Chapter One, in which Harrison tries to get Sandy out of his beach chair...

(This chapter rated T, future chapters M)

~.~

The mid-afternoon sun was annoyingly warm on Sandy's skin, and the gentle Bahamian breeze made his cigarettes burn out faster than usual. The ocean surf was mild today, but since the fucking house was right next to it all he could hear was gentle waves lapping against the sand and rocks of the private beach. He huffed and reached for the next report, cursing as he brushed a few grains of white sand off the cover.

"Really, Sandy, you could at least pretend to be enjoying yourself."

His friend Harrison set a glass of iced green tea on the table next to the lounger where Sandy had ensconced himself all afternoon. "We've been here for three days and all you've done is sit in that chair and read." He handed Sandy a bottle of sunblock. "Put on some sunblock, please? With that pale skin of yours, the last thing I need is for you to get sunburnt. I'm sure you'd never let me hear the end of it once we got back home."

"Thanks," Sandy grunted, taking the bottle. "You know, maybe this is all I want to do," he said he smoothed the lotion onto his skin. He set the sunblock down and reached for the frosty glass of tea. "You're the one who dragged my sorry ass here for vacation. I didn't say anything about wanting to come here; in fact, I'm sure I remember protesting loudly." He peered over his sunglasses at Harrison, blinking at the glare from the sun. "Why do you always bug me to come along? I'm sure JoJo-" he drawled the double name mockingly, "-would much prefer to have you all to himself."

"Joe," Harrison corrected, "has me to himself all the time, seeing that he lives with me. And don't remind me of that dreadful nickname, I just got him to stop introducing himself that way last year."

He sat down in the chair next to Sandy. "How long have we worked together, Sandy? Seven years? And I think we can agree that we've been good friends for at least five. Why wouldn't I want my good friend to come and stay at my vacation home? I've only been trying to get you here since I bought the place." Harrison waved his hand at the expanse of beach and ocean beyond the patio. "Look at this. White sand and warm turquoise waters a few steps from my back door. Quiet and private, but if we crave a little nightlife we can just head a few miles up the road into Freeport and enjoy the casinos and nightclubs." Harrison smiled at his reluctant guest. "Grand Bahama has a nice mix of both, and is close enough to Charlotte that Joe and I can come here quite often. And you can too, Sandy – I've told you countless times that you are always welcome to stay here, with or without us."

Sandy rolled his eyes and sipped his tea. "I've been busy. Busy running the company that pays you the salary that enabled you to buy your little love nest."

Harrison sighed. "Sandy, you work very hard. Too hard, in my opinion, and it seems like that's all you do, especially since..." he hesitated when Sandy shot him a sharp look, "well, since your father passed away. You very ably stepped into his position at the company, but I think you have taken it too far. You need to relax and enjoy yourself once in awhile, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sanderson would not be happy to see you this way."

Sandy said nothing.

"It's been four years. The company's doing fine - there's no need for you to work the hours you do. Was that trip to Europe the last enjoyable thing you did?" His friend's tone softened. "You are allowed to enjoy life, Sandy. I do so wish you would."

Silence.

Harrison got up from the chair and waggled a finger at him. "That's it. We're taking you with us into Freeport tonight. No arguments."

Sandy gave a sigh of his own. Harrison was being stubborn, and the bastard could be tenacious when he got that way. A terrific quality when he was in corporate-lawyer mode, not so much when he was trying to bend Sandy to his good-intentioned will. "All right," he said, conceding defeat. "But I will not be seen with you if Joe is still wearing those idiotic cornrows. No redheaded white man has any business wearing cornrows."

"I completely agree, and I gave Joe considerable incentive to take them out."

"Hunh. No sex until he does?"

"Precisely." Harrison flashed a small, infinitely evil smile and started to walk back toward the cottage. "I expect you to be ready at six to go to dinner with us, Sandy," he called back over his shoulder. "We'll find a nice restaurant and then go to the casino."

Sandy glared sullenly at his best friend's back as he watched him walk away, and he threw the report on the flagstone floor of the patio in a fit of pique.

He hated it when Harrison brought up Sanderson. Sandy had had enough of his father bugging him when he was alive, so he really didn't need Harrison to take over for the old man. He lit another cigarette and tried to not hear Sanderson's voice as it rose from his memories.

Stop working so hard, Sandy. We're doing fine.

Sandy, there's more to life than work. Get out there and date! Look how happy Harrison is with Joe.

Son, you act like an old man, and you're only twenty-four. Go and have some fun for once. Please?

So what had happened when he had finally caved and let his father send him to Europe for a three week trip? The bastard had gone and died of a heart attack while he was away.

Sandy took a long drag off his cigarette. He was just fine the way he was, thank you. He enjoyed things. He enjoyed the success of his company. He enjoyed drinking a good single-malt whisky and smoking a cigarette. And while he would never, ever admit it to them, he enjoyed his friendship with Harrison and, God help him, Joe.

The rest was unnecessary. He had the occasional lover here and there - more like one-offs, really - but Sandy wasn't interested in getting involved with anyone.

He took another puff from his cigarette and then ground it out in the ashtray. Maybe he should just go ahead and let Harrison "socialize" him for the rest of their stay. It wasn't completely horrible here, and it would definitely get his friend off his back for awhile. He glanced at his watch. Four-thirty. Might as well go in, check his emails and take a shower so he could be ready by six - Harrison could be a scary bastard when he got tenacious, and Sandy did not count it outside the realm of possibility that his friend would come in and dress him if he wasn't ready.

With a yawn he got up and stretched. Picking up the pile of reports from the patio floor, he dusted them off and reached down to snag the glass of tea. He took a long drink from the glass and then walked up the steps toward the cottage.

~.~.~.~.~

Dinner had been nice enough, way too much food and plenty of local beer at a little Greek place named Zorba's in the Freeport marketplace. The chicken-kebabed souvlaki and eggplant moussaka had been excellent, but Sandy was a sucker for sweets and their flaky, honey-drizzled baklava quickly entered his Top Ten Desserts list.

Then they had headed over to one of the casinos. After playing around at the slot machines Harrison and Joe had settled themselves at the craps table and soon had a tidy pile of winnings. Sandy wasn't much for craps or roulette, though, so he had quickly became bored watching them play. He'd gone off on his own and done pretty well at one of the blackjack tables, but when a pushy platinum blonde got too persistent in her flirtations - trying to run her hand up his leg - Sandy had collected his winnings, tipped the dealer and told the woman to keep her fucking hands to herself.

And they wondered why he never wanted to go out. At least he could smoke here - all the places back home were fucking smoke-free. So he lit up a cigarette and wandered through the casino, restless.

He passed by several restaurants. He was still full from dinner, so he kept walking. There was a blast of techno music from the Loco-Motion nightclub over to his left. No fucking way was he going in there, so he moved on. He was walking past one of several lounges when he heard jazz music wafting over the noise of clanking, ringing slot machines. He looked up at the sign. Aqua Vitae. Curious, he walked in.

It was a welcome change in atmosphere. The walls were wood-paneled, and the lounge was lit by a firefly-like assortment of glowing art glass lamps that hung from the low, beamed ceiling. The bar itself had a distinctly art nouveau flair to it; carved wood and curving, gleaming brass, and behind the bar was a shimmering glass mosaic reproduction of Gustav Klimt's The Tree of Life. When Sandy walked toward the bar the music became louder, and he noticed a jazz trio playing over in one corner. He settled into a chair near the end of the bar, and as the music began to relax him he wondered if Harrison knew about this place.

The bartender approached. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Bahamian, and Sandy absently noted that his immaculately coiled dreadlocks put Joe's late lamented cornrows to shame.

"Welcome to Aqua Vitae. What can I get for you?"

Sandy scanned the dizzying array of single-malt whiskies on the long shelf beneath the mosaic. "The Lagavulin Sixteen, neat."

The man smiled and set a squat, tulip-shaped glass in front of him. "'Smoke in a glass.' It would be a crime to bring water anywhere near it." He poured a few ounces of golden-amber liquid into the glass.

Sandy grasped the glass by its thick stem and raised it to the bartender. "Nice to know there are some intelligent people around here." He took a generous sip of the whisky and closed his eyes as he savored the smoky-peat aroma of the drink.

"Heya, Gary, can I get a draft? Doug's out of Kalik in the club, an' I wanted ta grab a pint before I hafta do my next shift." A perky voice piped up to his right.

An elbow bumped into Sandy's arm, and the motion jarred his glass. "Oh, mister, m'sorry! I didn't make ya spill your drink, did I? I can buy ya another if I did."

Sandy opened his eyes and turned to view the source of the perkiness. It was a kid, a teenager from the look of him, with a shock of spiky brown hair and amber-brown eyes. Eyes that were the exact shade of the liquid that was settling back into the bottom of his glass.

"No harm done." Sandy said, and he smirked at the kid's offer of a replacement drink. "You shouldn't be so quick to offer me a new drink, it's twenty-five bucks a glass." What the hell was a kid doing in a casino? And ordering a beer?

"Whoa. Twenty-five bucks?" The young man stared at Sandy with those wide, whisky-colored eyes, and then he blurted, "Damn, you're pretty." He blushed and clapped a hand over his mouth, uttering a muffled "Omigod, m'sorry!"

"Jesus, Gavin." The bartender's shoulders were shaking with ill-concealed mirth while he drew a pint of amber lager from the tap.

"M'really sorry!"

Sandy snorted at the outburst and raised an eyebrow at the bartender. "You can get in a lot of trouble, serving minors. Or idiots, for that matter. Looks like Junior here should have a Shirley Temple instead."

"Hey! M'not a kid!" the young man protested hotly, but then his curiosity got the better of him. "What's a Shirley Temple?"

Sandy's smirk turned into an evil grin. "Make him one. It's on me."

The bartender laughed and replied, "Sure thing. It's a kiddie drink, Gav." He poured some lemon-lime soda over ice in a rocks glass, added a splash of grenadine syrup and then garnished it with an orange slice and a maraschino cherry. He slid the drink toward the younger man.

"A kiddie drink? You're buying me a kiddie drink." A barbell-pierced, chestnut-brown eyebrow raised at him in disbelief. "Oh, and your twenty-five-dollar-a-glass scotch is soooo mature. That shit tastes like burnt ass."

Sanzo raised an eyebrow of his own at the little smartass next to him. "You afraid to drink it?" he jeered.

Gavin stuck his tongue out at him, then raised the glass to his lips for a taste. "Kinda sweet, but not bad." He downed the rest, ate the fruit and then popped the cherry stem into his mouth.

Sandy watched, fascinated, as the younger man's mouth pursed and pressed. On closer inspection, it was obvious that Gavin was in his early twenties, and Sandy noticed more piercings on that handsome, mobile face. A nose stud winked at him when Gavin scrunched his nose in concentration, and there were a good half dozen rings and studs in his ears. Sandy was also pretty sure he had seen the flash of a tongue stud a minute earlier.

It made him wonder where else Gavin had piercings.

Then he wondered why he was wondering about Gavin's possible other piercings.

Gavin's mouth halted, and then he pulled the cherry stem from between his lips and set it on Sandy's napkin. "It wasn't bad, but I think I'll stick ta beer." His gaze met Sandy's, and there was frank interest in his eyes. "I gotta go back ta work, but it was nice ta meet ya. Thanks for the drink." He picked up his beer, nodded his thanks to the bartender and ambled back to the casino floor. Sandy watched until he disappeared into the same nightclub he had passed earlier, and then he looked at his napkin.

The cherry stem had three neat knots in it.

Sandy suddenly had too much saliva in his mouth.

The bartender leaned over the counter to peer at the napkin. "Hunh, three knots. I've never seen him do three knots before." He picked up the empty glass, dumped out the ice and started washing it. "Gav usually only does those at our staff parties, when there's a contest. As you can see, he usually wins."

Sandy finally swallowed. "He works here?" he managed.

The big islander nodded in the direction of the nightclub Gavin had just entered. "He's one of the deejays over there at Loco-Motion." Another patron sat down further down the bar, and the man left Sandy to tend to his new customer. Sandy picked up the knotted stem and put it in his pocket.

Sandy enjoyed the music for awhile, smoked a few cigarettes and had a second drink, then he paid his tab and left the lounge. He intended to go back to the table games room, but before he realized what he was doing he was standing just inside the front entrance of Loco-Motion, glass in hand.

The nightclub was unbearably loud, both to his ears and eyes. Flashing, multicolor lights and strobe effects pulsed in time to the driving beat of the electronic, highly-synthesized music. Sandy squinted against the harsh lights as he scanned the room, looking for Gavin even though he really didn't know why he was looking.

And there he was, up on a raised platform in the far corner of the room, surrounded by speakers and equipment. A vinyl banner attached to the mixing console proclaimed him as "DJ Stone Monkey, voted Best Deejay in Freeport".

Stone Monkey! Sandy smirked behind his glass. He was a monkey all right. Gavin was hopping around his platform, mixing music, dancing and occasionally leaning into his microphone to urge the patrons to dance as well. Which they did - Sandy could barely see the dance floor for all the gyrating bodies. He leaned against the wall; he was fine right where he was, thank you. He glanced back up at the platform.

Gavin was staring at him.

Sandy shifted, his stance taking on a bit of defiance. Yeah, I'm here. So what?

The young man grinned, then disappeared behind his equipment.

Sandy lit a cigarette and took a long swallow of his whisky. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here, why he was still here - the place was a migraine waiting to happen.

Then Gavin's spiky-haired head popped back up from behind the speakers, and as he faded the music out he pressed his mouth against the microphone. "Great moves, guys! I've got another awesome song for ya, an' m'sendin' it out ta the sexiest pair of purple eyes I've ever seen in my life."

A techno remix of the classic song Smoke Gets In Your Eyes started reverberating through the club, and in spite of himself Sandy laughed at the monkey's cheek. He raised his glass in a mock-salute, and took another sip.

Lips pressed against the microphone again. "C'mon, people, dance! Show me your moves, I'll show ya mine."

The crowd cheered and began to dance. Gavin began to dance, too, and as the young man gyrated on the platform Sandy found he couldn't take his eyes off of him. Gavin was wearing a black, sleeveless mesh shirt and black jeans, and Sandy watched him raise toned, muscled arms above his head and clap his hands to the beat. Through the mesh Sandy could see that the rest of that compact body was just as toned and muscular, and when Gavin started rocking his belt-laden hips Sandy felt heat start to pool in his groin.

Whisky-gold eyes locked with his, and they told Sandy that this sensuous dance was just for him.

Sandy was suddenly thirsty, and he lifted his glass for a generous swallow of his drink. The whisky burned its way down to his belly, where it joined another fire, one that was starting to make his jeans uncomfortably tight.

He laughed at himself while he knocked back the last of his drink. How fucking pathetic was he, that he was standing here getting hot and bothered and hard just from watching this guy dance? And oh fuck, he was hard... harder than he'd been in a long, long time. All from watching a monkey wiggle his ass.

He needed another drink.

He left the nightclub and walked back over to Aqua Vitae, where he sat back down in his original chair and put his empty glass in front of him.

"He's a pretty good deejay, isn't he?" It was Gary, the bartender, and he splashed some more Lagavulin into Sandy's glass. "Good dancer, too."

Sandy took the glass wordlessly, and downed the contents in one gulp.

Gary leaned toward Sandy and murmured, "He's stuck here for the rest of the night on a double shift, his replacement called out. Just so you know."

Sandy turned toward him to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but the bartender was already halfway down the bar. He tossed a handful of bills on the bar and went off in search of Harrison and Joe.

TBC…