LAST DANCE

Pairing: Avon/Blake

Author: Leslie Marshall

Jennieemcg@aol.com

Rating: NC17

Sequal: A sequel to First Dance

Notes: Originally published in THE BIG B7 ZINE (1993)

Note 2: For Isis

Last Dance
by Leslie Marshall


He stood alone, watching. It was seldom that he got the opportunity to observe Avon without the tech being aware of his interest. And he was very interested.

With a sigh, he looked down at his wrist-chrono for what had to be the hundredth time tonight. Only two hours had passed. It seemed to Blake that he'd been in this stuffy banquet hall for at least a day, longer even. This just had to qualify as the most boring party he'd ever attended. He was absolutely certain it was the most boring party ever given in his honor.

Absently, he raised his glass to his lips and drained it. Well, at least his host had the decency to serve real liquor. So far, this was the only positive aspect of an exceedingly dreary evening. Although, if he were honest -with himself, if no other - he had to admit that he relished any opportunity to spend time with the endlessly fascinating Avon.

With studied casualness, Blake moved to the nearby bar. "Whiskey-neat," he ordered tersely. Drink in hand, he turned to resume his Avon-watching. His relaxed pose deserted him when he saw Tarsis, their host, standing at Avon's side. The tech's grimace of distaste was apparent, even at a distance. Dark eyes caught his, sending an urgent message.

Swiftly, he crossed to join the two men. "Ah, Blake," Tarsis greeted his arrival, "I was just telling your friend here that the music is about to begin. I had only just asked him to lead the first dance with me," lisped the most exalted ruler of Veronique.

His jaw dropped. He tried to control the reaction - he really tried - but he couldn't help it. What in the hell was a man to do? This little - there was no other word for it - this little fairy had actually had the temerity to ask Avon for a dance. In-fucking-credible. Slowly, Blake turned his head to meet Avon's gaze.

The untrained eye would, no doubt, see a cold expressionless mein. Blake thought there were very few who would perceive the spark of panic hidden behind careful blankness.

He rearranged his features into an expression of embarrassed regret. "My apologies, Tarsis," he said, laying a possessive hand on Avon's shoulder and moving a step closer, "I cannot allow that. Avon dances only with me." Blake ignored the tightness in the shoulders under his encircling arm, pulling the warm body against his own. "I'm sure you can sympathize with my jealousy, Tarsis; we've only been together a short time."

"But of course, Blake." The disgusting creature actually giggled. "And may I congratulate you on your excellent taste?" Tarsis paused, studying Avon with open hunger. Blake wanted to rip his beady little eyes right out of his repulsive little head.

"He is truly magnificent." The muscles under Blake's restraining arm quivered with tension. "I know," Tarsis clapped pudgy hands together, "As the guest of honor Blake, would you and your..." A pale tongue emerged to wet fleshy lips, "Avon lead the first dance?" Tarsis touched him, bringing him onto the dance floor with a hand at his back.

Blake's skin crawled.

Expecting to have to drag Avon along with him, Blake was more than a little amazed to have the tech pass him up. A firm hand at his elbow pulled Blake onto the dance floor with every appearance of eagerness.

The orchestra struck up the opening notes of a waltz - a very romantic waltz. Blake sighed, why couldn't anything ever be easy? As his arms closed around Avon, he met the tech's grimace with a bemused shrug. "Smile," he whispered into a conveniently placed ear, "we're supposed to be having fun."

"You smile," rapped Avon curtly. "Your mouth got us into this."

"No," Blake answered softly, "your looks got us into this."

Dark eyes snapped up to meet his, questioning sharply.

Blake grinned, and pulled Avon closer. The music swelled as more couples joined them on the dance floor. A moan almost slipped past his iron control as the crowd pushed them together, their bodies touching from shoulder to hip. He swallowed convulsively, bit down on his lower lip, and found he had to turn his head away from the enticing perfume of Avon's silky hair, so close to his cheek. He knew Avon could feel his erection, just as he felt the tech's lengthening hardness burning into his thigh.

Fathomless black eyes met his, then Avon stepped back. "Time to leave, Blake."

The gauntlet landed at his feet.

"Fine," Blake cleared his suddenly tight throat, "I'll just say goodnight to"

"We leave now, if you intend to accompany me." The challenge hung, unseen, in the air between them. "Or, I leave alone. Either way, I am departing this insufferable place now."

Blake swallowed, closed his eyes, "But I" he started. He opened his eyes to see Avon turn away. Arrogantly, the tech walked across the room, toward the main doorway. He didn't look back.

Seemingly of their own volition, Blake's feet traced the path Avon had taken. He was deaf to the sound of Tarsis' voice raised in protest at his departure, for his world had narrowed to a single reality.

Helplessly, he watched that reality disappear into the inky night.

 

The End