This week’s Playboy Fiction comes from author TQ Sims, whose queer sci-fi Lovers series (Godspeed, Lovers and Lovers In Arms) has captured the attention of thousands. You can buy his books at The Lovers Universe or anywhere online where books are sold.
Living Darkness, thicker than night sky, eclipsed the moon and stars as it crawled across rooftops. With mammoth limbs of sinuous shadow, it pulled itself onto a nearby building. It crept toward me. Closer. It inhaled the scent of my fear. It had my trail now.
I could smell it as well. Sulfur.
The unsettling sonation of its shadowy feathers shook me. I turned away, quickened my steps. If it sensed me gazing at it, its unseen eyes would chill my bones again. I’d freeze.
I turned down the street, kept my body moving. And it followed.
Closer.
Thwomp! The living Darkness leapt atop the building just behind me.
Across the street, a neon sign glowed like a beacon. I bowed my head, almost reverently, as I hurried through the door under the sign that read “The Ransom.”
Several patrons looked in my direction through the dim, smoky air. Men at the bar glanced over their shoulders before returning to their conversations. The door swung shut behind me.
(“Den of iniquity!” my father’s ghost echoed from his pulpit.)
Thwomp! The building shuddered under its weight.
The bartender looked up. He’d heard it too—I wasn’t crazy.
The Darkness was surely spilling over the edges of the building outside. If I were to step outside before it moved on, it would seize me in its clutches. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I wanted to be here, where my desires and shame stirred. My stomach quivered, and I held my desires in check. I hoped the darkness couldn’t smell my shame through the brick walls.
My hands shook as I lit a cigarette. I took a long drag and wondered how I could escape something that always seemed to be right behind me, something that I had spent my life running from. Something which now conjured up my past, tugging at my memories with psychic snares.
(“The Prince of Darkness has a hold on the sinner.” He looked right at me. Of all faces looking back at him from his congregation, his sight fell on mine with the word “sinner.”)
Out of a habit formed long ago, I restrained my desire to be amongst these men in this “den of iniquity.” My body trembled with the effort to quell the desire stirring in me. Yet I had to be here. I had to escape the Darkness.
I exhaled deeply, releasing a smoky plume. The rush of nicotine and the familiar hand movements helped me focus. I realized I was still standing just inside the door, drawing curious looks.
Two figures just out of the glow from the red light over the pool table laughed. I almost turned to leave, but realized they were laughing about the game, not at me. One of them had his back against the wall, the other sauntered towards him. Neither noticed the Darkness beginning to saturate the ceiling like stains from a leaky roof. Their body language said they had other things on their minds. The one with a beard glanced my way. Familiarity tugged at my fear. The other man stepped between us.
A tinge of envy and desire stirred within me, preceding a familiar, heavy shame. The Darkness smelled my shame. Sulfur. Before it might reach through the ceiling for me, I rushed to the bar.
I tried to look like I belonged amongst the men enjoying themselves. I pulled out a stool and sat. I had to act “normal” so I wouldn’t get kicked out. I met the eyes of a man nearby, but when he nodded, I turned away. I held my desires tightly, protecting myself. I could not let them control me. I had to restrain them. They would swell if I returned the attention of the men at the bar.
(“Vile abominations,” he hissed. “An offense to Creation itself!”)
“What can I get for you, handsome?”
The compliment pulled me out of my head. I looked up to meet the bartender’s kind face. My desire broke free of my grasp, and shame burned through it, into me. The darkness growled. The bartender flashed a sympathetic smile. He saw a guy nervous to be in a gay bar, not a man hiding from some eldritch horror.
I snuffed out my half-smoked cigarette. He’s just nice, I told myself. For tips.
“Beer.”
“What kind?” His honest smile extended to his eyes.
“Ugh…” I looked away. My voice trembled. “Domestic.”
The bartender nodded and walked to the cooler. He couldn’t see me clutching my desire, trying to keep my shame from burning it. I was passing for normal enough. He set the beer down in front of me and lingered, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. I fumbled for my wallet.
As various men looked my way, desire to be seen mixed with fear of being known. An unsettling alchemy. I tried to conceal my desire, and my shame swept toward it. A painful spark. The Darkness inhaled the singed scent of my anguish.
The Darkness looked down into the building. It hunted me. It pulled at my memories, hoping to discover where I was by causing me to react.
(“There is no heaven for the homosexual.”)
On the bar, the flame of a candle in a red, glass votive flickered. Red holiday lights glowed over the rows of bottles behind the bar. A single, low-hanging red bulb shone over a pool table. Men passed through the red glow muted by cigarette smoke, losing identifying details. They moved into dim spaces toward each other. Fiery, orange tips of their cigarettes and cigars glowed amidst the haze of smoke.
(“They will burn in the flames of hell.” He struck several matches—more than necessary. Sulfur hung in the air as he lit the frankincense on the altar. He stared into me hunched over in the pew, attempting to hide the physical evidence of a mind deemed sinful.)
I held my cold beer with both hands, hoping to cool my mind.
Inky shadows undulated in expanding pools on the ceiling. No one else seemed to notice as they bled down the walls. From unlit corners, slithering tentacles of Darkness, each with its own hidden eyes and teeth, searched for me.
I sat still, hoping to be unnoticed, hoping the Darkness might lose track of me amongst the others. From the corner of my eye, I noticed another man looking my way, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. I wrestled my desire, trying to keep it hidden.
I watched as men positioned themselves to be close to each other, to touch each other, to
move with their desires. I longed for that freedom.
(“They cannot hide from His judgement!” He pulled me from the pew to my feet. He looked down on me, below my waist. His suspicion turned to sickened certainty. The crotch of my khakis was pulled tight. The thought of “men who lie with men” was enough for my pubescent desires to give me an erection. In the air, sulfur.)
(“Sin…”) My father’s voice echoed in the shame it had created. And the Darkness heard it. It began scratching its way through the roof. Each scrape clawed its way into me, deep cuts, sharp fear.
The bartender gazed up, shook his head. “Damn pigeons again.”
He walked over to the jukebox and turned the volume up. A familiar bassline, beat, and guitar. The Darkness had somehow cued up “Son of a Preacher Man” just for me. As if the song was its announcement. That it saw me, into me, my sin. That by entering this place, it had caught
me.
As the scent of my shame rose from my skin, I scanned the dim bar for another way out. Across the room, a large opening in the wall was framed by a brick arch. Several men passed under the arch, moving into another room. The darkness in the backroom was dense. A darkened pall. Almost indiscernible against the natural dimness, something moved. It shifted its shadowy form, hanging thick in the air. The living Darkness had seeped into the building. As men entered the backroom, it closed its shadowy feathers around them.
(“There is no salvation for such vile sinners.”)
The vaguely familiar man whom I’d passed on my way in stopped at the brick archway. In the red glow of the pool table light, he quickly scanned the bar, ignoring the attention of other men. His gaze landed on me, and he stopped.
He recognized me. Alarm shot through me, and the Darkness whipped its unseen eyes in my direction.
Slapping my change down on the bar, the bartender surprised me. He leaned towards me and asked, “You know him?”
I followed his gaze to the bearded man, shook my head. “Don’t think so.”
The bearded man leaned against the wall at the very edge of the unnaturally dark backroom. In the flame of his lighter as he lit a cigarette, familiar eyes gazed at me.
My desire warmed. And I relaxed my grip.
(“Sinner…”) my father’s last word to me echoed.
Before sulfur could rise from my skin again, I tried to make my father’s voice fade, tried to make the disdain in his eyes fade. From my barstool, I tried again to leave him.
“Whoever he is, you’ve got his attention.” The bartender smirked approvingly.
When I looked back at the bearded man, my breath caught in my throat. A shadowy tentacle snaked toward him. The viscid extension of the Darkness bifurcated into a mouth lined with rows of needle-like teeth open to strike him. He blew smoke over his shoulder at it. The tentacle recoiled.
He knew the Darkness was there. He wasn’t afraid.
He nodded as if he had heard my thoughts, but surely, he was only acknowledging my gaze. He tilted his head toward the dim backroom, and like magic, the gesture pulled me from my barstool. He walked directly into the Darkness.
Before my father’s voice could condemn me, I turned away from it. I had to know the man who the living Darkness could not touch. I stepped toward the backroom, my shame bubbled up, and I pushed it aside. I loosened my hold on my desire but held it close.
My heart beat hard in my chest as I stopped at the brick archway. Shadowy tentacles crept down the walls toward me. I tried to see through the shadowy feathers descending into the room. I could see only the pall. Only the Darkness.
With staggered breath, I inhaled the remnants of the bearded man’s cigarette smoke. I stepped into the backroom. Darkness closed around me. Rustling feathers stirred near my ears as I waited for my eyes to adjust.
The backroom smelled different: spilled beer, cigarette smoke, a hint of something hormonal. The faint scent of sweet bleach: cum. The aroma aroused me. I smelled lust. And so did the Darkness.
Sulfur. From my shame. From the living Darkness.
My desire swelled, and I allowed it despite my fear. I had to find the bearded man. I had to know why the Darkness couldn’t touch him.
Shapes emerged from shadows as faint light fell on them. A couple of men stood in a corner, shoulder to shoulder. Their voices, quick, low murmurs, urgent exhaled grunts. Indistinct words of gruff approval. My eyes adjusted. In front of them, a man knelt.
(“Fall on your knees!”)
As I watched the man who was not on his knees to pray, his muffled moaning excited me. The man he knelt in front looked directly at me. I watched.
To my father’s ghost, I whispered, “I’ve found a better reason to kneel.”
The humor parted the shadowy feathers, but my relief did not last. The living Darkness cast its eyes down on me. Shame scorched my desire. My father’s judgment stung my core.
The living Darkness permeated reality. Its mass rose from the dim ether into stolen space. A colossal, cowled head turned toward me. Massive, hunched shoulders shifted as sinuous shadows slipped across its bulk. Vaporous limbs and tentacles became viscous extensions ending in talons. Its pitch black feathers fluttered as its wings stretched wall to wall. Shadow spilled across the floor, and it filled the backroom.
An abysmal mouth full of blood and teeth opened. The voices of seven generations of cruel fathers hissed forth from a forked tongue: “Sinner.”
Tentacles coiled around my ankles. Their hooks dug into my flesh.
Cold terror shot through my veins. I clamored to conceal my desire. I was mistaken to follow it into the backroom. It had to be hidden.
The Darkness’ face loomed over me. Its cowl sloughed away like dead skin from an open wound of a face. It peered at me with one thousand scorched eyes full of judgment. The eyes of my father.
It lunged.
I stumbled.
Into strong arms.
Frankincense.
“Leaving?” The bearded man asked as he stepped in front of the Darkness, bringing it to
a halt. “Were you looking for something?”
“You,” I blurted.
The bearded man moved closer. “Stay.”
Desire shot through me, moving my arms. I clung to him, hoping the Darkness couldn’t
touch him, us. I backed into the wall, pulling him to me. His breath landed on my lips. A puff of
pleasure so close to laughter, exhaled through his half-smile. On his beard, fragrance:
frankincense oil.
The Darkness closed around us, swallowing the red light. Its talons cut into the brick wall
over my head. It tightened its grip on my legs. With its hooks in me, the Darkness pulled itself
around him, toward me.
His voice came softer than before, “You ok?”
I quickly confessed, “Scared.”
He smiled, as if he understood.
I wanted to know why he wasn’t afraid. I wanted to feel the same.
My voice shook. “Don’t stop.”
My body trembled, but I refused to conceal my desire. He put his hands on my waist. I grabbed his arms, wrapping my hands around firm muscles. He pressed his lower body into mine. We stood that way as the Darkness groped for me but recoiled from him.
Our breath synchronized with lengthened exhalations. I inhaled the holy incense in his beard. The sulfurous air around me began to dissipate.
The Darkness shifted, growling low. He cupped my face in his hand. In his warm eyes, my fear waned.
Rather than holding back my desire, I held him.
A small, shadowy feather fell behind him.
I allowed my desire to move within me. It touched places I’d withheld it from for so long. Tightly wound muscles shook loose. Warmth spread in my loins. Carnal energy grew, swirling in complementary currents through and between me and the bearded man. Our desires danced with potential fulfillment.
For a moment, I was with him alone. I forgot.
The Darkness snagged my mind back. “Sin!”
I froze.
“Don’t worry about that.” His voice was soft, low. “Just enjoy.”
With his words, another shadowy feather fell at our feet.
He placed my hand on the tightening crotch of his jeans. My pleasure in finding his firm arousal plucked several feathers from the Darkness. The pressure of his grip through my jeans around my growing erection sent a vibrant chord through me. I gasped. Unrestrained, my desire flooded through me.
The wings of the Darkness quaked… but as if they were being disturbed. More shadowy feathers fell. The living Darkness writhed around us. As I surrendered to the man’s touch, the Darkness howled, half enraged, half wounded. It gnashed rows of scraping teeth.
The bearded man lowered my zipper. He looked down at my exposed erection, and a soft sound of pleasure escaped his lips. He stroked me as the Darkness shrieked, and the sounds of our breath overtook its furious cries. He stared deep into me, watching my pleasure build. As energy swelled in my loins, the Darkness grew slack. Its tentacles fell away from me and rummaged around us.
The pall loosened and fell. Ruby light broke through the Darkness and across his face. The man with frankincense in his beard touched me like no one else had. He gave me more pleasure than I’d ever given myself. As he stroked my cock, his delight in my enjoyment showed on his face. His illuminated features were familiar, but how…?
I held his face, turning it toward the light.
The lines of age on his face were deepened versions of what I’d begun to see on my own. He smirked, just as I often did. The gap between his teeth was the same as mine. In his eyes, I saw the same warm mahogany I find in my own, and also, confidence.
I was looking into a mirror twenty years away.
I realized how to escape the Darkness: not by knowing the man the darkness cannot touch, but by becoming him.
My desire filled me, extinguishing depowered shame.
The rhythmic force of building pressure and excitement released. Pleasure powered through me. Each orgasmic wave swept away wounded shadows. My father’s condemnations were ripped from the mouth of the Darkness—its fearsome wings torn away from its back. Limp talons and tentacles were flung back towards the heart of the beast. Its shadows folded in on themselves, disappearing in hollowed eye sockets.
As the height of arousal ebbed, tensity transmuted into radiant pleasure.
The living Darkness shattered. Its broken pieces fell to the floor. Each flailed feebly, unable to touch, unable to torment. The fragments limped into the corners, recoiling from every man who passed as they moved toward each other, toward their desires, perhaps killing their own Darkness, perhaps just being seen in the dark.
I took back my tortured memories, reclaimed the power to transform them. The mortally wounded Darkness cowered from me. One day, it would be no more than memory.
Relief washed over me.
As I caught my breath, I smirked at the bearded man. He mirrored the expression. We laughed quietly. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me. I bowed my head and wiped my cum off of his hand before cleaning myself.
I steadied my voice. “What’s your name?”
He whispered, “Same as yours.”
His kiss on my brow was a blessing. My entire body eased as he let me go.
“Thank you,” I sighed.
He looked in my eyes with adoration. “My pleasure.”
The Darkness was dead. Its sulfuric stench was gone. Frankincense lingered.
As he passed through the arch and moved into the red light of the bar, past the pool table, he turned back once. He had found what he had come for, not to kill the Darkness, but to find me, to show me how to kill it.
Before I could zip my pants, he was out the door.
I dashed through the bar, flung the door open, and spilled out. I paused under the red glow of the neon sign. No one on the sidewalks. Each street was empty.
I crossed the street and looked back towards the bar. Above the building was the moon and stars. Only night sky.
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