A/N: Adult situations ahoy, maybe don't read this with your grandmother looking over your shoulder.

Duncan was waiting by his car, smoking. Now that we were away from the crowds, I could see him better. He was indeed very tall and thin, dressed in heavy combat-type boots and ratty black jeans that hugged every part of him. His appearance screamed bad boy, and he was exactly my type. I couldn’t wait to blow him.

“You smoke?” he asked me.

“I quit years ago.”

He handed me the cigarette anyway, and I inhaled slowly. Fuck. It had been too long. I took a few tokes before handing it back, relishing in the burn of smoke in my throat and nose.

Duncan flicked the cigarette away and opened the driver’s side of his car. “Let’s go.”

I rounded the car and slid inside. I was not looking forward to the awkward silence that was guaranteed to last until we reached his apartment, but the more I looked at Duncan, the more I wanted a private space to ravish him in. Bathroom blow jobs weren’t going to cut it.

I considered going down on him right now, but he jammed the car into gear and pulled out of the parking space before I could make a grab for his fly. I couldn’t help but stare at his groin, wondering what his cock looked like.

“Someone’s a little thirsty,” Duncan said with a smirk in my direction. God, he had great cheekbones. He didn’t have the traditional masculine silhouette, but beyond Dylan I’d never really been into the chin-cleft types. Too douchey. There was some potential for androgyny in his features, but his mannerisms veered toward the masculine.

“It’s been a while,” I muttered, even though it had really only been a month since my break-up with Dylan. Maybe that was peanuts to some people, but for me it was practically monkhood.

“Anything you’re into, particularly?”

“Fucking’s good.”

Duncan laughed, the sound kind of rough and smoky in a way that slithered down my spine and punched me in the nuts. “I meant type of fucking.”

“The usual is fine with me. I don’t whip out my weird fetishes for strangers.”

“You’ve got weird fetishes?”

“No, but I’ll pretend to so people think I’m edgy.”

“Well, I’ll admit that tonight I’m in mood, so as long as you don’t mind things a little rough, we should be fine.”

Rough was fine. Rough was great. After Dylan, I wanted the shit fucked out of me. I hadn’t really come prepared—I hadn’t known I’d be doing this tonight—but we could make do. Duncan seemed like the kind of person who was always prepared.

We made small talk in the car that didn’t really go anywhere but that which still made me a little horny. Duncan didn’t strike me as dangerous or strange, which put me at ease. You always had to be wary of the types who got weird the moment they were alone with you. He didn’t bring up religious discourse or go into a racist rant about “the blacks”, so he was already doing better than some of the guys I’d been foolish enough to find attractive.

In fact, Duncan was exactly the kind of person I wanted to fuck but could never find in the godforsaken landscape of hook up apps. I sent up a prayer to Rachel for delivering me to this man before Duncan pulled into a parking lot and cut the engine. Before he even reached for the door handle, my hand was on his groin. He paused, as if considering his next approach. Then, with a shrug, he unzipped his fly and reached into his hot orange briefs to pull out his cock.

“Since you’ve been staring at it all night,” Duncan said, “you might as well have a taste.”

It was a nice cock, long and lean like him and hard already. Normally I’d insist on a condom or something, but I’d surpassed my common sense at this point and couldn’t stop myself from diving down on him. It was too much at once, but I had some pride in my ability to take anyone wherever and whenever, so I put my skills to use. Duncan took a fistful of my hair, tight enough that there was an edge of pain but not enough to raise alarms. He used his grip to move my head to his liking, and he rolled his hips beneath me until he was doing way more work than I was. I felt myself sink into a horny stupor, moaning around his length and wrapping my fingers around whatever parts of his cock that my mouth couldn’t reach.

“Fuck,” Duncan hissed, sliding one hand down my back until it rested at the base of my spine, where my T-shirt had ridden up to expose skin. “Suck that fucking cock.”

I groaned in agreement, as if that were needed.

He didn’t last long, and he shoved me deeper onto his length when he came, forcing me to swallow around it. When I pulled off, I was flushed, covered in spit, and panting. Without pause, he swooped in and kissed me so hard he nearly pinned me against the dashboard.

“Get out of the car,” he growled when he pulled away and put away his dick. “And follow me.”

On wobbly legs, I followed orders, wiping away saliva with the back of my hand. Like Dylan, Duncan lived in an apartment building with its front doors outside and accessible to the public. This building didn’t have a pool though, just a line of car ports and a fenced in square of patchy grass for dogs to shit on. Duncan lived on the first floor, so I didn’t have to trust my legs to take me up any flights of stairs. He thrust his key into the lock, tossed open the door, and yanked me inside after him. Then he slammed the door shut behind me and pushed me back against it before dropping to his knees and wrangling my jeans open. The zipper wasn’t great, so with a grunt of frustration, Duncan just forced my jeans and underwear down past my ass and swallowed my dick with enough finesse to make me gasp. Sometimes you got duds with one night stands, guys who didn’t really care if you got off and fell asleep two seconds after their orgasm, but Duncan was—dare I say—about as good at this as I was. The angle wasn’t great because he was so tall, but he made it work, grabbing two handfuls of my ass and tilting my hips to fit his approach. I put my hands on his shoulders to keep my balance, because my knees could not be trusted.

He stopped before I came, pulling off with a wet pop before standing and flipping on the light. I blinked in the sudden glare of the kitchen and living room. It was a pretty standard apartment, even though the walls were bare and there wasn’t much in the way of decoration. Duncan ripped off his shirt and tossed it onto a nearby stool, revealing the tattoo of a spine along his back as well as a tattoo of an axe with the words Bury the Hatchet. There were a few others, but I didn’t have time to observe because he walked into the bathroom.

I pulled off my clothes, wondering if he was planning on coming back. I took another gander around the apartment, searching for anything alarming—like pictures of a boyfriend. But Duncan’s walls were bare. The place was neat but nondescript, as if he’d moved in last week.

Duncan stepped out of the bathroom, startling me.

“You a strict top or bottom or anything?”

“No.” Most men assumed I was a bottom because… well, I looked like I was. And Dylan was a pretty obstinate top, so that was the role I fell into. But I tended to be whatever my partner needed me to be. Josh was way more of a slutty bottom than he’d like to admit, and I never got any complaints.

“Good. Let’s try the couch then.”

Five minutes later, I was getting fucked in the way I’d been needing, though the time it took to get loosened up reminded me of what an entire month's worth of celibacy did to you. Duncan alternated between hard thrusts and shallow rolls of his hips that scraped his cock along my prostate with every push, always indulging me further when I moaned. He started by holding my hips, but as we neared our peaks, he wrapped one arm around my waist and plastered his chest to my back, digging his teeth into the meat of my shoulder. I masturbated myself to completion. He came shortly afterward.

We took a few seconds to catch our breath, and he slid his nose along the ridge of my shoulder with a long inhale. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself to his knees and pulled out.

I wasn’t quite ready to get off all fours, partly because my lower legs felt numb. Duncan vanished behind me, but I wasn’t sure where he went. I was still pushing hair out of my face and sucking in air when Duncan appeared at my side, holding out a wet washcloth.

“It’s a leather couch,” he said as way of explanation, and my brain was so fried that his words barely sounded like English. But then I put it together and looked down at the streak of my cum across his cushions.

“Oh. Yeah.”

I cleaned up, both the couch and all the lube that had dribbled down my thighs. This was the part I hated—the awkward departure. Usually it included the lie of “I’ll call you sometime” or sadly enough, “That was fun.”

However, it had been some time since I’d had a one-night stand so thoroughly satisfying, and I was even more attracted to Duncan now than I had been at the bar. I wanted to make an excuse to stay, hopefully so we could fuck again once I’d had a nap. But I didn’t know how to suggest it, since Duncan seemed a bit more reserved than guys looking for booty calls at gay clubs usually were.

“That was a lot better than I imagined,” I decided to admit, laying it all out there like a dumbass. “Not that I imagined it would be bad. I just… it’s something you can’t predict.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” Duncan said, straddling the arm rest of the couch, at total ease with his own nakedness. Now that I could see him better, I recognized a tattoo of a lily on his chest, some thorny vines creeping over his left shoulder, and flames crawling up his lower right arm. “I love how vocal you are.”

“Oh, yeah.” I snorted. “I’m a moaner.”

We stared at each other a moment before he slipped an arm around my neck and brought me in close to kiss me.

So much for the awkward departure.