“You’re the devil,” he muttered.
David laughed, and it was like a pressure valve burst. Somehow Farzan could breathe again.
More vetiver.
“You’re sweet, but I don’t drink on the job.”
Farzan bit his lip. Of course. He was being a total creeper, anyway. All this weird tension was just in his imagination. There was nothing special going on here. No spark.
But then David grinned again.
“Lucky I’m in charge tonight. I can get off whenever I like.”
Farzan blinked. David’s eyebrows raised.
“Off of work!” he specified. Even with his dark complexion, Farzan spotted the flush in David’s cheeks.
“I’d love to share some Champagne with you,” David finally finished. “Lemme let the staff know I’m finishing up early.”
“Great. Yeah. Cool.” Farzan twisted the flute between his fingers and swallowed. “And then I thought, if you wanted, afterward you could… ah… come to my place?”
It was out of his mouth before he knew where the bravery had come from. He wasn’t drunk—he hadn’t actually had that much, and he’d balanced the alcohol with tons of food—but deep inside, he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t at least ask.
Or maybe all that vetiver had gone to his head.
David was still looking at him. Farzan wanted to crawl beneath the table and hide.
Until David’s eyes sharpened, and his nostrils flared.
“Love to.”
six
David
The door to Frank’s apartment swung open. David had a few moments to register exposed brick, and large windows looking out over the dark city, a comfy-looking couch and large television, before he closed the door behind him.
David had managed to keep his hands (and mouth) to himself the entire streetcar ride, from Aspire all the way north to River Market, where Frank’s apartment stood, but his restraint was at its limit. Despite the dark, he quickly found Frank’s belt loops, hooked his fingers through them, and smashed their lips together.
Frank tasted of limoncello cake and Champagne, salt and Amarone, heat and desire. David had finished his own glass of Champagne before convincing Kyra to cover for him as he ducked out early—he’d certainly covered for enough people over the last several months, and he never left a service early, but fuck if he was going to miss out on this.
David captured Frank’s lower lip with his teeth, pulled gently, testing what Frank liked, and got a rumble from Frank’s chest in response. He did it again, harder, pushing Frank farther inside, but Frank tripped over something, breaking the kiss with a “shit!”
“You okay?” David breathed against Frank’s skin.
“Fine. Here.” Frank reached behind David to turn on the lights and flip the deadbolt. David leaned in for another kiss, but Frank ducked away to untie his shoes.
Fuck, he’d been so distracted he forgot. If his mom knew…
“Oh my god,” Frank gasped.
“What?”
“Your shoes!” Frank looked up from where he was kneeling, and David’s dick twinged in his pants, because what a view. He’d been imagining Frank on his knees all night. Or on his back. Or any which way he liked it. David was vers. “These are amazing.”
Shoes. Right. David gave a little grin. They were good shoes: high-top sneakers with crisp white soles and uppers of black jacquard with gold floral patterns.
“Instagram ad.” David knelt, getting a heady whiff of Frank’s citrusy cologne, and began unlacing them. “After years of showing me white twinks in underwear, their algorithm finally got my number.”
