"Good evening, gentlemen. How might I help you?" A handsome man with an impeccable hairdo and an immaculate three-piece suit stood behind the maitre d’ podium of one of the hottest new restaurants in town: Savoír.

"Hi. We have a reservation? Under Sanchez."

Two young men stood in front of the podium. They couldn’t have been much more than 20 and yet they seemed to wear their fancy suits with a confidence that many of their peers would have struggled to embody; it was as if they were in their element.

The one that had spoken was of apparent Latino descent and seemed to be the older of the two. His dark midnight-blue suit was perfect for his darker complexion and his dark, wavy hair was slicked back in a way that gave him the appearance of a young businessman.

The maitre d’ picked up a clipboard and flipped through the pages attached. "Ah. Mr. Tomas Sanchez?"

Tomas smiled. "That’d be me. Yup."

"Fantastic. If you would follow me, Mr. Sanchez. I will get you settled." The maitre d’ held a pair of menus to his chest as he gestured toward the dining room.

Clayton Hubbard—"Clay" to most everyone that knew him—glanced at his reflection in a nearby mirror. He adjusted the navy-blue tie that brought out the bright green of his eyes and tugged on his sleeves to make sure the suit jacket had settled properly on his shoulders.

"Clay?"

Clay turned and smiled at Tom. "Sorry. I was just—How do I look?" He held his arms out briefly for the benefit of his date.

"You look amazing," said Tom. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Clay’s for a brief, chaste kiss. "Now come on. Let’s not keep the maitre d’ waiting," he added as he took Clay’s hand in his own and tugged him toward the dining room.

Clay looked around as they walked to their table. The place was incredible—even better inside than on the outside. He felt like he’d walked into a mansion as they navigated the space between the tables.

"Tom. This place is so fancy," Clay muttered under his breath. "Be honest, babe. How long ago did you make the reservation for tonight?"

Tom chuckled. "Trade secret," he said.

Clay lightly elbowed his boyfriend in the sight. "C’mon! The waiting list has got to be months for this place!" he whispered.

"Stop whispering, babe." Tom laughed lightly. "It’s a restaurant. Not a library. Anyway, if you must know, the place I’m working at? We do accounting for the restaurant. I called in a favor with the boss."

"Wow. Look at you, Mr. Well-Connected," said Clay.

"Your table for tonight, gentlemen," said the maitre d’ as he stopped in front of one of the private booths.

Clay took a seat. The cushions were plush and insanely comfortable. He didn’t think he’d ever been to a restaurant with more luxurious seating before. "Thank you," he said, as the maitre d’ handed him and Tom their menus.

"Your server will be with you shortly. If you need any further assistance, please don’t hesitate to flag down one of our staff," said the maitre d’.

"We will, thank you," said Tom as he flipped open his menu.

"Christ. This place is going to be expensive, isn’t it?" said Clay. It was the hallmark of a high-end restaurant: the complete and utter lack of prices on the menu.

Savoír wasn’t at all the kind of place Clay could visit on a whim. He was a college kid saddled with an enormous amount of student loans.

The lack of prices on the menu did nothing to allay his concerns. If anything, it just made him more sure that the bill would come out to an eye-watering amount.

"Don’t you worry about that, babe," said Tom with a little smile. "Price isn’t an object tonight. I’ve been saving especially for this."

Clay blushed. "T-thank you. That’s so thoughtful, babe. I’ll pay you back," he said.

Tom waved his hand. "You can pay me back by focusing on having a good time. I don’t want you worrying about schoolwork or money or anything like that. Just focus on being here. With me."

Despite himself, Clay couldn’t help but blush even harder. He’d dated before but Tom was his first long-term relationship and it was nothing short of amazing they were still going strong after six months.

After taking a moment to look over the dishes on offer, Clay looked up at Tom and said, "You didn’t have to go through so much effort, you know?" he said.

Tom chuckled and shook his head. "I did, though. I wanted to do something special for our six months. Why? Don’t you like it?"

"No. No! I do like it." Clay felt as if his cheeks would set alight at the slightest provocation. "I just… I guess I didn’t think most people cared about a half-hear anniversary."

Tom smiled and reached across the table to place his hand on Clay’s. "You know, I started dating when I was 17."

Clay nodded. "I do. You told me."

"I’ve had my fair share of disappointments." Tom rubbed his thumb over the back of Clay’s hand. "Six months is a milestone, babe. Don’t you let anyone else tell you otherwise."

Clay’s heart skipped a beat. He could tell, at that moment, he’d fallen just a little bit more in love with Tom. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate that. Anyway, are you sure you’re okay with me ordering whatever?"

Tom laughed and nodded. "Yes," he said. "Like I said. Just focus on having a good night."

Clay smiled. "Okay. I’ll do that. Thank you, babe. I really do mean it when I say I appreciate this."

---

Clay grunted softly as his back pressed up against the wall. His cheeks were hot, his lips parted in a desperate little moan. The door to his apartment was just a few feet away but neither of them could wait.

A groan escaped him as Tom’s lips pressed up against the side of his neck. He tilted his head back, shivering with delight as Tom took advantage of the access to rain kisses up the side of his throat.

"W-we might get c—mmph!" Whatever else Clay might have said died on his lips as Tom kissed him.

"Mm." Tom hummed and licked his lips when they broke apart. "Sorry. I can’t seem to keep my hands off you," he said as he placed his hand on Clay’s chest.

"Fuck," Clay managed to get out before Tom’s lips made it impossible to continue. He moaned into his boyfriend’s mouth as they made out against the wall for a few more minutes. Despite himself, it didn’t take long for him to forget all about his concerns that they might get caught.

They broke apart, chests heaving with shallow breaths. Tom growled softly under his breath as he pulled the key out of Clay’s pocket. "We should get in," he murmured as he kissed Clay on the jaw. "Because I might fuck you right here if this goes on any longer."

"Fuck. Don’t tempt me, babe," said Clay. It was an odd thing. He’d never been one for exhibitionism but the idea Tom might lose control and fuck him then and there was titillating in a way he hadn’t expected.

Without letting Clay up, Tom reached over and unlocked the door. He flung it open and it hit the wall of the entryway with a bang.

Clay managed to slip out from under Tom and pulled him inside the apartment. He closed the door with his foot and before Tom could react, he turned the tables and pushed him up against the wall.

"You’re so goddamn hot," Clay whined, pressing his lips against Tom’s as he reached down and unbuttoned Tom’s suit jacket.

He slipped his hands under the jacket and moved them up along Tom’s sides. He could feel the muscles underneath, hard and well-defined under the thin fabric of Tom’s dress shirt.

Tom wasn’t the only one that couldn’t keep his hands off the other. Clay loved the sensation of Tom’s body at his fingertips, too. So he took his time, exploring the ridges and crevices of muscle before reaching up over Tom’s shoulders and sliding the jacket off him.

Clay took a step back as Tom pushed off the wall, slinging the suit jacket off. He didn’t fight when Tom returned the favor, letting his arms fall to his sides as Tom helped him out of his own jacket.

"Bedroom?" said Tom.

Clay licked his lips and nodded. "Bedroom."

They didn’t quite make it the whole way. Tom pushed Clay against the doorframe and kissed him deeply.

Clay couldn’t help but moan. Tom’s lips had such an effect on him. It was as if fireworks were going off in his head.

They ground their hips together, their hard cocks rubbing past one another through the fabric of their pants. Clay lifted one leg and Tom held it up by the back of the knee.

When they broke apart for breath, panting heavily, Clay couldn’t help but groan. "Damn. It’s like every night with you is hotter than the last."

Tom chuckled, kissing Clay briefly before responding. "Those are some awfully high expectations, babe," he said. "I’ll do my best to meet them."

Clay giggled as Tom leaned down and rained kisses along the side of his neck. "O-of course if you fail to meet expectations, you’ll have to keep trying until you do."

"I’ll do my best… Sir."

Clark couldn’t help but giggle as Tom’s hands went to his waist. "Please never say that again," he said, still laughing as they finally entered the room and made their way to the bed.

Tom smirked. With his hands on Clay’s lips, he walked him all the way to the bed. "As you say… Sir," he said before placing his hand on Clay’s chest and giving him a gentle but firm push.

Clay fell backward onto the bed and landed with a muffled thump. "Oh now you’re just being mean," he said with a laugh.

"Am I?" Tom whispered as he crawled onto the bed on top of Clay. "Maybe you should punish me."

Clay laughed and leaned up to kiss Tom. "Maybe later," he said. He wrapped a hand around the back of Tom’s neck and pulled him down. "Right now I want you to make love to me."

"Happily."

Tom helped Clay out of his dress shirt. He undid the buttons with practiced ease, flinging the two halves apart before tugging it up and over Clay’s head by the collar.

Once he was done, he stood up and leaned over to undo the clasp of Clay’s dress pants. He looked up at Clay, dark brown eyes molten with desire as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down—underwear and all.

It caught on Clay’s erection, eliciting a low groan—but only briefly. The pants slipped off and Clay’s arousal was freed. It swung back, smacking on his flat stomach and leaving a smear of pre-cum on his smooth, pale skin.

Though ironed immaculately to fit the occasion at the start of the evening, the pants were left in a crumpled heap on the floor. "You look so good, baby," Tom whispered.

"And you—" said Clay, propping himself up by the elbows to watch Tom, "—are overdressed."

Tom chuckled. "Not for long," he said with a little smirk that made Clay’s heart skip a beat.

Swaying his hips from side to side, Tom slowly undid the buttons on his shirt. He gyrated in place, undulating his stomach as he threw his dress shirt open—first to one side, then the other.

Clay ached with desire for his boyfriend, leaking profusely.

The pants were the next to go. Tom deftly unclasped and unzipped them. He clutched the waistband, letting the V of the seam cradle his bulge as he suggestively thrust his hips toward Clay and winked.

"Dinner and a show, babe?" whispered Clay in a low, husky voice. "You really do spoil me."

Tom chuckled. He slid the pants down his legs and stepped out of them. He was wearing a sleek black jockstrap underneath. He grabbed the pouch in front—straining to contain his erection as it was—and shook it in Clay’s direction with a little smirk.

"You’re worth it," said Tom. The jockstrap went without the same ceremony as the shirt and the pants. They landed off to the side where Tom flung them.

He clambered on top of Clay. Their eyes met for a moment, his cheeks dimpling with a little smile before he leaned in for a kiss.

Clay shivered. There wasn’t quite anything like feeling the heat of Tom’s body pressed up against his. He couldn’t help but moan into Tom’s lips, kissing back with vigor as he felt Tom’s fingers threading through his hair.

They broke apart, a strand of glistening spit bridging the gap between their lips. Clay hooked his legs around Tom’s waist, looked into those dark, smoldering eyes, and said, "Fuck me, babe. I can’t wait any longer."

Tom licked his lips and grinned. "I wouldn’t dream of making you wait any longer, baby," he whispered.

Clay moaned as Tom’s fingers rubbed against his hole. "Fuck, babe. You lubed up for me?" Tom murmured, his fingers slipping inside with little resistance.

Chewing on his lower lip, Clay nodded. "I want you, babe. So bad. Just put it in. I’m ready for you."

"Okay. I will."

Clay groaned as he felt the head of Tom’s cock slowly push inside him. He’d prepared himself as much as he could but it still burned on the way in.

Tom was pretty hung and it had taken some time to get used to his girth but Clay was confident he’d adjusted fairly well. The sensation of his insides stretching around Tom’s big cock was nothing short of amazing.

"Fuck, babe. I love you," Clay moaned as he felt Tom’s balls resting on his ass cheeks. He couldn’t help but clench, eliciting a low grunt from Tom.

"I love you, too, baby," Tom whispered. He leaned down for a brief kiss and added, "Happy six months."

No sooner had he finished speaking than did he start moving. He rolled his hips, gently fucking his cock in and out of Clay.

He started with small motions—an inch out, an inch in—but gradually built up from there. At no point did he go particularly hard or fast, opting instead for long, slow strokes that Clay could savor in their entirety.

Clay couldn’t help but writhe, bucking his hips to meet Tom’s thrusts as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders. It felt good. So good. And he loved the way the tender lovemaking made him unravel.

The pleasure built and built as their bodies undulated and ground together, trapped in a reciprocating rhythm interspersed with moans and soft noises.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, baby. I’m close. I’m so close," Clay breathed, his fingernails digging into Tom’s back.

"Me too," Tom whispered, a hint of urgency slipping not just into his voice but his thrusts.

The rhythm faltered as instinct took over, their lips pressed together as heat pooled in Clay’s stomach. The tension swelled, pressure building.

Clay’s balls drew up against his body. His toes curled. His fingers tightened. He moaned into Tom’s mouth and whined, clenching tight around Tom’s pulsing, throbbing cock.

A final thrust brought both of them over the edge. The first splash of heat inside him sent a wave of pleasure through his body. He came, hard, his insides fluttering along Tom’s length as spurt after spurt painted the narrow space between their bodies.

When the orgasm finally trailed off, Tom collapsed on top of Clay. "Happy six months," he whispered.

"Mmh. Happy six months, babe," Clay murmured.

---

Clay closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose and set his pen down with a sigh.

He took one last look at his laptop—and the lecture slides currently on the screen—and closed it. He’d had enough for now.

Finals season was never a pleasant time. It was stressful enough in its own right but this year had just piled shit right on top.

Through no real fault of his own, the term hadn’t gone particularly well for Clay. Life had thrown quite a few curveballs his way and his academics had suffered for it. As things stood, he would end up having to retake his classes if he didn’t do well on his finals.

While he was confident with one or two of his courses, the rest were a bit of a crapshoot. To make matters worse, he couldn’t really afford to retake classes, either.

It was supposed to be his graduation year and he’d already maxed out his student loans, having transferred to another program halfway through. If he had to retake a class, he’d have to pay for the tuition on his own.

And all that was before he considered the impact the delay could have on his future plans. There was a position waiting for him once he graduated. Of course, that was contingent on him actually graduating. There was every chance the offer would be rescinded if he didn’t.

Clay picked up his phone and just took a moment to appreciate his background picture. It was of the fantastic date Tom had taken him on for their six months anniversary.

They looked so good together in their tight suits. It was a happy night that he remembered with great fondness. Tom truly was one of the few highlights of his year.

If there was anything he regretted, it was that they hadn’t spent as much time together recently as he would have wanted. He was just too busy trying to salvage his year in university. Tom was thankfully quite understanding.

Clay knew the current situation was untenable, though. He had to find a solution to somehow do well on his finals and still manage to spend time with his boyfriend.

While normally he would be above taking shortcuts, it wasn’t like he didn’t understand the course material. He did. He just didn’t do particularly well in exams.

The stress was certainly a factor. The environment didn’t help, either. He found the dead silence of exam halls unsettling. And the stakes made him anxious. It wasn’t all that uncommon that he blanked out on a question he should have known otherwise just because he was too stressed.

Clay sat up and reached for his laptop. "Okay. Yeah. I think that’s what I have to do," he muttered to himself.

He wasn’t on the hunt for a service that would help him cheat or anything like that. Clay had a secret. It was one he’d never so much as hinted at in the presence of another living person: he had the ability to use magic.

He wasn’t particularly powerful or anything, but he could make certain spells work if he had the right formulae for them. The only ones he really knew were a spell that could make crystals glow and another one that could help with fatigue. He’d been using the latter one more and more these days.

It turned out that Clay had some magical heritage. An ancestry project he’d had to do in his senior year of high school had turned up that one of his ancestors was a prominent warlock and he’d inherited some of those powers.

His family was an illegitimate line, though. His ancestor had knocked up a regular human woman and left.

Most of Clay’s ancestors didn’t know there was magic in their bloodline. Either the powers skipped generations or simply withered and died from disuse.

Clay was different, though. He’d always believed magic was real. And while he wasn’t particularly talented, he’d managed to awaken to his powers.

What he lacked was education. Everything he knew about magic, he’d learned through trial and error. The internet was both a curse and a boon—there were a dozen fake spells for every genuine one and he didn’t have the money to waste on testing out every single one he came across.

Regardless, things were desperate enough that Clay figured he had no choice. If real warlocks were anything like regular people, he was sure they would have come up with ways to "take shortcuts" in exams and the like.

Sure enough, he managed to stumble upon a somewhat promising website before too long. It talked about summoning a familiar—a spirit or other supernatural entity whose purpose was to assist the summoner.

What really caught Clay’s attention was a section that described the familiar as intelligent and able to share senses with its master. If he could somehow teach his familiar properly, he figured he might be able to read his notes through his familiar’s eyes while he was taking his exam.

After giving the invocation and ritual components a once-over, he figured they looked legitimate enough to give a shot. The ingredients were cheap, the ritual was simple, and he was just about desperate he was willing to try anything to do well on his exam without having to compromise on his relationship with Tom.

---

Clay took a step back. He’d checked twice already but a third once-over wasn’t going to hurt. He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

Everything was in place. The circle of salt was about as precise as he could get it. The offerings were on the points of the pentagram. The only thing he wasn’t sure about was how well he was aligned with the nearest ley of energy but there was nothing he could do about that.

The instructions had said the alignment was optional, anyway. Better alignment meant an easier, less taxing ritual but it wasn’t the be-all and end-all of things.

As long as Clay kept focused on the mission, he was sure he could succeed. He had to. He didn’t have much of a choice.

Taking a moment to re-center himself, Clay couldn’t help but wonder what form his familiar might take. He’d done a bit more research and they were allegedly capable of taking on a variety of forms that reflected their master’s personality.

The most common familiar was a cat—pop culture got that one right—but while Clay loved cats, he hoped he wouldn’t get one. It was too basic. He wanted something more exotic like an owl. Or maybe a dragon.

He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted. Frivolous thoughts could be indulged after the ritual was completed.

Clay rubbed his hands together and retrieved his copy of the ritual text. He recited the spell—clumsily, as it was in Latin and he didn’t know the first thing about how to properly pronounce the words beyond a cursory internet search—and immediately felt a shift in the atmosphere around him.

It was an encouraging sign. The magic was working.

The candles flickered. They sputtered, sending out sparks with every syllable that Clay read out. And then, without warning at all, they blazed with a dim red hue.

The shadows in the room grew longer and sharper. They seemed to stretch toward the middle of the magic circle, almost pooling in the dead center of the ritual.

Clay was a bit taken aback. Things had turned much spookier than he’d thought they would. Something told him things weren’t quite right but he’d come too far to stop now. And he wasn’t exactly sure what the repercussions would be for prematurely terminating a ritual.

The air in the room swirled. Clay could hear the rustling of the papers he used as a template for the ritual circle. He ignored the noise but couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the pungent smell of rotten eggs that suddenly seemed to spring from nowhere.

The temperature in the room climbed a few degrees. Threads of smoke swirled around in the wind, gathering in the middle of the magic circle, twisting into a column about head and shoulders taller than Clay.

Glowing embers illuminated the smoke tornado. They glowed red-orange, whipping about in the scorching wind like everything else in the room.

Clay gritted his teeth and fought through. He was toward the end of the spell. Just a few more lines.

He could feel the sweat trickling down the sides of his face. His eyes stung with the smoke in the air. He blinked away the tears, rubbing his eyes.

He finished the incantation, almost with a shout. At that moment, everything stopped. The air went still. The smoke stopped swirling. The candles and the shadows returned to normal.

For a moment, Clay wondered if he had screwed something up. The smoke remained inside the magic circle, lingering in a vaguely person-sized cloud.

He jumped when two eyes, bright like embers, shone through the smoke. They stared right at him, in a way that made him feel as if his very soul was being examined.

A deep voice boomed from within the smoke. The rich, seductive timbre sent a shiver down Clay’s spine. "Who dares summon me?" the voice demanded.

Clay stared at the glowing eyes for a moment, stunned at the unexpected development. He swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do or how to respond until he realized he had to utter the words of binding.

He scrambled for the copy he’d set aside but all the chaos had swept it onto the floor. He snatched it up and read off the words. ‘

"Spirit! Let thee remember the name, Clayton Hubbard, for it is thy master’s name! By the Old Laws, I compel you to service as my familiar. Under the auspices of Realms Supernal and Realms Infernal, I bind thee! I bind thee! I bind thee!"

The creature in the smoke laughed. It dispersed the smoke, revealing itself as it said, "Do I look like a familiar to you, little warlock?"

Clay’s eyes widened. He’d somehow summoned a man. A very attractive man. A very naked and very attractive man.

He couldn’t help but flush, his gaze drawn immediately to that space between the man’s legs. What he saw made him audibly gasp before he could cover his mouth.

The stranger was not just well-endowed, he was also erect. His huge cock dripped clear pre-cum from the tip and it bobbed up and down as if it had a mind of its own.

A delicious vein bulged along the underside of the man’s cock. It pulsed with what Clay could only assume was the man’s heartbeat. It was mesmerizing to watch and Clay’s body couldn’t help but react, his own cock stirring in his pants.

The man that emerged from the smoke looked to be Greek—or some kind of Mediterranean—and was probably in his mid-30s. Clay was leaning toward the former because the man was built like one of those sculptures of Greek gods.

The man had hard biceps and firm pecs. His thighs looked like they could crush skulls and his abs were so cut they could grind rocks to dust.

The stranger’s jaw was strong, and his face painfully handsome. He had long, wavy hair that cascaded down his back and reached his shoulders. And once they stopped glowing, the enchanting dark olive green of his eyes came to the fore.

"W-what are you?" Clay breathed, his heart pounding in his chest as the stranger approached the edge of the salt circle. There was a peculiar energy about the man, unlike anything he’d expected a familiar would have.

"You still don’t know?" said the man as he bared his teeth in a vicious little grin. He looked around him, holding his arms out. "But you did the ritual so well. Did your mentors teach you nothing?"

Clay gulped. Whoever this entity was, it clearly knew how magic worked. He shook his head, stammering as he tried to get a grip. "N-no… I-I’m self-taught!"

"Self-taught?" said the creature. He looked incredulous. "Do you truly expect me to believe that? No… No. You’re not lying."

Clay took a breath. His nerves had settled somewhat. Clearly, he hadn’t summoned a familiar. He had a faint idea of what he might have called forth in the back of his mind but part of him refused to acknowledge the possibility. "W-why would I lie?"

The man shrugged. "I don’t know. You humans lie for the strangest reasons. To magical creatures. To other humans. To yourselves. Honestly, it sometimes seems like the only thing you guys do."

Clay gulped. "W-who are you?" he said. The website he visited had mentioned that the summoning ritual could be reversed as long as he had the name of the creature that was summoned. He didn’t have the name but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to try and get it.

"Ah. Trying to send me back already?" said the ma with a little laugh. "But we haven’t had our fun yet. Ah, well. Alright. If you must know, I am called Briar."

Clay grabbed a small dagger from among the ritual implements he’d put together. He waved it at the man. "I-is that your name?" he said.

Briar chuckled. "Of course not, dumbass. You wouldn’t even be able to pronounce my real name. But ‘Briar’ should be enough for the ritual of banishment."

"O-okay…" Clay couldn’t help but be suspicious. It was clear Briar didn’t want to return to wherever he’d come from so it didn’t make sense that he’d volunteered his name. "T-then I’ll send you back… I-if that’s okay."

Briar shrugged. "Doesn’t matter to me," he said. "Of course, that’s if you can send me back. Are you maybe missing something, little warlock?"

Clay frowned. He didn’t think he was. The banishment was a simple spell. He figured Briar was just trying to get in his head before he realized Briar was pointedly looking at something on the floor.

A chill ran down Clay’s spine. He followed Briar’s gaze, eyes widening as he saw what Briar was looking at.

The magic circle was broken. Clay realized he must have disrupted it while he was reaching for the words of binding.

He barely had time to look up before he was slammed against the wall.

He could feel the weight and heat of Briar’s body pressing up against his back. "Stupid little thing. Messing with powers you don’t understand. Reaching into realms that could eat even the most powerful of summoners alive." Briar snarled in Clay’s ear, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down Clay’s spine.

"You’re lucky you called me forth or a whole lot more of you than just your face and chest would have hit this wall."