Chapter Two
“Get home safely.”
When Roman reached the bottom of the stairs, the man had already disappeared around the upper bend. He raced up the steps to the first floor. The playroom was much busier than before. Where had all these men come from? His eyes searched for the stranger, but he was impossible to find among the mass of near-naked torsos. Guys huddled together, kissing, groping, playing with each other’s dicks. There were men on their knees sucking or being jizzed on.
The stranger couldn’t have succumbed to the action already. He had only been out of sight for ten, maybe fifteen seconds.
Roman pushed forward, turning his head in every direction. His insides tightened as his urgency increased.
“Hey, sexy,” a man whispered in his ear. He slid a rough hand around Roman’s waist and spun him around so they faced each other. Now both hands were on Roman’s arse, pulling their hips together. The man ground his hard bulge against Roman’s groin.
It was no good. This guy was in his late forties, a skin-headed man-mountain of steroid-boosted muscle. Even if Roman hadn’t already set his sights on one particular man, he wouldn’t have been interested in this fella.
“Sorry,” he said, putting a hand on the man’s enormous chest to push him away. It was like being trapped in King Kong’s grip.
“Don’t be like that, boy,” the man said, coming in for a kiss. His breath was dire—garlic, alcohol and bacterial infection. “I’ve got something that will rearrange your insides.”
“No,” he yelled forcefully, causing those nearest them to turn and look. The man let go and raised his hands, grinning, like it was all a cheeky game.
“Calm down.” His tone was condescending. “I’m just fucking with you. Shit, you pretty boys are all the same.”
Roman could have said something similar about roid-heads but held his tongue. The prick wasn’t worth the effort, and every second wasted could cost him the prize.
He pressed onwards, covering the room as fast as possible. The same man as before was in the sling, getting it from a guy Roman had previously hooked up with. A bigger queue had now formed to take a turn on the open arse, and a large crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. The man in the sling seemed to love every second, begging to be fucked harder. That arse must be very loose by now .
He scanned the faces of the crowd around the sling. His stranger wasn’t among them.
He didn’t find him at the spanking bench or the piss trough. Roman cast a final glance around the room, making certain he was not there, before pressing into the deeper vaults. He hoped he hadn’t gone upstairs to the dark zone. If he had, there was no hope of finding him.
He wondered why he was so intent on catching this guy, when he’d seen him for less than a minute, and they’d only exchanged eye contact for a few seconds? Because seconds is all it takes . There had been an instant spark…chemistry. They would be dynamite together. The man would be a great fuck. He knew that instinctively. Roman wasn’t interested a quick suck or a lacklustre fumble in the dark. He wanted to fuck, to make a real connection for however short a time. This man was it. He’d seen it his eyes and in that arrogant smirk. The two of them were destined to get together. It was fate.
And the chase was exhilarating. Roman was so used to men coming after him that it was an unexpected thrill to reverse their roles.
I’ll find you, Mister. And when I do, we’ll both be grateful for it.
The tunnels were busier now, with men lining the walls on either side, leaning, watching, presenting themselves. Roman checked their faces keenly. There were some he recognised and many he didn’t. Some men mistook the cause of his interest and stepped towards him, ready to accept the unspoken invitation. He shook his head and continued.
Some of the arches had their curtains closed. Did he dare pull them aside to see who was behind? It was an established rule of the club that such behaviour was a no-no. The curtains were closed for a reason, privacy. He had to accept that, however just his action might be.
No , he warned himself. Be respectful .
Roman’s pulse quickened with every step. He had almost reached the end. Only a few more arches then the stairs up to the dark zone. He was running out of options.
A bunch had gathered outside the last vault in the tunnel. He knew what that meant. Whoever was inside hadn’t closed the curtain and was putting on a show. He studied the faces of the voyeurs and recognised a couple, but not the one he wanted. Roman inched closer, stretching to get a look inside.
The room had the same dimensions as the rest, small with the stone, arched ceiling and floor, a vinyl-covered bench at the back. The man—Roman’s man—sat on the bench. His head rested against the wall. His jeans were around his ankles, his thighs and knees spread wide. He was sexier than Roman had first appreciated. His eyes were half closed, and his mouth was open in a down-turned kind of smile that created sharp, little dimples in his cheeks.
But there was somebody with him.
Roman’s soul deflated. He was too late.
Motherfucker .
Someone knelt on the floor in front of him, dressed in nothing but a white jockstrap and sneakers. His dark head was buried in the stranger’s crotch, moving back and forth in a dipping motion. His face was obscured, but Roman knew exactly who had stolen his prize. His creamy, round arse was unmistakable with his tattoos, FUCK on the left cheek and ME on the right. Cameron Taylor.
The little slut .
He might have known that, of all the guys here, Cameron would have homed in on the man he wanted.
The stranger put one hand on the back of Cameron’s head, guiding the pace and motion, looking down at him with half-closed eyes. Roman rose onto his toes, hoping for a better angle, wanting to see the man’s cock, but Cameron’s head blocked the view. Cameron was in his element, not just performing a blow job for the recipient but putting on a show for the spectators. He arched his back and raised his arse, widening his knees enough to open his buttocks and expose his hole.
Jealousy sickened Roman to the pit of his stomach.
He had never hooked up with Cameron. Despite being a similar age and Cameron’s incredible good looks, Roman had never found him attractive. They were too alike in many ways—the hottest, freshest boys on the scene, the ones everyone else desired.
Roman couldn’t watch anymore. He couldn’t bear to see his closest rival enjoy the thing he craved the most.
Cameron might as well have poured a bucket of iced water on Roman’s dick.
He pushed his way back down the tunnel. It was time to leave.
* * * *
Roman sat in the beer garden of a pub called Julie’s and nursed a double vodka and Coke. He was alone. He had no enthusiasm to return to Sash and catch up with his friends, but it was his first weekend off in months, and he wasn’t ready to go home, either. Julie’s was friendly and unpretentious. They played chart music and camp classics, and the bar appealed to lesbians and indie kids—a world away from the preening posers in Sash.
He checked the dating apps on his phone with little gusto. He had wanted to make a true connection with a real person tonight, not swipe on some rando he could meet any day of the week. With a sigh, he shoved the phone in his pocket.
It was quarter to two. The pub was winding down to closing. There were about fifteen other people scattered around the beer garden in groups, laughing and having fun. Music poured through the open door from the main bar, where a drag DJ was taking her final requests of the night. Roman wondered whether to get a last drink here before final orders, or to move on to The New Inn, which stayed open until three at the weekend.
“What’s the matter with your face?” the manager, Phil, asked as he came around collecting empty glasses.
His voice broke the self-pitying spell Roman had fallen under, and he raised a smile. “Ah, you know what’s it like. It’s been a long night.”
“We don’t usually see you in here on Fridays.” Phil put his glasses down on Roman’s table and sat beside him.
“Weekend off.”
“I wish I knew what one of those was. All right for some, eh?” Phil was almost forty with a neat beard that was running to salt and pepper and a slender build. He was very good-looking and lots of Roman’s friends fancied him, but Roman saw him more as a caring uncle than a fuck-buddy. He would hate to ruin their friendship with an impulsive hook-up. “So why exactly is your face like a smacked arse?”
Roman laughed. Like all great bartenders, Phil had the knack of reading people like books. “I’ve just come from The Viaduct.”
Phil grimaced. “Now it makes sense. I’d be miserable too if I’d been in that shithole.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not good. Why does a boy like you want to waste his time in a dump like that? You know you can take your pick from the best guys in the village.”
“Because I’m not always a nice boy,” Roman said. “Not all the time, anyway.” Tonight, I wanted to make a real pig of myself. It just wasn’t meant to be.
“You can still do better than going there,” Phil warned, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “So, what else have you got planned for your exciting weekend of freedom?”
“Not a lot. A long lie-in tomorrow. Catch up on TV and probably come out again tomorrow night.”
“You’re on your own now? You’re not planning to walk home by yourself, are you?”
Roman shrugged. “Probably, yeah…if it stays dry.”
“Don’t. Get a taxi. Didn’t you hear? Another lad had the shit kicked out of him last weekend. The fuckers broke his nose and knocked out a couple of teeth.”
“Shit. No, I hadn’t heard. Did you know him?”
“He comes in here sometimes, though I doubt he will again. If it were me, I’d stay far away from here. You know that’s the fourth attack in the village in the last three months alone. And it’s only four months since Charles Lear was murdered. I swear this place is going to hell.”
Roman nodded, lost for anything to say. In the last year and a half, an atmosphere of fear and dread had developed in the Blyham LGBTQ community with an increase in homophobic hate crime. The horror had increased over the summer when the police publicly linked the recent murder of Charles Lear to the unsolved deaths of four other local men over an eighteen-month period. The gay men of Blyham weren’t just being beaten up for their sexuality. They were being killed for it.
“Did they catch anyone?” he asked at last. “For the assault last weekend?”
“The police in this city? You’re joking, aren’t you? They haven’t even sent an officer around to the bars to ask for witnesses or CCTV. They don’t give a shit what happens to us. We need to take care of ourselves, which is why you’re getting a taxi home tonight, okay?”
Roman nodded. “Sure. Of course I will. Where did it happen? Last weekend?”
“Somewhere around Rupert Street. The lad was heading home to the East End when a bunch of arseholes jumped him. They didn’t even take his wallet, from what I’ve heard. They were only interested in beating him up. And it’s not just boys walking home alone that are at risk. Last month, a couple of visitors heading back to their hotel were attacked. Don’t go thinking there’s safety in numbers. You need a car to take you home, door to door.”
“I’m listening. Don’t worry.”
Phil nodded and got to his feet, gathering up the empty glasses. “I hope you are. You’ve got far too handsome a face to have it rearranged by a gang of thugs. Look after yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Get home safely.”
“Yeah, I will. Good night.”
The evening had been a downer already. Roman’s conversation with Phil had hammered a nail into its coffin. There was no point hanging around any longer. The New Inn and The Viaduct would close in another hour, and he didn’t fancy going to Equator, the nightclub that stayed open until six. He might as well go home and hope for better luck tomorrow. Maybe the sexy guy from The Viaduct would make another appearance, and he’d have more success a second time. So what if he’d be picking up Cameron Taylor’s cast-offs. Roman would prove to that man what a superior cock sucker he was compared to Cameron.
With an indignant smile, he finished his drink.
The drag queen turned off the music and the place quickly emptied. As he stood, he spotted a familiar face pass through the bar towards the exit. Will, another of his conquests from a few weeks back, looking pretty fine in a tight black shirt.
Will was in his early thirties and in the transitional period from cute boy next door to fuckable Daddy. Blond and square-jawed, with a rugby player physique, Will was one of his more memorable one-night stands. Roman remembered rimming that big beefy arse for ages before Will turned around and fucked him. Will was one of those hot tops who love to get their arse eaten.
Roman’s appetite returned in a rush.
Will had appeared to be alone when he’d walked through the bar just now. Maybe tonight didn’t have to be a dead loss. He’d been hoping for fresh meat, but he could do a lot worse than reconnect with Will. The thought of burying his face between those big butt cheeks until dawn got his cock raging.
Roman hurried through the empty bar and out through the front door.
The crowd had cleared from the street in front, already making their way towards the remaining open venues. He looked around in all directions, searching for that broad back in the black shirt, with the short blond hair. Will was nowhere in sight.
“Fuck.” What was it with his luck tonight? He took his eye off a hot man for a few seconds, and he disappeared.
He didn’t bother to check his phone. He and Will had not exchanged numbers, so there was no point trying to track him down that way. Just like the guy in The Viaduct, the chance to hook up with Will had gone.
There was nothing else for it. He would go home, have a wank and try to get a decent night’s sleep.
Bearing in mind what Phil had just told him, he wouldn’t take the risk of walking. The nearest taxi rank was at the far end of Salvin Road. He crossed the street and headed in that direction, hoping he could pick up a ride there. If not, the late bus at two-thirty would take him closer to home.
The night had grown colder, and he had no desire to walk all that way without a jacket, anyway. He breathed in the crisp air and thought about the two men who had gotten away.
Roman didn’t notice the car that crawled along the kerb behind him, until it drew level. The windows were down. Two men leaned out of the passenger side, drunken leers plastered across their faces.
“Hey, pretty boy, how’s it going?” one of the men called, making a kiss-kiss sound.
Overexcited laughter peeled from the inside.
Roman faced forward and kept walking. There was no one ahead of him. He was alone. Could this night get any worse?
“Hey. Hey, you. Are you deaf or something? We’re trying to talk to you. How about being nice, faggot.”
Shit .
Now he was in trouble.