Page 2 of Now Comes the Dark

The bar area and small dancefloor were busy but nowhere near as packed as Sash had been. He found it easy to move through the crowd and make an order. Unlike other places, the bar was not where the real action took place. Porn scenes played on large monitors around the room, but Roman had little interest in watching them. He’d come for more active involvement.

As he waited for his beer, he cast his eyes around the dimly lit interior, searching for a potential fuck-buddy. Several sets of interested eyes stared back at him. A couple of guys in the corner had potential. They leaned against a beer barrel and looked him up and down.Not bad. They were in their early thirties, gym-built but not too big. He couldn’t decide if they were together. Couples could be fun when everyone involved had the right attitude and knew what they were getting into, but in his experience, it was rarely worth the effort. It could also get extremely messy, especially if he was into one half of the partnership more than the other.

Physically, this pair were well matched, but it was too early for him to make a decision.

He wouldn’t settle until he found out who else was available.

Of the dozen or so men gathered in the bar, there was no one who piqued his interest.

Roman finished his beer and began his search.

On the far side of the room, a door led outside to a small yard—the smoking area. He walked straight by and took the narrow, stone staircase up to the first floor. This level occupied a larger section of vaults than the room below and was a network of low ceilings and archways. He’d heard in the past, centuries ago, that the vaults beneath the bridge had stored grain and silk. It had been a refuge for the homeless and destitute and at one time had served as the cells of the first Blyham prison.

Now it was an illicit labyrinth of sex.

In the largest room, illuminated by red lights and more screens showing a variety of different porn films, was the main play area. A middle-aged man lay in a sling, his legs hoisted high and wide. He was naked except for boots, a black jockstrap and a blindfold. A skinny guy with his jeans around his ankles fucked him while a group stood around to watch or wait their turn.

In the opposite corner, a young man lay in a copper bathtub while two guys pissed all over him. An older man was bent over the spanking bench, groaning in pleasure each time his ample arse was struck from behind.

This level of kink was not for Roman…not tonight. He wanted straightforward man-on-man action. He wanted to get fucked and not for the amusement of all these hungry eyes.

He wandered deeper into the complex. Guys loitered in the archways, squeezing their crotches, enticing him into the smaller chambers behind with their curtains and vinyl-covered beds. No one spoke. The only exchanges were physical—a look, a touch, a suggestive gesture.

In the dim light, he recognised a guy he’d hooked up with a few weeks back—handsome, dark hair.John or Jack orsomething like that. Not that names mattered much. Roman took it as a given that most of the men he had sex with pretended to be someone they were not. It worked both ways, and he rarely revealed much about himself, either. No one came to The Viaduct for friendship or a companion. What he remembered most about John or Jack was that he’d claimed to be a top with a nine-inch cock who would fuck Roman like he’d never been fucked in his life. The size of his cock was no exaggeration, but when they had got back to Roman’s room, he had flopped onto his back, pulled his knees into his chest and begged Roman to destroy his hole. Roman had obliged to save the hook-up from being a total waste of time, but he would not be fooled twice. He knew what he wanted tonight, and a well-hung bottom was not on his wish list.

With a nod of acknowledgement, he moved on.

None of the men he found in the tunnels were right—too young, too old, too butch, too many tattoos, too many piercings. Some were too bald, and others wore their hair too long. On any other night he would have slipped into one of the private vaults without a thought, guided only by his dick. But tonight, it was no good. He wasn’t just looking for sex. He could get that any time. He wanted a man to excite him, someone irresistible, a man he would beg for.

None of these fit the bill.

The upper level of The Viaduct was identical to this floor with one exception. It was pitch black. There was no point in him going up there. He needed to be able to see the man he wanted.

Undeterred, he returned to the bar. The night was early. The Viaduct wouldn’t close until four. He could wait.

The lower floor was fuller than before, and at least down here, guys were prepared to talk to one another. The couple who had spied him earlier, gave him the eye all over again. They put their heads together and whispered as they watched him, staringwith intent. Roman ignored them. He went back to the bar and ordered another beer before securing a spot in the corner from where he could see the comings and goings of the front door, the smoking yard and the staircase.

He didn’t know why he was so restless tonight. He usually came here with a single purpose—to get in, hook up, unload and get out. There were dozens of attractive, fuckable guys around, and he could have had a good time with any of them. But none of them werethe one. It was like a shopping trip, when he didn’t really know what he wanted but would know it when he saw it.

Five minutes later, he did.

The man who stepped through the curtain at the entrance was not the most perfect, but the sight of him sent a bolt of raw energy all through Roman. It coiled like a snake around his stomach and groin.God damn.

That’s him. He’s the one.

The guy was in his mid-to-late thirties. His square jaw and cleft chin were coated in dark stubble. His thick, dark hair was dishevelled. This was not the kind of bloke who spent hours in front of the mirror making sure every hair was in place before going out. His torso was bare. A white shirt hung from the waistband of his jeans, dangling from the right hip. He had a naturally strong build with muscular shoulders and a good chest, his stomach was flat, but there was no six-pack. He didn’t need to spend hours in the gym to pump and grind his confidence. It exuded from him in waves.

Roman guzzled his beer, unable to take his eyes off the stranger.

He’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen…ever.

He watched as the man cast his eyes in a lazy sweep around the bar, beginning at the other side.

Roman straightened, tightened his abs and stuck out his chest. He raised his chin and turned his head, waiting for the man’s gaze to come in his direction.

In the last two years, Roman was used to having men fall at his feet, and he’d pick anyone he desired. It had become too easy. As he waited for the stranger to look his way, he was no longer a hot, self-assured twenty-six-year-old, but the skinny dweeb of five years earlier, the one who had struggled to find his place. His confidence deserted him.

At last, the man looked at him, and his eyes lingered. There was an intense, humourless quality to his face. Sexy as fuck, but kind of scary, too. Outside of The Viaduct, Roman would have been wary, unsure whether this guy was going to fuck him to death or punch him unconscious.

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