With a soft sigh you sit at your desk. It's been a long fucking day and you are not ready for another one yet. But your job is... Strangely rewarding, though you feel like you're missing something. You have your sons, though their mother has long since passed away, and you have your job. That's it. That's what the great Orphanos "Dualscar" Ampora has been reduced to. Countless hours of intense work, and a few hardly adequate hours for his children.

But on this Friday night, with your elder son off at his girlfriend's and the younger at a friend's house, you realize that you haven't had any time to yourself in... In years.

So you pack your terrible leather briefcase and go down to the first floor in the express elevator, before you walk to your house. It's close by and, even this late at night, no one will bother you. You may be a respected business man and the youngest CEO that your company, or rather your grandfather's company, has ever had, but you're still an intimidating figure with your scars and stature. But when you reach your empty house, you feel a sense of dread.

It isn't a sense that someone else is there. No, it's the sense that there is no one there and that is purely terrifying to you. Once inside, you set your briefcase in your office and go upstairs to change into something a little less stiff. The realization hits you that, eleven years after your wife's death, you should go out. You should try to have some fun. And that's something that you haven't done since you were in college. Since you'd first met Debra. Since your youth.

You look into the mirror and see the greying patches in your hair at your temples and in the front. It had happened first when you were in your early twenties and you'd fought it tooth and nail. But Debra, dear, sweet Debbie, had told you that it made you look distinguished. That it made you look less like a boy and more like a man. And she was right. She was always right, your Debbie.

But she isn't alive anymore, so you tuck those thoughts to the back of your head. It hasn't gotten any easier, but it's gotten a little less painful. With a sigh, you fix your hair, noting that it might need a cut soon, before you go back downstairs. You look online at the club life in your city. It all makes you feel old. You're only thirty-five. But you feel ancient when you see the pictures of people at the height of youth in these clubs. With a sigh you decide to just have your driver take you to downtown and go from there. You've got the money for it after all, and you know that with enough money and a good enough face, the world is your oyster.

And after a short ride, you can feel the thrum of bass in your chest from all of the clubs around you. You can hear the sounds of drunken twenty-somethings and smell the sex in the air. You're out of your element, but at the same time everything just feels so familiar. So comfortable. You pick a club without looking at the name and stand for a little while, feeling old and out of place amidst the dancing and undulating college students, pressed together in a mass of touch and ultra-sensation.

It's obvious to you that some of them aren't just drunk. Some of them are most definitely on something and you take it upon yourself to assume that it's ecstasy. Though you've never tried it, you'd heard so much about it in your youth and even now. About how it makes you want and how it just makes everything feel more real.

But you're not here to want or feel. You're here to numb and scar yourself. To drown your despairs as you're surrounded by others. And this club... It suits you just fine. You go to the bar and order a double scotch on the rocks while you sit on an unused stool. The bartender hands it to you and gives you this look. As if he's asking what you're doing here. Why someone so ancient would be out and amongst all of the young and beautiful people.

Or maybe he thinks that you're some kind of villain. It's not a difficult conclusion to make. The scars marring your face and your severe hairline make most people think that you'd be better suited to a life of crime than to a life as a CEO with a cushy job. But you pay this boy no mind and take a long drink.

Several drinks later and you feel yourself being pulled to the dance floor by someone. You don't catch their name or even their face but you're drawn in the undulating sea of bodies and can feel boys bumping and grinding against you. But one catches your attention. He's tall and slender with grace you rarely see, but he's not letting anyone near him. It's almost as if he's too good for the crowd. Too good for this club. So you think that you should try to make your move. You haven't really been with a man before. Once in high school you'd kissed another boy and just wanted to keep going. To feel how his lips would feel against every inch of your skin and how every inch of his tasted. But that was half a lifetime ago and you had long since put it up to a youthful indiscretion.

Here and now you feel the urge to reach out and touch him. Like he has a magnetic pull drawing you to him. Like he was everything your body had been craving all these years. So you move close to him and, boldly, you rest your hands on his hips. "Hello there." Your voice is low and deep, a purr in his ear.

You can feel him shudder just ever so slightly. Feel him move back against you just enough to tease. With a soft voice and an even softer lisp, he answers. "Sup, big guy?" He turns his head ever so slightly and you notice that he's wearing an rectangular pair of glasses that fame his narrow face.

In all honesty you can't help but to grin when he calls you big guy. You're tall and strong, but you've always been that way. He's taller than you by about two inches, but he still feels so small next to your thick frame. "You here alone?" You suddenly feel like a huge creep as you hit on this guy whose name you don't even know. Who's face you haven't really seen.

He leans back against you and you can feel his shoulder blades jutting even through his button-up. "Yeah. My friends left me here. Guess they thought it would be funny." He chuckles humorlessly and you pull him a little closer. Both of you are moving to the same beat, though it's one much slower than the one playing in the club. "You?"

You lean your head against his shoulder. "Came alone. It's been a while for me." You feel your hands moving around to his front and touching him. You're not sure why. You're not completely drunk yet, but you're tipsy. You're tipsy enough to do as you please, but not enough to not know that you're doing it.

The feeling of his diaphragm moving as he breaths under your hands is a strangely comforting sensation. "What? Afraid the missus will catch you out with some college boy?" He chuckles and puts his hands on yours.

"No missus here. Not anymore."

There's a pause before he speaks. "Are you divorced?"

A sigh and you bury your face against his neck, taking in his sweet, probably natural scent. "Widowed."

"Oh." His voice is soft and airy, just hints of regret for his question in his tone. "What happened?"

You growl softly, lips close to his skin. "I'm not here to talk about that right now."

He lets out a shaky sigh at your growl and turns around, mismatched eyes meeting yours for the first time. "Then what are you here for, big guy?" He wraps his arms around your neck, resting long, bony fingers against your shoulders

You move your hands so that they're on his lower back while you two move to the beat of the new song playing over the loud speakers. It's slow and there are at least a dozen other couples in this position, but the two of you may be the tallest of them all. "Who's to say I have a reason for being here? Maybe I just like looking at what I can't have?" You grin at him, eyes half lidded and head tilted ever so slightly, as if you're daring him to lean in first. Daring him to make that first move while you snare him in a trap.

"Oh?" He presses close, one leg moving between yours while a hand traces deft shapes through the thin fabric of your shirt. "And just what is it that you think you can't have." He smirks, showing slightly crooked teeth that don't mar his otherwise elegant appearance. You aren't sure why he strikes you as particularly elegant, though. He's long and lanky. More like a heron or a crane than a model. But something about him...

"There's a lot of things I can't have." You smirk right back at him, showing off your own, unnaturally straight teeth. "But right now? I feel like I'm the oldest one in here."

He shrugs a narrow shoulder. "You probably are. You're probably at least ten years older than most of the kids in here. Maybe even more than some of them getting in with fake IDs. But does that stop you from wanting the ones that are older?" He leans in even more and you can smell the faint traces of alcohol on his breath.

"And just how old are you, legs?" You haven't gotten his name. You truly hope that he won't just kick you for calling him that, but it seems like he's drunk enough not to care.

"Does it matter?" His voice is playful and his lips barely an inch from yours.

You don't close the distance. "It does if you wanna come home with me tonight." A bold move on your part, but you don't care. You want him. You want all of him. And you don't even know his fucking name.

You hear a soft moan and he moves his knee for the first time since he'd put it between your legs. "I see you're already ready to take someone home, hm?" He touches his nose to yours. "It could be me. But aren't you even going to buy me a couple drinks first?" He laughs softly and you can feel every puff of air from his lips. Every inhale and exhale as if you are somehow more highly attuned to this than anything else in the world.

"Do you want me to?"

He shakes his head. "No." He leans in and finally kisses you briefly. "And just so you know, I'm twenty-eight. I thought that I was the oldest on here tonight."

You lean in and close the gap again, relishing in the softness of lips. It's something that you haven't felt in over a decade. You've missed it more than you'd ever imagined possible.

With a sigh you pull back, smiling in disbelief, your eyes scanning his face while he stares back at you, porcelain face and mismatched eyes almost like a mask of perfection until he speaks. "You wanna get out of here?"

Your reaction and its immediacy almost startles you. "Yes. Yes please I want to get of here." He lean in and kiss him again, feeling the gentle give and pull of his lips. You're surprised when his tongue darts out, tracing against your lips, but you part your lips and move against him, more unpracticed than you'd first realized.

He moves his tongue, dragging it across your soft palette as he pulls away from you. "Let's go. Now." He moves his arms away and grabs your hand, pulling you through the club toward the door. He stops when you're under the street lights and smirks. "Wanna get a taxi? Or did you walk here?"

You shake your head, phone already in hand and text sent to your driver to pick you up. "My driver will be here soon."

He whistles, impressed and leans against you. "You must be pretty loaded if you've got a driver." He nods, looking at you sidelong.

You shrug. "I came by it honestly at least." You sling an arm over his shoulders, not sure what else to do while you wait for your car. But when it pulls up, more quickly than you'd anticipated, the two of you get into the car.

Once you're inside and moving, you lean over and join your lips together again, fingers moving through his hair and tongue teasing at his mouth. He responds with gusto, soft sounds coming from his throat and his lithe body pressing against yours. You've never felt like this. Not even when you'd done anything like this with Debbie, but you push all thoughts of her and her femininity to the very back of your mind. Instead you lose yourself in this stranger's scent, and his sweet taste on your lips and tongue.

For a moment you consider asking his name, to know who he is and assuage your strange guilt. But you don't. You simply keep your lips and tongue moving against him and turning all of your attention to him. Right now he is the center of your world. He is your everything. A shining beacon and a nameless God.

His sounds arouse you in such a way that you're almost ashamed of yourself. But soon he flips on top of you and is pinning you down. No one has ever pinned you down outside of your mind, and the way his weight rests against you makes you let out a pathetic noise that you didn't even know you were capable of. His solid weight is such a strange sensation against your arousal, but watching his lithe body moving, even clothed, is entrancing.

Soon you feel the car lurch to a stop and he slides off of you and gets out of the car, grinning at you as he stands in the cold night air. Movements hampered by shock, you stare at him for a moment before sliding out of the car and standing next to him. He puts his hands on your hips and kisses you gently. "Let's go inside, big guy."

You nod and start to lead him inside but first you turn to him, gripping his hands. "Orphanos."

He stares at you, mouth agape, in confusion. "Or what now?"

You chuckle and shake your head. "My name. It's Orphanos."

He grins up at you as you stand on a step just above him. "Sionn."

The name seems to fit him. You'd heard it in your childhood when you lived in the old country. "And a fox you are, my fair lad." You lead him into the house and toe off your shoes. He does the same and you take him quickly to your master bedroom, ignoring the rest of the house. As soon as you're there with your back to the door, he pins you to it, taking the initiative to press deep kisses to your lips.

The sensation has your legs turning to jelly and you grip at his thin frame. He's not much taller than you, and he weighs so much less, but he's strong and he knows what he's doing. Every movement makes you feel as if you were a teenager again, touching and experiencing lust and longing for the first time without knowing how to get the release you want. Without knowing why these primal desires were seeping through to your extremities. You just lean into his kisses and let his tongue and lips ravish your mouth.

But he pulls back and moves away, sitting on the edge of the bed. He takes off his glasses and puts them on your bed side table before he starts to undress and throw his clothes to the side. After a second's thought, you pull of your shirt and toss it aside moving to the bed to sit next to him, but he rolls so that he's on top of you and presses soft and gentle, almost teasing kisses to your chest and neck.

He moves lower, eventually reaching your hip bone and sucking a dark mark onto it and causing you to let out a low moan and put your fingers into his hair. He looks up at you, squinting with his mismatched eyes to see you and it makes him even more attractive. But as he stares you feel him fumbling with your button and your fly and he starts to pull your pants down, mouthing you through your boxer-briefs.

Your back arches off the bed and you keen, unused to the sensation and the heat. His mouth envelops your tip through the fabric and you're left a shuddering mess while he's barely getting started. He pulls you from the opening of your underwear and actually takes the head of your horribly stiff cock into his mouth.

It doesn't take long for you to come. You feel like a young teen getting sucked off for the first time. But your orgasm is hot and long and you can't believe that he still has your tip in his mouth. Is still milking you. And when he looks up at you with come dribbling past his lips, he pokes his tongue out and licks it back into his mouth. You'd be lying if you told anyone that the action wasn't unbearably hot. Or that you wanted to see him do more things like that. Or that you wanted to see what he'd look like thrusting into you or riding you hard.

But none of that matters because, in this moment, you're spent. You've had too much to drink and your sexual stamina isn't what it used to be when you were in your twenties. You're not even sure that you have any stamina anymore. You haven't even touched yourself in years.

Your thoughts are interrupted by soft sound of a sigh and a weight resting on top of you. "That was faster than I thought it would be there, OR."

You smirk, eyes clouded over as you settle into your refractory period. "Sorry. Been a while."

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips and you can taste your own come. No one's ever kissed you after doing that. Not even your wife. And you feel like the taste is a sign of something yet to come. Of things you have to do yet. He nuzzles against you and wraps long arms around your solid frame and, somehow, it makes you feel like a child being protected. It's so comforting to have him here. Despite the failed one night stand, you're glad that you brought him home. Glad that he's here now. As you drift off to sleep, you can't hope but to feel happy that there will be someone in your bed when you wake the next morning.