“Whiskey on the rocks.” He nodded to the barman, who winked back.
Hunter waited while the barman scooped out the ice and found the whiskey, talking away as he did so, simple questions and answers about work and busyness and the time of day. Hunter sipped his drink when it arrived, leaning back and looking at the ceiling, thoughtfully.
So, he thought to himself. Am I obsessed with this guy? As long as Hunter could remember, he had never felt like this about anyone. Maybe in first grade, he mused. He had had a crush on a boy in seventh grade—tall, dark-haired, athletic. James Pearson. He laughed to himself. A little under twenty years ago, and he could still remember his name. He shook his head. Not counting James Pearson, then, he thought smilingly, he could not remember anyone who had made him feel like this. He had always felt distant from people, somehow. Detached. Like he was not part of their world. Not in a scary, serial-killer kind of way, he mused, draining the whiskey, but simply like he could do his own thing, go his own way, and never really get attached to anyone.
“Another.” he said to the barman, a little unsteadily. He had drunk that one a little fast, perhaps, and on an empty stomach, too, he mused. Not such a good plan. But he felt calmed.
The second whiskey duly arrived, and Hunter sipped it slowly.
“Hey, Hunter!”
A man came up and punched his shoulder, gently. Hunter looked up into a firm-jawed, skew-nosed face with friendly eyes. He seemed to remember he had slept with this man a few times. He reached back for his name.
“Ryan?”
“Hi!” Ryan smiled, and came to sit down beside Hunter. “How's it going, big man?”
Hunter smiled and sipped his drink. He was pleased to see Ryan, but, really, tonight he was only interested in one person.
“Good, Ryan. Good.” He smiled. “Hey, Ric?” He called the barman.
“Yeah?”
“A whiskey on ice, please, and another for my friend.”
“Comin' up, my friend, comin' up.”
While they waited for the drinks, Hunter talked to Ryan, exchanging pleasantries and news. Ryan understood Hunter, and knew he didn't form attachments, but he stayed around because, well, neither did he, he had explained. He and Hunter suited each other. Both detached, both playing the room, as it were.
“Ry?”
“Yeah?”
“I'm looking for someone.” Hunter explained, slowly. He wasn't sure if he should tell Ryan, but, if anyone understood, he would.
“How does he look?” Ryan asked, knocking back the rest of the whiskey and turning to Hunter, interestedly.
“He's dark haired,” Hunter began, “with amazing dark eyes, and like, this piercing look.” He paused. That was all he knew about him, really. He did not even know how tall he was. It was too dark, even, to see the color of his eyes or his exact skin tone. He could be any ethnicity, as well. All Hunter knew was that he had a chiseled face and dark hair and an intense gaze.
“Dunno.” Ryan paused, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Don't think I saw him.” He smiled. “Remember someone like that, I would.”
“Yeah.” Hunter smiled. He hoped Ryan hadn't seen him yet, secretly.
“Although...” Ryan paused, and looked around the room. “I don't suppose it's him, is it?” He gestured back over his shoulder, towards the wall across from the bar. Hunter turned. Looked up. Into eyes the color of distilled darkness.
“Oh, my...” He breathed.
“Okay.” Ryan grinned. “See you, my friend.” He slid soundlessly off his stool, chuckling to himself.
Hunter hardly saw him go. He stared across the room, as if all the secrets of the world were found there.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, Hunter felt his feet reach down to touch the floor. He stood, and, still unknowing, walked across the floor.
“Hi.” He stopped in front of the man. Looked into those incredible eyes. Here, in the darkness across from the bar, they were pools of liquid midnight. The face around the eyes was finely-carved, the bones and planes all perfect. High cheekbones, a long, thin nose, a philosopher's forehead.
“Hi.” The man replied. Hunter shivered. His voice was low, pulsing, musical.
Hunter held out a hand, woodenly. “I'm Hunter.” A small part of him wondered if he had gone quite mad. He felt drawn to this, as if the words were being dragged out of him; something like, he imagined, it would feel if he had been placed under hypnosis.
“Hi.” The man repeated, and shook Hunter's hand. The sudden contact was hypnotic, too; the hand was warm and soft, the grip firm. “I'm Orion.”
“Hi.” Hunter replied, and gripped his hand. They stared at each other, Hunter's pale golden-brown eyes locked with the impossibly-dark ones.
Suddenly, the music was turned up and the club lights came on. The sudden flash of brightness from the overhead lamps shone into the dark-haired man's eyes, and showed what color they were. In that light, with the sudden glow of color, they looked almost violet.
Hunter shook his head, hoping to clear it. As he did so, he looked up and noticed that the man had slipped out of his seat. He looked around the room, panicked. As he did so, he saw him. He was standing in the corner, at the door, his hand raised in what could have been a beckoning. His eyes, dark and shining, compelled. Hunter, shaking his head again, walked over to the door just as the man walked through it, out into the night. Wherever he went, he would follow, he knew that now. It was something he could not help.
The street was dark. Hunter walked uncertainly out into the darkness. He felt something crunch under his foot, and looked down at the debris of bottles and papers lying in the street, illuminated with the lamp from overhead.
Outside the circle of light from the bar, all was darkness. Where could that man have gone? Hunter closed his eyes, swaying slightly.
He felt drawn to the darkest part of the street, where it branched off into an alley that led between two tall buildings. Why, he was not sure, as it was not the most welcoming place he had ever seen—pitch dark, with the two high-rises blocking out most of the light.
Hunter walked down the alley, feeling drawn into it. He peered ahead. Just ahead of him, he saw a shape. It was the man. He stood quite still, looking over at Hunter, as if to ask what took him so long. Some part of Hunter felt like they had always waited like this.
Hunter walked over, hearing his own footsteps crunching on the rough surface of the street below him.
He reached the man, and stood, facing him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Orion reached out, and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. The touch was not threatening or demanding—it was gentle, easy. As much a touch of friendship as anything else. It felt right to Hunter, as if he had felt it all his life.
“I’ve never seen you in there before. Only once, yesterday.” Hunter said, with feeling.
“I came in for the first time yesterday.” Orion agreed.
“I thought so. I would have noticed you before.” Hunter said in a deep voice, looking down. He felt truly moved by this man, as if their talking was a deep communion, like he had never experienced before. That made him feel shy, which was another new experience for him. He did not quite know how to deal with that, never having had to practice. He hoped the man would not think him too forward, and he coughed, embarrassedly.
Far from being offended, the man was looking at him, a gentle smile on his face. “Thank you.” He said modestly, an amused smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. In the darkness, the color of those eyes was indiscernible again, as was all the color about him. He was wearing black, Hunter noticed, and his hair was dark—probably black too.
The warmth of his body beside Hunter felt comforting and strangely familiar, as if they had walked thus all their lives. Hunter could feel that he was leanly-muscled, and tall; his body warm and hard beside Hunter in the darkness.
“So,” Hunter began, clearing his throat, “you new in town?” He desperately wanted the stranger to keep talking, not to go b
ack into the bar, into the darkness, walking away.
“I guess.” Orion said, cryptic. His hand touched Hunter's, where they walked side by side. Hunter took it. The clasp of their hands was warm, electric. Orion's hand was narrow, firm, muscled. It felt wonderful and cool and vital, and at once strange and entirely familiar, as if Hunter had held his hand all his life.
They walked past the bar, and carried on down the street. They were walking towards the main part of town, where Hunter would turn off to go to his apartment. Right now, they could go either way. Hunter swallowed, hard. He was hoping, beyond anything he had ever hoped before, that they would take the turning on the left, and go to his apartment.
“I work down there.” Hunter offered, as they passed the street where he would turn off for work. The cars were still loud, and the lights bright. This street was quite busy, occupied even after ten o' clock at night. Somehow, Hunter didn't notice.
“That's good.” Orion smiled, approvingly. “Do you like working with numbers?”
“I like it.” Hunter admitted, honestly, barely registering that Orion had information about him that he shouldn’t have known. He shook his head at himself, inwardly. His usual social persona hated work, was a rebellious bad boy, anti-establishment and perpetually suffering from ennui. Who was this person, and why did he have this crazy effect on him? How could he make Hunter tell the truth? Hunter never shared the truth with strangers, keeping a rein on his true self. Never got close. He shook his head at himself, wondering.
“I'm glad that you like it.” Orion smiled.
They walked on down the street, talking about Hunter's work as an investment consultant and his new job as an executive in the consulting firm, about life in the city, about the autumnal weather. Hunter swallowed. He felt so aroused by this man, and yet he also felt accustomed to his arousal, as if they had slept together for years and knew already each other's desires and the pleasures they could share. It was an amazing feeling; one Hunter had never known before.
“Not much traffic.” Hunter observed, as they reached the main road. He was surprised. It must be later than he thought. He checked his watch. “Ten-thirty?” He blinked. Had he really been talking to this man for two hours?
“Is it?” Orion frowned. “I should go.”
“No.” Hunter surprised himself by the forcefulness in his voice. “Wait.” He modified. “Please.” He reached into his coat pocket, looking for his phone. He must have it somewhere! Why did phones always lurk in the deepest recesses when you needed them the most? “Can I have your number?” Hunter asked, surprised by the intense quality of his own voice. He had never, he thought amazedly, wanted anything quite this much. He could not simply allow this man to walk away from him.
He paused, hand still half inside his pocket.
There was silence. Nothing, that is, except for the hissing and growling of traffic, the distant music of a club, the shouts of commuters passing each other on the sidewalk or running for the bus.
Hunter looked up. Orion was gone.
What? He shook his head. That was not possible. He had not seen him move, had not heard him go. There was no indication he had gone, but he had. Hunter held out his phone, retrieved from his pocket. He looked down at it, a little desperate. Where had Orion gone?
“Orion?” He asked, his voice wavering despite himself. He felt frightened.
No reply. Nothing except the cold emptiness of evening and the hissing, bustling, busy street with the traffic and shouting and the smell of diesel rich in the air.
Hunter blinked again, and turned. His apartment was only a block away. He walked along the road the way he had come and turned right, not even noticing what he did. His feet moved themselves, his mind too numb to guide them.
At home, Hunter took the lift, blindly, and went through to his apartment. He unlocked the door. Walked across to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed, still clothed. His heart felt heavy. His whole body felt exhausted, as if it had been beaten all over with sticks. His mind felt too confused to contemplate.
Dizzy, exhausted and feeling completely hollow, he felt as if his heart had been torn out of him and left him living—still alive, but empty. Hunter fell into a deep, exhausted and dreamless sleep.
Chapter 4
The next day, Friday evening settled palely over the city outside. The lights lit, slowly: the car lamps white and the building lights yellow-gold, the street-lamps orange. Hunter, who watched listlessly from the tenth-floor window of his apartment, saw nothing of the subtle beauty of the evening.
“I can't think.” He raged at himself, quietly. It was only six-thirty p.m., and he had left work over an hour ago already, unable to concentrate at all. Mrs. Wyatt had looked up, surprised, when he had walked briskly past her desk, wishing her a good weekend through tight, hard-pressed lips. All that day he had not felt himself, the restlessness and chained rage moving like a wild beast inside him. It was frustrated sexuality, he told himself, dismissively. Nothing a good night out wouldn't cure. But he did not want to go out. It was Friday, and Hunter did not want to go out. What was happening here?
Hunter leaned back in his desk-chair, the black leather soft under his head. He turned to look into the apartment, away from the huge windows, thinking.
This was more than frustration, he had to admit to himself. He could not stop thinking about the man in the street the night before. Orion. His every gesture was something Hunter could think about for hours, his every expression a delight to him.
“I must be going mad.” Hunter concluded.
“Okay, Hunter.” He said to himself as he stood and walked through to the kitchen. “Let's think about this.”
He drew in a breath and stood in the middle of his apartment, arms at his sides.
“So.” He began. “I see this guy in the club. We stare at each other. Fine.” Perfectly sane and normal. “Okay.” He breathed out. “I get a little...obsessed...about him. Also fine.” Because it was. Unusual, perhaps, but not inexplicable. He was thirty years old, he mused. Maybe he just wanted to settle down.
He shook his head at the thought. He would never, ever settle down. He knew that. He knew himself too well; or at least he thought he did. Until yesterday evening. He wrenched his mind angrily back to the topic at hand.
“Now comes the funny stuff.” He swallowed. “We meet again, in the same bar, the next night. That's fine, that's happened before.” It had certainly happened before. “I randomly introduce myself to him.” That was disturbing. “He leaves and I follow him. I know which way he went in the street. It's like we hear each other, in our heads. I feel like I know him. He knows stuff about me.” Hunter breathes out, tense. “And then,” he says, his voice high with tension, “he disappears.” He shakes his head. “Like, in a puff of smoke. Only, like, there was no smoke. Or anything. None.”
He walked through to the kitchen and sat down.
On the table was the remains of supper from the night before—half a salad, some smoked salmon. He picked at it, grimacing. His stomach ached and he had no desire at all to eat anything.
“Come on, Hunter,” he mused. “Go and have a shower. Work out, or something. It'll make you feel better.”
He walked through to the bedroom and broke out some weights and his stationary bike. A dozen miles or so on the bike and a few lifts later, he felt at least a little more calmed. He walked through to the shower, aware, not for the first time, now that he thought about it, of a tugging ache somewhere in his belly. What was wrong with him? He felt so tired.
After a short, hot shower, Hunter walked through to his darkened bedroom. He did not even check the time, he simply fell forward onto the bed and fell asleep at once.
Light. Bright, searing white light; shining around him and making him warm and relaxed. Hunter stirred.
He half-sat, surprised. From behind him, an arm stretched round, firm but not powerful, holding him gently.
He turned. Orion was behind him. It seemed almost impossible, but he was. Hi
s eyes looked deep into Hunter's own. They were violet, deep and intense, and full of feeling.
“Hello.”
“Hello.” Hunter agreed, almost too shocked for words, but the rich warmth of Orion's lilting, gentle voice broke through to him even in his state.
How had he got here? Where, for that matter, was “here”? And why was he in bed, with the very man he wanted? He blushed, despite himself. Stupid question. Why even question something that undeniably wonderful?
He moved back, and felt Orion's body pressed firmly against him. He pressed back again, and felt the pressure increase. He could feel Orion's hardness against him and smiled, knowing he wanted him too.
Orion's arms tightened around him, and he relaxed into the grip, moving back so that their bodies were tucked together. He felt so right here; more right and comfortable than he had ever felt in his life.
“Hello.” He replied again, and leaned back, kissing Orion. The man's lips were warm and their touch was delicate, moving over his with a delicious tender motion.
The kiss was long, and fine, and at the end of it Hunter was shaking, every nerve of his body alight with desire.
He moved back again, and Orion's hands were drifting down his chest, kneading his muscles, sliding gently down his sides. Hunter smiled and reached backward, caressing the man who lay behind him.
The touch of the fine, delicate hand that was stroking his chest and hips set a fire in Hunter that he had never felt before. He noticed that his breath was strained, each intake a searing effort into burning lungs.
Behind him, Orion leaned in and gently kissed the back of his neck. Hunter felt his body melt under his caring, gentle touch. He reached back to stroke the smooth, muscled skin of the man's chest, and heard the man exhale. The sound pleased him. He pushed back and the pressure was returned, harder, probing, insistent.
He felt arms reach around his chest and hold him close, and a hand, stroking repeatedly down his sides.
The man murmured sweet phrases in his ear, none of which made any sense to Hunter, and the quality of the pressure against his back became more urgent. Gently, so gently, he was turned, and slowly the man entered him from behind.
Celestial Seductions: The Complete Series: An MM Gay Paranormal Mpreg Romance Collection Page 7
