Harry'd decided she'd celebrate her 40th birthday big, in her favourite club. Turned out, it was a gay club. And John was stuck.

He couldn't leave before midnight because a) he was the big brother, you can't just leave a milestone birthday before midnight, b) he would appear so old, which at 42 he wasn't, c) people'd presume he was uncomfortable around gays, which he wasn't, swear to God. He would just have to drink more to pass the time. Much much more. And hope nobody from work saw him here. They already talked too much.

John blamed the beer and vodka when strolling through the club looking for the loos he got sidetracked by an intriguing, black wall. A brick-like pattern was painted on it, the wall stopping somewhere to form kind of an entrance to another room. Curious John followed the path.

The new room was really only a narrow hallway, the walls painted black on both sides leading somewhere new. The corridor was narrow and maybe ten metres long, leaving the light behind fast. John put out a hand to the wall on his left, feeling for the tapestry. The way it swallowed the light meant it had to be something else than plain paint and he was right, the texture under his fingers was more cloth-like and definitely not plaster. John was a little proud of himself that he'd figured that out, even in his half-drunken state.

He also noticed how the music drowned out with every step he took. He basked in the feeling. It wasn't because he was old, but the music really had been rather loud. Here, it was calm. Relaxing after hours spend out there.

But with fading music and light, his other senses picked up, and what he could hear now was definitely something else completely. The path came to an end, a doorway leading off to his left into another room, the final room.

John's flat mate may insist that John only saw, but didn't observe. But he was wrong. John may have been inebriated, but he wasn't stupid.

He had followed a black wall to a black room. The sounds emerging were distinct. He was in a gay club.

You hear about those things.

What John couldn't explain, though, was why he entered the dark room.

Rounding the corner, he was surprised, pleasantly. There was some sort of light source, it just was grey. John didn't even know there was such a thing as grey light. It was enough to enable him so see shapes and silhouettes, but he couldn't make out any of the handful of people in the room. All was very dark grey on all-swallowing black. It was perfect! For a moment John forgot about the room's purpose and the people in it using it for just that, but seriously, the lighting was genius.

When he came back from his scientific high, he took in the people. John waited for panic to start welling up in him. He wasn't exactly shy, but those people, they were having sex. Right in front of him. Granted, he couldn't see anything but movements, but yeah, he was English, after all. He should feel somewhat embarrassed. Shouldn't he? Except, he didn't.

It was arousing, but not overwhelming. The people, he couldn't make out their genders, either didn't notice or mind John as he started walking around the room slowly. He stopped some places and watched, saw what little he could see, and then resumed wandering. His skin started to tingle, but he was happy to watch, hear, and not take part, especially as he didn't know the etiquette of this establishment.

That was, until he saw movement by the door as somebody new, single, entered. They looked around and then made their rounds. John observed the new person, prickling with excitement as the possibilities came to mind.

It was a man, he could tell that much. Even only by the man's height and hair style. Women that tall often countered their above-average, not-very-female height by sporting long hair, but that man's hair wasn't long. That. It was longer than John's, but long hair was 'in' on men in their twenties.

So, young male, single, looking for a one-time hook-up in the dark room of a city gay club. John was on fire tonight. One spot-on observation after the other. He should make note of telling his flat mate about that, he'd be proud. Probably. If he'd listen.

And right now, judging by said man's speed as he walked around, John had about 20, 25 seconds time to decide if he wanted to provide. It must have been the alcohol that he even considered the option. That man was clearly not John's type. Lack of breasts made that obvious. Still, he was intrigued. People fucking around him, the smell in the air triggering a pavlovian response, letting the part of his brain that controls base instincts take over. But John was not a man of base instincts. Not any more.

His resolves came crashing down, when the young man arrived at his side, leaned on the wall next to him and John knew he'd decline if an offer came until the other man touched his left wrist and shot a bolt of something from John's wrist up into his shoulder and from there down his spine. It was intensely pleasant. And in that moment John just thought 'fuck it' and then he literally did just that.

He turned to the man, his hand still around John's wrist in a light yet strong grip. John tried to look at him and see anything but it was impossible. He could barely see his outline, squint as he might. He gave up on that.

Freeing his wrist lightly, he lifted his hand just some inches and intertwined his fingers with that of the other man. Stepping in front of him fully and crowding him against the wall, John leaned in and took a discrete breath. He had smelled it from beside him but now, much closer, he could bask in his heavenly smell. The man smelled so comforting, so nice, so much like everything John knew, that nerves didn't even get a chance to come up in him. John wasn't nervous, at all. He was confident and that's why he leaned up and kissed the man in front of him.

The kiss was hot from second one. The other mouth opened under his onslaught, their tongues duelling playfully, teeth nipping at lips and tongues. It was a stupid thought, but John immediately felt at home in the other man's mouth. It helped that the other man tasted of John's own toothpaste and earl grey tea.

Their free hands had wrapped around each other's necks to hold their heads even closer than the kiss already assured. John took another step, pushing the taller man into the wall and pressing their bodies together. He was getting hard so fast he was feeling dizzy, the other man's growing erection pressing into his hip accelerating the process even more.

John dropped his hand from his jaw to run it down other the man's silky button down to where it was tugged into his woolen trousers, pulling at the button there one-handed and impatiently. Their surroundings were long since forgotten, John existed only with this smooth, tall man in front of him, with his taste on his tongue and nothing else mattered in that moment.

"Help me." he whispered into the other man's mouth. The tall man freed his hand from where it was still holding John's and pulled his other one from around John's neck to unfasten his trousers. Shoving them down a bit, he kissed John one last time and turned around in the little space he had. John took a step back to give him more room to brace against the wall and lean forward, pushing out his arse for John to do with however he pleased.

John pulled down his trousers and pants and let his hands wander over the exposed bum, grabbing at the luscious flesh as if it belonged to him, marking it with bruising strength. He wondered briefly at the man in front of him who didn't make a single sound, appreciative nor dismissive, who just pushed back into John's hand spurring him on.

He traced the crack of his arse with one finger and found the entrance, letting his finger linger there for just a moment, pressing in lightly. The man pushed back against him, his body doing what his voice wouldn't, telling John to get on with it.

"Do you have any lube? Condoms?" John asked quietly, glad he even remembered it. The other man was willing, no doubt, but not open enough and there was just no way John would fuck a strange man without a condom, even if he didn't seem so strange.

The man reached out one of his hands and fumbled at the wall, searching for something and then, all of a sudden, reaching into a bowl John hadn't noticed and coming up with a handful of sachets, handing them to John. He was surprised, and glad, that the club-owners at least were forward-thinking.

He couldn't see what the packets were, but thankfully, his fingers could recognise their contents. He picked one condom and one sachet of lube and put the remaining packets back into the bowl that was screwed to the wall. John felt a sudden, inexplicable fondness for the club Harry had dragged him to. The thought, however, was short-lived. With a new surge of impatience he started at his own jeans, opening them and shoving them and his pants down to his mid-thighs. His cock sprang free, eager for action, so full it almost hit his stomach. He tore open the condom with his mouth and rolled it on, preparing himself for when, in a moment, he might be too preoccupied to do so otherwise. Next, he ripped open the lube and squirted a decent portion onto his left hand, rubbing it with his fingers, warming it up before he brought his hand back to the neglected arse in front of him. Time to begin.

The man squirmed deliciously under John's touches. As much as he wanted to get to his knees and bite into the flesh, gnaw at it and lick his way around and all over it, John was impatient. Another time, his brain provided, and then shut up again. No place for thoughts when his body wanted to bury itself in that arse.

John pushed one lubed finger in and found it fit easily. Encouraged he brought up his middle finger, too, and stroked two fingers in and out, scissoring when inside, widening the path. The man made his first sounds, huffing air, always meeting John's hand, just as impatient as John. When he felt it was right, John pushed his ring finger in as well, opening up the man with three fingers now, stretching him. He fingered him for another minute and made good use of his medical education when he went straight for the man's prostate and alternatively pressed down and gently stroking it with just a hint of his fingertips. He couldn't see, of course, but he imagined the man biting down on his bottom lip to keep from screaming out, as tense as his back was under John's ministrations. The man's quietness transferred to John who usually was a lot more vocal during sex, but rather silent now. Maybe it was because some part of his otherwise unused brain remembered there were still some other people in close proximity.

The man was ready as could be and desperate for more, so John drew out his fingers. With shaking hands he poured the rest of the lube into his hand and brought it to his condom-clad cock, treating himself to a couple to strong strokes, groaning loudly, obscenely. He had grown even harder while his fingers were inside that man.

With a foot he very softly kicked the other man's legs wider apart until his arse was at John's hip level, perfect height. John tipped at his waist to give him a warning and then stepped forward, cock in hand, guiding it to the man's arsehole and wasting no time, pushing in, much slower than he thought he was capable of. The man opened up beautifully for him, still tight, unbelievably hot and gripping so firmly, coaxing John further in, farther, until he was halfway in and stopped for barely a second before pulling back out, moaning, holding only the head of his cock in and pushing back in, an inch farther then before. Picking up speed gradually John continued the in-and-out movement, sinking deeper a bit every time until at last he felt his bollocks touch the other man's, delectably. He groaned, throwing his head back, sounding like an animal. John didn't care. Couldn't care. His hands have found their place on the other man's hips, his fingers digging into the sparse flesh there, surely leaving marks and John just couldn't care, no, wanting to mark him, mark him as his, let all the world see, John couldn't have cared if the room they were in were flooded in light, video cameras broadcasting it live on the internet, as he marked this man in the most primal sense as his and everyone, every single man or woman on the planet should know it. This. Was. John's.

And so he began fucking him in earnest. The sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded loud in his ears and he fucked still harder, still louder. Angling his thrusts he hit the man's prostate time and time again, the man forgetting about his own no-sound-policy and moaning, though quietly, under the onslaught, bracing himself against the wall, holding onto his own arms for dear life. John relished in the knowledge that thought intoxicating, his fucking probably wasn't enough for the other man to come, but as John slammed into him like a sledgehammer, he had no way of freeing a hand to stroke himself even though he clearly wanted to, it was quite obvious, and John would not give it to him. Not yet.

John tried to think about something, something, anything, hydrogen 1, helium 2, lithium 3, was it beryllium 4?, Sherlock would know, don't think of Sherlock now!, God, that man was hot! So tight. So hot. He was doing something, something with his arse, flexing his muscles, massaging John's cock, growing tighter and releasing him again, and screw this, John brought his left hand around and started stroking the man's prick, never losing a beat pistoning with short, sharp thrusts in and out of his arse and then he came and the man came, too, and then they both came and the dark room went blindingly white and his arse was milking John, honest-to-god milking him for all he was worth, every last drop caught by the condom and John hoped it was good quality, because he was coming so hard and so much, the man would be leaking for days if that condom broke.

Both were breathing hard and trying to ground. When the room came back to John he eased out of the death grip that still was the other man's arse, flinching at the feeling on his over-sensitive cock. He staggered to the wall and leaned on it, needing the support while his legs tried to stop trembling. Next to him the man still had his forehead against his forearms, breathing heavily, but still otherwise, not trembling like John.

"You okay?" John asked, doctor mode firing up. The man nodded.

"Good." He let his head drop against the wall. After a while he stripped off the condom, knotting it and trying to make out a waste bin. Finding none, and feeling bad, he let the used condom drop for the cleaning personnel to deal with. As John pulled up his pants and trousers the other man came back to life next to him, straightening his clothing. He turned his head to John, as if to look at him, but of course not seeing him, still he nodded and left the room swiftly without giving the impression of running away. Gracefully.

John looked after him until he lost sight of him. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling for panic to rise up in him, but finding none. He felt okay. Sated, satisfied, nothing at all negative about getting his satisfaction from another man. He smiled at himself. That had been much easier than he ever anticipated.

It was easier, because he knew who that man was. It didn't matter that he hadn't said a word, knowing his unique voice would give him away in a second.

John was inebriated, but he wasn't stupid. His smell, the soap he used that was the same John used, the toothpaste that was John's as well, the familiar cologne that couldn't completely hide the faint smell of formaldehyde that John was just so used to. His height, his form, his clothes. John didn't need light to recognise that particular man anywhere.