobe, then
looked up into her eyes. “Just like this.” I grinned and, neatly sliding my leg
between hers, pulled her closer and pivoted, using our combined weight for
leverage. I controlled her descent by holding her hips, and her back landed
neatly and with the slightest heaviness to the left of the board. Now I could
face the room, if I wanted, and the controls.

But God damn that system had good shocks; the sound
never skipped.

“This work for you?” I asked her with a smile, releasing
her hips so I could ease up my headphones. As I leaned over and across her to
reach for the console and the microphone so I could introduce the next song, my
lower body pressed into hers.

She hooked a leg around my hip and reached up,
pressing her breasts against me and burrowing her lips into my neck. “This
works just fine for me.”

“Good,” I whispered, enjoying the pattern she was
weaving on my throat. What can I say? I’m a sensualist at heart. “Shh,” I
cautioned, indicating the microphone as I brought it up. She stopped and
nodded. Headphones in place, I keyed the mike.

“Brothers and sisters, boyz and grrlz, lovers and
leavers, this is the Dominion,” I informed the dancers as I scanned the
now-crowded floor. Wow. A lot of people had come into the back room since I’d
started, hopefully drawn by the music. Hey, all was cool; it meant they liked
it and that I was doing my job well.

Blue slipped her leg up between mine and pressed it
firmly where it meant business, and I had no doubt in my mind what kind of
business she meant.

The throb that flew through my body mingled with the
music and the buzz I already had, and a low and throaty “mmph” escaped my lips
into the room as I set the sound flying and returned the pressure Blue was
sending my way.

We spent a few more moments like that, moving with one
another to a beat that was sensual to begin with and heated further by our
contact, so when she sat on the small available space on the board and arched
her neck back, quicker than it takes to tell, she dropped the leg that was
pressed against me and I was between hers. Still dancing, just a slight
movement of hips and shoulders, I dipped my head to the line that ran the
length of her throat and trailed it very softly with my lips until I reached
hers. I gently nipped at her lower lip, requesting access, and received it.

Her lips tasted like cherry-flavored balm, and her
tongue had that sweet beer taste. For a moment, I was caught up in a memory—the
smell of the ocean and lips so soft and tender that to kiss them was to worry
for a moment about bruising them before losing myself entirely. But the mouth I
was kissing was certainly not like that, and that event, that possibility, was
too far away to be brought back, I thought fleetingly.

But Blue was a good enough kisser that I was able to
shove the memory aside and focus on the mouth under mine. As I smoothed along
her ribs, a hand ran up and down my back and sides, and one snaked into the
space where our bodies met.

Tempting, very tempting, but not where I wanted to go,
not in this place, not on these terms. She wanted to play and—this was now my
game. Carefully, I took her hand away from me and my lips from hers. “No,
baby,” I gazed into her eyes and whispered, bringing her hand to my shoulder
and holding it there, “this is all about you.” And reaching for her mouth with
mine, I rounded her hips, massaging her firm ass.

She moaned into my mouth and gripped my ribs with her
knees. Almost lazily, I encircled her waist and drew a soft line along her
thigh with my free hand until it was under what was left of her skirt. She’d
already pushed it up and mostly out of the way. Skirts are great sometimes, ya
know? I like ’em, lots. I grazed the spot where the thigh meets the body,
stopped kissing her for a moment, and stilled my hands to consider—what,
exactly, I’m not sure—but this was going a bit further than I’d originally
intended.

Raising my head, I scanned the room once again.
Everyone was grooving; the mood was working, both in the room and definitely in
the skybox. A hand waved in the air and caught my eye—Trace, trying to get my
attention. I nodded and gave her a small smile.

“I dare you!” she mouthed at me.

I shook my head. “Fuck you!” I mouthed with a grin and
rolled my eyes.

“I’m not the one you’re fucking!” Trace yelled back,
laughing. She spun ABC Van around until they were both out from my line
of sight.

Blue merely waited for me, stroking my ribs as I
removed my hands, and I took advantage of the moment to make some final
adjustments to the board. I had a ten-minute song followed by an
eleven-and-a-half-minute one. The music would be good to go for a decent length
of time without my direct attention. Blue’s legs relaxed a bit and rested on my
hips.

I’d reached for the last set of knobs that would lock
my current settings when, suddenly, Trace was at the request window. I stared
at her. “What?” I asked silently.

“You’re such a baby, just so really fucking adorable.
You know that?” she yelled up at me with an evil smile, then danced away.

God damn, how did she manage to always fuckin’ do that
to me? I reached blindly for my cup of water and drank, forgetting—again—that
it wasn’t water, but what was left of the tequila pop. The drink was like acid
in the back of my throat and burned all the way down.

Fuck it, I thought as I finished it and tossed the cup
into the pail under the board. I stood there a moment staring at nothing,
letting everything run through me, burning like the tequila—the frustration
with Trace, the arousal from Blue, and the normal restlessness that rides
everyone’s blood on a summer night. Okay, maybe that’s just hormones, but you
know what I mean.

Maybe the moon was full, or I’d had more to drink than
I thought. Could be I was still a little annoyed, maybe even a little raw about
the “cute” comment. I don’t know why I had such a need to have Trace see me
differently (okay, maybe I do know, but let’s just move on), but I was scanning
the dance floor, finding Trace’s cold gray eyes and holding them with my own.
Blue twined her arms around my neck, and I tangled my hands into her hair,
drawing her head back. My lips were almost on her throat, just a breath away,
before I broke that eye contact with Trace, and this time, definitely on my
terms.

Cute this, I thought as I brought my teeth to bear along
the column of Blue’s throat, and my hands were in the mix, too. I had both of
them by the twin junctions of her thighs and was alternately scraping along
their length with my nails (yes, I keep them short, but not bitten) and
massaging the firm muscle. She was busy, too. Gratifyingly responsive to my
kisses and caresses, she hungrily licked and sucked on my neck, her hands
tracing the contours of my face, her knees now firm against my ribs.