#david 1

Julian was always one with a destination in mind, never wandering aimlessly — and so he did that night, in London, as he walked purposefully from the nearest Fortnum & Mason to his flat — but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take detours. He came across a familiar figure sitting upon the streetside seats of a café, and he walked over to him, smiling widely. “David, right?” he greeted the other. He knew he and his husband were friends, to some degree, and they had met each other quite a few times now. “Mind if I take this seat?” He was carrying a load of reusable bags, far too many for his comfort. “I just need — a little bit of a break.”

In the consortium of faces old and new it was always a delight to find a friend. Friend, of course, might be a stretch — they were different personalities, but they had known each other since childhood and with the ties of this society will long know each other until one crumbles into dust. They had chosen different paths in life, but now they gathered in the same hallowed hall for the same purpose. Once customary greetings were aside, she went on to business. “What do you think of this newest batch of initiates?” she asked the novelist. “Have you met any that have struck your interest?”

When he saw David roaming around outside the house, he’d figured the man was merely exploring his new surroundings, getting the lay of the land. However, not ten minutes later, he returns with a handful of tulips of various colours, bundled together in a makeshift bouquet. Nick blinks at him without understanding his intent. “Those are nice. Are you planning to keep some in a vase?” David did seem to have an affection for plants.

Consciousness claws into his mind as his hands lash and claw violently at his assailant. It’s so dark–is he passing out? His lungs are on fire, but he’ll fight to his true last breath.

He barely has time to process the request before everything shuts down. His mind goes blank, his eyes, cloudy. Every concern he has--who's around, where they are--slips away; all that remains is the irresistible urge to kiss him. It's not a desire but a need, like he needs food and water, and every moment apart is another week of hunger or another hour of thirst. Nick closes the space between them, gently cupping David's face as he brings their lips together. Fireworks explode in his chest; he could die in this kiss happily. His fingertips are tingling, his breathing is erratic. He tilts his head for a better angle, prodding David's lips with his tongue. He wants more of this man, more more more. He craves him.