Prowl by RiseAgainPhoenix

(The author states: "This is sort of a prequel to the infamous Courting Daniel, except the two aren’t totally connected. They’re along the same vein though, so if you want them to be a series, they are.")

~~~
We were standing all alone, you were leaning in to speak to me
Acting like a mover-shaker, dancing to Madonna, then you kissed me
And I think about it all the time
Sweet temptation, rush all over me
And I think about it all the time
Passion desire so intense, I can't take any more

And I think about you all the time
Yeah I think about it all the time
Tell me it's madness I barely know you
~~~

This isn’t exactly my style. All the smoke, the alcohol, the tightly packed hotties grinding to the sound of bad music and the smell of sweat. Nah. I’m classier than that, usually. Don’t fuck around with the whole club thing. But a bunch of my loser friends dragged me here tonight.

Remind me to thank them.

I don’t even know where they are, the club’s so full. As though I could care less. Between sips of my sparkling water and some obligatory flirting with faceless girls, I keep my eye on you. Yeah, you’re one good-lookin’ son of a bitch. Dressed to kill, with looks to match, and you’re hiding behind a counter like you didn’t come out looking for a good time. That’s cool, though. That’s good. I like them a little bit shy. You have blond hair hanging on your eyes, and you’re frowning, concentrating. You look so damn intense, so serious, like there’s actually something here for you to concentrate on. There can’t be, though, because you’re not looking at anyone. You’re just standing there staring into space, oozing sex.

Now *that* there is more my style. A solemn golden angel boy, probably rich and definitely in need of a good fucking. Your eyes shift, and before long they meet mine. You like me? Because I am really liking you. A tiny hint of a smile starts on your face, and then you’re looking away again, looking down at your hands. Coy, are we? You want me to work for it? Oh, I’ll work for it alright. I’ll work in ways you’ve never imagined, pretty boy. Just you wait.

I walk on over, all nonchalant. No need to look too interested yet. I cruise some women along the way, but I don’t really see them. I’m still watching you, in the corner of my eye. And you’re still watching your hands. Smooth. You don’t look up even when I get to you. You don’t look up until I clear my throat, and then I’m wondering if you’re playing coy, or if you really are that shy.

“Hey there.”
“Hi.” And back down to your hands.
“I’m Darren.”
“Daniel.”
“Come here often?”
You shake your head.
“Wanna dance?”
Shake your head again. I can see you’re a conversationalist.

I take a seat beside you, uninvited. The stool’s really made for one, but you’re so damn skinny that I can still perch on it. Not without my thigh on your leg, though. You don’t say anything, and I take it as a green light for me to go on.

“So. Daniel.”
You look up at me for a fraction of a second. I’m gonna count that as a victory.
“You look way too sharp to be sitting here all by yourself, so why are you?”
“I’m not,” you say, looking pointedly at my thigh. And then you put your hand on it, very lightly.

And, we’re on.

We’re making small talk. That’s good. You can talk. That’s very good. You’re a guitarist with a small band. That’s cute. You just moved out last week. You like dogs. Let me just veer us back onto the immediate topic at hand here.
“Now, Daniel, why’re you at this club? I refuse to believe you came all the way here just to sit and gaze off into space.”´
“I refuse to believe you came here just to watch me.”
Ooh, a challenge. “On the contrary. See, I don’t come here often---”
“Neither do I.”
Daniel, you are so much more fun when you decide to come out and play. I love a good challenge.

With women, I can usually go by my looks alone. I smile, they melt. I flirt, and they’re mine. With men, I have to crank up the charm a little more, because the men I pick are generally prettier than me and know it. But I’m proud to say that I hardly ever have to work my ass off for anyone. And before tonight, I was starting to forget the joys of the courtship game. The thrill of the hunt. But it’s all comin’ back to me now.

A new song starts up, a Madonna number. The only song I’ve heard all night that isn’t total shit.
“Are you sure you don’t want to dance?”
You nod, and flash me a smile. If I weren’t so good at this, I would’ve come in my pants. “Be my guest, though, if you want to.”
If I want to…? Oh, dance. Maybe seeing my cute booty shake will pull the rest of you out of that shell.
I shrug, and get off your lap. You don’t look as disappointed as I would’ve liked, but you’re not looking relieved or anything, thank god.

I start dancing, close enough for me to bump my hip into you every now and then. I’m not the Lord of the fuckin’ Dance, but most of the people here are bad enough to make me to look good. You alternate between looking at me and looking at your hands, and just when I’m about to grab you by the shoulders and force you to dance with me, you kiss me. And I’m not talking like a little peck on the cheek, either. You reach over and give me a full-blown, ten-second dental check with your tongue, complete with groping hands and moaning.

Whoa.

You are *so* much more fun when you decide to come out and play.

I think about throwing you to the floor and taking you right then, but you’re looking down at your hands again. Blushing. Like it was the first time you ever kissed anybody. And I just have the strangest little feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I wanna take you home and keep you. Please, mommy? I promise I’ll feed him and walk him and take good care of him. That’s all I can think about, all of a sudden. Having you. Not just your damn fine body for the night, but you. For a very long time.

‘Easy, Darren,’ I’m tellin’ myself. ‘You’re hardly in the game and you’re already planning the honeymoon. You have to win him completely before you get to do whatever you want with him.’

I’m pretty sure I’m most of the way there, though, when you sneak a look at me.

“Hey, you wanna get out of here?”
You nod.
I fish my keys out of my pocket with one hand and take your sleeve with the other. So my loser friends will have to find another designated driver tonight. I’ll buy them a fruit basket later.
You kiss me again, when I have you pressed up against the side of my car.
I’ll buy them a whole fuckin’ town later.