Chapter 1: The First Encounter
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
It was true, I was older than him—probably by about ten or twelve years based on his looks—but I’d often been confused for much younger than my thirty-nine years. Not because of any special skin care regime, makeup, or efforts to dress or act younger than my age; I’d just been lucky in the genetics pool, I guess. My looks had often earned me the attention of other men, though I was not the gym-fit, muscle-bound Adonis that featured in most gay men’s masturbation fantasies. I had an attractive, youthful-looking face, kept myself up well, and always ensured I dressed myself appropriately.
There was something disarming about my appearance. I had the kind of unthreatening handsomeness that made people linger without understanding why. My build was trim, lean more from consistency than effort, and my features were softened by a natural innocence I had never fully grown out of. Even the way I walked, with a certain reserve, invited curiosity and lingering interest. I’d been with men before—submissive, pliant, learning to be what they wanted—but I never felt particularly in control. Despite how often I was told I was good-looking, I lacked confidence when it mattered. I didn’t know how to pursue. I waited, watched, and hoped I’d be seen.
Sean saw me.
Sean, by contrast, was exactly the sort of man you’d expect to see walking down the streets of any gay village. He clearly spent a lot of time at the gym, and his body was evidence of the effort he’d put into creating a physique designed to entice. His luscious blond hair was meticulously styled and looked as though it was attended to and re-attended to throughout the day. His skin was perfect, unblemished and flush in all the right places, bestowing an impression of vigour and health. Each outfit Sean wore seemed as though it was torn from the pages of a modern fashion magazine, and he wore the clothes like a model on a runway. Even Sean’s hands were attractive, large and defined, with masculine fingers that he adorned with perfectly chosen rings, and there was always a tasteful watch to match on his wrist. Sean was the picture of perfection in my mind, and I still hadn’t seen what was under his clothes. He was 6'2", had metallic blue eyes, and a commanding gaze that belied his young age. He wore the confidence of his profession everywhere he went; Sean was a lawyer in and out of the office.
The first time I saw him in the boardroom, standing as if he owned the space despite being the newest hire, I felt something low in my stomach shift. It wasn’t just desire. It was gravity. The way he glanced around the room, eyes sweeping over people like they were facts to be filed. When his gaze landed on me—briefly, precisely—I felt it. The recognition. He saw more than the surface. He saw the way I looked away too quickly. The way my jaw tensed.
And yet, for all his polish, Sean wasn’t just beautiful. He was dangerous. Not in the sense of threat, but in the way predators are dangerous to prey. There was something in his expression that calculated constantly, like he was always deciding how to use what he saw. That glint in his eye, the way he tilted his head as if measuring your worth. I caught him looking at me once or twice. Or maybe more than that. But he never lingered long enough for me to be sure.
He was new to the firm, a junior associate transferred in from a boutique litigation firm elsewhere downtown. I was a senior associate in the employment group, older, more seasoned. Our roles barely overlapped, but when they did, when we passed in the halls, or stood side by side at the espresso machine, something unspoken pressed at the edge of those moments.
He always smiled first. I never could.
Our first substantial conversation happened late one Thursday, well past six. The floor had mostly emptied. I was at the copier, organizing a stack of contracts for review, when Sean walked past, then doubled back.
“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, smooth as anything.
I chuckled, trying to play it cool. “Not quite midnight. Just standard senior associate hours.”
He leaned against the filing cabinet beside me. “They’ve already got you pulling triple shifts, huh?”
I shrugged. “They always do.”
Sean looked me over, not with the blank professionalism most associates adopted, but with a subtle, assessing gaze. Like he was searching for something beneath the surface.
“You don’t look tired,” he said. “You look like you belong here.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment exactly, but it landed like one. I met his gaze for a second too long before looking away.
He reached past me to grab a stray file, and I caught the faint scent of cologne, something cool, expensive, and masculine. My throat went dry.
“You’re in employment, right?” he asked, casually.
“Yeah. You?”
“Litigation. They say I’m aggressive.”
I tried to smile. “Well, that makes sense.”
He smirked. “Why’s that?”
“You look like someone who doesn’t ask twice.”
His smile deepened, just enough to suggest something behind it.
We stood there a moment longer. Then he stepped back.
“Goodnight, Blake.”
He said my name like he’d practiced it.
“Goodnight, Sean.”
He turned and walked away, and I was left with the distinct impression that I’d just failed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.
But I also knew I’d passed something else, because when he looked back once, just briefly, it wasn’t curiosity I saw in his eyes.
It was interest.
And suddenly, I wasn’t so tired anymore.
The next morning, I found myself noticing Sean everywhere. In the blur of the morning elevator crowd, he stood out like a high-definition image in a sea of blur. His suit was charcoal, cut sharp across the shoulders and snug at the waist. The tie was a subtle navy herringbone, understated but purposeful—like everything he wore. And yet it wasn’t the clothes that drew the eye. It was the carriage. Sean walked like a man with nothing to prove and yet absolutely everything in control. I watched him greet the managing partner with a firm handshake and a smile just shy of respectful. He knew where the lines were and how to walk right up to them.
I ducked into the kitchen for a coffee refill, half-hoping he wouldn’t follow. Half-hoping he would.
“Morning,” he said behind me. My hand jerked, nearly sloshing coffee over the edge of the cup.
“Hey,” I said. Smooth.
“You always this jumpy?”
“Only when I haven’t had caffeine.”
He laughed softly, stepping beside me at the espresso machine. The scent of him was warm and citrus-edged today, like bergamot and cedar.
“You heading to court this morning?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Client meeting downtown. Thought I’d dress like I charge by the hour.”
He didn’t have to try that hard. He looked like someone who should be paid just to exist in a suit. I took a careful sip of coffee.
“Let me know if you ever want to grab lunch,” he said, suddenly.
I blinked. “Yeah. Sure.”
He turned to go, then paused.
“You really don’t see it, do you?”
“What?”
Sean smiled. “You’re the only one in this office not trying to impress anyone. That’s what makes you interesting.”
He left me standing there, mouth partway open, coffee forgotten.
Interesting.
No one had called me that in years. Certainly not someone like Sean.
Back at my desk, I couldn’t concentrate. My mind replayed every look, every word. The way he’d said my name. The way he moved. The fact that he’d noticed me, not just as a colleague, but as a man. And beneath the buzz of distraction, something else took root. A question.
What did he want from me?
Because whatever it was, I already knew I would give it.
That afternoon, I watched him in a meeting, just across the glass from the corridor, seated at the head of the table as if he'd been born to lead it. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, the room quieted. Even the partners listened. There was something in the way he paused, considered, made people wait for his words. It was commanding without arrogance. Intentional. Controlled.
I shouldn’t have lingered outside the boardroom. I’d come to drop something off, but I found myself standing still, like a voyeur at a gallery exhibit. The meeting eventually broke and Sean stood, laughing at something one of the partners said. As the room emptied, he looked up. Saw me. Held my gaze through the glass.
He didn’t smile this time. He just tilted his head slightly. Like he was acknowledging a challenge.
Later that day, a calendar invite appeared in my inbox. No message. Just a subject line: Follow-up: LSO audit response. Sean’s name below it. A fake pretext. We didn’t work on the same files. We had no shared matters.
I clicked accept.
The meeting was scheduled for 7 p.m.
I didn't leave the office early that night. I didn’t even try.
When 7 p.m. came, the halls of the office were hushed and hollow. The daytime buzz of voices, printers, and incoming calls had faded, leaving behind the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of someone vacuuming on another floor. I sat at my desk longer than I needed to, pretending to review a memo, pretending not to watch the clock.
At 6:58, I walked to the meeting room.
Sean was already there.
He stood near the windows, back to the glass, the skyline glittering behind him in fractured gold and blue. He wasn’t in a rush. His blazer was off, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He didn’t glance up right away when I stepped inside. Just motioned for me to shut the door.
“I appreciate you making time,” he said, finally turning.
His tone was neutral, but his eyes weren’t. They scanned me deliberately, like he was still deciding what kind of meeting this would be.
“No problem,” I replied, walking toward the table. “Happy to help.”
He smiled slightly. “You always this helpful?”
I sat across from him, heart ticking louder than I wanted it to.
“Only when I want to be.”
We stared at each other a moment longer. Then Sean pulled a thin file from his bag and laid it on the table. A single sheet inside. Blank.
“So,” he said, leaning forward, “let’s talk about how we’re going to handle this.”
I looked at the file. Then back at him. The tension thickened, neither hostile nor collegial, but charged with something unspoken. A current.
“You’re playing with fire,” I said softly.
Sean leaned back, resting one ankle on his opposite knee, completely relaxed.
“Good thing I like the heat.”
Outside the windows, the city glowed. Inside the room, time stretched thin.
He didn’t move. Neither did I.
But something had already begun.
He stood, not abruptly, but with the kind of grace that made every movement seem rehearsed. He walked to the credenza near the window and poured two fingers of scotch into a tumbler, then offered it to me. I accepted without thinking. The drink was smooth, smoky, expensive. Of course it was.
Sean poured one for himself and leaned against the wall, just far enough away to make me wonder if I was supposed to close the distance.
“So what’s your read on the place?” he asked.
I blinked. “The firm?”
“Yeah.”
I hesitated. “It’s… structured. Hierarchical. Efficient.”
He smirked. “That’s the kind of answer you give when you don’t want to get in trouble.”
I shrugged. “Old habits.”
He took a slow sip. “You’re not like the others here.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is,” he said, watching me now. “Most of them are trying to prove something. You’re not.”
I felt my pulse quicken. “That’s because I already know what I am.”
Sean tilted his head, considering. “Do you?”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was sharp, alive. He crossed the room and took the seat next to me, not across from me this time. His thigh brushed mine. Deliberately. He didn’t apologize.
He picked up the file again, glanced at the blank page, and closed it.
“You’re the kind of man who knows how to follow rules,” he said. “But I get the sense you’re waiting for someone to give you new ones.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Not without giving too much away.
He stood again, gathering his blazer, his phone, his presence.
“I’m heading out,” he said. “Want to walk with me to the elevators?”
I followed.
We walked in silence to the elevator bay, footsteps soft on the carpet. He pressed the button. The light blinked on.
When the doors opened, he turned to me.
“I’ll see you Monday.”
His tone was neutral. But his eyes lingered.
I nodded.
“Goodnight, Sean.”
He stepped inside, the doors closing behind him.
I stared at the elevator for a long moment, the taste of scotch still on my tongue, my heart thudding quietly in my chest.
Something had begun. And whatever it was, I knew it wouldn’t end in boardrooms and elevator rides..
