The music changed to a female singer unfamiliar to Mark, and a table of young women near the bar began to squeal. Francis laughed.
“What?” Mark raised a brow at him.
“It’s Hayley Kioko, the Lesbian Jesus.”
Mark blinked. “Thewhatnow?”
“I have a colleague, a young bisexual woman, she’s head over heels for this artist. She’s openly bisexual, doesn’t hide it in her music. I would hazard a guess that the young ladies over there agree with the sentiment,” Francis explained, nodding toward the girls.
“Ah….” It made sense. Sort of. Mark knew how important seeing other queer people in the media was to kids nowadays.
Bobbing his head to the music, Francis turned so that his back was to the bar, his elbow closer to Mark on top of the bar and his wine glass in his other hand. He appeared to be people-watching, and they were quiet for a time.
Francis was… gorgeous. He had crow’s feet, a mouth that seemed to smile easily, and his eyes were almost too perceptive. They flayed Mark in a way that was uncomfortable, yet at the same time almost addictive. As if he couldn’t get away from Francis soon enough but also didn’t want to leave. He’d never felt like this with anyone else. Not once.
A tall, handsome man walked to the bar and glanced at them. He was in his thirties, like Mark, and he focused on Francis. Francis saw the guy and grinned slightly.
Once the man had his drink, he ambled closer, to the other side of Francis, and gave him a blatant once over.
Something weird happened in Mark’s brain then. It felt close to jealousy, but it couldn’t be, right?
“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before,” the stranger said to Francis.
Mark drained his beer, watching them.
“I’ve been here once before, but that years ago,” Francis replied to him in an equally interested tone. At least that was what it sounded like to Mark.
The guy glanced at Mark, then back to Francis, as if trying to see if they were a couple. “I was thinking having this drink, and then heading home for a nightcap. Could I offer you one?”
To Mark’s surprise, Francis tilted his head, then looked at Mark as he said, “I’m not sure if I’m up to a nightcap tonight….”
He was asking Mark, wasn’t he? He wanted to know if—Mark plopped his empty beer bottle on top of the bar and blurted out. “I’m gonna take a leak.”
He grabbed his jacket and all but fled toward the bathrooms.
Francis said something, but it wasn’t aimed at him, so he continued, spurred on by the weird feeling that tried to encapsulate his whole being.
Mark made it into the back corridor, where three restrooms were located. Ladies and gents on the right and an accessible one on the left. He was about to pass the door to the ladies’ when someone grabbed the back of his shirt and steered him left and into the accessible restroom.
His cop brain was ready for an attack on some level, but he already knew who had followed him. When the light flickered on and the door locked behind them, Mark turned to look at Francis.
“This is what you want, right?” Francis asked in a serious tone.
“W-what?”
“Consent, Mark. I need your consent here.”
“Oh,” he said stupidly. “Yeah.”
“Well?” Francis seemed amused now.
The word was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted so, so fucking much. It had been too long. He shouldn’t, heshouldn’t, but he still let the word drop into the space between them. “Yes.”
“Don’t, for a second, think you’re in charge here.” Francis’s voice dropped to a lower register, something that made Mark’s whole body tingle.
“W-why?”
“Because you’re fitter and taller than me, Mark, and I don’t know you.” Francis took Mark’s jacket from his suddenly numb fingers and hung it on the wall with his own coat. Then he approached Mark again. “As soon as I saw you I could tell you were closeted, Mark, and I know what happens sometimes when a closeted guy gets to call the shots.” Something dark flashed in Francis’s eyes then.
