Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

answered as he glanced to his side to look at Ty. He still caught himself double-taking most of the time. That obscene bleached-blond hair.
    “I don’t know, man,” Ty said apprehensively as he pulled Zane closer and lowered his voice. He was having trouble maintaining the nuances of the accent. Zane was surprised he’d managed to do it this long. “It’s usually all crowds and strobe lights and people touching you where your gun’s supposed to be in these places. I don’t go out dancing unless I know no one’s going to come out of the woodwork with a knife at my back.”
    “Considering everyone had to go through a metal detector and X-ray to get on board, chances of that happening are lower than usual, despite me skewing the curve,” Zane said. He squeezed Ty close and smiled at a couple walking by. “And I’ll be watching your back,” he added quietly.
    “ You went through security, and you’re packing,” Ty reminded him distractedly. “You like dancing?” he added in a surprised voice.
    Zane smiled genuinely as they reached the bottom of the staircase. “No,” he corrected, leaning over to bump Ty’s shoulder with his own. “I love dancing.”
    He didn’t get to go nearly as often as he used to, and not at all since moving to Baltimore; he hadn’t had a chance to scope out the clubs since he was spending his evenings with Ty. When Zane had worked in Miami, he’d gone out almost every night, although he’d also had the excuse of working. Clubs in Miami were notorious for criminal wheeling and dealing.
    “I didn’t know that,” Ty murmured, sounding oddly disturbed by the fact.
    Zane shrugged. “I did tell you about the square-dancing,” he said under his breath. “Who in their right mind would square-dance if they didn’t love dancing?”
    “That’s entirely different!” Ty laughed as they got closer to the pounding beat of the music.
    Zane grinned, glad that he’d gotten a smile out of his partner. He felt the music reverberate through him as they neared the entrance of one of the clubs. The name Neptune was scribbled in purple neon over the double door, and velvet ropes blocked the entrance. The crowd beyond writhed in the dim room.
    “So your plan is to liquor me up, get me all sweaty and worked up, then take me back to the cabin?” Ty asked him, his tone placid.
    “Oh, it may not have been my plan before, but it sure as hell is now,” Zane agreed wholeheartedly. If he had a choice in his night’s companion, he’d much rather have the aroused and pliable Ty from this afternoon than the cranky, fractious man of this evening.
    “I like it,” Ty said approvingly. He led Zane into the club, the bouncers letting them pass by the waiting line without a moment’s pause. Ty might argue differently, but he knew how to use his looks when he needed to.
    He’d also been right about the strobe lights, but it wasn’t too bad. The club was on the small side but remarkably full. There were tiered dance floors on three different levels and tables surrounding them. For once, there was no sign of holiday decorations. The bar was with them on the ground floor, and Zane pointed Ty in that direction, hoping he’d get something , even if it wasn’t alcohol.
    Ty didn’t hesitate, apparently having made his decision after his brief discussion with Zane earlier. He let go of Zane and cut his way through the crowd. As Zane watched him go, he could see people in the club, both men and women, turning to take a second look at Ty as he moved past them. It was difficult to suppress the urge to preen as people noticed, but then he remembered he didn’t have to stop himself — Corbin would flaunt his husband for all he was worth. So he just slid a hand into his pocket to wait, knowing full well Ty was coming back to him and only him. Oh yes, smug was a good word for it, Zane figured. And as he saw Ty making his way back toward him, he really couldn’t have cared less about being called possessive, either.
    Despite his protests about the dangers of the crowd, Ty was already smirking, a drink in one hand as he moved through the mass of people. In order to do it, a person had to shift with the rhythm of the music or be knocked around for their efforts. Ty did this expertly. Zane suspected he’d spent his fair share of time in places like this. Only Zane imagined the type of place Ty would haunt would have fewer strobe lights and more peanuts on the floor.
    Ty moving fluidly through the throng,