Textual Confusion

8. A bit of stress relief, maybe?

CHAPTER EIGHT

A BIT OF STRESS RELIEF, MAYBE?

The next week passed in a blur.

Markus never asked to see him in person, but Asher knew how swamped he was at work and tried not to let it bother him. Heck, even Danny was getting home late every night – something Sasha had taken to complaining to him about.

According to Danny, Kingston Enterprises was in the process of a major acquisition. Apparently, they were onboarding some bigwig in the tech industry. Something about financing the production of military-grade drones.

Asher didn’t know the exact details, but the point was: Markus was busy.

Asher was just grateful that the man still made time to text him every day.

On Tuesday, he had messaged Asher to ask him if he was enjoying the groceries he’d had delivered.

Markus

Was all the food to your liking? Let me know if there was something you didn’t care for, or if I missed any of your favorites, and I’ll make sure to adjust the order.

You say that like you plan on buying me groceries again.

I do. I’ve scheduled a delivery every Monday for the foreseeable future.

You can’t do that!

Are you forgetting who’s in charge here, baby boy?

No… I just feel bad, like I’m taking advantage of your generosity. I mean, you’re already paying me a lot of money, so…

I told you, I like taking care of you. It makes me happy to know you have good food to eat, okay?

Okay.

Good. Because I don’t think anyone at the office wants to deal with the shit mood I’d be in if you refused to let me buy you what I want.

I’m sorry. I really am grateful for everything. All the food you had delivered looks amazing. I made some orange chicken with rice last night for supper, and it was very tasty.

I’m glad you’re eating well, baby.

Of course, Asher would never complain even if he hadn’t liked any of the food Markus had had delivered. When you grew up the way Asher had, never sure what your next meal would be or when it was coming, you ate what was put in front of you. Period.

He had a feeling Markus wouldn’t be too pleased if he knew Asher’s mindset when it came to food, however, so he kept that tidbit to himself.

I hope you’ve been eating good, too. Danny says that you’re taking on a new client and that it’s really hectic at work right now.

You don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart. I promise I’m fine.

I can’t help it. Besides, if you’re concerned over what I’m eating, it’s only fair that I make sure you’re fed, too.

You’re unreal, baby boy. So sweet, both on the inside and out. I could just eat you up.

Unfortunately, Markus’s secretary had interrupted before the man could go into detail on how exactly he’d eat Asher up, and Asher hadn’t heard from him the rest of the day.

The next day – Wednesday – Asher had been having a horrible time of it. Not only had everything seemed to go wrong at work, when he’d arrived back at his apartment that afternoon, it was to discover that the building’s heat was out. Again.

He’d wrapped himself up like a burrito in the few blankets he owned and turned on some trashy reality TV, hoping that the screaming women and smarmy men would take his mind off the fact he was slowly losing feeling in his fingers.

He’d been beyond relieved for the distraction when Markus had texted him.

Markus

Remind me why murdering my secretary is a bad idea.

Disregarding the ethics of it, you’d wind up in prison.

I mean, I’m sure you’d look hot in orange and everything. But if you were locked up, I’d never get to see you. And even if they *did* grant conjugal visits, we’d have to do it on a shitty mattress with a guard watching over us.

It’s cute that you think I’d end up in prison.

Do you not think police would catch you? I mean, you just texted me that you’re contemplating murder. There's a paper trail now.

It wouldn’t matter if they caught me in the act. I could be covered in blood, weapon in hand, and they’d never be able to put me away. I have too much money and clout.

Wow. Thanks for reminding me how bleak and corrupt the world we live in really is.

You’re welcome.

And thank you.

For what? I didn’t do anything.

You made my godawful day seem not so bad.

What’s been so awful about it?

Well, for starters, that big client you mentioned yesterday is threatening to pull out, and everyone in the entire building are fucking useless peons who don’t know their heads from their asses, let alone how to conduct themselves in a crisis.

And to top it off, my fucking secretary decides to dump coffee down the front of my shirt – hence the murder plot.

It took a moment for Asher to swallow the drool pooling in his mouth at the picture Markus had sent. He’d been a little nervous when he’d asked the man about his day, unsure if Markus would brush him off. He was pleasantly surprised when he’d confided in him instead.

However, Asher had not been prepared for the picture.

I was going to say I’m assuming you mean everyone in the building *except Danny* is a useless peon, but now I’m distracted by the see-through shirt. Are you sure your secretary didn’t dump the coffee on you on purpose?

Why would she do it on purpose? Lauren’s an idiot, not suicidal.

I think you underestimate the power of your pecs.

What?

Quit being so damn thirsty, a voice in Asher’s head hissed . The man’s abs aren’t that impressive. His nipples aren’t that hypnotizing.

Asher would have to agree to disagree. Still, he hastily changed the subject before he could make a bigger idiot of himself.

Nothing.

Anyway, if it makes you feel better, my day was pretty awful, too.

Why the fuck would that make me feel better? Tell me what’s wrong.

Asher blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Markus’s reaction. His concern practically oozed through the phone, warming Asher’s insides.

Well, I dropped an entire tray of cupcakes on the floor this morning. Then the new recipe I was trying out somehow exploded in the oven, making a huge mess that took me over an hour to clean. (RIP Nutella-stuffed banana bread. ) Then, when I got home, the heat was out. Again.

Your heat is out? It’s nearly winter.

I’m not sure if mid-November counts as nearly winter. Anyway, it’s not so bad. I’ve made a blanket fort.

First of all, the next time you send me a picture of you swaddled in a heap of blankets, I’d better be able to see the entirety of your precious face.

Secondly, as cute as the sight of you wrapped in blankets is, it’s unacceptable for your heat to be out.

Heat rises, so it’s not so bad. It’s still 58 degrees in here. If it gets too cold, I’ll just go to Danny and Sasha’s place for the night.

If I was home, I’d tell you to come to my place instead.

I don’t know… Danny and Sasha’s place is pretty cozy.

It took a while for the man to reply, and Asher was starting to overthink his playful teasing, when the man finally texted him back. Asher grinned at his petulant response.

I could keep you warmer than either of your friends.

Maybe. But their couch is really comfy and the quilts Danny’s mom makes are the softest, thickest ever.

As much as he enjoyed provoking Markus, Asher wasn’t dumb enough to mention that he occasionally slept between his friends in their bed. Asher’s bond with them was purely platonic, but Markus might take it the wrong way – like a certain someone had in the past.

I wouldn’t need a damn quilt to keep you warm. You’d be a mess of sweat and tears by the time I was done with you, and if you don’t stop teasing, I’ll make it reality.

He had the nerve to say it like it’d be a punishment when Asher would like nothing more than for Markus to barge in his freezing apartment, whisk him away, and engage in round after round of hot, steamy sex. He was working up the nerve to tell the man exactly that when-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

-a timid, yet harried-sounding knock sounded through his apartment.

Confused, Asher put down his phone and headed to the door. Part of him hoped his imagination had somehow come to fruition and that it would be Markus standing on the other side of the door, ready to drag Asher to his apartment and show him just how hot he could make his blood run.

But, of course, it wasn’t.

It was Mr. Wisby, his landlord – again.

It was strange for Asher to be visited by the man twice in such a short period of time.

Unlike Monday, however, Asher couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t look like his usual scowly self, his face pale as he wrung his hands together in his doorway.

“Hi, Mr. Wisby. Did you need something?”

He wasn’t lugging a delivery boy behind this time, and rent wasn’t due until the end of the month, so Asher wasn’t sure why the man had come to see him.

“I’m just letting you know that the repairman is on his way and that the heat should be up and running within the hour.”

Asher’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He’d only been living in this complex for a bit over three months, but the handful of times the heat had stopped working before, no one had come to his door giving him updates. And it had always taken at least a day (if not longer) to get the heat up and running again.

“Oh. Okay! Thanks for letting me know.”

Asher went to close the door, but he was prevented from doing so when Mr. Wisby stuck his foot in the frame. Asher frowned, immediately uncomfortable, but that feeling eased when Mr. Wisby held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. The man cleared his throat. “If you could let your, uh, boyfriend know about the heat being turned back on, I’d really appreciate it.”

Asher’s frown grew. “But I don’t have a boyfriend.”

It was Mr. Wisby’s turn to frown, looking as confused as Asher. “So… you don’t know a man that goes by the name Markus Kingston then?”

Asher blinked, limbs frozen but mind whirring a hundred miles a minute as all the puzzle pieces slotted into place. When it became obvious that Mr. Wisby was still anxiously awaiting a response, Asher forced his mouth to work. “Oh. Yeah, I know Markus. I’ll let him know, uh, about the heat.”

The relief on Mr. Wisby’s face was almost comical.

After bidding goodbye to the man, Asher walked on autopilot back to the couch where he’d abandoned his phone to answer the door.

Did you call my landlord to complain about the heat? How did you even get his number?

I’m a literal billionaire, baby. I could have nuclear codes on my desk in less than an hour if I wanted.

Oh. Well… thank you for using your powers for good.

Only for you, darling.

Markus had had to return to work after that, but Asher was on cloud nine the rest of the night. What a thoughtful… not boyfriend, obviously… employer sounded weird, too, even if that was technically what Markus was to him. After a moment of contemplation, Asher took a page from Sasha’s book and decided on Daddy.

Of course, their conversations weren’t always so innocent. The messages they exchanged late Thursday night were proof enough of that.

Markus

If that profitability forecast isn’t on my desk in the next five minutes, don’t bother returning to the office tomorrow. Consider yourself fired without severance pay, and good luck getting another job with your complete lack of competence.

Um…

Asher, fuck, baby, I’m so sorry. That was meant for someone else.

I sort of figured.

Is everything okay?

Just work stuff. Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about.

Okay, but it’s past 11:00… you know, at night. Are you really still at the office?

Yes.

Shouldn’t you be at home? It’s almost bed time.

Bed time. Cute.

Unfortunately, there will be no rest for me until this deal is finalized.

But you’ve been working so hard all week. Don’t tell me you’ve been staying at the office this late every night?

The last thing I want to do is upset you, baby, but I haven’t been back to my apartment since Monday morning. When I was with you.

What?! But what about sleep?

Sleep is for the weak.

No, sleep is for humans. And as otherworldly as your good looks are, I’m pretty sure you fit the definition.

I have a pull-out bed in my office for emergencies. Don’t worry about me.

You say that a lot, yet here I am… worrying. Breaks are important. I know my thoughts are always clearer and that I’m capable of doing better work after taking a break.

Are you saying I’m incapable of doing my job unless I’m taking nap breaks like some kindergartener?

Asher knew he was treading on thin ice, and part of him was afraid he was messing things up by pressing, but he refused to back down. Not when Markus’s health and well-being was at stake.

I think you’re one of the most capable men I’ve ever met, but you’re also sleep-deprived and under a lot of pressure. And I wasn’t suggesting a nap.

Oh yeah? What are you suggesting then?

A bit of stress relief, maybe?

What kind of stress relief?

It was now or never.

The kind that involves my mouth wrapped around your cock.

Asher waited nervously for a response after sending the ballsy text. One minute passed with radio silence, and then another. He had begun berating himself for his audacity, wondering what he could possibly say to recover from what was apparently a colossal misstep when-

You miss my cock that badly, baby?

Thank you, Jesus.

I do. I want to taste it so badly. I didn’t get to last time.

Sounds like you’re complaining.

No, never! Sunday night was perfect! Your cock filled me up so good. I just can’t stop thinking about how it’d feel, hot and heavy, on my tongue.

What makes you so sure I’d let you have a taste?

I’d get on my knees if you wanted me to. Look up at you through my eyelashes and beg for a mouthful.

Beg then.

Pretty please will you put your cock in my mouth, Daddy?

Are you really on your knees right now?

Fuck, sweetheart.

You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby, and you beg so prettily, but I’m not sure you can handle me.

It was a blatant reminder of the size of Markus’s mammoth cock. Not only was it long – at least eight inches if Asher's memory served – it was thick . Asher’s ass had ached (in the best way) for days after taking it inside him, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he could take it in his mouth without immediately choking on the sheer girth of it.

But his mouth watered at the thought, and it’d be a sin of greatest proportions not to try.

Unable to resist the urge any more, Asher palmed his erection, moaning as he stroked himself through his boxer shorts.

With his free hand, he responded to Markus.

I could handle you, I swear I could.

Oh yeah? You going to stretch those pretty lips around my cock, let me slip it in until the tip hits the back of your throat?

Yes, Daddy.

Such a good boy. I’d take it easy on you at first. Feed it to you slowly. Let you take breaks to breathe and lick me like a lollipop.

Asher moaned aloud at the thought of it, slipping his hand into his underwear and wrapping it around his cock, thumbing at the slit.

Then, when you were drunk off the taste of me, I’d hold you down on my cock and fuck your face until you gagged on it. Until tears poured from your eyes and snot leaked from your nose. Until your cheeks and chin got beard burn from my pubes. Until your entire world was reduced to me fucking your mouth.

Would you be a good boy and take it?

I’d take it so good. I’d let you fuck my throat raw, use me until drool dripped down my chin and all I could think of was your cock.

Fuck. You’d be so desperate for it, rutting against my leg, seeking release. I bet your little cock would be leaking so much, you’d make a mess of your clothes. Your underwear would be soaked.

Fuck, Asher could picture it vividly in his mind. Kneeling on the cold floor of Markus’s office in nothing but his underwear, desperately humping Markus’s leg while he struggled not to gag on his cock.

He stroked himself, imagining it was friction from rubbing his erection up against Markus’s leg rather than pressure from his own hand.

Would you cum in my mouth?

Not this time.

I’d blow my load all over your face instead. But you’re greedy, so you’d probably open your mouth wide and try to catch whatever you could on your tongue as I painted your face with my spunk.

I’d make a mess of you. By the time I was finished, there’d be cum in your hair, your eyelashes. I’d mark every last inch of you. And when I was finished, I’d gather up all that sticky cum with my hand and feed it to you like a baby. You’d be a good boy and lick my fingers clean, wouldn’t you?

Yes! I’d cry when all your cum was gone because I love the taste so much.

Can I cum, Daddy? Please.

You can cum, sweetheart. Cum in your underwear like the needy baby you are.

And that was all it took.

Asher’s eyelids fluttered shut as his orgasm rocked through him. His back arched and he gasped as little white stares burst behind his eyes and his cock spasmed and emptied itself, making a mess of his underwear, just like he had in Markus’s pretend scenario.

He lay there for a long minute afterward, breathing hard after expending all that energy. The buzzing of his phone eventually pulled him from his post-orgasm brain fog, and he picked it up from where he’d dropped it on the floor.

You with me, sweetheart?

I’m here.

It was super embarrassing to have to ask, but…

Did you… you know, finish?

Let’s just say I feel much more relaxed now than I did ten minutes ago.

So the stress relief worked?

Yes, darling, it worked. How did you know I needed it?

I mean, you did just send me a text meant for your secretary. It doesn’t take a genius to know you probably needed a break.

Maybe I just wanted an excuse to talk to you and messaged you that text on purpose. And sweet and na?ve as you are, you fell right into my trap.

Really?

No. Messaging you was an honest mistake, but it’s definitely not one I regret.

Thanks for taking such good care of me, baby.

Anytime, Daddy.

Asher didn’t mention that it was literally what the man paid him for.

All in all, besides not getting to spend time with Markus in person, Asher thought that their relationship arrangement was progressing quite nicely.

And before Asher knew it, Friday had arrived.

In complete contrast to Wednesday, the day was going splendidly so far. The sexting and orgasm from the night before had wiped him out, allowing him to get a good night’s rest and wake up with an extra pep in his step.

On his way in to work, he’d found a twenty dollar bill trapped in a crack on the sidewalk, and feeling lucky, he’d decided to make another attempt at the recipe he’d bombed earlier in the week. And whether it was the halved baking soda or the lowered oven temperature, the Nutella-stuffed banana bread turned out perfectly.

Asher was on his break, nibbling on a slice of his newest creation while he played with his phone, wishing that Markus would text him, when it occurred to him that every time they’d talked… it was Markus who had always made first contact.

Perhaps it was the good mood he was in, or maybe he just really wanted to talk to Markus… whatever the reason, Asher decided he was going to change that.

Good morning! I hope work is going well and that the big acquisition is finalized today. Then you can finally go home and get some sleep.

Of course, if you want to do things other than sleep, you know I’m available.

Asher didn’t start regretting the message until afternoon rolled around and he still hadn’t received a response.

He tried to tell himself that Markus was probably busy, but the sardonic voice in the back of his head would pipe up and remind him that the man had been busy all week, yet he’d still made time to text Asher. The longest Asher had ever had to wait for a response had probably only been five minutes.

It’d been hours now.

By the time he got off work, Asher was full-on berating himself for reaching out to the man. After all, there was a reason it was always Markus who texted Asher first. Despite the man’s pillow talk, at the end of the day, it was Asher who’d been hired to take care of Markus’s needs. Not the other way around.

And Asher had practically propositioned him for sex. Not to mention the emoji heart he’d tacked onto the end of his message.

The man’s silence spoke louder than any outright rejection could, and Asher felt like a fool.

It was mortifying, and Asher was in the midst of an internal meltdown over it when Sasha cornered him on his way out of work and asked/demanded he go out with her and her artist friends later that night.

Desperate for a distraction from the disparaging voice in his head, Asher had agreed.

Of course, if he’d known that “going out for a few drinks” meant actual clubbing, he probably would have rethought the decision.

The bass of whatever song was blasting from the speakers pounded in Asher’s ears as he sipped on his drink, the vodka soda he’d ordered not nearly strong enough. Sasha was out dancing in the middle of the club with her friends she’d met in the art program at college: Tiffany, Avery, and Frederic.

Tiffany, a short, shapely girl with a bubble gum pink bob, was the only “normal” one of the bunch. Although she tended to speak in an English accent when she was drunk for reasons unbeknownst to Asher. (She was born and raised in Chicago before moving out to Washington.)

Avery, on the other hand, was a classic mean girl. Blonde and leggy, she rivaled Sasha in the beauty department. It really was too bad she was also a stone cold bitch who liked to use her art degree as an excuse for her “eccentricity”. (Sasha had confided in Asher that the only reason she put up with her was because her parents were loaded and they often paid for all-expense paid artist retreats for the group of friends, like the one in San Francisco a few weekends ago.)

Then there was Frederic, Avery’s sidekick who just so happened to be gay, like Asher. According to Sasha, he was pleasant enough to be around when Asher wasn’t there. Unfortunately, the man seemed to despise him for some reason. Asher didn’t know if Frederic felt threatened by him and it was some weird gay rivalry thing, or something else altogether, but he’d endured plenty of snide comments directed his way over of the years.

Tonight, for example, he’d pointedly eyed Asher’s outfit when he had arrived at the club. (Sasha had forced him into his tightest pair of jeans and a fuzzy crop top with a skull logo that showed off the tiniest sliver of his belly.) “Desperate much?” Frederic had asked, like he wasn’t literally wearing a mesh shirt with his nipples peeking out, before going on to give Asher the cold shoulder.

Honestly, the only thing that made the outing somewhat bearable so far was that Sasha had dragged Danny with them to The Holy Grail as well. (Ironic name for a club, really.)

At least Asher had someone to talk to as Sasha and her friends danced and he got tipsy on watered down vodka at the bar.

“This beer tastes like cat piss,” Danny commented, eyeing his drink dubiously before forcing himself to take another gulp.

“ All beer tastes like cat piss,” Asher pointed out.

“Isn’t it weird how we both know exactly what you mean by that yet neither of us have ever drank cat piss in our life?”

Okay, so Danny wasn't always the most sophisticated conversationalist. That was fine. Asher didn’t want to talk about their crappy drinks anyway. Not when he couldn’t get his friend’s boss off his mind.

Needless to say, Asher still hadn’t heard back from the man.

“So… how was work today?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

“You have no idea how glad I am we finally closed this deal. Everyone is so fucking relieved. I think half the office was going out for drinks tonight to celebrate.”

“What about Markus? Was he in a good mood too?”

Okay, so no one could ever accuse Asher of being the most stealthy person in the world.

“Dunno,” Danny said, shrugging. “We don’t work on the same floor and he didn’t come down to yell at us for anything, so your guess is as good as mine. Hell, it’s probably better than mine considering, you know…”

“What? That Asher is fucking your boss for more money per week than you make in a month?” Sasha popped up between them, like a gorgeous, blonde jack-in-the-box.

Danny grimaced. “Do you have to say it like that?” he complained.

“I’m just spitting facts,” she said, completely unrepentant. She plopped a messy kiss on Danny’s cheek before turning to Asher and doing the same.

“Ew,” he whined, wiping his cheek. “You’re also spitting, you know, spit.”

Sasha ignored Asher’s complaint entirely. “Anyway, don’t tell me you’re still moping over the fact he hasn’t texted you back yet.”

Why had Asher decided to confide in her again?

“I’m not moping,” he denied.

“You totally are,” Sasha argued right back, pointedly poking his puckered lips with a finger. “But as adorable as it this pout is, you really should perk up. Because that fine specimen of a man has been staring at you since we got here.”

“What? Where? Who?” Asher asked, glancing around as subtly as he could at the same time a disgruntled Danny scowled at his girlfriend.

“Excuse me?”

“Of course no one is as handsome or impressive as you are, babe.”

“Or as well-endowed.”

If only Danny knew…

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Or as well-endowed,” she humored him nonetheless before grabbing either side of Asher’s face and manually directing his gaze to the other side of the club, past the dance floor. “The one in the letterman jacket.”

The man in question was easy to spot in his bright yellow and royal blue jacket. It hung off his wide shoulders attractively, and he was undoubtedly handsome in a frat boy kind of way, with his tan skin and beach blonde surfer hair.

But he didn’t radiate power and authority the way Markus did. And his eyes weren’t nearly as piercing. Also, Asher seriously doubted his thighs were as thick.

Frat boy was leaning against the wall, surrounded by a gaggle of women, but he wasn’t paying them any attention. Instead, his eyes were locked on Asher, just like Sasha had said. Which was fine… except Asher was blatantly ogling him back.

He ripped his face out of Sasha’s grip, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Way to be discrete,” he hissed at his friend.

“Not like he’s trying to hide his staring,” Sasha pointed out. “You should totally go for it.”

Asher furrowed his brow. “Are you crazy? Or did you already forget what you so eloquently voiced two minutes ago? I’m fucking Danny’s boss.”

Danny pointedly covered his ears with the palms of his hands, loudly “ lalala ”-ing, but both Asher and Sasha ignored his antics.

“Yeah, but that’s, like, a job.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, technically. But we agreed to be exclusive. It’s in the fine print of the contract I signed.”

“I’m not saying you have to bone the dude, but you shouldn’t let this thing you have going on with Big Daddy stop you from having a little fun. Go flirt with that guy, dance with him a little. Hell, go make out with him in one of the nasty bathroom stalls and get a little handsy. Just don’t, you know, have sex with him.”

Asher stubbornly shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not? Who’s to say Big Daddy’s not out doing the exact same thing right now? Danny did say half the office was going out for drinks.”

The thought of Markus kissing and getting handsy with some nameless, faceless person honestly made Asher feel sick. “He wouldn’t do that,” he mumbled, albeit not very convincingly.

“How do you know? You said yourself that he’s been ignoring you all day.”

Asher bristled. “Markus isn’t ignoring me. He’s just busy at work.” He turned to Danny, prying his hands from his ears. “Tell Sasha that Markus has been swamped at work,” he demanded.

Danny raised his eyebrows and then his hands. “Don’t drag me into this,” he begged off.

Asher scowled, facing the bar so he didn’t have to look at his friends any longer.

“Hey, don’t be mad,” Sasha said, wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I just feel bad you’re stuck here with this lug for company while I’m off having fun-”

“Hey!” Danny protested.

“-I just want you to have some fun, too. You work so hard. You deserve it.”

“I’d be having more fun if these drinks weren’t so weak,” Asher mumbled, toying with the straw of his empty glass.

Sasha’s eyes lit up. “I know how to fix that. Bartender,” she called, “a round of tequila shots, please!” A pause as she considered. “Actually, make that two rounds!”

Two rounds of tequila turned into something closer to five, but even that wasn’t enough for Sasha to convince Asher to approach the frat boy across the club. She was able to talk him into dancing with her, however, and they dragged a begrudging Danny along with them.

Asher’s mind was pleasantly blank as he let the music guide him. Sasha refused to let him dance alone, and the trio took turns being in the middle of what was essentially a gyrating sandwich. It was completely platonic on Asher’s end, of course, but he wasn’t dead, which meant he was still half-hard from Sasha’s playful touches and Danny’s hands gripping his hips when a flash suddenly went off in front of him.

Asher blinked the black spots out of his vision. “What are you doing?” he asked when he saw Sasha standing there with his phone in her hands. He had no idea when she’d taken it from him.

“Just taking a picture of my hot as fuck boyfriend grinding against my equally hot friend. Got a problem with that?” she asked before tucking Asher’s phone back into his back pocket.

“You’re weird.”

Sasha grinned a Cheshire cat smile. “Guilty as charged.”

Asher danced for a few more songs before he could feel hair sticking to his forehead and sweat dripping down his spine and decided he needed a break. Muttering excuses to his friends, he stumbled his way back to the bar. Luckily, despite the fairly crowded club, the chair he’d occupied earlier was still available.

Asher’s lips and fingertips were numb and his cheeks were flushed from a combination of tequila and dancing. He was just drunk enough to think that resting his face against the sticky bar top was a good idea, so he did just that, enjoying how the cool granite felt against his flushed cheek.

“You okay there?”

Asher pried his eyes open, unsure when he’d closed them. He forced himself to sit up, blinking stupidly at whomever had approached him. It took a moment for his vision to sort itself out and to realize he recognized the man.

Sure enough, it was Letterman Jacket.

“You’re hot,” Asher said bluntly, “but your thighs don’t look like they could win a squeeze-a-thon against a boa constrictor.”

Letterman Jacket blinked. “Uh, is that supposed to be code for some freaky sex thing?”

“What?”

“I mean a boa constrictor is a snake, and snakes resemble, you know…”

“Rope?”

“Cocks!” the man blurted, immediately embarrassed by his own outburst judging by the way he quickly glanced around to see if anyone had heard. Luckily, it was loud enough to be drowned out by the music and other conversation. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, can I buy you a drink?”

Asher’s eyes lit up. “Tequila!” he suggested immediately.

As the guy flagged down the bartender, Asher was distracted by how tingly his lips felt and began poking at his own mouth.

“Cute,” the man beside him murmured.

Asher frowned, remembering he had company. What had they been talking about again? Oh yeah. “I like snakes,” Asher said. A pause as he considered. “And cocks, too. They’re pretty great.”

It seemed a natural enough progression of their earlier conversation to Asher, but Letterman Jacket immediately began choking on his own spit, a tinge of red creeping up his neck.

The man cleared his throat. “I’m glad you think so, because I was thinking-”

“You put your limp, useless cock anywhere near him and I’ll tear it off and feed it to you, understand?”

Asher probably would have jumped at the suddenness of the newcomer’s arrival if he wasn’t feeling so numb from the tequila. As it was, he could only stare dumbly at Markus as he inserted himself between Asher and Letterman Jacket, looming over the other man in an intimidating manner.

He sounded – and looked – pissed, his dark eyes spitting fire as they stared the frat boy down.

The two men were about the same size, but Letterman Jacket had the sense to know when he was outmatched and immediately backed off. “Sorry, Sir,” he squeaked, actually squeaked , while lifting his hands in surrender. “I didn’t know he was taken.”

That was the power of Markus’s commanding aura. Even his romantic rivals called him Sir. Not that Asher and Markus were in a romantic relationship, or that Letterman Jacket ever had a chance with Asher, but still .

Asher probably would have felt bad about how Letterman Jacket tripped over the leg of a stool in his haste to get as far away from Markus as possible, if he wasn’t so distracted by the fact that Markus was here – at the club.

How was it possible?

It didn’t make any sense. It was almost as if Asher had willed him into being.

Wait. What if that was exactly what had happened? Maybe Markus wasn’t really there at all and this was some sort of hallucination? Sure, Asher was pretty sure he hadn’t downed enough tequila for that , but it didn’t hurt to check.

“Are you real?” he asked, fluttering his eyelashes innocently as he looked up at the man.

Markus had turned to face him sometime after the other man had scurried away, and Asher was dismayed to realize he was scowling at him.

“Of course I’m real.”

Asher tilted his head to the side, curls flopping into his eyes cutely. “Okay, but hear me out. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what a hallucination would say.”

The lines in the man’s brow deepened. “Wait. You think I’m a hallucination?”

Asher shrugged. “I don’t know why else I’d be seeing you right now, and unless you can prove you’re real-”

Asher was cut off by Markus grasping him by either side of his face and crashing their mouths together. The kiss was a violent thing, teeth clanking painfully and a tongue lapping insistently at the roof of his mouth as Markus absolutely dominated him with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

Still, Asher whimpered in dismay when Markus pulled away, unconsciously chasing after him. But Markus wouldn’t let him reconnect their mouths. “Proof enough for you?” he asked, breath hot against Asher’s lips.

What?

Oh yeah. The hallucination thing.

“I guess so.” Asher frowned, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “That means you’re really here… but, why?”

Markus’s scowl made a fierce return. “What do you mean why?” He pulled far enough away from Asher to yank his phone out of his pocket. He fiddled with it for a moment before thrusting it under Asher’s nose and forcing him to look at the screen. “Do you not remember sending me this?”

The Holy Grail. Come and get me, Daddy, before someone else snatches me up.