To Kiss a God

Chapter Seven: The Party

Stars littered the midnight sky like crackled glass, the coiling smoke from the fireworks making everything feel hazy and unfocused.

Well, the copious smoke and the overflowing champagne Bruce thought, sipping from his flute of golden bubbling nectar.

He leaned against the railing of the wrought iron balcony, staring out over the moonlight bathed garden below. Daffodils, orchids, and cherry blossoms were just some of the colorful plants decorating the meticulously trimmed garden.

Leisurely, he curled his fingers along the bars, the metal feeling strangely cold in the oppressive heat. He inhaled deeply, the smoke lingered in the air still, combined with the sharp hints of overpriced perfume and cologne with the soft undertones of flowers. The accumulation of the scents bleeding into a headache.

Oliver jostled into him suddenly, the stench of alcohol on his breath overpowering his expensive cologne. He forced a casual smile on his face, attempting to push down his simmering annoyance as Oliver pressed himself to his strong back. The contact intentionally sexual, the hand Oliver let drift to his pants rim even more so.

Oliver's soft lips came to his neck, gently kissing in a way that confirmed that Oliver was, in fact, utterly sober.

He knew they had an audience, he could see the onlookers in the peripheral of his vision. The journalists, the philanthropists, oh the gossip was already spreading like a wildfire doused in kerosene.

Oliver's hand slid over his tense thigh muscles.

He snapped.

"Darling," he purred, leaning back into Oliver's toned body, positioning his mouth close to the other man's ear.

"Hmm?"

He knew how it looked, the heated whispers between lovers.

Intimate, loving, and sexual.

"Get the fuck off me." He hissed, a tender expression on his face.

Oliver let out a low rich chuckle, kissing him on the cheek and drawing back. He downed the contents of his glass, a flush beginning to color his high cheekbones. Something sharp and assessing in his eyes. He wondered for the first time whether this was just a game for Oliver.

"Time to get more."

Oliver announced loudly, his words slurring as he swayed into the surging crowd. Bruce turned back to the balcony railing, pretending to study the stars and not the security cameras.

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Clark caught himself glaring at his notepad and forced himself to stop, turning his fragile focus on the accented words coming out of Count Marquis mouth instead. He was blathering on about infrastructure and building mortar, as he had been for the past riveting thirty minutes.

Clark suspected the constantly refilled glass of wine dangling in his sweaty palms was playing no small part in the Count's rambling.

"Well you see, zee most important zhing about the steel is that is it..." the count's attention was stolen by something behind him.

He didn't bother turning, this was far from the first time a pretty girl had caught the count's wandering bloodshot eyes.

He redirected, "I'm sure that's very important for building integrity but my question was, what was your original intention for the Lovelock Building on third street?"

His teeth grated against each other as the Count blinked dreamily back at him.

"Zee Lovelock building, ah yes, it is very nice. My best of my Aphrodisiac collection."