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Traditionally, Andrew enjoyed feeling the thrumming beat of music more than hearing it. The songs blurred together – artists he didn’t care to know the name of wailing lyrics he didn’t remember – and none of it mattered, because the beat was more important. He came to Eden’s for two purposes: to drink and to feel the music. When it bounced around the hollow cavern of his chest, he didn’t have to feel the rhythm of his heart reminding him that he was alive. If life was fair and balanced it would have stayed that way, but life was never fair and balanced.
Amateur dramatics aside, recently he had found he didn’t mind feeling so alive. Most of the time, in fact, he was doing far more than passively existing, much to his own chagrin. It was a new experience; sometimes an unwelcome one, and it most definitely came at the expense of his well-maintained sense of control. It was the persistent hammering in his chest he couldn’t tolerate.
He was used to feeling his heart beat with adrenaline. He’d been in more than enough fights to understand what it felt like for his body to prepare him, pumping chemicals through his veins so he could move faster, hit harder, and take a blow just to keep going without feeling the pain. This did not feel the same. It was like his veins were vibrating, thoughts buzzing around his ears. Adrenaline made your heart beat faster so you could focus; whatever this was just made Andrew feel unmoored.
So the feeling of his heart hammering in his chest was new, and the music helped to cover it up. It didn’t change the cause though, and that was all because of one person in particular.
Neil liked to dance in the middle of the floor. If you’d have asked Andrew six months ago if he ever thought he’d see the man willingly set foot on a dancefloor… well he would have said nothing, but internally the answer would have been a firm negative. It turns out a five-minute speech from Kevin about dancing being ‘good cardio’ was all it took to send Neil jumping, headfirst and willing, into a new pastime.
He did not have rhythm to start with. It was a lot of jarring movements and awkward missteps. Andrew enjoyed watching this from his vantage point at their preferred table, even if he didn’t let it show on his face. Neil was so naturally gifted when it came to athletics, it made him a little smug to know it wasn’t universal. What was universal was that Neil had always been a quick study.
He settled quickly into the rhythm of it all, catching the beat of each song as it changed and moving with it. Thankfully he didn’t subscribe to Kevin and Aaron’s manic-styled dancing. Burdened by a persistent, overzealous energy, they danced like their bodies were readying for a fight: all frenzy and no poise. Instead Neil seemed to take a leaf out of Nicky’s book; everything was loose, free-flowing movements. His hips would sway, his head rolling back and forth as he twisted around. It all looked so natural and even worse it looked sensual. All in all, a devastating blow to Andrew’s psyche.
The whole situation put him between a rock and a hard place. He could just stop watching, and then maybe the thundering in his chest would stop. He could sit and sip his whisky and wait for Neil to tire and come back to him for a while. It took three, maybe four songs at most. But that meant not keeping a watchful eye out for the other patrons at the club.
An unfortunate side effect of Neil’s newfound talent for dancing was his newfound talent for attracting wandering eyes. Andrew could clock them from a mile away, their sweeping glances that danced up and down Neil’s frame. Every time it happened he cursed himself for dressing Neil, at his insistence on tighter clothes that hugged the planes of his muscular limbs. Double-edged sword, he would think bitterly every time.
Really he needn’t have worried. Neil was perfectly capable of extricating himself from anyone that got too close. Andrew had watched him masterfully twist his way out of the space of many attempted suitors before they even got the chance to touch him, and he always made sure to look up at Andrew when he did. Cue the hammering in his chest again. Double-edged sword indeed.
Eventually, it would always end the same way. When the grinding of his teeth got too much, or the night too late, Andrew would wind his way through the throng of dancers to find Neil in the crowd. Pressed up against the other man’s back, he let his hands land on Neil’s hips as he found the same beat that hammered in his chest and they moved together.
It was only ever one song, the most he could abide in the sweaty throng of bodies, but it was worth it for the feeling. Neil would lean his head back on Andrew’s shoulder, letting him marvel at the way their bodies slotted together – as if they were made for it. They would move in sync, and it was like the rest of the club, the rest of the world, fell away. It was just two bodies and the music.
When the song ended they would come apart, round up the others and herd them into the Maz to take them home, and later when it was quiet and dark in their room and everyone else was asleep, he would kiss Neil. Maybe they would do much more than that, and Andrew would have nothing but the quiet sounds of Neil’s moans to stifle his thundering heart as they both fell over the edge. Even if they didn’t, they’d still fall asleep in each other’s arms.
But before the song ended, just for a moment out there on the dancefloor with his chest pressed to Neil’s back, Andrew would swear that he could feel the thrum of the other man’s heart as it raced in time with his own.