Rókus
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 8
Chance or Destiny
Rókus arrived at the club early that next Friday night, the familiar pulse of the music already comforting. He settled at the bar and was greeted by the usual friendly smile from Carl. He ordered his drink, the sweet cocktail with the little rainbow umbrella—a nod to his first, disastrous night. As Carl set the drink down, he gave a subtle nod toward the far end of the bar.
"There's someone looking a little lonely," Carl smiled.
Rókus turned and saw Elias. The nurse, his good Samaritan, was standing alone, looking slightly out of place amidst the growing crowd. Picking up his drink, Rókus made his way over.
"Elias, hey!" Rókus said, genuinely pleased. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."
Elias smiled, the sight of Rókus seeming to brighten his face. "Rókus. Glad you came over. I've been wanting to catch you again."
Their conversation flowed easily, covering work—Elias' demanding shifts at the hospital, Rókus' satisfaction with the city gardens. Elias was warm and attentive, his gaze lingering on Rókus' face. After a few minutes of comfortable chatter, Elias grew serious, leaning in slightly.
"Look, Rókus," he began, his voice dropping slightly below the music. "I like you. A lot. But I'm not really into... just casual hookups. If I pursue something, I want it to be real. I want a relationship."
He held Rókus' gaze, his eyes open and honest. "So, I need to ask you something simple. Do you have anyone in your life right now?"
The question hit Rókus with a surprising force. He thought of Tomas—the shared bed, the tender kisses, the easy intimacy of their domestic Sunday. But he also thought of Tomas walking out with Laren and Solan last Friday, and the raw bruises he'd seen the next morning. Were they a couple? It was what Rókus wanted, but their arrangement was so fraught with complexity. He opened his mouth, but the simple answer eluded him. He was intrigued by Elias' genuine, straightforward approach, but the truth about Tomas was suddenly impossible to articulate. He couldn't say yes, but he couldn't bring himself to say no.
"I will tell you everything, but not here," Rókus said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. The pounding music and flashing lights suddenly felt suffocating.
"Then let's go some place for a coffee or something," Elias replied, a gentle understanding in his eyes.
They left the nightclub, stepping out into the cool night air. As they did, Rókus saw a huge figure entering the club: Laren. The older man's eyes locked onto Rókus and Elias for a fleeting, sharp moment before he disappeared inside. The brief, tense sight only cemented Rókus' decision to leave.
They walked along the river bank, the path quiet save for the soft rush of the water. Rókus felt a sense of calm return, the city noise fading behind them. After a few minutes, they spotted a small, dimly lit place tucked away on a corner, a sign above the door promising soft jazz. It looked cozy and anonymous.
"Here," Rókus suggested.
"Perfect."
Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of dark wood and coffee. A trio was playing a smooth, melancholy tune in the corner. They settled at a small, intimate table by the window. They both ordered mocktails—Elias out of principle, Rókus out of necessity—and took a moment to listen to the music, letting the quiet atmosphere settle around them.
Finally, Rókus took a deep breath, clutching his glass, he met Elias's patient gaze. "The answer to your question is complicated," he began. He started wit h the loneliness that had driven him to the club. He told Elias everything: the night they first met, the initial terror, the missing hours, and that, until now, he didn't know the identity of the man who brought him home. Then, he moved on to Tomas, detailing their connection and the feelings he wasn't sure he might have for him.
He confessed the terrifying truth of their dual existence: the sweet, easy domesticity, and the dark, dominating attraction to the "two bears," Laren and Solan. He explained the drugs, the submission, and the confusing pull of a lifestyle that was both horrifying and strangely compelling. He finished with the events of the previous night—Tomas choosing to leave with the bears, and the pain and confusion that followed.
"So, no," Rókus concluded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't have anyone in my life right now... not in the way you mean. I have someone I want to have, but I don't know if he wants to let go of the other thing." He felt an enormous weight lift as he finished, the entire truth now laid bare between them.
Elias listened, his expression unwavering, absorbing the shocking narrative of drugs, domination, and divided loyalties. When Rókus finished, the jazz filled the sudden silence—a melancholy sax solo that seemed to underscore the complexity of Rókus' life.
"Thank you for telling me all of that, Rókus," Elias said, his voice quiet but firm. He didn't offer judgment or false sympathy. He simply stated the obvious, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "Where does that leave us?"
The question hung heavy in the air between them. It was the crucial juncture, the point where Elias asked Rókus to choose between the chaotic pull of the bears, his sentiments for Tomas, and the genuine stability he, Elias, represented.
Rókus shifted in his seat, unable to meet Elias' gaze. His mind instantly went to Tomas—to the comfortable weight of his body on Sunday morning, but also to the desperate, bruised look on his face Saturday. He couldn't deny the easy, authentic connection he felt with Elias, the relief of honest conversation, but the intoxicating shadow of the bears' power still clung to him. He was emotionally torn and practically confused.
He tried to formulate a response—a decisive statement of intent—but the words wouldn't come. All he could manage was a slow, agonizing shake of his head.
His inability to answer was, in itself, an answer. Elias looked at the floor, then back up at Rókus, a profound sadness settling in his eyes. He reached across the table, took Rókus' hand, squeezed it once, and then let go. He understood that Rókus was still caught in the undertow, not yet ready to step onto the solid ground Elias offered.
"I understand," Elias said softly, pulling out his wallet. He placed money on the table. "You know where to find me, Rókus. When you figure out what you truly want."
With a final, gentle look, Elias stood and walked out, leaving Rókus alone at the small table, the soft jazz playing to an audience of one.
Chance or destiny, Rókus thought, watching the city lights blur outside the bar window. He quickly finished his second alcoholic drink since Elias had left, the liquid doing little to dull the emotional turmoil. As he lowered his glass, his eyes snagged on a familiar figure outside. He strained to make sure, then tapped sharply on the glass.
A large head turned to look. It was Solan, but he wasn't alone. Rókus beckoned the couple toward the door. Minutes later, a grinning Solan was standing at the table, introducing his companion. Solan's boyfriend was a stunningly svelte boy with hair such a light blond it was almost silver.
"Rókus, this is Nils," Solan announced, his hand resting possessively on the silver-haired boy's shoulder. Nils offered a cool, polite nod. "We saw you from the street. What brings you to this quiet corner?"
The three of them settled around the small table as the jazz trio continued to play its soft, late-night melody. Rókus ordered another round of drinks.
"I needed a break from the noise in the club," Rókus explained, careful not to mention the heavy conversation with Elias. He glanced at Nils, curious. "Are you two heading home now?"
"We were," Solan chuckled, his eyes dark and assessing. "Nils and I just had a little catch-up at a different place. Now we're..." he made a sweeping gesture, then looked at R ó kus, "enjoying the music."
Rókus watched the easy intimacy between the two, noting the quiet compliance in Nils' eyes. Nils spoke little, content to let Solan dominate the conversation.
"Where's Tomas tonight?" Solan asked, his smile predatory. "Laren's been looking forward to a repeat performance."
Rókus felt a familiar heat rise. "Tomas is... with him tonight." He chose his words carefully, unwilling to betray Tomas but unable to resist the pull of the conversation.
Solan leaned forward, lowering his voice as the jazz began to wind down, a signal that the bar was preparing to close. "Well, that's a shame. But Nils and I were about to head back to my place. It's not far. We have a couple of bottles left. Why don't you join us?"
Rókus knew exactly what he was suggesting—an evening of submission, dominance, and the intoxicating thrill of being overwhelmed by the massive giant of a bear. He looked at Solan's enormous frame, then at the beautiful, complicit Nils. The temptation was overwhelming, a dark hunger he couldn't deny, a stark contrast to the stable future Elias had offered.
"Yes," Rókus heard himself say, his voice a low whisper. "I'll join you."
Solan's apartment was a study in surprising contrasts. Rókus had expected the aggressive minimalism of Laren's flat, but instead found a space with a powerful, artistic flair. The main living area was large, bathed in soft, recessed lighting that highlighted a polished concrete floor. Towering white walls were adorned not with generic art, but with striking, large-scale black and white photography, mostly abstract shots of industrial machinery and blurred human forms, giving the space a raw, dark energy. A huge, plush velvet sectional sofa—deep emerald green—sat opposite a wall of custom shelving filled with books on modern art and architecture. The overall effect was one of muscular refinement; a place where a giant could indulge a quiet, complex taste.
The trio wasted no time. The unspoken agreement was clear, and the alcohol had dissolved the last of Rókus' hesitation. Clothes fell quickly to the floor, leaving Rókus and Nils naked, their smoother, smaller bodies a stark and fragile canvas against Solan's massive, muscular frame.
Solan commanded the attention he craved. The two boys knelt before him, their hands moving over his immense body. Two mouths worked in tandem, licking the large, erect beast that strained from his groin, while two pairs of hands explored his solid thighs and cupped his large balls. Solan leaned back against the sofa, his eyes half-closed in silent authority, accepting the devotion.
The drink flowed freely as the evening progressed, intensifying the senses and blurring the lines of control. The three eventually moved into the core of their sexual play. Solan orchestrated the final scene, a powerful fantasy of dominance.
He positioned Rókus and Nils on their knees, bent across the velvet sectional sofa, side-by-side. Their nice, firm bums were prominently presented, their smooth skin glistening in the soft light. Solan stood behind them, his massive body fully aroused and ready. He took his time, delivering a sharp smack to each of their rears, the sound echoing in the large room, eliciting a sharp gasp from both boys.
Then, he began the final act. Moving from one to the other, Solan plunged his formidable length into Rókus' arse, demanding submission, before pulling out and seamlessly plunging into Nils' arse, moving with a powerful, rhythmic efficiency. The boys clung to the sofa cushions, bound together by the alternating force of the giant who fucked them, driving them both to a shuddering climax under his complete control.
Rókus did not stay the night, or what little was left of it. In the early hours of Saturday morning, Solan called him a taxi. There were no complications, no lingering awkwardness; just a warm, satisfied sense of closure. Solan and Rókus exchanged a final, deep kiss, and Nils gave Rókus a surprisingly tender embrace. There was no jealousy, no dissatisfaction—all three men had taken genuine pleasure in each other's company. It was both exactly what Rókus had come to expect from this dark, captivating side of the city and yet nothing he could have imagined in his formerly timid life.
On the short ride home he contemplated what had happened. The events of the night were stark, visceral, and utterly real. It was clear that Solan and Nils had a relationship, they were a couple, but their love didn't exclude others; it seemed to actively include them. This made Rókus seriously question what he himself truly wanted.
He was standing at a crossroads. Did he want the simple, comforting stability of a monogamous relationship—to find the nice boy his father wanted for him, someone like the honest and gentle Elias, or even the sweet, domestic side of Tomas? Or, did he crave the thrill, the intensity, and the powerful adventure offered by men like Solan and Laren, embracing a life where relationships were fluid and the boundaries were constantly being tested? The weight of the choice settled on his shoulders.
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