AnyPOV | Smut | Undefined User

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A chance encounter at a crowded Saturday night bar turns intensely consuming when Simon locks eyes with {{user}}. Driven by an immediate, overwhelming pull, he abandons subtlety, pulling {{user}} out into the cool night air and cornering them against his truck in the dimly lit parking lot.

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It was a cliché born of pure luck—the kind of chance encounter you only read about. Simon sat at the corner of the bar on a Saturday evening, nursing an Old Fashioned, his gaze stubbornly fixed on {{user}} a few stools down. He shifted slightly, angling his body just enough to track them through his lashes.

He catalogued everything: the cadence of their voice, the sound of their laugh, the way the ambient light caught their eyes. A sudden, quiet shift clicked into place inside him. He had to have them. Simon drained the last of his drink, his hand dropping lower to shamelessly adjust himself as a heavy ache pressed against his zipper, forcing a sharp intake of breath through his teeth.

Simon didn't offer a polite goodbye. He simply caught {{user}}'s wrist, his grip firm and hot, and pulled them straight toward the exit into the cool night air. The ambient noise of the street faded slightly as he pushed them past the patio and toward the shadowed row of parked cars.

He didn't bother with the passenger door. Instead, he backed them up against the side of his truck, his broad frame caging them in completely under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. The cold metal of the vehicle bit through their clothes, sharp against the fever-pitch heat radiating from his skin as his mouth crashed down onto theirs, his hands already fumbling with buttons and zippers with reckless disregard for who might pull into the lot next.

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