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@novahze
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 . â and here i was , so looking forward to those waters , â 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 . â terrible , â 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 . â i've had to look at you all evening , and barely do anything about it . â
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 . â i've missed you , too , â 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 . â tell me more about these minerals , â 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 .
"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 thereâthe one built of shadowed corners and borrowed time. He doesnât speakâcanâtâand 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 Osianâs warmth arrives like a tide, and Alejandro feels it climb his spine, shiver-soft and inevitable. When Osianâs hand rises to his cheek, Alejandroâs breath faltersânot 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. âThat is terrible,â Alejandro murmurs at last, the words barely there, softened by a fondness he doesnât bother to hide, his voice slipping between them like a confession dressed as a tease.
Then Osianâs lips brush the hollow beneath his ear, and the world tilts on its axis. âOsianâŠâ His name leaves Alejandro's lips like a half-formed prayer, half warningâanyone could step into the dark at any momentâyet his hands betray him, sliding out to grip Osianâs 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. âMinerals,â he repeats, the word a fragile attempt at composure that softens into something almost shy. âTheyâre formed under pressure,â he murmurs, tipping his head just slightly, offering more of his throat, more skin than he means to giveâan invitation wrapped in restraint, aching to be answered.
âHeat. Time. Conditions no one else survives.â A faint smile tugs at his lips, helpless, unguarded. âThey donât shine right away. They have to be pulled out of the dark. Cleaned. Cut. Coaxed into revealing what they really are.â He lets a beat pass, allowing him a chance to attempt to fight the haze his mind was clouding with. âAnd the rare onesâŠâ His voice drops, warm enough to melt. âYou donât find them twice.â He lets the silence stretch â not tense, not anxious, but full, like inhaling just before a kiss heâs not sure heâs allowed to take.
âFuck,â Alejandro breathes, so soft it might have been swallowed by the night, but it trembles with everything heâs been holding back. His fingers curl lightly against Osianâs side, tentative and almost shy, and his chest rises fast, tight with want he canât fully name. "Um," he tries to remember about minerals, fucking minerals, "...Minerals⊠theyâŠ" 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?"
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."
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. "âand held onto me as if I owed him any time of day. Needless to say, I need a drink."
Alejandro let out a low laugh when he spotted her, one arm resting against the bar like heâd been anchored there on purpose. âOh, not too long,â he said easily, eyes already sweeping over her in that familiar, automatic wayâchecking, cataloging, making sure she was good. âLong enough to watch two near-fights, one very dramatic breakup, and a guy puke in the sink in the menâs bathroom. You didnât miss much.â 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 bartenderâs attention. âI think youâve earned at least two drinks and a round of shots,â he added, voice smooth but firm. His gaze flicked back to her, sharpening just a touch. âAnd tell meâdid that asshole grab you hard?â There was no humor in his expression now, jaw tightening as his hand curled against the bar. âBecause if you need me to go talk to him, I will. No discussion.â
âž» âYouâre drunk enough to forget where you parked, but sober enough to run. Thatâs new.â 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! â I thought we wouldn't need a conversation. Or that you want to see me after that. â 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. †â If it is about the money I took, I will pay them. It was borrowed. â 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. â We can talk here, don't you think? â 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.
Santiago let out a soft, deliberate sigh, his patience fraying just enough to be heard. He didnât answer her immediately, didnât argueâhe didnât 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. âDriver,â he murmured, voice low, steady, almost a growl, âcome pick us up. Take the usual route.â
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: âNow, this is not about the money you took. I could care less about that. Itâs about the actions you tookâleaving without properly telling me. Did you think youâd be able to hide from me forever? Did you think I wouldnât 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?â He walked on, the question hanging in the cold air between them, his pace steady, each word deliberate.
Minutes later, the headlights of his driverâs 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: âYouâre cold. Iâll fix that.â He pushed the seat warmer button, looking at her with an almost gentle look. "Better?"
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 .
â all you have to do is ask , elijah , â 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 . â maybe i'll take you along the next time it happens . â 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 .
â are you claiming me to be the temptuous serpent , elijah ? â 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 . â if you keep playing this game with me , â she begins , selecting a crispy rice square topped with tuna tartare , â you'll end up with an invitation to the next grand opening , of whichever restaurant it is next time . â 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 .
Elijahâs stare remains fixed on her eyes, merciless, as if letting it fall to her mouth would be the first crack in a dam heâs 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 itâs low enough to bruise the air. âFront-row seat to your chaos of baby blue? Just say when. Iâll clear my calendar⊠and God help any black pen users on that day.â
Elijahâs eyes hold hers like winter holding the last star before dawn, unblinking, merciless, beautiful in its refusal to yield. âSerpent?â he echoes, voice a low psalm dragged across broken glass. âNo, never. Serpents beg for attention, to tempt.â He leaned in more, enough to whisper against her ear without touching her, silently he drinks in her scent. âYou are not the tempter,â he whispers, breath brushing the shell of her ear like a confession heâll never voice in daylight. âYou are knowledge itself, sweet, forbidden, final.â 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.
âAn invitation,â he murmurs, each word deliberate, weighted with intent. âTo the next grand opening?â 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 doesnât answer right away. Instead, he bites down with careful precision, tasting more than just the foodâthe 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. âAll you have to do is ask,â 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 curiosityâeach movement deliberate, a test, a measure of patience heâs 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 sheâs laid before him. âBut if I ask,â he murmurs, voice low, controlled, âit wonât be to the next grand opening, Nazli.â He lets the words linger, each syllable deliberate, weighted. âIâd be asking for something a little moreâŠprivate. Something I think only you can make worthwhile.â He tilts his head, eyes sharpening, watching, letting the space between them hum with the unspoken choice. âThe rest,â he adds softly, letting it trail like smoke in the air, âis entirely yours.â
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
The sharp breath didnât go unnoticedânot when it warmed the inches between them, not when Dahey's hand slid onto his thigh âfor balance.â His smirk turned slow, knowing, appreciative in a way that sparked heat low in his gut. âDesperate?â he echoed, leaning in so his breath grazed the shell of their ear. âBut you like it when I beg pretty like that for you, mi cielo.â He let his hand drift just slightly lower on their back, not pushing, just coaxing. âAnd donât pretend youâre not thinking about exactly how desperate you want me.â A slow, private thrill curled in his chest at the thought of just how far he could push them tonight.
The lights hit Daheyâs face just rightâall rose-gold and shadowâbut Alejandro didnât 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. âNot top five?â 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. âThen perhaps we should find a dark corner so I can start working my way up.â 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 Daheyâs, fingers threading between theirs for just a beat before letting go. âWeâre having the kind of night where we stay close,â he murmured, jaw brushing their temple as he spoke. âYou get that drink⊠Iâll get us a corner. Slow start, fast finish.â His thumb slid once across their hip, deliberate, teasing. A crooked grin tugged at his lips. âOr we can skip the slow start, find somewhere private, andâŠwell, you can figure out the rest. Iâm here for whatever you want, mi cielo.â He felt the pull of anticipation, the kind that made waiting for the next move almost unbearableâand he loved it.
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?"
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 detailâthe set of his jaw, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way smoke curled lazily from his cigarette. âNot exactly my usual Friday,â she said evenly, letting a faint trace of amusement tug at her lips. âIâve 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 isnât all tacos and tequila, unfortunately.â She gestured vaguely at the stone courtyard around them, letting the gesture encompass the bureaucratic chaos that had dragged her here. âApparently, the city decided to throw me a curveball today, and here I am, playing their game when Iâd much rather be anywhere else.â
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. âBut misery? No,â she added, voice calm, even, carefully modulated. âIâm not here for the thrill of frustration or to soak in bad energy. Iâm here to make sure things run the way theyâre supposed to, to keep the wheels turning smoothly in a city that prides itself on chaos.â Her tone softened only slightly as she allowed a hint of wry humor to edge in. âVegas may be full of noise, lights, and chaos, but some of us have to keep a little order in itâor at least try.â
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. âThough Iâll admit,â she said, letting the observation linger for effect, âwatching someone else wrestle with it can beâŠentertaining in its own way.â 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. âSo, working overtime, or are you free to explore a bit of the Vegas playground while the city runs itself into the ground?â
âž» 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 fiancĂ©. 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. â Good evening, Santi. I think you were seeing things. Excuse me⊠I have things to do⊠â 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.
Santiago didnât 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. âAnouk.â He said her name again, softer this time, almost fond, like he was tasting something heâd missed for months. One lazy step forward, leather jacket creaking, cigarette glowing between two fingers. âYouâre drunk enough to forget where you parked, but sober enough to run. Thatâs new.â 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. âYou left the ring. You left the note. Fine. But you donât get to leave the conversation, amor.â 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. âKeys,â he murmured, palm already open between them, voice low and even. âOr we can stand here freezing until you tell me why you thought disappearing was kinder than saying it to my face.â
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.
Everything dissolves into a violet fever.
One heartbeat theyâre 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 Alejandroâs 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.
Open starter
Location: penthouse suite of any hotel
He didn't recognize anything when he woke â 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 â it's not a hotel he's stayed at before. At least he doesn't think so, "Nice place â yours or mine?"
Aleâs 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. âDonât know, man. Iâm just here to fix the kitchen sink.â He taps a wrench against the trap, a dull metallic heartbeat. âOwner said it was âbacking up like a bad decision.â Sounded urgent.â A soft snort, almost a laugh. âYour walletâs safe from me. Promise.â 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. âDo you have a habit of waking up in random empty penthouses?â He teased, finally, looking over to the man.
( priscilla quintana, thirty three, ciswoman, she/her) did you see VERONICA CERVANTES? they are a  RESTAURANT OWNER within the city. but when they arenât 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 canât 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. canât wait to see more of themâŠ
Santiago De La Cruz
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 sceneâbut that was the point. He glanced toward Viktor, letting a small, controlled smile tug at the corner of his mouth. âThis isâŠso much fun,â he said, voice low but carrying a hint of genuine amusement. âThank you for inviting me.â
It wasnât 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 justâŠexist 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 lighterâsomething almost like enjoymentâslip 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 spineânot entirely unpleasant, but certainly unnerving. Elijahâs eyes returned to Viktor, sharp and steady, "you donât actually expect me to go out there, do you?â
Bronwyn let his flask-to-bottle tap count as a toast, her grin crooked and unbothered. âPerfect. Nothing brings a community together like a good class-action lawsuit.â She watched him do another sweep of the room; this time, she didnât bother pretending she wasnât noticing. Hypervigilance recognizing its own was almost comforting, in a bleak sort of way. It also made teasing him feel like fair game.
âCareful,â she said, tone warm with mock warning when he tossed the line about enjoying himself. âTell me youâre having fun and suddenly Iâm responsible for your emotional well-being. I didnât sign a waiver for that.â 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 wouldnât. But sheâd enjoy the nuisance of it.
When he admitted itâd been a long time since enjoying himself felt like an option, she didnât softenâjust let one eyebrow lift like she was filing it away. âWelcome back to the land of the living, I guess,â she drawled. âWe have snacks. Allegedly.â 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. âOh, please. My last date was an airport pretzel I dropped on the floor and ate anyway.â She tipped her bottle at him. âNobodyâs coming to fight you on my behalf.â
She nodded at the flask in his hand, eyes glinting with challenge. âSo? You gonna be a gentleman and share, or am I supposed to keep choking down this artesian driveway water?â
Her remark actually made him laugh, genuinely, probably the first real laugh heâd 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. âHow warm and fuzzy,â he said, the words half-murmured, half-amused, like he was tasting them and deciding they werenât 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.
âThen, I guess I wonât tell you itâs fun time. Itâs a terrible time, actually, dreadful even.â He let the words drag, deadpan, then took a slow sip from the flask like he was toasting his own misery. âPossibly the worst night of my life. Iâm suffering. Deeply.â 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. âSee? Waiver voided. Youâre off the hook.â
He huffed a quiet laugh at the comment about snacks, the sound almost surprised at itself. âSnacks wouldâve been nice,â he muttered, looking around for a second. âGuess Iâll settle for the company instead.â His gaze slid back to her, steady and unapologetic. âSo far, itâs not terrible.â 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 deliberateâno pressure, no performance, just a quiet offering. His thumb brushed the cool metal once, a small, unconscious tell, then stilled. âItâs the good stuff,â he said, voice low enough that only sheâd hear. âPromise it wonât kill the plants.â 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?"
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..."
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 manâs chest to his spine is a door slamming shut on the past. His own hands cover the strangerâs, small against those broad palms, and the warmth there is an anchor deeper than any drug. This man doesnât even feel like a stranger at all, itâs like theyâve 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.
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
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. Itâs where Iâd 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 didnât 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 wishedâŠthings 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.