M I D A S

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.

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.

City Hall’s courtyard was mostly wind and echo at this hour, the kind of institutional quiet that always felt like someone had just scrubbed the place clean of a scandal. Mo had been leaning against the opposite end of the memorial bench, notebook in his pocket, pretending not to linger after a council member he’d tried—and failed—to corner earlier, trying to find out if the calamitous bang that ended the Callahan event was as fishy as it smelled. He wasn’t here officially. That was usually when he learned the most.

So when Viktor King appeared out of the building looking like a lawsuit in motion, Mo knew exactly who he was. Callahan Petroleum’s favorite lawyer. The one who seemingly spent the entire event smoothing over problems right up until the ground literally shook. The fact he was storming out of the DA’s office now? Interesting as hell. Mo didn’t need to know the contents of the meeting to know it stank like the kind of story someone didn’t want told.

Viktor’s smoke curled between them; his attitude hit just as sharp.

Mo huffed out a low laugh. “Trust me, if I were here recreationally, you’d be fully within your rights to call someone.” He shifted, hands in his jacket pockets, posture loose even if his attention had been snared the second Viktor opened his mouth. “And yeah, I work here. Sort of. Sometimes. Depends who’s asking.”

He angled a look at the man “But you—coming out of the DA’s office on a Friday afternoon with your blood pressure in the danger zone? That’s a hell of a field trip for corporate counsel.”

His tone was light, curious-but-not-prying. The kind of casual that wasn’t really casual at all.

“Rough meeting,” he added, nodding toward the cigarette as if it were explanation enough. “Or is this just your normal weekend pre-game? I'm sure tearing the District Attorney a new one is better than any upper.” At least that's what he assumed had gone on behind those oaken doors. With how the party had ended, how could it be anything else?

He comes up short and schools his face into something placid and politely uninterested to cover up his short coming.

"You work here sometimes. Sort of." Viktor repeats slowly and there is an edge to his voice that is hard to pin down. Understanding? No. Mockingly? Probably. "I see." Is all he says before taking another long drag of his cigarette. The smoke trials from his nose and out of the corner of his upturned mouth, seeping from him like a low fog in the desert.

Viktor listens to him carefully. To every thing he says and lets the silence linger until it bleeds into something uncomfortable. Vik keeps smoking, the up and down of his arm to his mouth becomes rhythmic until hes sucking the last lungful from the butt of the Marlboro. There's one of those ergonomic waste bins by the bench, and Viktor keeps his eyes on the other man, gaze intent and shark like in the way it does not waver. He blinks, but even that feels mechanical. Like he's doing it to prove that he was definitely a human being. That he was approachable. Viktor stubs out the cigarette and leaves it in the little tray at the top of the bin. Then he clears his throat loudly.

"Callahan Petroleum INC keeps me busy." VIktor says smoothly, crossing one ankle over the other and resting a hand against the back of the bench. He slouches just enough to make it look like he's getting comfortable, but not too much as to make himself look foolish. "-The district attorney and I have a very healthy working relationship, should you wish to know more I could email you a Callahan approved information pack on the organisations we pride ourselves on working with?"

Viktor smiles, tight lipped and controlled as he rattles along of the company line. Then, his lips quirk into something a little more pointed, a little more blink-and-you'd miss it vicious.

"-My weekend pre game is none of your business-" Vik gives him a challenging once over, eyelids drooping lazily as he seamlessly switches from corporate Rottweiler to shameless flirt. "I doubt we run in the same social circles-" he shrugs "-which is a shame." Those big blue eyes glint suddenly, ominously. "I'd have liked to buy you a drink on my off day."

Luckily for her, the text message from one of her favorite people in town had erased any decision making for her. Done deal. She was going out... for herself.

She'd picked out a skin tight dress as a means to feel hot, and perhaps lure in a few new clients, while enjoying her night with Viktor.

The cab ride into town wasn't long, having thrown a few dollar bills as tips she'd gotten from the night before while she waited for her companion in crime in the normal spot they always met up.

"Baby, baby," she called out and returned the hug. The scent of nicotine hit her first, then she'd gotten a whiff of his breath from the kiss planted upon her cheek. While she'd pre-gamed a glass of wine while doing her hair, she could already tell by his lopsided grin that she'd be the one playing catch up tonight.

Her gaze slides over him before it returns to his face with a content smile. He was a comfort she didn't always have while on a night out and she would take advantage of that to the fullest. "It smells like I'm going to need to take a few shots to get to your level but I'm always up for the challenge."

A hand swatted at his backside before she curled her arm around his to lead him towards one of their favorite locations. "Tell me you've also brought a little something extra, as well?" If not, she was confident they could find a little hit of something harder on their way there.

Vikor laughed, loudly and a lot more unguarded than he usually did. His head dropped back and around the long column of his throat with its tight, corded muscles, a gold chain and padlock winked obnoxiously at her in the undulating club lights.

"Cheeky-" he purred, tilting his head down to keep a close eye on her as she twisted like smoke around him. "God, you're so lucky I like you as much as I do Renata." His tone was playful and the punctuating wink took all of the sting out of his comment.

Vik gathers her close when she slides her arm through his, content to be lead away. As they get further from the more densely populated area of the club, Vik gives the front pocket of his pants a little tap "-of course I have, do you know me at all?" he teased. Vik lets go of her to lower down gracefully in a booth, and his movements are languid in their fluidity. One long leg stretches over the other as he arches like a house cat, hiking his pant leg up to reveal more of the shinny stretch of his patent boots. He stretches his arms wide over the back of the booth seat and settles in with a comfortable little hum.

"What are we drinking?" he asked, glancing up at her with a smile stuck somewhere between fond and feverish. "-Champagne? Vodka? What do you fancy, oh-" he leans forward and glances by her "-they still do bottle service right? ugh-" Viktor drops his head back and whines dramatically "-am I going to have to get up and do the walk to shame back to the bar-" he lifts his head, curls flopping boyishly across mirth white eyes. "-Renata please say no."

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?”

"Of course, you could stand to loosen up a bit." He smiled wryly "-no offence." Viktor was sitting beside him on an identical stool, his back to the bar top and his arms draped languidly along the edges. In one jewelled hand, he held a squat whiskey tumbler, almost empty, and the other was drumming a nothing tune into the hard top of the bar close to Eli's own fist. "-Do you mean that-" those big blue eyes peer at him intently from behind streaks of gold glitter and smudged mascara. Vik sits there like one of those big birds of paradise, etched in black and golds and shining obnoxiously as the neons light the unlikely pair up. "-or are you lying to me?"

Vik slides a little closer to him at the same time that he finishes his drink with a single, deep swallow. "It could be fun-" Vik tilts his head down, gathering closer until his breath washed hotly across Eli's cheek. "-I think you'd be a good dancer, you know." Viktor bites his lip, only parting teasing before he says "-you could show me."

His grin is as sly as he is when Vik twists sharply to face the bar and sits a little straighter in his chair. He orders again, another scotch for each of them before he braces an elbow on the bar counter and rests his cheek idly in his palm. He watches Eli for a little bit, his mouth quirked into a teasing little half smile.

"Do you like, ever go out?" Viktor pursed his lips when he realised how rude and of the cuff that sounded, but he didn't correct himself. "-you have other friends right? it can't just be lil ol' me Eli" Viktor grinned at him and his teeth shine like pearls in the low, humming blacklight "-you do have more of a bar vibe than club one though, honestly."

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.

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.

Then a new pair of hands that were bigger, surer slide over his hips. His whole body locks. For one sick, airless second the club disappears. They found me. His pulse slams so hard he tastes metal. Every muscle coils, breath freezing in his chest, pulse slamming so hard he can taste metal. He’s about to bolt, about to cause a scene at this club he’s grown so fond of, and he can feel it. And then that voice that is low, filthy, amused pours against the shell of his ear.

“Well well well… if it isn’t the pretty little rabbit that had my dick in his mouth a few days ago. Did you miss me, sweetheart?”

Recognition hits like a second, sweeter drug. The tension drains out of him so fast his knees almost buckle. A helpless, punched-out laugh leaves his throat, half relief, half surrender. Alejandro melts, actually melts, back into the man’s chest, spine arching, head falling to the side to give the man more room. His own hands come up to cover the new ones where they hook into his waistband, fingers curling tight like he’s anchoring himself to the only solid thing left in the room.“Fuck,” he breathes, the word shaky and smiling and ruined. “Thought you were someone else for a second.”

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..."