Chapter 1: Kneeling in the Shadows of Want
The music wasn’t really his thing—some remix of a pop song he half-recognized, the bass thumping through the floorboards into the soles of his feet. Mark held his second beer like a shield, the bottle slick with condensation. He was too aware of his own posture, the way he stood just off the main drag of bodies, trying to look like he was waiting for someone and not just… hovering.
His gaze kept drifting back to the bar. To the bartender.
David moved with an easy economy, a quick smile for everyone, a glint of light off the silver ring on his thumb as he poured a shot. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, forearms corded as he wiped down the mahogany. Dark hair, cut short. Brown eyes that had caught Mark’s once already, holding the look a beat longer than was strictly professional.
Mark’s throat felt tight. He took another swallow, the beer tasting faintly of cardboard. This was the plan, wasn’t it? To come here. To see. The thought was a hollow echo in his chest, equal parts terrifying and magnetic.
He set the empty bottle on a passing waiter’s tray and moved toward the bar, the crowd parting and closing around him like water. He found a spot near the end, where the wood was less sticky.
David finished with a customer and slid down, his gaze landing on Mark. “What can I get you?”
“Another of these, maybe.” Mark’s voice sounded rough. He cleared his throat. “Please.”
“You got it.” David snagged a bottle, popped the cap, and set it down. His fingers brushed Mark’s as he did. An accident, probably. It sent a jolt up Mark’s arm anyway. “You waiting for friends?”
“No.” The truth was out before he could dress it up. “Just… decided to come out.”
David nodded slowly, leaning his elbows on the bar. The position brought him closer. Mark could smell a clean, soapy scent cutting through the general funk of the place. “Quiet for a Saturday.”
“Is it?” Mark heard the thumping beat, the shriek of laughter from a booth behind him.
“For this place, yeah.” David’s eyes were watchful, curious. Not unkind. “First time here?”
“Yeah.”
“What brings you?”
The directness of the question stunned him. This was the moment. He could make something up, or he could… lean into the terrifying pull. He took a shaky breath. “I’m not entirely sure.”
A slow smile spread across David’s face. It wasn’t mocking. It was knowing. “Okay.”
“Is that a weird answer?”
“It’s an honest one. I like honest.” David straightened, glanced down the bar at a waving patron, then back at Mark. “I get off in twenty. The music’s shit. You want to get out of here?”
The world seemed to tilt. It was too fast.Too simple. This wasn’t how it happened in his anxious rehearsals. There was supposed to be more dancing around it, more ambiguity. “I… yes.”
“Good. Finish your beer. I’ll meet you by the front doors.”
Mark just nodded, his fingers tightening around the cold glass.
Twenty minutes later, they were outside in the cool night air, the club’s noise reduced to a dull throb behind them. David lit a cigarette, offering one to Mark, who shook his head.
“You live nearby?” David asked, blowing a stream of smoke sideways.
“About a fifteen-minute walk.”
“Lead the way.”
They walked in silence for a block. The normalcy of it was surreal. Two guys walking home. Mark’s mind raced, a storm of what-ifs and how-tos. He was excruciatingly aware of David beside him, the quiet tap of their shoes on the pavement.
“You’re in your head,” David said, not looking at him.
“Is it that obvious?”
“A little. You don’t have to have it all figured out, you know.”
“I know.” Mark shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s just… new. For me.”
David stopped walking, turning to face him under the yellow glow of a streetlamp. “What’s new?”
“This.” Mark gestured weakly between them. “All of it.”
David studied his face. Mark fought the urge to look away. “Okay,” David said again, that same accepting tone. “We can just walk. Talk. Or I can call a cab home. No drama either way.”
The offer of an exit made staying feel like an actual choice, not just something he was being swept toward. It steadied him. “I don’t want you to go home,” Mark said, the words feeling brave.
David’s smile returned. “All right then.”
Mark’s apartment was a testament to a life half-lived—clean, but impersonal. He flicked on a lamp, bathing the living room in a soft, low light. “Can I get you a drink? I have whiskey.”
“Whiskey’s good.”
Mark poured two glasses, his hands steady now. When he turned, David was right there, having moved silently across the room. He took his glass, their fingers touching again, this time with purpose.
“Thanks,” David said. He didn’t drink. He just looked at Mark. “So. Tell me what you want.”
Mark’s mouth went dry. “I don’t… I don’t have a script for this.”
“Good. Scripts are boring.” David took a small sip of his whiskey, set it on the shelf beside them. “Can I kiss you?”
The question was so straightforward it shattered the last of Mark’s brittle nerves. He nodded.
It was a soft press of lips at first, tentative. David’s mouth tasted of smoke and whiskey. His hand came up to cradle Mark’s jaw, his thumb stroking the line of his cheekbone. Mark sighed into the kiss, a tension he’d carried for years beginning to dissolve at its edges. He kissed back, clumsy at first, then with growing hunger.
David pulled back an inch, his breath warm on Mark’s lips. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” It was the clearest thought he’d had all night.
David led him to the bedroom. In the dark, with only the ambient city light filtering through the blinds, details became sensations. The crisp cotton of David’s shirt under Mark’s fumbling fingers. The hard plane of his stomach. The warm, smooth skin of his back. Mark felt overwhelmed, a novice in every movement.
David seemed to sense it. He slowed everything down. His hands were sure, patient. He undressed Mark first, then himself, his movements unhurried. When they were skin to skin, David guided Mark’s hands to his own chest, letting him feel the toned muscles, the dusting of hair.
“Just feel,” David whispered. “It’s just feeling.”
Mark let his hands explore, the curiosity overtaking the anxiety. David was beautiful—lean and defined, responsive to every touch. When Mark’s fingers traced the line of his hip, David shivered.
He gently pushed Mark onto his back on the bed and leaned over him, kissing his neck, his collarbone, moving down his chest. Mark stared at the ceiling, his heart pounding, lost in the newness of it. The pleasure was acute, almost painful in its intensity, a direct line to a part of himself he’d cordoned off.
David paused, looking up. His eyes were dark pools in the gloom. “Okay?”
“More than okay.”
David’s mouth returned to him, and Mark’s thoughts finally, completely, stopped. There was only the feeling—the heat, the wetness, the building pressure that was so different from anything he’d done alone. His hands found David’s hair, short and soft between his fingers.
He was close, so fast, hurtling toward it. David must have known. He pulled off, his own breathing ragged. “Come here,” he murmured, his voice a low gravel.
He guided Mark onto his side, facing away, spooning behind him. He was hard against Mark’s backside. The intimacy of the position was a shock, deeply vulnerable. David’s arm wrapped around his chest, holding him close.
“Is this—” Mark began, but David cut him off with a gentle squeeze.“Easy. I’ve got you. Just relax.”
Mark tried to let his muscles go slack. David’s hand drifted down his stomach, taking him in hand again. The angle was different, the friction exquisite. David’s other hand splayed across Mark’s chest, pinning him gently in place. Mark could feel the power in David’s body, the complete control, and instead of frightening him, it was a release. He didn’t have to perform. He just had to feel.
He came with a choked gasp, shuddering back against David’s solid frame. Waves of pleasure rolled through him, leaving him boneless and gasping. David held him through it, his own breathing harsh in Mark’s ear.
They lay like that for a minute, maybe two, in the quiet. Mark’s mind was a blissful blank.
David finally stirred, his grip loosening. He pressed a soft kiss to the nape of Mark’s neck. “Bathroom?”
“Down the hall. On the left.”
Mark lay alone in the warm tangle of sheets, listening to the faucet run, the sound of water. The reality of what just happened started to seep in, not with regret, but with a profound, quiet astonishment. He’d done it. And it had been… simple. Human.
David returned, a silhouette in the doorway. He got back into bed, not spooning this time, but lying on his back. Mark turned onto his side to face him.
“That was…” Mark searched for the word. “Good.”
David chuckled softly. “Yeah. It was.” He turned his head. “You okay?”
“I think so. Really okay.”
“Good.” David looked back at the ceiling. The domesticity of the moment was as surprising as everything else. “You want me to go? Or stay?”
Mark considered it. The unfamiliar weight in the bed, the scent of another person on his sheets. “Stay. If you want.”
“I want.”
Silence settled between them, comfortable this time. Mark’s eyes grew heavy. Just before he drifted off, David spoke again, his voice soft in the dark.
“For the record,” he said. “You figured it out just fine.”
Mark settled into the quiet, the rhythm of David's breath beside him becoming a steady, calming presence. The initial thunder in his chest had faded to a low, pleasant hum. He wanted to chase that feeling, to prove he wasn't just a passive participant, that he could initiate.
He propped himself up on one elbow. David turned his head, a question in his dark eyes.
“Can I…” Mark’s voice was a scratch in the dark.He swallowed. “Can I do something for you?”
A slow smile curved David’s lips. “Depends what you’re offering.”
“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” Mark said, trying for casual, missing by a mile. “You took care of me. I’m… willing to learn.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” The words were truer than he expected. A curiosity burned, mingling with the desire to reciprocate, to erase the last trace of amateur status. “Just… guide me. Tell me what to do.”
David’s eyes held his for a long moment, assessing. Then he gave a single, slight nod.“Alright. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Mark hesitated, the request still looming, unsure how to just say it. “I want… I want to taste you.” Saying it made his skin feel hot. “Is that…”
“It’s a very specific thing to want,” David said, his tone neutral, giving nothing away. “It’s okay. It can be intense.”
“I want to try.”
David shifted onto his back, making space. “Come here, then.”
Mark moved down the bed, the sheets whispering. In the half-light, David’s body was a landscape of shadow and defined muscle. His cock lay thick against his thigh, already half-hard again. The sight was intimidatingly real, a world away from the abstract concept in Mark’s head.
Mark hovered, the clinical details suddenly overwhelming.
David didn’t rush him. He lay there, watching, patient.
Finally, Mark bent his head, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pressed an awkward, close-mouthed kiss to the base, inhaling the clean, musky scent of skin and sex. He felt like an idiot.
“Relax your jaw,” David murmured, his voice impossibly calm. “Use your hand, too. Not just your mouth. Make it wet.”
Mark nodded, the instructions a lifeline. He licked a tentative stripe along the shaft, tasting salt and skin. He closed his eyes, shutting out the room, focusing on the texture, the heat. He took the head into his mouth, his tongue swirling experimentally. The weight of it, the solid reality, sent a strange jolt through him—part fear, part electric thrill.
David’s breath hitched, a soft, sharp intake. His hips gave a minute, involuntary twitch upwards. The reaction was like a shot of adrenaline to Mark’s system. He’d done that. He repeated the motion, adding suction, his hand working in a tentative rhythm he hoped wasn’t completely awful.
“Yeah,” David sighed, the word rough. “Just like that. A little faster now. You can use… Jesus, you can use your teeth a little, just the lightest scrape. Don’t be scared of it.”
Mark obeyed, his movements growing bolder, guided by the escalating sounds from above—the hissed curses, the low moans that vibrated through David’s body and into Mark’s own. He lost himself in the mechanics, in the heady power of rendering this confident man into a state of raw, vocal need.
David’s hand came down, not to push, but to tangle gently in Mark’s hair. Not guiding, just resting. Anchoring.
“Fuck, Mark… that’s so good. Keep going. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
The praise was a fire in his veins. He hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper, his own body responding with a dull, insistent throb. He was lost in a fog of sensation and sound and the bitter-salt taste filling his mouth. His jaw ached, a good ache, an ache that meant he was doing it. David’s thighs tensed. The fingers in his hair tightened, just for a second.
“I’m close,” David warned, the words strained. His hips began a shallow, desperate thrust, chasing the wet heat of Mark’s mouth. “God, I’m gonna come…”
He finished with a ragged groan, his body bowing off the bed. Mark stayed with him, swallowing convulsively, the act surprisingly devoid of awkwardness, just a final, intimate acceptance. A seal on the night.
David slumped back, his chest heaving. After a moment, he gently tugged Mark up, pulling him back to lie beside him. His arm, heavy and warm, draped over Mark's waist. He was silent for a long time, just breathing.
"That," David finally said into the dark, his voice hoarse, "was way better than 'just fine'."