DISCLAIMER ========== This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2003 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males: - if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.
And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002
Courage was a funny thing. Faced with a total stranger that claimed I'd slept with him, I'd kept my wits about me without running screaming into the night. Sure I screamed once but that didn't count. But faced with the prospect of meeting Mark Darcy again, I did feel like making a quick escape. The thought of seeing those brilliantly blue eyes, staring at me with that faintly amused expression, had my heart thudding in double-beat and my knees turning to jelly. Not a very good sign. It also made me want to run and hide in the closet.
The clock read ten minutes to 4 and I was tempted to leave, to run away like a scared rabbit. After my first foray into gay sex, a largely forgettable grope in the night that lasted slightly longer than a Top 20 hit, I'd buried my head in the sand - or in my work, whichever way you looked at it. A man like Mark Darcy, a man as potent and virile as him, actually terrified me. My memories of the night we'd spent together was still patchy but occasionally, bits and pieces of last night came to my memory. Lurid, erotic images that I associated with X-rated gay porn and my ears burned with embarassment even as my cock twitched in anticipation.
As I pulled on my tailored jacket, I was still wavering in my decision. In my left pocket was the map of London I'd picked up a week earlier. There had been plans to search the winding streets of Charing Cross for the perfect paperback. In the other was Mark's calling card. It was a hard decision to make for me. I had a date with a man whom I hardly know. A man with a devilish blue eyes, a fuck-me smile and a sleek, muscular body straight out of Men's Fitness.
The telephone on the desk rang and I picked it up automatically, thinking that it was the airlines calling to confirm my flight date. I was wrong.
"Chen?" His voice was as sexy as I remembered. Low, mellow and just a tad husky, it was a voice I associated with late-night DJs crooning seductively over the airwaves.
The subtle thrill that ran down my spine at the sound of his voice was a feeling I tried to suppress. "Uhh.. yes?"
"I'll be there in five minutes. Don't even think of standing me up. I'll hunt you down if you do."
"What?" It was a decided command and I never dealt well with commands. Before I could summon up a dignified response, I heard a low rumble of laughter and the fateful sound of a disconnect. You gotta hand it to the man whoever he was. It boggled my mind how he'd read me so easily and anticipated my response even before I'd thought about it. Was he spying on me? A sexy mind-reader?
"Who the hell are you?" Bowing to intimidation, I came down from my rooms at the exact time and found myself faced with someone else.
My mysterious stranger smiled, a quick, blinding flash of charm. Whoever he was, he was obviously a virtual chameleon. The dangerous edge I'd associated with him earlier had been downshifted, glossed over by a slick sheen of polish and sophistication. Mr Studly Blue-Collar had somehow transformed himself into Mr Dapper GQ as the scruffy, torn jeans and the unkempt leather jacket gave way to a sleek, tailored Italian suit that looked like three months of my salary and a pair of shiny Bruno Maglis. The dirty stubble on his square jaw was gone along with the unruly black curls that had flopped carelessly over his forehead.
As my gaze continued southward, I noticed that one significantly large thing hadn't changed though. Throughout my intimate perusal, Mark remained unmoved, the charming smile only growing wider in amusement. "Like what you see, doctor?"
"Who are you?" It was a valid question. Although my recollections were a bit blurred, I distinctly remembered being behind a motorcycle and a hot, tight physique. I certainly didn't remember a gleaming, silver-gray Rolls Royce and a uniformed driver at the door.
Stepping away from the car at the curb, he came forward with his hand held out. "You know who I am, Dr Chen. I could give you my .."
"No card! You're a Marquis?"
As usual, I sounded like a melodramatic queen while he came off sounding like the logical nobleman. Taking my hand in his, he pulled me closer. "I believe that Madame La Guillotine doesn't operate anymore. It's not a crime, you know." he replied almost apologetically.
"You're a fucking Marquis?" My voice rose a little as I tugged my hand loose from his. The slight sizzle of electricity could only be part of my imagination. Or an after effect of the horrible concoction poured into my throat this morning as an antidote to the alcohol hangover.
Releasing me, he crossed his arms and tilted his head to look at me calmly. "And here I thought you hardly swore."
"That's not the point," I protested, taking a step away from him. There was that subtle scent I associated with him again, the hot musk and the spicy cologne that clung to him. "What are you doing trolling around bars.. you should be.. you should.."
Taken aback, Mark raised his dark eyebrows in obvious confusion. "A Marquis can't go around trolling in bars? Would that be a serious breach of etiquette? I believe I missed that part on Debrett's." He paused for a moment to consider the point. "Outrageous."
His voice was studiously prim, his handsome features suitably grave but I detected a glint of unholy amusement in his dancing blue eyes. "You find this terribly funny, don't you?"
"Exquisitely." His firm, sensuous lips twitched as he struggled to keep from laughing.
His brand of humour was infectious and I couldn't help smiling in return. "I'm not usually like this! I'm calm, predictable, boring.. I don't do any of this."
"You told me before. And yes, I believe you." he replied soothingly.
I turned to him with a scathing glance only to see him laughing at me again. "Who the hell are you?"
Mark let out a sigh and shook his dark head. It amazed me that he'd managed to tame the wild crop of black curls into something slicked back, gleaming and proper. "I believe I already introduced myself to you. I'm Mark. And you?"
Seeing that he was taking it lightly, I reached out and gave him a poke in the chest. Through the sheer silk, his steel-hard pectorals twitched in response and I imagined myself licking my way down the smooth, naked expanse, sucking softly on his hard, pouty nipples. The lurid images remained so clear in my mind that I wondered whether it really had happened. "That's not what I meant and you know it! And how dare you pass yourself off as plain Mark when you have a trail of names after that, Marquis of Whatever, Baron of Whatever." Digging into my pockets, I drew out his calling card and waved it in his face.
"Marquis of Whatever?" Treating the card to a general inspection, he started grinning. "It's what you'd term an accident of birth, nothing more."
"This isn't funny, you deliberately misled me. It's... misrepresentation."
"Yes, quite right and I believe I deserve to be brought to court for this. A right horrid prick, that's what I am. I'd sue myself, come to think of it," he stated righteously, bringing his fist down into the palm of his other hand to emphasize. Then turning to me with a frankly amused smile, he waved me into the car. "I believe I have some friends who would love to prosecute. Come into the car."
Eyeing him with some disfavour, I shook my head. "You're thinking that this is all a bloody joke and I'm some mentally unbalanced idiot.. but I'm not, I assure you. It's the damned weather, the bloody hangover and the horrible concoction the bartender forcefed me half an hour ago to wake me up. Tasted like .. dishwasher liquid!" Realizing that I was throwing a hissy fit and making a scene in the middle of the kerb, I fell into silence.
"Let's talk in the car." As the uniformed driver obediently swung open the door, Mark eased himself into the dark, comfortable confines of the car and crooked his finger to draw me in. "You poor misused fellow.. come in."
The interiors of the car looked almost cavernous from the outside and the creamy leather seats as plush as any I'd seen before yet my gaze drew towards the man seated inside. "Where are we going?"
"Tea and scones?" Mark threw down the suggestion he'd made earlier. As I remained silent, he raised a meaningful eyebrow, the wolfish gleam back in his blue eyes. "Or would you prefer something meatier?"
Holding on to the doors, I stared at him. I recalled sweaty limbs tangled in the white sheets, moans of pleasure coming from deep within his throat - or was it mine?
"Obviously not. Just a thought." Dismissing the notion, he shrugged. "Come, Dr Chen, after the filthy things you did to me last night, you couldn't possibly be afraid of me, could you? You once had me securely tied up to the bed, you know."
Thick, muscular arms struggling against the strength of my silk ties. Deep-set, light blue eyes flashing with barely repressed desire. My heartbeat drummed a little faster as I shut my eyes against the images running through my head. "I hope you're joking."
"Come in and find out." With something approaching a smirk, Mark turned to me, gently patting the seat beside him making it seem like a sleazy boudoir.
I eyed him coolly and then taking up the challenge, stepped inside. Months ago, I would have started running but something told me this Marquis of whatever would carry out his threat and hunt me down. This reserved, gentlemanly sophisticate I could handle but something told me that the brash, tough-talking thug wasn't too far away.
"You're still laughing at me, aren't you?"
His warm hand reached out to clasp my knee and he took the opportunity to lean closer. The edges of his eyes crinkled with humour as he smiled again. "Would you hate me if I were to say yes?"
Burying my face in my hands, I laughed. "My God, I'm going crazy and you're not helping. I'm not usually like this."
"Really? I find it utterly refreshing. A little daft but refreshing."
"So's a watermelon."
He threw back his dark head and laughed.
Such a contrast to the man I saw earlier. The image of him striding confidently into the bar in his thick-soled, mud-caked boots remained in my mind, weathered and rangy, leather-jacket worn and used, his figure-hugging white-tee muddied with soil and dirt.Those hot blue eyes scanning the residents in the bar, then looking away disinterested. That face, those eyes and the athletic build drew the eyes of everyone in the bar yet none dared approach him. And yet I'd walked up to him and stuck my tongue down his throat. "Look are you really a Marquis?"
"That again?" That made him chuckle, a little quieter this time. "You seem really obsessed with that fact. Could you by any chance be a moneygrubbing cit? I could show you my ceremonial robes and.. "
I gave him a cool look and he laughed.
"This is the first I've had to prove myself." Mark blew out a sigh and shook his head. "Really. I am. Passed down to me when my father passed away 4 years ago."
It was said without his usual laugh and I believed him. To a point. "And that's all you do?"
Leaning back against the seats, Mark eyed me thoughtfully. "Is this the start of an interrogation then? Should I get out some ropes and whips?" he said hopefully.
"Funny." I gave him a swat, encountered the bulge of a hard bicep and withdrew. "You already know too much about me as it is. I'm hoping to balance things out."
He shrugged easily. "Fair enough. Obviously you've forgotten most of what we spoke about. Ask away."
"You don't work?"
"Oh, baby, I work it very well." When he received my bland look, he laughed. "I'm a solicitor.. a lawyer. It is .. a tradition of sorts in my family and I joined my family firm about five years ago."
"Really?"
"You want a card?"
"No."
His lips twisted into a teasing grin. "My word as a gentleman then."
I snorted.
"Ouch." Bending his handsome head, Mark pretended to look hurt. "Don't you trust me?"
"I don't know you well enough to trust you," I said plainly. One amazing - and unforgettable according to him - night of sex didn't a relationship make. Last night Mark claimed that he'd spoken to me and yet I recalled nothing of the words we shared. Bits and pieces of what he said confirmed the fact that my lips had been looser than I'd intended. "To me you're just a blue-blooded lawyer who goes around trolling for sex in bars."
"With a great arse!" he added empathically, raising his hand for emphasis.
I smiled. "I can't deny that." Hard to deny the fact when I had the impression of hard, ripe golden peaches imprinted in my skull, the perfect shape for my hands with deep dimpled indents for my fingers.
Sensing the train of my thoughts, Mark watched me carefully, a confident smile teasing at his lips. "You're thinking about my arse now, aren't you."
"Yes." No reason to deny what I was feeling when the evidence was obvious in the crotch of my pants.
"At least we have that." His strong arm reached around to draw me close and I thought of struggling but dismissed the notion. It would be useless to do so when his biceps came close to the size of my thigh. "Let's get to know each other then."
"No talk of sex. It muddles my mind."
He grinned wolfishly. "Then you certainly wouldn't want to know that I've been thinking of reaching over and biting your neck?"
The very same thought had been on my mind and my pulse raced readily in response. There was no need of recollection when I could imagine very well what it would feel like to press my lips hard against the pulse beating at his neck, breathe in the warm, musky scent of his sweat, run my hands down his buttoned front to feel the firm muscles and sinew beneath. The backseat was plenty spacious enough, a superbly gorgeous man was readily available and yet I distanced myself. "No."
"Damn." A look of disappointment came over his dark, handsome features. "Guess the sex-crazed monster only comes out after vodka."
Recalling the events of last night had me cringing. "Yes."
His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Care for a drink then?"