Chapter Text
San Francisco fucking city. Once a luminary for the arts, a haven of diversity, a mecca for the LGBT community, the Silicon jewel of the techno kids, was now the run-down dumpster Daniel Molloy liked to call home. And it was a good thing, really, that the city was turning into such a shithole, otherwise, Daniel would never have been able to afford the shoebox apartment on Divisadero Street he was so fond of. At thirty years old, he was still able to romanticize living off of instant ramen and In ‘n Out and not being able to afford his heating bill. In today’s culture of influencers, tik tok hauls, and designer brands selling literal trash bags as luxury items, it felt like a big Fuck you to consumerism and late-stage capitalism. Sure, his coat was H&M but only because he couldn’t afford anything else, and sure, he was a YouTuber, but he was a serious one, dedicated to something important as true crime was, and not a gym bro making videos about his exercise routine or what he ate in a day. Daniel had his podcast, his followers, and a roof over his head, he didn’t need anything else. Hell, he didn’t even need money to pay for his own drinks whenever he went out. He was still baby-faced enough to bat his long eyelashes at any polar bear or daddy of his choosing and get anything he wanted from them, at least for the night.
That particular Thursday night, it had been a couple grasshoppers and a quick handjob in the dingy bathroom at Mary’s before he decided to call it an early night. He was starting to feel a little under the weather, like he was catching a cold or something, plus had a video and it’s corresponding podcast episode to upload to his channels at midnight, sharp, and Daniel took his show very seriously. A sudden wave of dizziness had him leaning on the wall outside the bar while he waited for his Uber, when he saw him:
Tall, dark and handsome, casually reclined over a Harley, and blatantly checking Daniel out. Perfect cupid’s bow of his lip enticingly wrapped around a cigarette as he took a drag, before inclining his head and greeting him with a perfectly pronounced,
“Bonsoir”
Daniel had never understood why people always went on and on about how French was the most romantic language, until then. The amount of sensuality and innuendo that golden-skinned Adonis, that dark-eyed Ganymede in black leather could pack into a single, by all rights innocuous word, ought to be illegal. It took Daniel an embarrassingly long moment to find his tongue and another even longer to make it work.
“Bonsoir” He replied, the word clumsy, uncomfortable in his mouth. Luckily, the arrival of his car saved him from further embarrassing himself, and he ducked into it gracelessly but gratefully.
The fifteen-minute ride to his house did little to clear his head, even if the cold glass of the window felt heavenly against his feverished forehead. Whatever bug he had caught appeared to be a strong one to make him feel so shitty so soon, he just hoped it wasn’t fucking Covid again. He tipped the driver generously just in case, hating to be the reason the poor dude had to miss work in case he actually was contagious and stumbled out of the car and into the shabby building. The two stories by stairs had him breathless, clutching at the doorknob so as not to topple over as he got the key in the lock with no minor effort. But when he opened the door to all the lights in the apartment on and the sound of the shower running, Daniel wondered if, perhaps, he was on the wrong floor.
But no, all of his filming and recording equipment were on the furthermost corner, the only section of the room that was neat and tidy. His bed was still unmade in the other corner, his dirty dishes still piled up in the sink, so what the fuck was going on, and who the hell was in his shower?
Well, he didn’t have to wonder for too long, didn’t even have enough time to get his phone out of his jean pocket and dial 911, because the water stopped, and the same handsome stranger from outside the bar emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet and stark naked, leaving little puddles on the linoleum floor in his wake, but truth be told, Daniel couldn’t get it in himself to care. Not with miles and miles of tanned skin and taut muscle exposed to his viewing pleasure. Not with wet curls catching the yellow light of the lamp in such a way it looked like a glowing halo was framing that Caravaggio angel face. Not when eyes so dark they looked almost red were peering at him through inky black lashes invitingly, the hand patting Daniel’s tiny hand towel to strong pecs and even firmer looking abs without even attempting to hide the man’s (in)modesty beckoning Daniel as effectively as any come hitter motion.
Jello-legged, equally bemused and aroused, Daniel tilded his head.
“Bon…soir?” He asked, like one would call out a name, in confused bewilderment. The stranger only smirked, clearly amused.
“Bonsoir” He confirmed, not even alarmed when Daniel’s world spun on its axis and the drugged boy fell to the floor, unconscious.