He sipped his brandy in silent contemplation, eventually excusing himself to visit the men's room, plotting a route past the blonde man's table to ensure a closer look. Michael stood over the sink, idly washing his hands as he studied the water swirling down the drain, wasting time before heading back out to catch another glimpse of the man who had fascinated him so. He was startled from his contemplation when a deep, slightly husky voice whispered close to his ear. "It's very rude to stare you know. If you're ever interested in learning how to behave in a civilized manner, give me a call."
Michael's eyes flashed up to the mirror, catching a glimpse of dark, sparkling eyes as the man he had been observing for almost an hour slid an elegant, long-fingered hand into his jacket pocket, dropping something inside before retreating without a word and heading back the way he had come. Disappointment surged through the dark haired man when he finally snapped back into motion and followed, only to find the mysterious figure was nowhere to be seen.
He headed back to the table, lips unconsciously set in a hard line, and immediately called for the check. His date tried to get him to talk, but he evaded all her overtures and she eventually abandoned her attempts to restart the casual banter that had marked their conversation so far.
Patty, he reminded himself, her name's Patty. I wonder if she'll be too disappointed if I just take her home? "I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well at the moment Patty," he murmured. "Would you mind terribly if we cut our evening short? Maybe try again next week?"
"Of course," she replied soothingly. "I knew something was wrong. Why don't you just call me when you're feeling better?"
"The moment I recover." Michael gratefully helped her up and out of the restaurant, breathing a sigh of relief when she was safely inside her apartment and out of his life. He slumped back into the deep cushion of the limo seat, eyes shutting as he concentrated on the memory of his encounter with the mysterious stranger. That's right, he put something in my pocket.
Ha, Ha very funny, he mused sourly. A blank card. Indeed the card he finally fished out of his pocket was solid black, but he could feel raised areas under his fingers. He lifted the business card up to the dim light, turning it until he could see shiny words blossom on the matte surface. Black on black, he mused. Now that is interesting.
As soon as the car dropped him in front of his building Michael hurried upstairs, dropping his overcoat on the hall chair as he headed toward the bedroom. Once he reached the privacy of his room he shrugged off his jacket, dropping it on the floor as soon as he retrieved the mysterious calling card. Under the harsh bathroom light he was finally able to clearly read the message . . . just a single name, Alexander, and a phone number, with no indication as to who the intriguing stranger really was or what he might do.
This is ridiculous, Michael decided. I'm going to shower and get to sleep early, maybe tomorrow I'll feel more like myself again. He quickly stripped and stepped into the shower, reviving somewhat under the warm spray. As he scrubbed his mind wandered back to dinner, recalling in minute detail the fascinating Alexander . . . the obviously custom cut of his clothes, the graceful way he moved, the too tempting braid that danced just out of reach of his fingertips. I wonder if he's tan all over? The dark haired man absently toweled himself dry, glancing into the mirror as he ran limber fingers through his tousled mop, artfully flicking the inky strands into place. Good enough, he decided after a last critical glance. It's not like there's anyone here to impress.
Almost as soon as he slipped between the silky sheets his eyes began to flutter closed. That's what it is, I'm just sleep deprived. I need to ease up on my schedule, maybe even take a few days off, and I'll be right as rain again. Pleased to have uncovered a cause for his unusual behavior he quickly drifted off to sleep.
Michael woke several hours later, rock hard and frustrated. His dreams had been a torment, rather than the escape he had hoped for, filled with fruitless chasing after an elusive figure. Every time he came close to capturing the lithe form he was so ardently pursuing it would slip away, and the thin veil of sleep was finally shattered when he managed to finally grab hold, only to have his captive melt into smoke and disappear.
Wonderful, just wonderful, he mused sourly as he glared at his erection. The one time there's no one here to take care of this. He tried to ignore the twitching length, heading into the bathroom to piss, hoping that would take care of the problem. Unfortunately, the handling only made him grow harder, and the dark haired man resigned himself to having to take care of the situation on his own.
Returning to the bedroom he flopped back into bed, rummaging in the night table drawer until he located some lube. He shut his eyes and wrapped a strong hand around his thick cock, slowly spreading the slick substance as he searched his mind for an appropriately erotic image to fuel his lust. He flipped though his mental gallery of former lovers, rejecting each in turn for one imagined defect or another, until he regretfully concluded that, for now at least, none of them fit the bill. He continued to idly stroke his rigid length, mind wandering back to the mysterious man he'd seen earlier that evening. Alexander, he reminded himself, at least I found out his name. He concentrated on the memory, filling in details he hadn't even realized he'd noticed as he continued his rhythmic strokes.
Michael rubbed his thumb across the sensitive slit, gathering up the pearly beads of precum and lifting it to his mouth to taste, hardening further when he pictured full lips wrapped around his leaking erection. The dark haired man gasped and started to thrust into his hand in earnest when he thought of that tall, tan body stretched out underneath him as he thrust into it wantonly. I bet his ass is perfect, the dark haired man groaned internally, hell, I bet all of him is perfect. Abandoning himself to the pleasure he sped up the motions of his hand, pinching and squeezing the tip as unconsciously bit his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth. The sting of pain when his canine finally sliced into the sensitive tissue was enough to push him over the edge and he came with a roar, spraying his seed onto his chest as he panted and shook.
While Michael twisted and turned, locked in the frustration of his dreams, the man that had so disturbed his repose sprawled gracefully in front of a computer monitor, jotting down notes in a neat, if somewhat quirky, script. "This is all very interesting," he muttered, as he noted some obscure details on the company Michael had built and sold, adding tidbits about the socialites he'd been seen with as well as the racier tabloid reports of his exploits with men, "but what is it that really makes you tick Michael Keller?" Alexander Ryzhkov studied the notes he had made absently as he called an image of the man to mind.
Xan, as he preferred to be called, had a plan. A very cunning plan if I do say so myself, he thought with a smirk, assuming, that is, that I can lure the attractive Mr. Keller into my clutches. He smiled broadly as his mind roamed over the things he planned to do with his unsuspecting target. As long as he takes the bait, the blonde finally decided, scribbling down a few more important points before neatly stacking the pages and slipping them into a folder labeled simply M.
His musings were cut off by the persistent ring of the telephone. "Alexander." he answered simply, "What do you need?" He listened attentively for a moment, head cocking to the side as he considered before responding, "I'm terribly sorry, I'm not accepting clients at the moment . . . perhaps I could recommend someone else for you?" Xan waited patiently for a response even as he flipped through his phone book, mentally evaluating the voice on the other end of the line as he searched for the perfect substitute. "No I'm terribly sorry," he cut in to insist, "I'll be tied up on a personal project for the foreseeable future . . . I believe I have a suggestion that will please you, however."
After an interminable wait the caller finally acceded and Xan was quick to give him a name and number, anxious to put the distraction behind him. As soon as the line was free he quickly placed a call, making sure his colleague knew about the referral and thanking him profusely for agreeing to at least meet with the potential client.
Now where was I, he mused, ah yes, the delectable Michael Keller . . . definitely worth the effort, Xan concluded with a wicked smirk. He rose and stretched luxuriantly, padding off to the bathroom to fill the large soaking tub. The blonde sighed as he slid into the hot water, instantly feeling the tension draining out of his lanky frame.
Xan leaned back and closed his eyes, pondering the intricacies of the game he was about to begin, not a doubt in his mind that Michael was sufficiently intrigued by their meeting and would call the next day. Early, he decided with a satisfied chuckle as he recalled the heated look in those blue eyes as they'd studied him so openly. Oh Michael, the fun we're going to have together.
