Chapter 5: The Nightclub's Dark Corner
The club was a fever dream of sweat and sound, bass thrumming through the floor and up into the marrow of every body packed inside. Leonid had come here to forget—exams, bills, the shift manager who kept docking his pay for being two minutes late. He'd come here to drown in something mindless, to let the music and the heat and the press of strangers strip away the weight of another week of barely surviving.
He'd found a girl instead. Short skirt, dark hair plastered to her temples, pupils blown wide with something chemical or just the frenzy of the dance floor. She'd ground against him without preamble, her ass rubbing against his cock until he was painfully hard, and when she'd grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shadows near the back hallway, he'd followed without a second thought.
The wall was rough against her back, graffiti and grime scraping her skin. Leonid didn't care. He hitched her leg over his hip, yanked her underwear aside, and drove into her with a single savage thrust. She gasped, biting her lip, her nails digging into his shoulders.
He fucked her hard, rhythm punishing, his jaw tight. But something was off. Her responses felt theatrical, overdone—moans too loud, hips moving too eagerly. She came with a shriek that felt manufactured, her body going limp against the wall within minutes.
Leonid pulled out, still achingly hard, his dick slick with her. She giggled, wobbling on her heels, mumbling something about finding her friends. She staggered away without a backward glance.
"Fuck," he muttered, adjusting himself. His release was nowhere near, his balls aching with frustration. He leaned against the wall, chest heaving, and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair.
What the hell is wrong with me?
His gaze swept the club automatically, looking for another distraction. Maybe that blonde near the bar. Or the one in the red dress by the speakers. Anyone.
But his eyes snagged on someone else entirely.
Jensen sat at the bar, perched on a stool with practiced elegance. He was wearing a black silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show the hollow of his throat, his silky dark hair falling across his forehead as he lifted a glass of something amber to his lips. His dark, feline eyes were fixed on Leonid with an intensity that made Leonid's stomach tighten.
He'd been watching. That was clear from the angle of his body, the way his gaze tracked Leonid's every movement. There was something in his expression that Leonid couldn't quite read—hunger, maybe, or anticipation.
Leonid's jaw tightened. He was still hard. Still aching. The girl had left him wound up and unsatisfied, and Jensen was just sitting there, looking at him with those dark, knowing eyes.
He moved without conscious decision. Shouldering through the crowd, his eyes locked on Jensen the entire time. Jensen watched him approach, his expression shifting—a flicker of surprise, then something deeper and darker that he quickly masked.
"Leonid," Jensen said, his voice smooth and measured. "Enjoying your evening?"
Leonid grabbed the front of Jensen's silk shirt and yanked him off the stool. "You've been watching me all night."
Jensen's lips parted, but no denial came. His dark eyes searched Leonid's face, looking for something—a reason, an explanation. "You were... hard to look away from."
"Come with me."
It wasn't a request. Leonid dragged Jensen through the crowd toward the same dark corner where he'd just been with the girl. The shadows swallowed them, the bass of the music vibrating through the walls.
Jensen's back hit the graffiti-covered surface. His chest was heaving, his eyes wide and luminous in the dim light. "Leonid—"
"Shut up."
Leonid's mouth crashed against his, brutal and demanding. Jensen made a sound—a sharp, desperate noise that was almost a cry—and his body melted against Leonid's. His hands came up, gripping Leonid's shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.
It was different from the first time. That had been slow, careful, navigated with an almost reluctant tenderness. This was raw. A week of accumulated frustration poured into the desperate press of lips and teeth, the grip of fingers against skin.
Leonid spun Jensen around, shoving his chest against the wall. The silk shirt bunched beneath his palms. He yanked at Jensen's jeans, pulling them down lean hips, revealing the sharp jut of his hipbones and the swell of his ass.
Jensen was gasping, his breath fogging the graffiti in front of his face. "Christ, Leo—are you sure—?"
"I told you to shut up."
He didn't wait. He freed his cock—still slick from the girl, though he didn't think about that. He spat into his palm, smearing the wetness over the overheated skin of Jensen's entrance. Jensen jolted at the contact, a low sound escaping his throat.
"Mmm—wait, just—" Jensen's fingers found the wall, bracing himself. His voice was strained, but there was no real protest in it. "Go slow for me. A little."
Leonid couldn't slow down. "You can take it."
"You'll tear me apart if you—"
"I said you can take it," Leonid repeated, his voice rough, gravel-rough. His hand pressed against the small of Jensen's back, bending him further over.
Then he slammed home—in one savage thrust, stretching Jensen impossibly wide, the sound of their joining swallowed by the pulsing bass.
Jensen screamed, a ragged sound that cut off into a sob. His fingers raked down the wall, nails leaving tracks in the painted concrete. His body shuddered around Leonid, clenching and pulsing.
Leonid didn't stop. He set a brutal rhythm, hips slamming forward, his hands gripping Jensen's narrow waist with enough force to leave bruises. The music pounded around them, matching the beat of his thrusts. HIs own relief was stalled—he was so far from his edge. He needed more friction, more pressure.
"Tight," he grunted. "Fuck, you're so tight."
Jensen's head dropped forward, black bangs scattering sweat. He was breathing in harsh, hitching gasps, his body jerking with each impact. "God—yes—faster. Please.
The word sent a jolt through Leonid's spine. "Yeah? You like it when I take you apart?"
"Yes, yes, please—don't stop—please—"
Leonid felt something snap inside him. He drove deeper, harder, chasing his release with a savage urgency that bordered on violence. Jensen's cry pitched into a scream as Leonid's cock struck his prostate at precisely the right angle from behind, and his whole body seized up, splintering pleasure wracking through him. His hips bucked and pressed back, impaling himself deeper even as his legs trembled underneath him.
"Come for me," Leonid growled, the words torn from somewhere primal. "I want to feel you."
Jensen shook his head desperately. "Can't. Can't—not without you touching me—"
"What?"
Unable to see his face, Leonid slid his hand around Jensen's body, wrapping his fingers around Jensen's leaking length. The contact was electric. Jensen bucked into his grasp, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
"You'll come when I tell you to," Leonid said into his ear, teeth grazing the shell of it. He tightened his grip and started pumping, stroking Jensen as hard and fast as he was fucking him.
"Cry for me," Leonid snarled. "Nobody can hear you over this music. Let me hear you."
Jensen's legs gave out completely. Only Leonid's hand around his cock and iron grip on his hip kept him pinned. His orgasm crashed over him like a wave, violent and uncontrollable. He screamed Leonid's name, the sound ripped from the marrow of his bones, his release spilling over Leonid's fingers and painting the graffiti-ravaged wall.
Inside him, Jensen's channel convulsed, milking Leonid's cock. The sensation shattered him. Leonid buried his face in the curve of Jensen's neck and came with a ragged, guttural roar, his hips hammering through the aftershocks, emptying himself into Jensen's body.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The music still throbbed around them, distant and unreal. Leonid's forehead pressed against the back of Jensen's neck, his breath hot and uneven. He was trembling, his whole body wired and shaking.
Slowly, agonizingly, he pulled out. Jensen sagged against the wall, his forehead resting on his forearms. His body was shaking, his breathing ragged. His jeans were tangled around his thighs, his ass glistening where Leonid's come leaked down his skin.
Leonid took a step back. His hands were shaking. He looked at them like they belonged to someone else.
"Fuck," he murmured. He zipped his pants, avoiding Jensen's gaze.
Jensen straightened slowly, wincing. He turned to face Leonid, leaning against the wall. His lips were swollen. His eyes were hazy. His shirt was drenched with sweat. But there was something in his expression that made Leonid's stomach turn—a raw hunger that hadn't been sated, something that went beyond physical release.
"Leonid," Jensen said quietly. "Are you alright?"
"No," Leonid said. "No, I don't know what the hell that was."
"You needed release," Jensen said carefully. "I was there. It's fine."
"Is that what this is?" Leonid ran a hand through his hair, his jaw working. "Is that what we're doing?"
Jensen's face was unreadable. "What do you want it to be?"
Leonid stared at him. His mind was a storm of confusion and anger—at himself, at the situation, at Jensen for looking at him like that. Like he was something precious. Something worth having.
He should say no. He should walk away. He should chalk this up to a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment.
But the look in Jensen's eyes held him captive.
"I don't know," Leonid said finally. "I don't know what I want anymore."
He turned and walked away, shouldering through the crowd toward the exit. The night air hit his face, cold and sharp.
Behind him, left alone in the shadows with a sticky mess on his inner thighs and the taste of Leonid's kiss still sour in his mouth, Jensen raised the back of his hand and wiped his lips. He watched Leonid's silhouette disappear through the doors.
A smile curved his mouth, slow and satisfied.
"Not yet," he whispered to the empty shadow. "But you're closer than you think."