unwritten stories

[bigassbowlingballhead]

[cfstrife]

it's a conversation about minerals , nothing more , nothing less , but every word drifts teasingly between them . each syllable seems to brush the shell of his ear , slip down the column of his throat , daring to fall lower , and lower , and lower . until it feels as though every sound shaped by alejandro's tongue has found a home somewhere along osian's body . against the skin exposed to the night's chill , sinking into marrow , filling the long hollow places inside of him . he doesn't break the moment , he doesn't shatter the silence with words burning like sin on the tarmac of his tongue .

instead , he follows after alejandro , a moth drawn to flame , welcoming the fire that will swallow it whole and leave nothing , not even dust , behind . osian will gladly be consumed , if it means being closer to him . if it means seeing those eyes one more time .

the night air wraps around him , threatening to chill him from the inside out , but he refuses to let it touch him . he keeps moving , closing the distance . his gaze flicks briefly to the lingering smoker , watching them stamp out their cigarette and drift back to the party the two men have just abandoned . and once the space around them is empty , no witnesses , no curious eyes , osian steps into the place he's come to call something else entirely . a name he never allows himself to speak .

apologies roll off of alejandro's tongue , excuses for why they ended up here instead of at the water station , pretending to care about levels and mineral content when both their minds were elsewhere . ❝ and here i was , so looking forward to those waters , ❞ osian teases , stepping forward . the distance shrinks . then another step , and another , until he stands just shy of the other , close enough to feel the warmth radiating off alejandro's body against the bare sliver of his own . ❝ terrible , ❞ he confesses softly , lifting a hand to cradle alejandro's cheek , tracing the line of his jaw , fingers settling lightly against the side of his neck . ❝ i've had to look at you all evening , and barely do anything about it . ❞

there is nothing between them but the secret that lives in their chests , the things that binds them to shadowed corners and stolen moments . it claws behind his ribs , threatens to devour everything in its path , but osian knows he chose this . knows it's for the best , for both of them . ❝ i've missed you , too , ❞ he breathes , as if speaking any louder might steal the meaning . or the moment .

there is a beat , a moment of careful thought , calculating how long this moment might last . ❝ tell me more about these minerals , ❞ he murmurs , just before he ducks his head to press his lips to the spot beneath alejandro's ear . slow , deliberate . his hand sliding further , fingers sinking into the soft curls at the back of his head .

[novahze]

"I've missed you, too." The words strike deeper than Alejandro is prepared for, landing harder than he is sure Osian seems to intend, slipping past every careful defense and lodging somewhere tender and unguarded. They settle in his chest, heavy and warm, stirring the secret that already lives there—the one built of shadowed corners and borrowed time. He doesn’t speak—can’t—and his chest tightens so fiercely he nearly forgets how to breathe. The cool night presses against his back, about the only thing keeping him grounded at the moment, but Osian’s warmth arrives like a tide, and Alejandro feels it climb his spine, shiver-soft and inevitable. When Osian’s hand rises to his cheek, Alejandro’s breath falters—not a break, but a slow, inward swell, lungs filling past comfort. He is coming undone, thread by careful thread, the walls he learned to wear, the practiced face he offers the world, all dissolving into the dark. What remains is quiet and exposed, a held-open ache, and in that charged stillness he takes in every part of Osian he can. “That is terrible,” Alejandro murmurs at last, the words barely there, softened by a fondness he doesn’t bother to hide, his voice slipping between them like a confession dressed as a tease.

Then Osian’s lips brush the hollow beneath his ear, and the world tilts on its axis. “Osian…” His name leaves Alejandro's lips like a half-formed prayer, half warning—anyone could step into the dark at any moment—yet his hands betray him, sliding out to grip Osian’s waist, gentle but certain. He exhales, unsteady, and when he speaks again his voice is low, frayed at the edges, unable to hide its want. “Minerals,” he repeats, the word a fragile attempt at composure that softens into something almost shy. “They’re formed under pressure,” he murmurs, tipping his head just slightly, offering more of his throat, more skin than he means to give—an invitation wrapped in restraint, aching to be answered.

“Heat. Time. Conditions no one else survives.” A faint smile tugs at his lips, helpless, unguarded. “They don’t shine right away. They have to be pulled out of the dark. Cleaned. Cut. Coaxed into revealing what they really are.” He lets a beat pass, allowing him a chance to attempt to fight the haze his mind was clouding with. “And the rare ones…” His voice drops, warm enough to melt. “You don’t find them twice.” He lets the silence stretch — not tense, not anxious, but full, like inhaling just before a kiss he’s not sure he’s allowed to take.

“Fuck,” Alejandro breathes, so soft it might have been swallowed by the night, but it trembles with everything he’s been holding back. His fingers curl lightly against Osian’s side, tentative and almost shy, and his chest rises fast, tight with want he can’t fully name. "Um," he tries to remember about minerals, fucking minerals, "...Minerals… they…" His words falter, caught between thought and heat, and he swallows hard, cheeks burning, as a tremor of need slides through him. "Do you really want me to keep talking about minerals?"

[gvoldens]

The vodka and the coke and the choking, searing, fucking desperate need to possess that settles in side him, all swirl into something so white hot and all consuming, that Vik, for a moment, feels like he's on fire. He's still breathing and he's still standing, but warmth speeds through him as quick as a lightening strike until he swears he can feel it in his toes, in the tips of his fingers. Fuck. Vik swears he can feel it oozing from him, from every pore in his body. It's a better feeling than any amount of coke or scotch or fucking has given him in months, and they haven't really done anything yet.

And then, they have.

And then, that pretty strangers hand was in his pants, curling around his cock and Vik felt all of the breath leave him, like someone had landed a sucker punch right to his gut. It feels so good he can barely stand it.

He makes a noise, a half grunt half moan and braces both of his hands into the door either side of the strangers head, muscles bunching tightly in his arms and his chest flexing as he tries to keep himself standing and upright and as normal as he can manage.

"Fuck..." he drawls, choking on the word when it lodged somewhere half formed out of his mouth. His hips jerk automatically, thrusting slowly into the other mans hand. Vik drops his head, chasing that familiar feeling unfurling like a lily in his stomach. Fuck, it's been a while since he's been on the sober side of fucked up to enjoy shit like this. He can feel it, really feel it, not just pretend that he can and give a shit long enough for it to be over so he can go back to drinking.

No. Viktor can feel this. He can feel the glide of his long fingers over his cock, the sweep of his thumb across the head that makes him hiss loudly into the crook of the strangers neck. His mind warbles and whites out when the stranger starts to talk, filthy word after filthy fucking word. They twist and warp and fold in on one another, thrumming like the beat of bird wings against the soft, pink insides of Viktors chest. He's nodded before he really even knows what the question is, and then, a short and sharply hissed "yes. Anything. Fuck-" into the others neck.

He realises, embarrassingly, that he's shut his eyes and pressed his face into the others shoulder, feeding like a vampire on the warmth he exudes. Viktor blinked himself awake, as if out of a dream and turned his head ever so slightly to press shaky kisses against the juncture of the other mans neck and shoulder.

"I want you." Viktor says softly, hotly, as he lifts his head and presses his mouth into the space below his ear lobe. "-Fucking need you, sweetheart-" He presses one hand against the strangers chest, just holding for a minute and feels the drum of his heart under his palm. It's nice, quaint almost until his dick jerks in the strangers grip and Viktor almost looses his fucking mind. His fingers start to curl like talons and eventually, he has the others throat in a tight grip and Viktor is leaning back, away from him. Viks face is flushed, eyes shining red and ominous in the low glow of the emergency sign. "-So fucking needy." he hums in amusement. He's starving, fucking feral for him. Vik wants to fuck him so badly he can't breath. "-So fucking desperate for cock from someone you don't even know." Viktor flexes his fingers around the strangers throat as a warning, a promise, all the fucking filthy shit in between that. "-Yeah baby, I'll take you back to mine. I'll fuck you all fucking night if that's what you want, right in front of the big windows that cover the strip. Hmm?" Vik leans down until their noses brush and the grin he's wearing is lascivious and vicious as a fucking knives edge.

"-Want me to fuck you where everyone can see? hmm?" Vik thrusts his hips sharply and then, moans unabashed and unashamed. All for him. "-see how fucking well you take me?, how fucking good you look full of me? Aww, baby-" Viktor coos and its almost mocking enough to sting, but he's stroking his thumb along the big vein in the strangers neck as he does it, soothing them both. "-You're so fucking desperate." Vik surges forward suddenly and kisses him, hot and raw and sliding his tongue in along his just so to taste him all over again. The hand around his throat releases like the clink of a vice and then, suddenly, Viktor is tangling those same fingers into his hair and tugging sharply, breaking them apart with a soft, obscenely wet noise.

"You don't get to cum before me rabbit, are we fucking clear-" Viktor growls. They are chest to chest, heaving together like the pump of a heart and the noise rattles through him like a bang. "-If you're a good boy, you might get to later." With that, Viktor jerks his hips back, loosening the others grip before he giving him a commanding little tug , aiming vaguely downward. "On your knees Sweetheart-ah...oh, that's it. Good boy, such a good fucking boy...." Viktor drawls, keeping one hand tangled tightly in his lovely dark hair, and the other braced on the back of the door so he doesn't end up falling face first into it. "No hands." Vik commands him "-want to see you put that filthy fucking mouth to good use instead."

[novahze]

Alejandro’s knees slam into the grimy tile with a dull, reckless thud that reverberates up his spine and lands like a spark straight in his aching cock. The impact should hurt—should make him wince—but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t care. Pain is just another offering tonight, another way to prove how far he’s willing to fall. The floor is cold and filthy beneath him, sticky with spilled drinks and god-knows-what-else from the club beyond the door, but he sinks into it like it’s sacred ground. All that exists is the man towering above him, fist knotted tight in his dark hair, eyes glowing a vicious crimson under the bleeding red of the emergency exit sign. He looks like some cruel, beautiful god carved out of shadow and want, and Alejandro is already on his knees, already worshipping, heart hammering so hard it feels like it might crack his ribs open and spill everything raw and desperate at the stranger’s feet.

He tilts his chin higher, slow and deliberate, letting every filthy, aching thing inside him flood his face. Hunger carves itself into the parted curve of his lips; worship softens the glassy blown-wide darkness of his eyes; surrender loosens every muscle until he’s pliant, open, trembling. His pulse flutters frantically at the base of his throat, a visible, frantic thing he wants the stranger to notice—wants him to see exactly how completely he’s already unraveling him without even touching. A thin sheen of sweat clings to his skin, making the dim red light catch on the sharp line of his jaw, the soft hollow beneath his cheekbones. His breath comes shallow and shaky, each exhale a silent plea that fogs the air between them. He is ruin in human form, and he has never felt more alive.

“Yes,” he breathes, the word scraping out raw and trembling, half moan, half prayer. His tongue slips out, slow and filthy, tracing his lower lip until it glistens wet and swollen under the crimson glow. “I want your cock down my throat. Want you to use my mouth like it’s yours—because tonight, it is.” He leans forward just enough for his hot breath to ghost over the slick, flushed head, close enough to taste the salt beading there, but he denies himself contact, denies both of them, drawing it out until his own restraint feels like torture. Every shuddering exhale is a beg, every tiny rock of his hips against nothing a plea. When the fist in his hair yanks sharper, pain flares bright across his scalp and arrows straight down, dragging a soft, broken moan from deep in his chest. The sound is unashamed, needy, dripping with want, and he lets it spill free because hiding anything now would be a sin.

His lips part wider, tongue flattening in perfect, greedy invitation as his eyes lock upward, lust-drunk and pleading. “Feed it to me,” he whispers, voice cracking on desperation, each word trembling like it’s being torn out of him. “Slow at first… let me feel every single inch stretching my mouth open, forcing my jaw wide, claiming every bit of space until I can’t think about anything but you.” His breath hitches on a whimper that vibrates in his chest. “Then fuck my face like you promised—like you hate me, like you own me, like you never want to stop.” Tears are already prickling at the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity of wanting, and he leans into it, craving the burn. “Make me choke on you. Make me cry. I want tears streaking hot down my cheeks and your cum dripping down my throat when you’re finally done with me.”

He tilts his head just a fraction more, offering the long, vulnerable column of his throat, lips grazing the sensitive underside of the stranger’s cock in the faintest, tormenting brush—barely there, just enough to feel it twitch against his mouth and pull a shuddering whine from his own chest. “I’ll swallow every drop if you let me,” he murmurs against hot, velvet skin, the words reverent and filthy all at once, voice muffled and thick with need. “Or paint my face with it—mark me, ruin me, send me back out into the club with your cum drying on my skin so everyone knows exactly what I let you do to me.” His eyes flutter half-shut, lashes wet, as he adds in a broken, breathless hush, “Your choice. Just… please. Use me.”

[bulletwnds]

open starter for @novahze / ale @ club nova

"Were you waiting for me for some time?" Ren asked when she finally made her way through the thick crowd to find Ale. The end of the bar near the bathrooms was where he was located but it happened to be a place of migration tonight, which she'd luckily been able to slither through without causing much of a fuss. Not that she minded getting into a few verbal altercations after elbowing people out of the way. "I feel like I've already been through three lives since being here. I walked right through a girlfriend accusing her boyfriend of cheating, a drunken girl almost doused me in her sweet pink drink, and I got stopped by a regular who mistook this place as the club." The strip club, but she figured he'd understand what she meant. "—and held onto me as if I owed him any time of day. Needless to say, I need a drink."

[novahze]

Alejandro let out a low laugh when he spotted her, one arm resting against the bar like he’d been anchored there on purpose. “Oh, not too long,” he said easily, eyes already sweeping over her in that familiar, automatic way—checking, cataloging, making sure she was good. “Long enough to watch two near-fights, one very dramatic breakup, and a guy puke in the sink in the men’s bathroom. You didn’t miss much.” He shifted to make room beside him, subtly angling his body so she was half-shielded from the tide of people, then lifted two fingers to catch the bartender’s attention. “I think you’ve earned at least two drinks and a round of shots,” he added, voice smooth but firm. His gaze flicked back to her, sharpening just a touch. “And tell me—did that asshole grab you hard?” There was no humor in his expression now, jaw tightening as his hand curled against the bar. “Because if you need me to go talk to him, I will. No discussion.”

[abracadabrc]

⸻ “You’re drunk enough to forget where you parked, but sober enough to run. That’s new.” He said, making her stop in her tracks in the cold, her body shivering, embracing herself, cursing under her breath, eyes closed for a second as if she could make him disappear. She did not know he was in town. Fuck! ❛ I thought we wouldn't need a conversation. Or that you want to see me after that. ❜ Because she knew in the moment she did it in front of him, she wouldn't be able to escape. That was the only exit that she could do. She felt his proximity, his scent filtering in her nostrils, a cologne she could still pick out in a crowd, and the cigarette… That old smell of nicotine, which she did not know whether to hate or like. She turns to him, feeling tipsy, her cheeks and nose crimson from the alcohol that rushes in her blood system, and her eyes reddish from being high on the substances she takes for the first time. Out of everyone she could've bumped into here, why did she have to stumble into him?! Fate has a cruel sense of humor. ⏤ ❛ If it is about the money I took, I will pay them. It was borrowed. ❜ It was necessary to pay off the outstanding balance to settle the debt for the old car. Harry used her money for the adoption process when she was younger. ❛ We can talk here, don't you think? ❜ She says with her chin trembling from the cold she felt. Driving in the state she is, wasn't wiser. She was having an internal battle about whether she should hand him the key or not. Anouk doesn't want him to find that she is living there as well.

[novahze]

Santiago let out a soft, deliberate sigh, his patience fraying just enough to be heard. He didn’t answer her immediately, didn’t argue—he didn’t need to. Instead, one fluid, practiced motion, and Anouk was lifted into his arms, over his shoulder, like she weighed nothing at all. Her protests were muffled against his chest, insignificant in comparison to the quiet authority in his every movement. Fingers brushed along the small of her back to steady her, and he pulled his phone from his coat pocket. “Driver,” he murmured, voice low, steady, almost a growl, “come pick us up. Take the usual route.”

Before she could even register what was happening, he began walking, measured and unhurried across the slick pavement, the cold night air biting at them both. Smoke from earlier had long dissipated, leaving only the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint trace of nicotine lingering on his skin. He held her close, the warmth of her body pressed against him, the tremor of nerves and alcohol still pulsing through her, and for a long moment he stayed silent, letting her feel the weight of his presence.

Then, soft but sharp, his voice cut through the night: “Now, this is not about the money you took. I could care less about that. It’s about the actions you took—leaving without properly telling me. Did you think you’d be able to hide from me forever? Did you think I wouldn’t find my most precious jewel? Were you not happy in my company? Did I not spoil you? Give you nice clothes to wear, offer you security? Why did you do it?” He walked on, the question hanging in the cold air between them, his pace steady, each word deliberate.

Minutes later, the headlights of his driver’s car cut through the darkness, and he set her gently into the back seat, making sure she was seated securely. Sliding in beside her, he rested one hand lightly on his knee, eyes tracing her form without speaking for a beat. The city blurred past as the car moved, and finally, his voice returned, calm and almost conversational, yet still carrying the underlying weight of command: “You’re cold. I’ll fix that.” He pushed the seat warmer button, looking at her with an almost gentle look. "Better?"

[cfstrife]

there  is  that  silent  smirk  ,  soft  ,  disarming  ,  the  one  that  she  learned  as  a  child  ,  curving  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  .  her  father  used  to  tell  her  it  wasn't  appropriate  for  a  girl  like  her  ,  one  meant  to  sit  quietly  in  the  back  of  the  room  ,  not  command  it  .  how  wrong  he'd  been  ,  when  she  had  made  the  courtroom  her  domain  ,  her  hunting  ground  .  that  innocent  smile  she  word  so  well  had  become  a  quiet  warning  ,  the  last  thing  anyone  saw  before  she  unleashed  the  chaos  she  was  capable  of  .

❝  all  you  have  to  do  is  ask  ,  elijah  ,  ❞  she  murmurs  ,  testing  the  thread  that  ties  them  together  .  maybe  it's  red  ,  maybe  baby  blue  ,  maybe  something  she  hasn't  named  yet  .  for  now  ,  it's  only  linked  them  through  the  mafia  ,  her  by  birth  ,  him  by  earned  place  in  its  ranks  .  ❝  maybe  i'll  take  you  along  the  next  time  it  happens  .  ❞  there  was  never  a  shortage  of  contracts  for  the  mafia  to  carry  out  ,  flimsy  bits  of  paper  that  could  end  a  life  in  the  space  of  a  signature  .  some  deserved  to  receive  their  fate  in  baby  blue  ink  ,  complete  with  a  small  heart  dotting  the  i  .

silence  stretches  between  them  ,  taut  and  humming  .  two  pairs  of  eyes  track  each  other's  every  shift  .  then she  sees  it  ,  that  tiny  twitch  in  his  jaw  ,  the  barest  ripple  under  his  skin  ,  and  her  gaze  snaps  toward  it  ,  waiting  to  see  if  it  happens  again  .  waiting  to  catalog  the  effect  she  has  on  him  .  then  he  leans  forward  ,  just  a  breath's  worth  ,  and  her  eyes  fall  to  his  lips  ,  how  they  part  as  he  takes  the  last  bite  she'd  left  him  .  slowly  ,  she  lifts  her  gaze  again  ,  meeting  eyes  that  have  not  once  wavered  from  her  .  they  hold  hers  as  the  bite  disappears  into  his  mouth  .  and  in  that  moment  ,  something  changes  .

❝  are  you  claiming  me  to  be  the  temptuous  serpent  ,  elijah  ?  ❞  she  asks  after  his  words  settle  into  the  air  between  them  .  the  religion  isn't  hers  ,  she  knows  only  the  stories  retold  ,  but  she  knows  the  shape  of  temptation  .  the  serpent  promising  how  sweet  the  forbidden  fruit  might  taste  ,  if  one  only  dared  a  bite  .  the  thought  lingers  until  his  hand  closes  over  hers  ,  warmth  radiating  up  her  arm  as  though  his  touch  alone  intends  to  burn  her  from  the  inside  out  .

her  eyes  don't  leave  his  face  ,  tracing  every  line  with  an  artist's  precision  ,  before  she  forces  her  gaze  to  the  remnants  on  the  place  ,  sins  awaiting  their  fall  .  ❝  if  you  keep  playing  this  game  with  me  ,  ❞  she  begins  ,  selecting  a  crispy  rice  square  topped  with  tuna  tartare  ,  ❝  you'll  end  up  with  an  invitation  to  the  next  grand  opening  ,  of  whichever  restaurant  it  is  next  time  .  ❞  a  familiar  glint  sparks  in  her  eyes  as  she  holds  the  offering  out  to  him  .  there  was  no  end  to  the  openings  she  and  her  family  were  invited  to  ,  restaurants  ,  casinos  ,  everything  in  between  .  most  were  dreadfully  boring  .  but  bringing  elijah  along  ?  that  might  finally  give  her  a  reason  to  enjoy  one  .

[novahze]

Elijah’s stare remains fixed on her eyes, merciless, as if letting it fall to her mouth would be the first crack in a dam he’s spent years reinforcing with ice and discipline; her words, all you have to do is ask, lodged behind his ribs like a live round waiting for permission to tear him open. The thread she tests hums between them, red, baby-blue, the color of whatever ruin she writes in, and every instinct he owns screams to sever it before it drags him under, yet he stays perfectly, lethally still, letting her pull. He tastes the offer on the back of his tongue like smoke and gun oil, nods once, slow, deliberate, a vow wearing the mask of curiosity, and when his voice finally comes it’s low enough to bruise the air. “Front-row seat to your chaos of baby blue? Just say when. I’ll clear my calendar… and God help any black pen users on that day.”

Elijah’s eyes hold hers like winter holding the last star before dawn, unblinking, merciless, beautiful in its refusal to yield. “Serpent?” he echoes, voice a low psalm dragged across broken glass. “No, never. Serpents beg for attention, to tempt.” He leaned in more, enough to whisper against her ear without touching her, silently he drinks in her scent. “You are not the tempter,” he whispers, breath brushing the shell of her ear like a confession he’ll never voice in daylight. “You are knowledge itself, sweet, forbidden, final.” His fingers stay over hers, unmoving now, just the steady weight of a man who has decided the line was drawn in sand and the tide is already here.

“An invitation,” he murmurs, each word deliberate, weighted with intent. “To the next grand opening?” He tilts his head, savoring the tease, the offer, the unspoken challenge. His thumb drifts along the top of one of her knuckles, slow, precise, cataloging. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he bites down with careful precision, tasting more than just the food—the ritual of the exchange, the danger wrapped in it. He chews deliberately, letting the silence stretch, letting the tension coil around him like a second skin. Finally, his eyes lift, sharp, controlled, unyielding. “All you have to do is ask,” he murmurs, low, teasing, the echo of her own words from earlier lingering in his voice like a dare.

He lets the words hang in the air, savoring the weight they carry, the way they curl around the space between them like smoke. His gaze flicks to the morsel again, not out of hunger but curiosity—each movement deliberate, a test, a measure of patience he’s honed over years. Fingers still resting lightly over hers, he traces the line of her knuckle once more, slow, almost ritualistic, as if mapping the pulse of the challenge she’s laid before him. “But if I ask,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled, “it won’t be to the next grand opening, Nazli.” He lets the words linger, each syllable deliberate, weighted. “I’d be asking for something a little more…private. Something I think only you can make worthwhile.” He tilts his head, eyes sharpening, watching, letting the space between them hum with the unspoken choice. “The rest,” he adds softly, letting it trail like smoke in the air, “is entirely yours.”

[dxheyryxn]

Feeling the warmth provided by proximity, Dahey let out a slow breath and pulled their shoulders up before relaxing back into the contact. Not resignation but comfort, something to silently say everything was okay despite what their words were saying. They let the slightest bit of weight rest against Alejandro, eyes closed, and enjoying their mind slowing down already.

The closeness, unfortunately, did make the sharp exhale Dahey took at Alejandro's words all the more obvious. Less at the thought of the other fulfilling the promise but Dahey put themself in that spot. They pressed back, getting closer, with a hand on Alejandro's thigh "for balance". "Such a desperate little lad," they said, like the praise they knew it was. Like it was something they were going to exploit.

Alejandro was doing everything right and there was no way he wasn't being rewarded for his troubles. Whichever of these promises Dahey needed to keep, they were willing as that firm, guiding hand led them through the doors and to where Alejandro wanted to go.

The music, the lights, that didn't matter. It could be found anywhere in this city. Including on the actual street. As nice as it was knowing what would come with the bass rattling his bones and the pink hue over everything, every part of his brain was focused on being moved around where someone else wanted. Something Dahey showed thanks for by saying, "Darling, you've not cracked the top five. Though there's always time to move up the list."

An honest smile crept over Dahey's face, watching Alejandro defend himself and making all the little promises was endearing. It was Dahey's turn to push into his space, looking up at their date as he continued talking about what he offer, what he brought to the table. Getting as close as they could and still be able to talk, Dahey's voice went low, the Irish accent thick in a way they rarely let it be. Too many other things were happening in their head to worry about "hiding" that.

"What sort of night are we having? Starting slow? Jumping right into it? Do you want to find a dark corner or should I get a drink to nurse for a bit?" As with all things, the night had changed from company Dahey could tolerate and doing whichever substance they found to this beautiful game. While the question was slow, teasing, and carefully worded, the answer was something Dahey actually wanted. Things would be best if they were on the same page and if negotiating the terms of the night was also fun, who was Dahey to stop that? Letting their fingers curl around Alejandro's waist, just above the waist of his pants, Dahey waited and fought the urge to ignore any input. @novahze

[novahze]

The sharp breath didn’t go unnoticed—not when it warmed the inches between them, not when Dahey's hand slid onto his thigh “for balance.” His smirk turned slow, knowing, appreciative in a way that sparked heat low in his gut. “Desperate?” he echoed, leaning in so his breath grazed the shell of their ear. “But you like it when I beg pretty like that for you, mi cielo.” He let his hand drift just slightly lower on their back, not pushing, just coaxing. “And don’t pretend you’re not thinking about exactly how desperate you want me.” A slow, private thrill curled in his chest at the thought of just how far he could push them tonight.

The lights hit Dahey’s face just right—all rose-gold and shadow—but Alejandro didn’t give a damn about the club either. Not when he could feel Dahey attuning to his movements, letting themselves be steered. That alone sent a slow, dangerous satisfaction curling in his chest. He let himself imagine the night unfolding: the teasing, the chase, the way he could make them follow his rhythm if he timed it right, and the delicious tension of watching them try to keep pace.

Their quip made him laugh, low and warm. “Not top five?” he repeated, feigning outrage as he pressed in behind them, lips brushing the curve of their jaw before he pulled back. The heat of proximity had him already planning how to start working his way up, and perhaps a dark corner would give him the advantage he liked having. “Then perhaps we should find a dark corner so I can start working my way up.” A shiver of anticipation ran through him at the thought of what might happen once they were alone.

The touch at his waist made him inhale slow, a pulse of heat sharpening his focus. Alejandro placed his hand over Dahey’s, fingers threading between theirs for just a beat before letting go. “We’re having the kind of night where we stay close,” he murmured, jaw brushing their temple as he spoke. “You get that drink… I’ll get us a corner. Slow start, fast finish.” His thumb slid once across their hip, deliberate, teasing. A crooked grin tugged at his lips. “Or we can skip the slow start, find somewhere private, and…well, you can figure out the rest. I’m here for whatever you want, mi cielo.” He felt the pull of anticipation, the kind that made waiting for the next move almost unbearable—and he loved it.

[gvoldens]

Location: City Hall Open!

His pre lunch meeting with the district attorney had turned into a post lunch meeting, and Viktor was fucking furious. Bad enough that city hall had been on his ass about a handful of vaguely Callahan adjacent cases that were very blatantly, a stab in the dark dig at a defamation pin down, but it also seemed like the DA was out to fuck with Vik personally, and he was not about to let that shit stand.

After a brief, very clipped conversation between Viktor and the hairy eyed DA, Vik had dropped a massive manila envelope on their desk and smiled viciously. Most of the 800 plus pages in there had been heavily, heavily redacted by Viktor the previous day, and he had taken a massive amount of pleasure in that particular fuck you.

City hall wanted to treat him like an idiot? He'd fucking show them.

"Weekend reading, as per your request." he said smoothly "-have fun, I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

With that, Viktor turned on his very expensive Versace heel, and left. The walk back to his car had him crossing a long stone courtyard outside of the building and Vik had made it semi-halfway before he was setting his briefcase on a memorial bench and tugging his camel hair coat a little tighter about his trim waist. Soon enough, the Malbros made an appearance and Vik had sucked down a big grey puff before his shoulders relaxed down from somewhere around his ears.

While he usually avoided conversations when he was in a mood, he had been left feeling particularly catty after that conversation with the DA, and felt like a fight. Viktor glanced at the person beside him, smoke trailing from his nose like a dragon.

"-Shitty place to be spending your Friday. All of Vegas to play with and you're here?" Vik snorted, taking a drag of his lunch and swallowing the burn with a shudder "-please tell me you at least work in this fucking hell hole, or are you just a fiend for misery?"

[novahze]

Veronica crossed her arms over her chest, one hip leaning casually against the edge of the fountain as she studied him, green eyes sharp and unblinking, taking in every detail—the set of his jaw, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way smoke curled lazily from his cigarette. “Not exactly my usual Friday,” she said evenly, letting a faint trace of amusement tug at her lips. “I’ve got permits to finalize, health inspections to deal with, and a few last-minute complaints that somehow landed on my desk this morning. Running a restaurant isn’t all tacos and tequila, unfortunately.” She gestured vaguely at the stone courtyard around them, letting the gesture encompass the bureaucratic chaos that had dragged her here. “Apparently, the city decided to throw me a curveball today, and here I am, playing their game when I’d much rather be anywhere else.”

Her gaze lingered on his coat, noting the expensive cut, the way it hugged his trim waist, the faint scent of smoke clinging to it. She flicked her eyes back to his face, green orbs steady and deliberate, measuring him without judgment. “But misery? No,” she added, voice calm, even, carefully modulated. “I’m not here for the thrill of frustration or to soak in bad energy. I’m here to make sure things run the way they’re supposed to, to keep the wheels turning smoothly in a city that prides itself on chaos.” Her tone softened only slightly as she allowed a hint of wry humor to edge in. “Vegas may be full of noise, lights, and chaos, but some of us have to keep a little order in it—or at least try.”

Veronica straightened fully, green eyes locking onto his with bright, calculating intensity, a spark of challenge buried beneath her calm exterior. She tilted her head slightly, letting the movement punctuate her next words. “Though I’ll admit,” she said, letting the observation linger for effect, “watching someone else wrestle with it can be…entertaining in its own way.” Her arms fell loosely to her sides, the casual posture belied the deliberate control in her stance. She stepped just a fraction closer, enough to narrow the distance without breaking protocol, and let her voice drop slightly, measured but curious. “So, working overtime, or are you free to explore a bit of the Vegas playground while the city runs itself into the ground?”

[abracadabrc]

⸻ Was it real or just a dream? Anouk from moments ago had her body relaxed and went for rigid. That voice. How could she forget? Although she had an impression earlier that she saw a certain someone she was avoiding. Her fiancé. Or rather, ex-fiance. The last time she saw him, she took advantage of his busy schedule and left a ring and a note on their bed, and then she disappeared, leaving him in thin air. ⏤ Her mouth slightly gaping, her pupils widened in surprise, her brows rose dramatically as she looked at the man before her. Santi. ❛ Good evening, Santi. I think you were seeing things. Excuse me… I have things to do… ❜ He was right, she had been avoiding him, and she was not in her right state of mind to have a conversation with him out of all the people she could run into. She was tipsy, her boots crunched softly over the gravel as she stepped away from him. In the dark, she was struggling to find where she had parked her car.

[novahze]

Santiago didn’t move an inch, just let the smoke drift from his lips in a slow, deliberate ribbon that curled around her like a leash. His eyes tracked the tiny crunch of her boots on gravel, the way her shoulders tried to fold in on themselves, the little stumble when the dark swallowed the edge of the curb. “Anouk.” He said her name again, softer this time, almost fond, like he was tasting something he’d missed for months. One lazy step forward, leather jacket creaking, cigarette glowing between two fingers. “You’re drunk enough to forget where you parked, but sober enough to run. That’s new.” Another drag, another slow exhale that drifted across the space she was trying to put between them. The smirk was gone; something quieter, sharper, lived in its place. “You left the ring. You left the note. Fine. But you don’t get to leave the conversation, amor.” He flicked the cigarette away; the ember spun, died against wet asphalt. Then he closed the distance in two unhurried strides, close enough that she could smell smoke and cold night and the faint trace of the cologne. “Keys,” he murmured, palm already open between them, voice low and even. “Or we can stand here freezing until you tell me why you thought disappearing was kinder than saying it to my face.”

[gvoldens]

Viktor's a fucking mess.

It's not the alcohol, though he knows that isn't helping him feel any less fucked up than he is. It isn't the drugs. He's got the tolerance of a rhino and one line doesn't even crack the surface these days, so it's not that either. His insides feel weird, not bad just...weird, sort of. Tar black and illicitly sticky, they cling to his bones and make everything heavy, but it isn't an uncomfortable feeling. It's as if everything hot and red inside of him is trying to move around, organs slipping over one another like eels until he can't concentrate on anything but that feeling.

Vik kisses him again, suddenly, this stranger he does not know but recognises through touch alone. The jut of his hips under his hands, the curve of his pert fucking ass against him. Even the long stretch of his throat is recognisable in the sense that Viktor knows the dips and divots at the bottom were his clavicle is and the soft flesh at the top that bleeds into his earlobe. He's kissed him, right over the big blue vein there, and Vik thinks, strangely, that he would be able to pick this man out of a line up, blind folded, if he was able to just touch him.

Viktor twists him around with heavy hands still pawing unceremoniously at his waist. He makes this stranger face him and clutches him closer, closer and closer and closer still until he swears they could merge together, swap blood and live cheek to heart inside one another forever. Viktor grinds his hips into his, his cock pressed tightly behind the fly of his leathers and into the soft, low part of this mans stomach just above the V of his hips. "So fucking perfect-" Vik mumbles against him, before hes licking back into his mouth for another scorching kiss.

He feels feverish, too hot and too cold all at once. He doesn't know how much of it is the coke and how much of it is just this person. He's lifted his hands, and the gold rings on most of his fingers wink like wish pennies in the neon lights as he cups the strangers face. His fingers are long enough to brush the strands of dark curls that inch across his temples, and his thumbs brush tenderly along the the high arch of his lovely cheeks. Viktor swears he can feel the feather light brush of his dark lashes and it has him making a small, soft noise of disbelief deep in his throat.

He speaks and Viktor feels like like a fresh red wound, right over his fucking heart. He groans, breaking of the kiss and gripping the strangers jaw tightly in one long fingered hand to keep his head still. Vik watches him, intense as a striking viper, his eyes are so bright in the neon light that they glow white from behind the messy kohl Vik had haphazardly slapped on before coming out.

"you and that filthy fucking mouth-" he growls and the sound erupts like canon fire out of his chest, swallowed whole by the thumping music that encroaches like flood water around them. Viktor bares his teeth at the stranger in a wolfish grin, and gets right up into his face. Viktor brushes his thumb idly along his lower lip, eyes dipping down and then back up again. He hums then, thoughtfully "-Come on then baby, lets go get you nice and used, hmm?" Viktor's grin morphs into a languid, liquid smooth smirk.

One moment, they're standing hip to hip on the dance floor, the next, Viktor has him by the hand and his trailing him toward the back of the club. The music pulses like some sort of living, breathing thing and Viktor feels it rattle through him like the slice of a knife when they pass to closely by the DJ booth.

It takes perhaps a hair to long to find somewhere private and out of the way but Viktor is nothing if not ruthlessly persistent. Its a room with a door that double locked with a snib on the inside. Viktor doesn't give a shit about anything else, he slides the latch into place and strikes immediately. The room is dark but not entirely pitch black thanks to an emergency light somewhere in the back, a boiler maybe, he can still sort of make out the expression on his strangers face with it and that's good enough for him.

Viktor presses him back into the door with his hips, locking him in place and caging him in with his hands either side of his lovely head, muscles bunching under the tight lycra of his long sleeve shirt. They were alone again, with no one to come looking for them and Viktor feels that familiar, giddy buzz start behind his eyes when he knows he's about to get what he wants. He leans down and nudges the other mans head back with his nose in order to mouth nippy kisses along the sharp line of his jaw.

"Tell me what you want first baby, my drugs or-" Viktor rolls his hips sharply against his and half groans/half laughs against the corner of his jaw "-my cock."

[novahze]

Everything dissolves into a violet fever.

One heartbeat they’re still tangled on the floor, mouths fused, drinking each other like the last water on earth, neon bleeding across their skin as if the club itself has forgotten the rest of the world exists. Inside Alejandro’s skull, memories flare and die like struck matches: every joy he has ever stolen, every fleeting happiness, all of them blurring, burning, rising in a single white-hot rush. Too much. Still not enough. Who are you? The question detonates behind his eyes, bright and useless and desperate. Then the world tilts.

The stranger spins him, palms branding his hips, and suddenly Ale is staring into those razor-blue shards that lock onto his and pull. Those eyes swallow him whole, so sweetly that breathing feels like betrayal. He lets himself fall, stunned by how natural it feels—like a tide returning to a moon it never stopped orbiting, like a prayer finally answered in a language of teeth and tongue and trembling surrender. The air between them is no longer air but scripture written in heat and heartbeat. Alejandro’s lips part; he has no idea what might spill out. Before a single sound can escape, the stranger kisses him again. The kiss lands like the first sin ever committed—deliberate, unholy, impossible to repent. He is devoured and adored in the same breath, saved and damned in the same swallow.

A tremor starts behind Ale’s heart and floods outward: more, more, more. A soft, ruined groan slips free as if the kiss itself is a confession booth. His knees threaten to fold the instant their mouths separate. Alejandro doesn’t think; he only follows—pulled by gravity he can’t name, through bodies that part like smoke, past bass that suddenly feels underwater. Then the world narrows to cool metal at his back and the faint red glow of an emergency exit sign painting the stranger’s cheekbones bloody.

A slow, deliberate roll of hips drags a broken sound from Ale’s throat—half surrender, half prayer. “You,” he whispers, voice frayed silk. His fingers rise, cradling a face he still hasn’t learned. “I want to commit you to memory in every way possible.” He traces the sharp line of the man’s jaw, every ridge and hollow, then drifts lower—down the column of his throat, across the fever-warm plane of his chest, slipping beneath the tight lycra. Skin like silk over steel. More intoxicating than any drug this world could offer. “Fuck me,” Ale breathes, the words scraping raw. “Dirty. Hard. Hard enough the hinges rattle and everyone left in this hallway knows exactly what a wreck you’re turning me into.”

He drags the stranger closer—no space left, ribs kissing ribs, back melting into the door. Their breath mingles, becomes one. Only the barest whisper of air remains between their lips. Alejandro looks up. In the dim red light his eyes catch and shimmer, almost innocent. Something shifts inside him, a quiet vow: tonight he isn’t leaving without a name. His hands are already moving—greedy, reverent—down the man’s chest, over the buckle that’s suddenly an insult. Metal clinks. Zipper dragged down like a promise kept. Alejandro slips inside, wraps his fingers around him. The first stroke is slow, devotional, thumb sweeping over the slick head like he’s tracing the rim of a chalice. The second is tighter, hungrier, twisting just right.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice shredded velvet, “already dripping for me like a desperate little saint.” His grip tightens, a slow cruel twist from root to crown, milking another bead of precome that he smears down the shaft like anointing oil. “Say it,” Ale breathes, lips brushing the stranger’s with every filthy word. “Say you want me. Need to devour me. Promise me you’re going to stuff this pretty cock so deep the whole fucking hallway will know exactly who’s turning me into a sobbing, cock-drunk mess tonight.” He flashes a crooked, reckless smile into the dark. “And when we’re done here… take me to that penthouse of yours. Fuck me like animals until the sun comes up and we forget our own names.”

[emptychcmbers]

Open starter

Location: penthouse suite of any hotel

He didn't recognize anything when he woke – he certainly wasn't home but neither was he disappointed by the humble abode he'd clearly ended up in sometime in the early hours. A merger over dinner had moved into drinks and before Rue had really cared to think about where the night was ended up, all memory evaded him. Now, he trudged quietly through the rich mahogany doors of a penthouse suite, bare feet plush against the expensive carpet towards the morning light of the living space. "I know you didn't buy me dinner first," he mutters through a stifled yawn, a rough hand scratching at his chest, "And if you've already taken whatevers left in my wallet I'll be exponentially more offended." He blinks, casts hues around the room – it's not a hotel he's stayed at before. At least he doesn't think so, "Nice place – yours or mine?"

[novahze]

Ale’s half-buried under the kitchen sink, faded black T-shirt clinging to his back, tool belt clinking softly every time he shifts. A small flashlight is clamped between his teeth, throwing a white beam across rusted pipes. He hears the footsteps, the sleepy grumble, and pulls the light from his mouth without turning around. Slow shrug, voice low and gravel-rough from the night before. “Don’t know, man. I’m just here to fix the kitchen sink.” He taps a wrench against the trap, a dull metallic heartbeat. “Owner said it was ‘backing up like a bad decision.’ Sounded urgent.” A soft snort, almost a laugh. “Your wallet’s safe from me. Promise.” He gives the pipe a nudge to loosen it, satisfied when water began to drip down to the bucket, letting all the gunk naturally pour itself out. “Do you have a habit of waking up in random empty penthouses?” He teased, finally, looking over to the man.

[novahze]

( priscilla quintana, thirty three, ciswoman, she/her) did you see VERONICA CERVANTES? they are a  RESTAURANT OWNER within the city. but when they aren’t working, you can find them at HARD ROCK CAFE. did you hear they are KINDHEARTED, NURTURING, AMBITIOUS but also CONFRONTATIONAL, AMBITIOUS, SLIGHTLY TEMPERAMENTAL . makes sense in the city of sin. I can’t help but think of PERFUMED LETTERS WRITTEN ON INK PAPER, SUN-KISSED BODY LAYING ON SILK SHEETS, EMERALD EYES WITH FIRE LIT VEINS when I think of them. can’t wait to see more of them…

— BASICS

Name: Veronica Cervantes Age / D.O.B.: 33/10.13.1990 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis woman, She/her, Bisexual Hometown: Queens, NYC Time in Vegas: 15 Years Affiliation: Civilian Job position: Restaurant Owner (Sabor de Jalisco) Education: Degree in restaurant management Relationship status: Single Children: Silas and Selene Cervantes Positive traits: Kindhearted, patient, ambitious, adventurous, nurturing Negative traits: Temperamental, impulsive, self-conscious, workaholic, confrontational

— BIOGRAPHY

Veronica Cervantes grew up an only child in a home shaped by an old-fashioned, overprotective father and a constantly worried mother. Her dad never wanted her to have guy friends, rarely let her spend time with friends outside of school, and absolutely forbade parties. Her mom, though anxious in her own way, was much more lenient. She’d quietly drop Veronica off at friends’ houses, at parties, and even at boyfriends’ places—so long as her daughter wasn’t out too late. For all the rules and restrictions, life in the Cervantes household was filled with love, and Veronica adored her family more than anything.

From a young age she felt connected to her culture, something that’s remained a core part of her identity. She learned to speak and write in Spanish early on and grew up surrounded by traditions, food, and family. Some of her favorite childhood memories were the game nights spent gathered around the TV watching whatever sport was on. Boxing, basketball, and soccer nights were her favorites. When she wasn’t at home, she was usually helping out at the family restaurant, Sabor de Jalisco, picking up skills she knew she’d need one day.

Her rebellious phase didn’t hit until high school. Like most teens, she craved freedom—and she found it. She started sneaking out late at night to parties, to car meetups that often turned into illegal street races, and to whatever club she could slip into just to dance until her feet hurt. No matter how wild her nights got, she always made it home before sunrise and always kept her grades up. Her dream of running the family restaurant kept her grounded.

At twenty-eight, Veronica met a man who would change her life in ways she never expected. They crossed paths at a game, and one conversation led to them wandering around together long after the stadium was empty. Their relationship wasn’t all soft moments, though—when they fought, it felt like going to war. She lost track of how many times she slammed the door in his face, declared it over, shoved him away, only to find herself back in his arms every single time. Not long after they met, she learned she was pregnant. Their story didn’t end with the fairytale she once imagined, but it didn’t end bitterly either. They became amazing co-parents, and that mattered more than anything. She’ll always be ride-or-die for him and will fight tooth and nail for him and their babies.

These days, Veronica spends most of her time running Sabor de Jalisco, balancing the chaos of running a business with being a devoted mom and still managing to keep some semblance of a social life. Once a week she gets a babysitter and goes out dancing—something that will forever be pure joy for her. She’s open about being a mom, but she guards her children fiercely; very few people outside family and a tiny circle of close friends ever get near them.

At the end of the day, Veronica is just a woman trying to bring a little more light into the world—laugh with her girlfriends, get her nails done, pour herself a giant glass of wine, and keep moving forward with love, grit, and a whole lot of heart.

HEADCANNONS:

very sportsy and active. she loves most sports, except golf. she's just never really had anyone explain golf to her so it kinda slipped through the cracks for her.

animal lover. if you left it up to her the woman would adopt every stray dog and cat she saw in the streets! the only reason she doesn't is because she's got silas and selene to look after and bills to pay. one day she does hope to get them a dog, though.

she is the kind of person who loves to cook for people. chances are, if you're her friend, related to her, or close to her in any way, she has probably cooked for you. she also sometimes volunteers and makes food for those who are low on their luck. it's really just in her nature to be giving.

huge horror movie fanatic as well. all them old horror movies like friday the 13th, nightmare on elm street, halloween, rosemary's baby, etc are right up her alley. she would rather have a spooky movie night than a romcom night, but she also does enjoy a nice romcom with her gal pals. she is also a huge stoner, but now a days she waits until the twins are either not around or fast asleep to spark up.

from the moment the father of her children touched her he became the only who has. she has not slept with anyone since him. she's thought about it, but she refuses to let anyone near her like that again.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

Baby Daddy: to be announced. Sister Friend: open. more to be added. Play Date Buddies: open. more to be added. Stoner Buddies: open. more to be added. MORE TO COME

SABOR DE JALISCO

inside:

outside part:

[novahze]

Santiago De La Cruz

[novahze]

for: viktor ( @gvoldens ) location: club nova

Elijah perched on the edge of the bar stool, one hand wrapped around a glass of something amber, the other resting lightly on the counter. The crowd throbbed around him, a wave of neon and bass that threatened to sweep him along if he let it, but he kept himself steady, careful. Not his usual scene—but that was the point. He glanced toward Viktor, letting a small, controlled smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “This is…so much fun,” he said, voice low but carrying a hint of genuine amusement. “Thank you for inviting me.”

It wasn’t easy for him, letting the night wash over him without analyzing every shadow or calculating every move. But right now, with the music vibrating through the floor and the bar glowing like liquid gold beneath his fingers, he allowed himself a moment to just…exist in it. To be part of the fun, even if it felt slightly alien. He lifted his glass in a subtle, almost shy toast, and for the first time that night, let a flicker of something lighter—something almost like enjoyment—slip through the carefully maintained restraint.

He let his gaze drift over the crowd, watching bodies sway, hands reach for drinks, laughter spilling like sparks into the neon haze. The thought of stepping out there, of being swallowed by the chaos, made a shiver run down his spine—not entirely unpleasant, but certainly unnerving. Elijah’s eyes returned to Viktor, sharp and steady, "you don’t actually expect me to go out there, do you?”

[iniquitousheart]

Bronwyn let his flask-to-bottle tap count as a toast, her grin crooked and unbothered. “Perfect. Nothing brings a community together like a good class-action lawsuit.” She watched him do another sweep of the room; this time, she didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t noticing. Hypervigilance recognizing its own was almost comforting, in a bleak sort of way. It also made teasing him feel like fair game.

“Careful,” she said, tone warm with mock warning when he tossed the line about enjoying himself. “Tell me you’re having fun and suddenly I’m responsible for your emotional well-being. I didn’t sign a waiver for that.” He had that gravelly delivery that some guys leaned on too hard, but he wore it like it just happened to him. Interesting. Dangerous, if she let it be. She wouldn’t. But she’d enjoy the nuisance of it.

When he admitted it’d been a long time since enjoying himself felt like an option, she didn’t soften—just let one eyebrow lift like she was filing it away. “Welcome back to the land of the living, I guess,” she drawled. “We have snacks. Allegedly.” Although she had been hard pressed to find any in the past hour.

His question about a jealous date earned him a short bark of laughter. “Oh, please. My last date was an airport pretzel I dropped on the floor and ate anyway.” She tipped her bottle at him. “Nobody’s coming to fight you on my behalf.”

She nodded at the flask in his hand, eyes glinting with challenge. “So? You gonna be a gentleman and share, or am I supposed to keep choking down this artesian driveway water?”

[novahze]

Her remark actually made him laugh, genuinely, probably the first real laugh he’d let slip in years. It started low in his chest, rough-edged, almost startled by its own existence, then rolled out into something quieter but no less honest. “How warm and fuzzy,” he said, the words half-murmured, half-amused, like he was tasting them and deciding they weren’t poisoned after all. The corner of his mouth crooked higher than before, the smirk softening into something that looked dangerously close to a real smile before he caught it and reeled it back in.

“Then, I guess I won’t tell you it’s fun time. It’s a terrible time, actually, dreadful even.” He let the words drag, deadpan, then took a slow sip from the flask like he was toasting his own misery. “Possibly the worst night of my life. I’m suffering. Deeply.” His eyes stayed on hers over the silver rim, unblinking, the faintest spark of mischief flaring behind the flat delivery. When he lowered the flask, that crooked half-smirk was back, sharper now, like maybe (just maybe) Elijah was starting to relax. “See? Waiver voided. You’re off the hook.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at the comment about snacks, the sound almost surprised at itself. “Snacks would’ve been nice,” he muttered, looking around for a second. “Guess I’ll settle for the company instead.” His gaze slid back to her, steady and unapologetic. “So far, it’s not terrible.” He extended the flask out for her, eyes never leaving hers as he did.

He extended the flask toward her, silver catching the low light, eyes never leaving hers. The offer hung there, wordless but deliberate—no pressure, no performance, just a quiet offering. His thumb brushed the cool metal once, a small, unconscious tell, then stilled. “It’s the good stuff,” he said, voice low enough that only she’d hear. “Promise it won’t kill the plants.” He paused, "Or you. And hey, if you're going to put with my company, you're going to probably need a couple of swigs for the night."

Eli understood he was not everyone's cup of tea, his dazzling personality just didn't click with many people. so, he was always thankful to those who at least made an effort to not just writ him off. "So, what did bring you out tonight? Adventure? Curiosity? Or are you genuinely just really interested in minerals?"

[gvoldens]

Viktor closes his eyes and around him, the music rages on. Its an EDM thumper, the kind that pours like tar from the speakers and rattles your chest, leaving no room for a heartbeat anymore. He feels it sink up into his bones from below, right through the soles of his shoes and for a second, if only to keep himself sane, he concentrates on that.

And then, not even all that bone deep noise is enough to stave of the rolling desire that flips his stomach, and Viktor feels a ferocity slam into him so hard that he almost chokes.

"No. Just me." Viktor tries not to dwell on what he says, on the warning shot of someone I never want to see again. It feels more ominous that it should, and Viktor wants to pry, wants to ask what he means but he also just wants to fuck him. He would like both, the intimacy and the depravity, but will settle for the latter. Viktor grins sharply against his ear then, his voice a low thin growl "-aren't you fucking lucky..."

Viktor clutches at his hips and does not miss the way he tenses suddenly, and then relaxes back into him. The stranger rolls his hips and Viktor matches him, beat for beat. To the music, they sway like smoke tendrils and Viktor keeps a tight, possessive hold of him as his hips rock up into the stranger, his cock a hard, undeniable ridge pressed tight into the curve of his ass.

Vik swallows tightly, falling out of the moment. The strangers hands are warm he thinks, small and warm and it an anchoring point Viktor finds himself focusing on a bit to heavily until the moment passes on the beat of a butterfly wing.

"Pretty rabbit-" he mumbles into the hollow of his throat when he drops his head back. The long stretch of honeyed skin is unblemished, the thick tendons stretched taunt under his skin when Viktor presses an open mouthed kiss to the fat vein in his neck, it throbs deliciously and Viktor can't help the prattling moan that reverberates up from his chest. Viktor nips him there, a sudden and sharp little bee sting that he worries over with a kiss after ward.

Viktor lifts his head just enough to look at him, into those dark eyes made black in the nothing light of the club. The neon's bounce and reflect, deep and haunting and endless, and for an ominously beautiful moment, Viktor thinks the strangers eyes are glowing. He can't help himself, he rocks his hips up sharply into the strangers ass and at the same time, holds his hips still.

"You looks so beautiful-" he whispers into his skin, hot as a brand "-fucked out in the middle of the dancefloor like this."

Viktor drops his head with a groan and slots his mouth across the other mans and that's the punctuation to his answer. That's the yes I missed you, yes I'm hard as a fucking rock and I need to be inside you, yes I've done nothing but let you live at the base of my skull since I met you.

Viktor slides his tongue along his lower lip, aiming at working his mouth open. One hand slips up over the strangers torso, pausing to grip possessively at his chest before continuing up the side of his throat to hold his jaw still. Vik curls around him like a spider, a million limbs and legs all just poised to hold him still and clutch him tighter to Viktor's front.

Vik pulls out of the kiss with a breathy groan, eyes closed as he just feels this man next to him, against him. It's everything, its not enough. Viktor wants to crawl inside his skin and live there forever. He wants to drag him of this dance floor to the nearest room with a locked door and fuck him until they're both wrecked about it. Vik wants to own him so completely that the thought rattles him for a moment.

Instead, "Come get high with me somewhere-" Viktor kisses him again, sloppier this time and with another sharp, pointed roll of his hips "-if you're a good boy I'll let you swallow my cock again."

[novahze]

The world shrinks to the size of two bodies. The drums, those relentless, tar-black drums, slow for one impossible heartbeat, stretching like taffy, hanging suspended in violet air. In that single, stolen second, the crowd dissolves into watercolor ghosts; the strobes freeze mid-flash, painting them in shards of rose and indigo that never quite land. There is only Viktor behind him, solid as scripture, hands locked around his hips like the only law left on earth.

Alejandro lets the rhythm pour through him, liquid and molten, and for the first time tonight he is weightless. Not falling, not fleeing, just grounded. Every sway is a tide that carries him farther from whatever hunted him an hour ago; every press of this man’s chest to his spine is a door slamming shut on the past. His own hands cover the stranger’s, small against those broad palms, and the warmth there is an anchor deeper than any drug. This man doesn’t even feel like a stranger at all, it’s like they’ve known each other in other lifetimes, as if they were lost in this life and just found each other. He is untethered and tethered all at once: a kite soaring in a storm that has promised, without words, never to let the string break.

They move like a single breath made visible, slow then fast then slow again, hips rolling in perfect, sinful synchrony. The bass climbs back into its rightful fury, but it feels gentler now, almost reverent, as though the song itself has decided to cradle them instead of devour. Neon drips over their skin like warm honey; sweat beads and catches the light, tiny prisms on collarbones and throats. Alejandro’s head tips back against Viktor’s shoulder, eyes half-closed, lashes casting trembling shadows across his cheeks, and he smiles, small, secret, luminous, because for the length of this one endless track he is nowhere and everywhere, untouchable and utterly possessed.

And then…the kiss.

The stranger kisses like a tide that has decided to keep the shore forever. The moment his mouth seals over Alejandro’s, the world collapses into wet heat and slow-burning lightning, the bassline a second pulse that lives between their ribs and drags them under. Alejandro surrenders without a fight; he opens, yields, lets the man’s tongue sweep in and claim every corner like territory already conquered. It is filthy and sacred, a slow drowning in velvet and teeth, and Alejandro drinks it down until his lungs burn and his blood sings brighter than any chemical tonight.

His hand stays locked at Viktor’s nape, fingers buried in blonde hair, nails scraping just enough to feel the big body shudder against him. They move as one creature now, hips rolling in languid, liquid circles that match the track’s heartbeat, sweat-slick skin sliding under strobing violet and rose. Every grind of the man’s cock against the curve of his ass is a vow; every answering roll from Alejandro is devotion made motion. Their bodies speak in the language of want, fluent and shameless, neon fracturing across cheekbones and collarbones like stained glass over something unholy. And he pours what he won’t say in words…I missed you too.

Alejandro breaks only when breathing becomes impossible, but even then he doesn’t go far; he lets out a soft sigh, eyes blown wide and depthless, lips swollen and shining under the lights. The air between them is fever-hot, trembling. This man could ask him to follow him into a fucking haunted woods and Alejandro would have blindly followed. He was so wrapped up in him that he couldn’t even think of his own name right now. He was drunk off this stranger, this person that…he didn’t even know their name yet.

“Take me,” he whispers, the words brushing the stranger’s mouth like another kiss. “Anywhere the dark is thick enough to swallow sound. I want to kneel on cold tile and feel you slide between my lips until my throat forgets how to form anything but your name. I want bruises shaped like your hands, want to taste you when you lose control and give me everything.” His hips roll again, slow and deliberate, a promise carved in friction. The hand at Viktor’s nape tightens, pulling until their lips graze with every syllable. “I’m already on my knees inside,” he breathes, soft and ruinous, smiling like sin has never been this gentle. “Just lead, cariño…and I’ll follow you to Wonderland.”

[dxheyryxn]

Nothing was more exciting than a match with a worthy opponent. Finding someone who could keep up, whatever the event, was what got Dahey out of bed in the morning. A challenge, a spark, anything. And this was as important to Dahey as academic challenges. It's precisely why he'd selected Alejandro's name in his phone.

With feet planted firm, chin in the air, Dahey didn't move a muscle at the obvious attempt to earn a reaction. No way they were showing their cards this early. Instead, it earned a disbelieving scoff and stare that said it wasn't what Dahey heard. They licked their lips as their gaze flicked from Alejandro's eyes to his lips, letting the silence stretch longer than it needed to before "It's where I'd keep you."

Not exactly the truth, Dahey wasn't one for keeping anyone anywhere, but that wasn't the game they were playing. It wasn't fact-based. It was fun.

At the door, invested in their phone both to make Alejandro suffer and to look disinterested in all of this, Dahey leaned back into the other's hand. They could feel it and typically wouldn't reward not committing to something but the contact was too good to pass up. "Hmmmm," Dahey's eyes lifted to look at the doorman and back to their phone as they swiped their thumb up the screen a couple of times. "You're somewhere between 'Talks While He Chews' and 'Has a Thing for Feet, brackets, Not in a Fun Way'."

"Of all the things," Dahey heaved a sigh. "You say all these great things, and then you end with 'dog-da--" gagging a little, Dahey stood there suffering, unable to repeat it. "I think I'll reach out to 'Far too Interested in Star Wars', he talks a lot, and I don't understand a word of it, but he is hung, so what's a forty-minute lecture about something called Spock?" To really sell it, Dahey's thumbs raced over the screen. Not sending a text but drafting the message to cancel class tomorrow. They had more than enough faith this night was going to go the way they needed it to. @novahze

[novahze]

Alejandro fucking craved a challenge like oxygen, especially the rare, vicious kind Dahey served with a raised brow and a half-smile, sharp enough to slice straight through boredom and leave him hungry for the fight. It’s where I’d keep you. His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide under the bleeding neon, like the words had just poured gasoline on an already-lit fire. He was trying to be good, though he didn’t know why.

His mind flashed to Osian for a second and it pinged a dull ache that he immediately tried to shut out. In this moment, Alejandro wished…things were different with the two of them. Regardless he kept his composure and he played the part that was expected of him, the person Dahey wanted tonight was what Ale focused on.

He let the laugh roll out slow, rough, tasting every syllable Dahey fed him. “On my knees?” He took one deliberate step closer, close enough that the heat of his body licked across Dahey’s skin without a single touch. Voice dropped to a murmur meant only for them, velvet soaked in sin. “Then play your cards right, mi cielo… and tonight that might be exactly where you keep me, mouth full, throat open, begging in that pretty way you pretend you don’t love to hear.” His tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip, deliberate, playfully smirking.

Alejandro quite enjoyed the little game they played. Will it cross a line? Will it continue to just be this fun banter? Who knew. It was exciting to see where their nights would lead, and no matter what, it always seemed to end just the way Alejandro imagined it would. Fun, exciting, blurry memories, and lots of laughter.

He let out a wounded little gasp, pressing his free hand to his chest like he’d been shot straight through the heart. The hand at the small of Dahey’s back finally committed, fingers splaying warm and possessive against the dip of their spine as he steered them past the doorman and into the dim, thumping club. “Between Talks-While-He-Chews and Creepy-Feet-Guy?” He dropped his voice into that low, velvet register that always sounded half-laugh, half-promise. “Baby, that’s cruel. I’m at least top five. Top three on a good hair day.” He flashed them a signature crooked grin and gave a playful wink.

Ale laughed lightheartedly at Dahey’s theatrics over the mention of Teddy. “I’m sorry, but…you want to ditch me for Star Wars nerd? Who cares how fucking hung he is. There’s plenty of dick in the sea, my beloved, his is not special. But what we got here,” he motioned between the before raising his hand to flag the bartender down, “this is beyond all that, wouldn’t you say? I wouldn’t bore you with whatever the fuck a Spock is, and if I were to subject you to my nerdy talk, I’ll make damn sure I am making up for it by…” he smirked, letting his voice and thoughts trail off on purpose, “…well, you know.” He glanced to the bartender, placed his usual, then back to Dahey. “What are you having tonight?”