Page 9 of Killing Me Softly

Most were older. As to be expected of such a place. Men in pressed suits with greying hair and women in elegant dresses whispering as they moved. Aaron watched them promenading across the ballroom, then noticed younger couples dotted in there too. A pair of men were together, their bodies close, expressions serene as they moved in unison to the soft rhythm of the music. And close to them, two women laughed quietly as they twirled, cheeks flushed with joy.

Jesus. Kenny reallydiddo his research.

After a brief exchange with the man on the door, Kenny led them both inside the hall, which could have catered to a royal wedding, and he weaved through the tables toward the bar.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Aaron looked at all the drinks. “What do you have in a place like this?” He felt his usual JD and Coke might not go down so well here. “A fucking cocktail? Shaken not stirred?”

Kenny chuckled, then turned to the barman. “Two whiskys. One neat, one with Coke.”

The server went off to get the drinks, and Aaron shook his head. “You’re a sly prick.” He swatted Kenny’s chest with the back of his hand as the music swelled to a dramatic end, couples all twisting and turning.

“I pride myself on it.” Kenny paid for the drinks, then held his glass up in salute.

Aaron clinked his with it and they gazed out to the couples as the piano and singer started another rendition.

“Admit it,” Kenny said into his ear. “It’s better than beefcakes grinding against you.”

“Depends who the beefcakes are.” Aaron took a sip of his drink, lips curving around the rim.

“Perhaps I should have stood on the sidelines longer. You might have found one to your choosing. As from where I was, it seemed you weren’t all that interested.”

“They have to fight for me.” Aaron winked. “The ones who stay the round, get to pound.”

Kenny laughed. “That so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“As I recall, that first night, I walkedawayfrom you.”

“That was different.”

“Yeah.” Kenny knocked back his whisky. “It was.” He angled his head. “Come on.”

“What?”

“I didn’t come here to sit on the sideline.” He held out his hand. “I said I wanted to dance with you. So dance with me.”

Aaron hesitated, pressing the rim of his glass to his lips as he took another sip of whisky and Coke. The burn in his throat was nothing compared to the nerves in his chest. As much as he wanted this—to dance out in the open withKenny—there was still that familiar, gnawing apprehension.

Like stepping off the edge of a cliff into the unknown.

But with Kenny steady in front of him, hand outstretched, eyes filled with quiet reassurance, looking so striking, like something out of an old black-and-white film, timeless and achingly real, Aaron’s unease cracked. A slow fissure widened with every second he met Kenny’s gaze. So he tipped back the rest of his drink, letting the warmth spread through him,and then—fuck it—he slapped his hand into Kenny’s with a resounding smack.

Kenny laced their fingers, and Aaron let himself be led through the maze of tables to the dancefloor. The moment Kenny turned to him, drawing him in, the world outside them faded, shrinking to just this.Them.

They’d danced like this before. Late at night, in Kenny’s kitchen, bathed in the soft hum of lamplight. Their shared love for old classics had stitched those moments together, weaving something unspoken between them. Dusty Springfield’s mournful ballads. Lesley Gore’s rebellious ache. Etta James’s velvet yearning. Patsy Cline’s haunted lullabies. Not just music, but a language only they understood. A refuge.

And here, in this room of strangers and swaying figures, that connection thrummed between them again when Kenny settled his hands on his waist, firm, knowing, pulling him close. The way he did in bed. The way that made Aaronlet go. So he closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him, but the melodies were already etched into his bones. His mother’s voice haunted every note, soft but sharp, always humming along in the back of his mind. These were the songs of his childhood, the soundtrack to a life long since shattered.

But now… it was different.

The past didn’t sting quite as much, because this wasn’t the past. This was Kenny’s gift. A way to take something ruined and reshape it into something beautiful. Something that belonged to them.

Then Kenny looked at him. No restraint. No masks. Just that quiet, unwavering gaze that always saw straight through him. The affection behind those dark eyes hit Aaron like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, fighting the heat rising behind his eyes. He’d never known softness like this. Never let himself crave it.

Because this wasn’t like the way Kenny usually touched him—hard, fast, desperate. As if the world would tear them apart if they didn’t claim each other first. This was tender. Slow. The way Kenny looked at him when he was inside him, when he wasn’t thrusting, wasn’t moving—just staring. Holding. Sharing breath, as if it kept him alive.

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