Chapter 1: Introduction
Andrew settled into his cozy armchair, a glass of red in hand. He thumbed through the channels, absentmindedly browsing the TV guide as he took an appraising sip. It had been a long month - a series of late nights and arduous days, playing the game of political chess. He'd only just arrived home, looking forward to firing up the grill and maybe indulging in a slice (or two) of "I deserve this" cake. Hell, even the prospect of doing some laundry didn't seem so bad right now.
Andrew's eyelids began their slow descent, hypnotized by the red glow of the TV display.
Then, the unmistakable crescendo of a floorboard giving way beneath a heavy step vaporized his serenity, stoking a cold, languid hand up his spine. He muted the sound, waiting, praying for his senses to play him false.
Suddenly, the flickering of shadows in the hallway, a footfall much closer than before. These weren't burglars; they were connoisseurs of intimidation.
Black, clad in dark streetwear, and sculpted with the fortitude of men well-versed in confrontation. Their gazes pierced him, hungering, thirsty for submission, yet entirely lacking the venom of hatred or malice. Fear gave way to something primal, leaving him with one question: should he flee or should he stay?
Andrew decided to stay. His spine stiffened, hands clammy, and voice a magnetic shade of defiance.
"Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?"
The leader, Dominique, stepped forward in a graceful swagger. "Names ain't important, but you, Andrew, are our prize tonight." He reached out, caressing Andrew's jaw with storm-cloud eyes.
Their hands roamed over his body, smudging inhibition with the grit of the outside world. They seemed monstrous yet godly; it dizzying that he was still standing, their heavy breaths hot on his face.
These intruders had very deliberate intentions, and their fingers curled like hooks, ripping through barriers he thought would never part.
Dominique's pouched lips found Andrew's ear, muttering a string of obscene suggestions that tugged like a magnet towards a core desire long buried. Pierre was slowly undoing the zipper of Andrew's jeans, nails tracing lightning bolts along his quivering abs. In no time, the denim and boxers were pouched around his ankles.