It wasn't strange to get hit on while working at the bar. Though, it was a bit strange that his customer wasn't a slurring, drunken mess while propositioning him. His usual go to response was a glass of water and to shoo them back to their seats to sober up a bit. If that didn't work, well, he or a bouncer could always escort them out a bit more forcefully.

This paramour was certainly handsome. And outside of his job, the artfully rumpled suit and smirk would be tempting. He glanced at the hand covering his own as the man leaned forward and suggested they go back to his place.

"I'm sorry. I'm still working." Customer service smile firmly in place, he gently extracted his hand.

A flash of disappointment. "Another time, then." And with a coy smile and a wink of a golden eye, the stranger slipped away.

Fulgur couldn't help feeling disappointed when the man left shortly after, and no one stood outside waiting for him as he closed up. Oh well, expecting anything serious was silly, especially when alcohol was involved. _

The next time he was propositioned, he shooed the swaying mess away with water instead of the pint he'd been searching for between the flirting. The man was gone by last call.

There was someone in the side alley smoking when he left, but the man didn't move or acknowledge him with more than a glance. Through the smell of smoke, he caught the faintest tang of iron as he passed, but the next day, the alley was empty. No suspicious stains or mysterious large bags. It was always best to stay out of things like that, so he put it out of his mind quickly.

_

This time, the man flirting was reasonably sober and actually stuck around when he mentioned still being on the clock. It had been awhile, and he wasn't bad to look at.

When, as he closed up, the man offered a "My place?" He actually took him up on it.

But when he stepped out of the man's bathroom after freshening up, instead of a half dressed bed partner for the night, he was met with silence and the heavy scent of blood. It took only a few steps to find the body. Laying in the doorway of the kitchen, just a further bit down the hall, was a corpse surrounded in fresh blood, a violent slash across its throat. Most of the apartment was dark. The bright lights shining from the kitchen only deepened the darkness spilling from the rest of the doors. He backed up as slowly and quietly as he could. The exit was on the other side of the hallway, past the body, and he hadn't been in the bathroom long. It was dead silent, but could he really take the chance that the killer had actually left?

Would it be better to return to the bathroom, lock the door and hope a call to the police would get him help before the killer found him?

The next step backwards, he collided with a warm chest. A gloved hand immediately covered his mouth while the other caught him around the waist, pinning one of his arms in the process.

"Shh…" A low voice rumbled in his ear. "We wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors, would we?"

Heart in his throat, Fulgur struggled against his captor, but the other man didn't budge, even as he used his free hand to try and pry the hand off of his mouth.

A dark chuckle against the back of his neck left him shaking. The man pulled him backwards with overwhelming strength, into the darkness. He made a muffled noise of protest as they backed into a room and spun. A pause as his captor shifted slightly, turning the lights on with his arm. Fulgur caught a glimpse of a bed in the sudden flood of light before he was pinned to it. With the other man's full weight pressing him to the bed, he removed his hands long enough to stuff a wad of fabric into his mouth before he could yell, and pinned both of his arms above his head with one hand.

How was he so strong?!

The stranger bound his hands together with a loose tie, and secured them to the headboard.

"There. That's better, isn't it?" The man crooned at him. He flinched as a hand pushed his shirt up out of the way and traced his ribs. "Easy…I'm not going to hurt you. Just behave, hmmm? This is what you came here for anyway, right?"

He was unable to stop the man from removing his pants, even with his limited struggles. A muffled moan erupted from his gagged mouth as the hand not holding his hips up reached between his legs to stroke at the flaccid length there. "Not in the mood, anymore? I'm sure we can fix that."

The murder stroked him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and pressing kisses against the back of his neck. He was mortifyingly hard in short order. All of the adrenaline from the earlier terror redirecting. It doesn't take long for him to cum with a sob to the other man's soft chuckles.

"There we go! Do you feel better?" There's the sound of clothes being removed behind him, but even with his head turned to make it easier to breathe, he can only see their shadows cast on the wall.

The hand leaves his dick and returns slick with lube. The man is too gentle, prepping him patiently, tracing soft touches along his body. By the time the man is slowly fucking into him he's already hard again.

Everything feels so sensitive and overwhelming. He whimpers and cries as the man bottoms out and palms his leaking dick.

"You're so fucking pretty, you know? And tight. Fuck you feel so good around me." Time seems to drip away from him. There's only the slow thrusts and strokes. He jerks when one thrust manages to hit his prostrate, and the man lets out a triumphant sound. Every thrust now directed unerringly towards that spot. He remembers cumming at least one more time. Remembers liquid heat filling him. But everything becomes a fuzzy oversensitive mess when his captor keeps going afterwards.

He wakes up alone, clean, and naked. Sunlight streams in from a window, and he feels twinges of pain in his lower half as he sits up to kick the blankets off of him. His jaw aches, his wrists feel rubbed raw, but he's been cleaned up. The dreamy haze evaporates and he stumbles out of the bedroom, heart in his throat.

The kitchen floor is spotless. If not for the marks on his body and the strong disinfectant smell in the kitchen, he'd almost believe it was all a dream. There's a letter sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Thanks for last night, sweetheart. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Go home. Get some more rest, and don't worry. I tied up all the loose ends. Just remember to lock the door on your way out~"

There's no signature. Should he call the police? Would they believe him? Would they blame him? He stares at the paper in his hands for several minutes before he leaves. He locks the door behind him.

For the next month he half expects a knife in his throat or a visit from the police, but everything is normal. It becomes easier to let it fade from his memory. A bad dream, or maybe the guy he went back with slipped him something and he'd hallucinated everything leading up to the sex? He manages to convince himself to let it go until he locks up a few months later and runs straight into a man with vaguely familiar golden eyes.

"Hello there, sweetheart. How have you been?"