Charles wasn't really passed out. 

But he was dizzy, and disoriented. He just needed to rest his head for a minute.

When the world shifted around him, he tried to stir but his limbs felt too heavy.

A while - how long? - later, he woke up on a firm, black leather couch in a dim room lit only by a warm glowing reading light on top of a heavy desk taking up most of the room, besides the couch. 

Someone was sitting at that desk, watching him.

"Are you awake now?" a deep, rumbling voice asked him. "Ready to get a taxi?"

Suddenly a wave of nausea overtook him out of nowhere and he rushed to his feet, stumbling.

"Rest - Restroom - " he gasped, vision blurred without his glasses, hands out searching, gripping something warm and steady - 

"Shh, I got you. Bathroom's over here. Watch you step."

"My glasses - "

"Here."

He felt them slip onto his face and then he could see the toilet just in time to throw up into it.

It wasn't much besides liquid.

Charles retched, dry-heaving, and large, warm, coffee coloured hands held him steady and moved the golden strands of hair out of his face. 

That low voice murmured encouraging nothings to him, moved him to sit on top of the toilet seat when nothing more came up, wiped his face and carried him back to the couch.

"Go on, rest a bit more. I'll be here."

For some reason, he trusted the voice. It seemed to know what it was doing. He dozed.

When he woke up, he felt much less drunk, but not yet hung over.

"Where am I?"

"Sobered up? You're still at the bar, kid."

"Kid?" He honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had called him that - he didn't look old, but he was above average height and usually dressed like the urban engineer he was. 

Dark eyes met his across the desk and sent a jolt through him. 

"Charlie Callaghan," that low, rumbling voice said, and Charles shivered. 

'Charlie', Charles thought. He must have heard that from Kit. 

For some reason he didn't mind this man using his nickname. It sounded right in his voice...

He recognized the bar owner who usually sat - alone, serious and aloof - at his own table in the corner. Older, black, very handsome in a respectable way, and usually seated in front of a sleek laptop wearing a dark suit. 

Not the kind of guy he could ever approach. 

Charles's gaze slid over him and drank in the tailored brown suit he had on - jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms - 

In that moment Kit's words flitted through his brain - that man has been watching you - and he realized that he did not want to be alone tonight.

Not if there was an alternative. 

He swallowed, and rested his chin on the back of the couch, smiling tentatively. 

"And you are?" he asked, voice wavering and slightly raspy.

"Amos Devereux. The owner."

This man - Amos - had held his hair back as he got sick, had helped him rinse his mouth out and wiped his face gently. That must mean he had a chance - who did something like that for someone they weren't interested in?

"Um, why don't you come over here?" he patted the couch next to him, biting his lip.

But when Amos regarded him coldly before slowly getting up and walking over, he wasn't exactly sure what to do next.

Looking up into his dark brown eyes - almost black in the dim light - Charles felt a twinge of insecurity through his buzz.

He had never really tried to seduce anyone. Usually, if someone wanted him, they let him know. 

Charles could technically say no - but if he said yes, then that was usually it. They took care of the rest and he only needed to follow along.

"Come on," he said softly, looking up, unsure and hesitant. "Don't you want to?"

Feeling his eyes on him, taking in his body, weighing, judging, Charles couldn't help but shiver. 

He must know what I mean, what I want...

He'd always had a thing for this, powerful men who could make him melt with just one look and the look Amos was giving him was scorching. 

Charles shivered, body alive and tingling. 

Yes, please.

Amos might like to hear him beg...and oh, Charles wanted to beg. To be on his knees before him, to be used and directed...but that was not was he was getting.

The man in front of him gave nothing away, demeanour inscrutable.

"You're still drunk."

"I'm an alcoholic." 

Saying it out loud was dizzying - breath catching. But what did it matter, voicing the truth here? This person already knew.

"My tolerance is sky-high... And I'm an adult. Tell me you don't want to."

"I should despise you. Even though you have a kid depending on you, here you are, throwing your life away - just like my own brother did when his son needed him. I should despise you... But I find myself unable to."

He paused, his dark eyes boring into Charles's. The blond felt his heart skip.

"Unable to look away from your face, to drown out your voice, to resist helping you and craving to see you smile at me sweetly. I'm to old for this - this schoolyard infatuation."

He ran a hand across his face, suddenly looking tired. 

"Just clean yourself up and get a taxi."

"Kit said you've been watching me," Charles said, glancing up shyly.

"I have been," Amos admitted, face calm. "But what makes you think I want you sick, drunk and desperate?"

"Nothing," Charles whispered, looking down. "Of course you don't."

"You're terrible. You drink your youth away and neglect that kid you have. I've seen that shit before, and I'm not a fan."

"But you - you still run a bar - "

"My family runs a whole bunch of bars and nightclubs. I handle most of the financials and own this one."

Strong fingers gripped his chin and turned his face up.

"So why can't I dislike you? Why do I smile when you scrunch up you nose the way you do when you sip a strong cocktail? The way you can't keep your fingers still - fiddle with everything - the way you look so surprised every time you sneeze, that wrinkle between your eyes when you're thinking extra hard -

Charles kissed him.

He barely realized what he was doing before those soft broad lips were pressed against his own small, petal-pink ones.

What had come over him? He had never taken the initiative like this. But those words - the feeling of being seen, desired - 

Charles gasped and pulled back, his breath rushing out again in a soft 'puff'.

Amos watched his lips, voice dropping even further in pitch, barely more than a rumbling vibration.

"I have never looked twice at a customer, yet I can't stop looking at you. Can't stop listening to you speak. Why is that, Charlie?"

Oh, his brain supplied helpfully.

A multiple choice answer. Well, it could be that you project your brother onto me and want to aid or punish me in his place. 

Or I'm just your type and the fact that I'm forbidden makes me even more attractive to you. 

Or, it you be that -

"- I don't care why. Please, kiss me..." 

"That might be...unwise." 

But the way he was looking at him... And he hadn't denied him - just tried to dissuade him. Charles swallowed. One last thing to try.

He slid to the floor slowly, ending up sprawled half on the couch and half sitting on the rug by the commanding man's legs. Holding his breath, Charles put his head on Amos's knee. Looked up at him with pleading eyes.

He admitted to wanting me, right?

"Can't I stay? Please?" 

Charles knew he sounded pathetic, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. He liked feeling pathetic. 

Already, he was stirring in his pants, and Amos had done nothing but look at him with those dark, judgemental, scorching eyes. 

"I'll do anything you want..."

He just didn't want to be the one in charge tonight. Alone again.

"Whatever you want..."

Strong dark fingers curled around his chin, tilting his face upwards again. It was wonderful, being handled so firmly and carefully, leaving no room for doubt. 

"Let me stay with you, please? Don't leave me alone, please..."

Amos growled down at him. "...Aren't you a sweet little thing? Do you like begging?"

"Please, please Amos... I'll do anything you want... Just tell me and I will..."

His thumb traced Charles's glistening, pink bottom lip.

"If that's what you want." The words seemed almost wrung out of him, simmering with heated restraint. 

"Are you sober enough for this?"

And Charles nodded, eyes wide, nuzzling into his thigh, looking up with wide, grateful eyes. 

"Please."

"What do you want from me? What do you like?"

"I want you to...do whatever you want to me?"

"Not good enough. You want me to tell you what to do?"

"Yes, please..." Just the thought made him squirm. 

Mostly people just took what they wanted from Charles, and he was okay with that. That's what he expected, what he wanted. So now, being asked to put it into words...what exactly did he like?

"Dirty talk? Insults?"

"...That's fine."

"Like it rough?"

"...Yes..."

"Not good enough. What do you want, baby?"

Baby.

In that low, rumbling voice the word made him melt inside. Tender and familiar. He blushed.

"Oh, you liked that? Come on, baby. Tell me."

"I..." He swallowed, staring at Amos's wide, full lips. "I want to hear your voice in my ear. Telling me what to do. Commanding me."

He exhaled sharply, a hot puff of air. "I can do that for you. What else?"

"Want...your hands on me. Moving me, directing me."

"Ah-hah. Yes, I like the sound of that."

"Your..." He paused stuttering. "Mouth on my skin. Claiming me, like..."

He blushed. Sober, he would never have dared to say this. And any thought of what Hunter might do if he found him all marked up would have made him blanche - but now -

"...You're mine?"

"Just for tonight, like I'm your - possession."

"No problem, sweetheart. Colour system okay with you? Green to go, yellow to slow, red to stop?"

"Yes," Charles whispered, staring up at him, spellbound by his voice and the way his thick fingers were gently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

He wanted them all over his body. More than just a distraction, a momentary escape - he wanted this man more with every passing moment.

Charles couldn't remember the last time he had been this fascinated. Amos seemed so sure, as if nothing would faze him, and looked at him as if he was desirable and dangerous.

"Stand up," he told him, voice calm and level, and the blond obeyed almost before his brain registered the words.

Amos smiled, slowly.

"Strip."

Charles blushed. He started fumbling at his buttons.

"Look at me. Don't turn your face away."

He forced himself to look back, body heating up under that gaze as he slid the fabric over his skin, slipped off item after item and let them fall to the floor. 

Amos watched him, arms flung out over the back of the couch, knees spread wide and showing off the sizeable bulge in his pants. He made no move to undress.

"Everything," he commanded.

Breath coming faster - embarrassed at how riled up he was already, wishing he could hide his arousal - Charles stood completely naked in front of him. Amos smirked.

"Top drawer to the right. Get me the condom packet and lube there."

Chewing his lip, aware of the way he had to turn his backside towards the sofa to walk to the desk, bend over to reach the drawer - Charles got the items for him.

Taking them from his hands, the older man finally pulled him towards him, positioned him over his lab with his legs spread, kneeling.

He made Charles watch, trembling with barely contained need, while he painstakingly unbuttoned his own top buttons - revealing a bit of a collarbone that the younger man eyed hungrily, wishing he was allowed to lick it - and then, finally, his belt buckle.

"Give me your hand."

Amos squeezed out some of the clear, sweet-smelling water-based lube over his fingers and laced them together with his own. Then he trailed his hand down the blond's stomach, leaving a wet trail, eyes devouring him whole.

"Show me," he ordered, voice low. "I want to see you do it."

Charles was powerless to resist, because he didn't want to resist. There something about Amos's voice...it had an almost hypnotic quality. He wanted to do anything and everything that voice told him to. 

Blushing, he reached down between his legs and traced along the soft stretch of skin behind his balls, to the tight puckered rim there. 

He watched Amos put on a condom with one hand, slowly rolling the latex down the length of his impressive - 

Fingers slick with lube, Charles angled his wrist and pushed one finger inside, stretching. 

Immediately he shivered, eyelids fluttering. The sensation was so unique - only this made him feel this way - intrusion almost uncomfortable in how it made him feel as if he couldn't move, could only stay here, focused on this.

He pumped the single digit in and out, Amos watching him, feeling the velvety softness inside, stretching to slide another long, elegant finger (pianist hands, people always told him, even though he'd never played well) inside himself.

Charles cast a covetous glance a Amos's thicker fingers. He wanted them.

Wanted the bulge he could see clearly outlined in the other man's boxer's, wanted it inside him. 

(When was the last time he had wanted so much? Drinking often made him feel relaxed and horny, and he was so pent up after staying celibate for weeks - with no Hunter there to play with him - )

Wanted to rub and rut against him.

Instead he worked himself open, whimpering a little as he started sitting back onto his own fingers, his dick sticking out in front, bobbing.

His cheeks flamed under Amos's heated gaze.

Those black eyes seemed to devour him, expression unreadable, as he made a mess of himself, still raised up on his knees over Amos's lap.

"Add another one," he growled.

"Aaah..." Charles did, and he couldn't hold back his moans any more, bringing his other hand up to bite his knuckles.

Amos pulled his hand away, pressed a kiss on his knuckles without taking his eyes off Charles and put his hands flat on either side of his ribcage, stilling him.

"Be as loud as you like," he rumbled. "We're alone here." 

He looked at him - black eyes holding round hazel ones in the dim warm light - as he slowly lowered Charles down onto his cock.

The younger man's eyes widened when he understood what Amos was doing, his eyes rolling back as he moaned aloud.  

He was giving Charles what he had asked for... 

He was taking control.