CMDR. J. E. THOMAS

Aidan dropped all words and pretense, reaching instead to thread his fingers through red curls while his free hand groped at Marcus’ ass, tugging him closer, closer, closer. The kiss was a start, light and playful, but he was soon kissing along Marcus’ cheek, his jaw, his neck. Each kiss wasn’t enough and yet somehow everything he wanted. 

“Don’t get used to this,” Aidan warned, just after his teeth had grazed Marcus’ neck. His hands had settled yet again on Marcus’ hips, and Aidan tugged them back as he reclined, pulling Marcus down atop him. 

Aidan’s chest was solid and warm underneath Marcus’ hands when they fell back together. Marcus kept himself as propped up as he could, given how naturally entangled they’d already become. He wanted nothing more than to surrender freely to the pull of not just desire but intimacy that Aidan emanated tonight -- a gravity all of his own. Whether it was the enchanting draw of a new garden world or a black hole, it was still hard to say. 

Marcus locked his elbows.

“I should say the opposite,” he countered with a smile. Marcus leaned back a little further until he sat almost vertical, then stripped his sweater away, tossing it beside them. In its place was a cream silky top made of the finest material, almost bare to the touch. A delicate bow was placed low on his collarbone. 

He unbuttoned his pants, but only enough to flash the hint of a matching bottom piece; he left the rest untouched and placed his hands on either side of Aidan’s head.

“I don’t make house calls.” 

Aidan never had much strength after days of work, and Marcus was doing his damnedest to drain the rest of his stamina. There was little room or will to resist, and Aidan’s hands settled naturally at Marcus’ hips. One slid down his thigh, and Aidan couldn’t help but feel as if this was somehow familiar. He’d only slept with Marcus one night, but he already felt as if he knew every curve, slope, dip, and rise. If he hadn’t caught the flash of gold, he might have taken to testing that knowledge. 

“Are you banning me from your club or inviting me back?” Aidan asked, lips quirked into a smirk that spoke of lighthearted teasing. He reached for the envelop, noticing the napkin inside. He recognized his handwriting first, and before he could think too long on the significance of Marcus keeping the scrap, he noticed the additional handful of numbers. 

“I’m assuming it’s the latter,” he continued, filling silence with commentary as he flipped open the envelop. He carefully set the napkin beside him, read the invitation, and then placed Marcus’ number back inside the letter for safe keeping. 

“How would you prefer my RSVP?” 

Marcus happily sat during Aidan’s opening and reading of the invitation, watching him closely, and with a little smile of his own as his stare wandered to Aidan’s lashes -- so full that they filled him with admiration and envy -- then his nose. Then his mouth. 

Aidan hadn’t expected Marcus to react any differently, though the glance still rubbed him like a grain of sand in his shoe. It wasn’t enough to discount the walk, but it was there, and he couldn’t quite shake it. 

Cam’s room was remarkably characteristic of the Fells, from stolen signs to crude hangings. Yes, it was… different from Aidan’s, but many people here shared the same tastes, from the mess to the bedding to the fantasies. It was something that Marcus would have to accept, or else the men and women in the foyer would make it clear just what they thought of an uptown diva strutting into the slums. 

But, again, it was a minor annoyance, something that would only become tedious over a great span of time. Tonight, it could be ignored. 

“Never took you as the jealous type,” he murmured, pulling Marcus closer to him. He knew that it was time to kiss his neck, pin him against the wall, make him moan, yet Aidan’s lips only found Marcus’s, sparking yet another kiss that made his heart flutter rather than race. He pulled Marcus back step by step until Aidan’s legs pressed up against Cam’s bed. He broke the kiss as he took a seat, getting comfortable rather than dragging Marcus down beside him.

The twin tingling sensation in his chest subdued to a lonely flutter the moment Aidan stepped back. Marcus found himself leaning forward for more only to open his eyes and see that Aidan sat down, out of reach. Marcus smiled, amused. 

“No?” he let out wispily, breathless and half distracted by the thought of straddling Aidan. Flashbacks to Syndicate ensued, the flare of a supernova at his fingers when he touched the Fells leader’s bare chest the first time. He stood between his legs for a moment, admiring the present view with past memories. 

Marcus tossed his jacket beside Aidan, on the corner of the bed, just as he leaned a knee on the mattress by Aidan’s hip to ease into his lap. But a golden envelope slipped out halfway. Under its unsealed flap, the old napkin peaked out along with the last three digits of Mar’s number in black. 

Marcus looked down at both, then back at Aidan, eyes twinkling. 

Aidan carefully stayed a step ahead of Marcus as they walked down the hall, trying to buy himself a minute to allow the blush that had spread across his cheeks to fade into something far less incriminating. 

“I sleep with Cam every night, actually,” he said, lips quirking into half a smirk. “And some nights I don’t sleep at all, so it isn’t a problem.” He wrapped an arm around Marcus’ waist, fingers feeling just beneath his shirt. “Why waste space and money on a personal area?” And anyone that knew him for more than a day knew the answer to that question. Aidan was never meant to be around people for more than a few hours at a time, and work was never accomplished in groups. To operate, he needed solitude, and his quarters acted just as much as an office as they did a bedroom. 

He stopped before one of the doors and pushed it open, bravely taking the first step into Cam’s room before moving aside to allow Marcus to enter. 

Aidan’s fingers crept up Mar’s side but it wasn’t enough. Marcus paused before the doorway, cocking a refined brow at Aidan with a curling smile of his own. 

“Don’t sleep at all, huh?” he echoed cheekily, his hand flitting up Aidan’s abdomen as he walked past him -- only, he stopped halfway. He leaned up into him, slinging the same arm around his neck. “My, my. Never thought I’d be jealous of him.”

The him in question, although physically absent, was still very present in the room itself. It was Cam’s space through and through: on one end, there was what looked to be a small salvage yard, and on the other, an overcrowded workbench, and in a corner, a bed with mismatched plaid sheets. A stolen neon nightclub sign was the mainstay to the entire design, but it was much too big for the space. Its glow was dull and hazy and a quarter of it disappeared behind the bed. Various nude asari and human posters plastered the wall above the workbench. 

“Can’t say I remember that particular agreement,” Aidan said, trying to appear as normal as possible despite wanting only to wrap an arm around Marcus’ waist and drag him in close. “Must’ve been drunk, and we’ve agreed that drunk agreements are never binding unless put down on paper the morning after.” Normal, he thought, yet his fingers ran away from him to thread through Marcus’s. 

He covered it up by tugging Marcus towards the exit. “But the mood isn’t holding up all too well with a third party. We’ll be in your room if you need us.” Aidan didn’t bother with a smile, but did glance behind him just to make sure Cam wasn’t gaping at his back. “Soap’s under the sink,” he parted, closing the door as soon as he and Marcus were out into the hallway.

Cam’s smug face fell. “Wh -- hey! Where am I supposed to go, huh?” But his cries fell on deaf and departing ears.

“Ass,” was the final mumble.

Marcus happily retook Aidan’s hand, enjoying the trend of being led to another, more private room. He looked back at his friend and let out a tinkling laugh. 

“Your right hand,” he stated, recognizing Cam. However, he soon forgot about him; as they walked out into the hall, Marcus all but walked up against Aidan’s side, touching Aidan’s arm with his other, feeling a bicep as he leaned in to kiss Aidan’s cheek boldly. He smelled a hint of spice -- a musk. His other hand held onto his coat, which he’d snagged on the way and which bumped against his legs as they walked. The thick envelope and numbered napkin weighed it down.

Aidan had just begun to follow Marcus’ lead, pressing his palm against the redhead’s chest to get him to lay back, shifting slightly so he’d be straddling his hips once they settled, when he heard the door open. He froze almost instantly, closing his eyes as he tried to think of ways to excuse this, to make it seem like something far less intimate and significantly more sexual. 

Then he heard Cam’s voice. 

“Timing,” Aidan groaned, burying his head in Marcus’ neck for only a moment before glancing up at Cam. He had the distinct feeling of being caught, but this time it was less exhilarating and more mortifying. He was moving to his feet in seconds, offering Marcus a hand to pull him up as well. 

“Did you need something?” he asked Cam, trying to put up enough of a business front to let the whole thing gloss over. He knew it wasn’t likely to work, not when Cam was so close to him, but it was the only shot Aidan had.

"Chips and soap for my eyes,” Cam retorted, entering the room and making an immediate beeline for the cupboard. He opened one and rifled through it as Marcus got to his feet. “Did we not agree that the kitchen was a no-fuck zone? Come on, Fallows.” He tsked and inspected a best-before date on a blue bag. 

It was a question that Aidan hadn’t wanted turned around on him, largely because he didn’t know the answer. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from Marcus, wasn’t sure if he wanted him to stay the night or walk out the door and never look back. Another kiss saved him from making the choice, and he leaned into it eagerly. 

He’d experienced many moments like this, uncertain and soft, too gentle for what he should be chasing, yet this felt somehow different. He’d only had one night with Marcus but he felt as if he already knew his body. The curves of his lips felt like a welcome, the jut of his hip like home. Kissing Marcus was as cathartic as it was invigorating, and Aidan found himself scattering open mouthed kisses along Marcus’ neck. 

“Is this why you came?” Aidan asked just before his teeth grazed Marcus’ jaw. “Because I thought you told me that you were here on a different sort of business.” 

“You’re avoiding my question,” Marcus accused, but the growl fell from his throat with desire, not anger. He unwittingly arched his back and rolled his head to the side to allow Aidan easier access. 

A throaty chuckle morphed into existence. 

“But yes, I did say that, didn’t I.” Touching Aidan’s hair now, Marcus drew him further down his neck in silent plea. 

He let himself sink comfortably to the floor, no matter how many feet and food and drinks touched it. His fine cream-coloured pants stood no chance against it but he didn’t seem to mind when he spread his legs, settling his ass to the ground instead of his knee caps. He had wormed his way in between Aidan’s legs as best as he could, as close as he could.

That’s how Cam saw them, when he entered the kitchen in search of some snacks to pair with his beer. He froze in the now-open doorway. 

The events unfolding before him blossomed in slow motion, fading a bit around the corners until it seemed like more of a dream or fantasy than reality. Marcus’ flirtations had been obvious all night, but Aidan had assumed that was merely a part of the redhead’s personality. After three failed relationships and a few flings, Aidan was sure he’d known the difference between genuine interest and a smooth tongue. 

Maybe Marcus was meant to challenge all the defenses he’d built. One night at Syndicate was all it took to have Aidan’s fingers wandering, and a day away had brought dreams and fantasies as he pressed his head against the wall of a too-cold shower. And tonight? He’d let Marcus stroll in, had showed him favoritism, had been relieved to be alone with him. It was unsettling how natural Aidan felt when Marcus was this close, especially when he had so little to offer. Business has brought them into each other’s orbits, and Aidan wasn’t willing to make a deal for a single incentive. He had nothing to offer Marcus other than this, and this wasn’t amounting to much at the moment. Aidan knew he was a mess of himself, dressed down and disheveled, too tired to be fully himself, to be interesting. 

Yet Marcus was interested. Halfway between not thinking and overthinking, Aidan knelt before Marcus and kissed him. Later, he’d worry about why he met sexual with romantic. Later, he’d wonder what drew him to making such a choice when Marcus already had him so vulnerable. But for now he was determined to be drunk on Marcus’s lips. 

“What are you playing at?” he murmured, eyes closed and lips still lightly pressed against Marcus’s. 

Marcus’ lashes fluttered before parting in shock. Warm lips met his in a pleasant but unsettling turn of events -- any other man would have done one of two things: let him suck his dick, or push him away. He swallowed shallowly. 

“...The better question,” he said, in just as low of a voice, “is what are you?” 

Marcus’ mouth curved in a smile, but he found himself rattled, deeply. Caught off guard. His face felt warm and he struggled to think any thoughts besides the one that urged him to kiss Aidan again. So he did, slowly, with his hand sliding up the side of Aidan’s neck. It didn’t help his head. 

But then, that didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon either. 

“’Falling out’ implies that there was a relationship to ruin,” Aidan mused, though his mind was beginning to wander. He could still remember (most of) the night at Syn, and fantasies played before his eyes as he thought about kissing Marcus again. But this was a common area, he felt weak, and he wasn’t sure if Marcus wouldn’t go along with it just to play up his chances of professional success. 

“But you took the risk,” Aidan mused. “Came to the worst part of town just to hear what I’d already written her.” But he’d written more than that. He’d put down in writing a request to carry on flirting. He might as well have given Marcus his number. 

Marcus’ hand lingered on the granite surface, even as he stepped away from the counter. 

“This would be a very short visit if I only came to hear you say no,” he said with a nonchalant lilt, tipping his chin up. A gentle smirk slighted his otherwise blasé demeanour and he set his mug down. 

Of course Marcus had come here with more than this simple task to complete. When had he ever run around completing menial tasks for his sister without some selfish motive behind the gracious act? The motive tonight had not escaped her. Hell, even Aidan himself had to know he wasn’t here to just take note and leave. 

So why bother with the preamble? 

He touched Aidan’s hip, over the small rise where the drawstring met the waistband. Since their fateful night at Syndicate, Marcus had only thought of one thing. And with a cursory glance at the dirty floor on his way down as his only moment of hesitation, Marcus turned fantasy into reality and knelt before Aidan with determination. With desire. 

He leaned toward the front of Aidan’s sweatpants, tip of his nose just caressing soft fabric -- no, worn fabric. His other hand went to Aidan’s other hip and his lips, parted open in anticipation, hovered a hair’s breadth from contact. 

“She wouldn’t,” Aidan disagreed. “The people she sends to fight her battles might.” Because why would a queen ever step onto a battlefield? Ash had made it clear that she was a monarch masked as a diplomat, and politicians never risked their own necks. 

“All we know how to do is fight, and we’ll do it until the bitter end if we must. Most of my people are tired of bending to other people’s wishes. It isn’t stubbornness if I’m just keeping a promise. Might be ornery, but it isn’t stubborn.” Aidan spoke levelly, like they were discussing the weather. He even looked all too casual, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. 

He gazed at Marcus a moment longer, then reached for the vodka he’d left on the counter. He took a shot straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand afterwards. “Does she always send you to negotiate terms, or is this a special occasion?” 

Marcus cocked his brow but had stopped listening partially into Aidan’s speech on his people. Where were his people, anyway? Would they stay in the foyer? Marcus glanced over at the closed-but-not-locked kitchen door and then back toward his host, but gaze aimed downward for a faux modest look. He moved closer, taking his drink up again.

“I volunteered,” he said, eyelids glittering as he sipped. Aidan’s sweats fell on his form loosely but thinly. What Marcus wouldn’t give to see He looked up midways. 

“I’d be disappointed if you left me alone,” Aidan said, moving just close enough to bump his elbow against Marcus’s. “But tell her whatever you’d like. As far as I’m concerned, nothing’s changed. She has her people, I have mine, and the only times they need to get tangled up with one another is when we’re competing for the same resources and jobs. If she plans on expanding her empire, then may the best man win.” Turf wars were common, and Aidan had no intention of losing the ground he’d spent years developing. As much as he hated admitting it, Ash had the advantage of numbers. If she was determined to push out, he’d be a part of a losing battle. 

“She would win,” he replied, not missing a beat. It wasn’t boastful -- or he didn’t mean it to be. It was just matter of fact. Marcus knew that Ash had factions enough to storm the Fells easily. Yes, it would be messy, and yes, it would be too costing, and no, he didn’t have any experience let alone any expertise in the matters of warfare, but he was confident in his sister’s movement. 

Marcus took another sip from the mug, blinking big blue eyes up at Aidan innocently. 

“And yet you still hold your ground,” he mused on. 

As much as Aidan wanted this to be a casual conversation, he was all too quick to recognize how Marcus clung to diplomacy. Best to meet business with business in that case, even if it was impossible to flirt while turning down potential deals. 

“I have more important matters on my mind than your sister and her cult following,” he said. “And she can’t do anything about it. If she forces my hand, she revokes the promise of freedom. Threaten freedom, particularly around here, and she’ll have an uprise on her hands. If she continues to try to sway me, then it seems like she needs me – and why would a greater power need a so-called lesser entourage?” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“I’ve nothing against her personally, but I’m not granting her access to my Fells. I have an obligation to protect them, which means that I won’t let them become just a faction amongst many others. We’re small here because we trust each other. It’s a rare commodity in the underworld, and your sister can’t put a price tag on that. What I want is what I already have.” 

Aidan paused, his gaze falling on Marcus and his overly fashionable ensemble. “For the most part,” he amended. 

Marcus took his first and long sip of the drink while Aidan spoke, noting the extra burn of too much vodka -- not that it was unwelcome during this conversation. No, the sting was a familiar, warm friend. He hid his smile behind the mug at the flattery, letting himself bask in the compliment for a second before holding true to his sister’s mission.

“So I’m to tell her you’ll just, what, leave her alone if we leave you alone?” He was careful to say we instead of she.  

There were no fancy glasses here, so Aidan placed a faded mug before Marcus and poured it a quarter full. Another glance at Marcus told him that his guest wasn’t likely to drink it neat, so Aidan stepped to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. He topped off the mug, opting to omit the fact that three or four people might’ve recently drunken straight from the jug.

 “If the boring kind involves you sister, I can save you the speech. Whatever she wants, the answer is no.” Aidan leaned against the counter, sure to keep himself close enough to Marcus that anyone walking in would assume they’re having an intimate conversation. “But you’re still welcome to the drink.” A soft smirk, and Aidan knew that on a better day he could have Marcus absolutely weak. But his words, however sure, were frayed with just a shade of exhaustion, and his wit felt just out of his grasp. 

Maybe he felt just a bit pale in comparison to radiance. Marcus had been out of place as soon as he stepped foot in the base, and he had drawn every eye. Aidan had noticed the way a few glances lingered too long to be analytical and too short to be judgmental. If Aidan wasn’t so exhausted, jealousy would be kindling in his chest. 

Marcus looked down at the mug with a faint rise of a brow that bordered on distaste just before he took it with grace, picking it up with a hum. 

“It’s not about what she wants, it’s about what you want,” he answered, bringing the rim of the mug to his lips without sipping. He pressed it against his bottom lip for a beat. Then lowered the mug. “Specifically, what you want with her and her loyal following, now that you’ve made it clear that you don’t want to be a part of it.”

Marcus took a better look at Aidan now that they were under the harsher light of the kitchen. The light emphasized the dark under-eyes, the tiredness of his gaze, the weariness in the way he leaned. Aidan was looking worse for the wear, despite the effect he still managed to maintain on Marcus. Handsome, yes, but lacking sleep. 

“But I can tell her you simply looked too tired to be holding the feared, proverbial dagger.” It’s true -- strangely, Marcus felt he knew the answer already, that Aidan would pose no immediate great threat to him nor Ash. He had welcomed him into his base with open arms. And of course, while Marcus had done the same to lesser criminals only to have Ash dispose of them soon after, this felt different. Aidan felt --

“If your business is anything like last time, I think I can work with that,” Aidan mused, following Marcus with his gaze. “If you’re interested in business and safety, I can think of somewhere we can go.” The smirk on his lips suggested a bedroom, but his thoughts were wandering elsewhere. 

Without waiting for a reply, Aidan took Marcus’ wrist and began leading him back towards a set of doors leading to old storerooms. Many members had converted them into bedrooms, some of them filled with futons cushions, others with bunkbeds. Aidan walked by them slowly, giving Marcus a moment to wonder if any belonged to him, before taking a right and stepping into the deserted kitchen. With everyone in the foyer, the pantry was free game. 

“You mentioned needing a drink,” Aidan recounted, stooping before the sink. He waved his hand over one of the handles, and the door opened. Inside was a small bar, and Aidan only needed to take one glance at Marcus to decide that vodka was the best poison for the evening. 

Marcus, surprised by the touch, easily allowed Aidan to lead him away from the foyer down a more secluded hall. Upon passing doors upon doors, he peeked past one left ajar and forgotten while a Fells member napped inside amid a mess of both clothing and ship parts. He wondered if Aidan will be inviting him into an equally cramped and cluttered room but was pleasantly surprised when instead they arrived at the kitchen. 

He walked towards the counter when Aidan began digging for a bottle, touching the soft skin of his wrist where Aidan’s calloused fingers had been. Marcus smiled, and leaned beside the sink.

“Just one,” he said, sticking to his script. 

It was already too tempting to run his fingers through Aidan’s tousled locks. To pull him close.

“I’m afraid the business I’m supposed to conduct is the boring kind,” he continued with a theatrical sigh and a roll of his head to the side. He slid his jacket off and placed it beside him on the countertop.

Aidan didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes swept Marcus’ body. Images from their night together pressed harshly against his consciousness, making his mouth go dry. 

He absentmindedly licked his lips. 

“Must’ve been persuasive, because he was right in worrying. There are scavengers on every street corner around here.” Aidan smirked as if he were teasing, but only the truth had graced his lips. Some of those scavengers were his men, even, and he briefly wondered if there wouldn’t be a nice vehicle rolling into their garages later that evening. 

“And it was an impromptu party. I didn’t know I was attending until there was a drink in my hand.” His fingers suddenly felt empty without it, and he staved off any ideas of what he could be holding instead. “We’re celebrating approximately twenty murders and three accounts of grand larceny.” Aidan made no excuses for his appearance, though the longer he stood before Marcus, the more wretched he felt he looked. Marcus was the image of perfection, stylish to a degree that made Aidan want nothing more than to ruin all his hard work. 

He must be tired. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t show up to celebrate with us.” 

Marcus gave a one-shoulder shrug, coat sliding undone as he did, opening up to show a long sleeved sweater in a paler cream. He let the coat keep sliding until it exposed that shoulder, and placed his hand on his hip, striking a pose. 

“No, but I could use a drink,” he said, “calm my nerves. Given that I’m surrounded by scavengers and murderers.” Marcus winked. “But you’ll keep me safe, won’t you?” The last line he purred out, voice dipping to a velvet softer than the cloth he wore. He remembered Ash’s warning before he left -- business first, pleasure second -- when he heard himself, but, hell. Aidan was just as ravishing as he remembered too. And his memory was sweeter to relish, especially as Marcus glanced at his sweats and wondered if much else was worn underneath them. 

Cheekily, he took a step towards the bar.

For a man so vested in the intricacies of life, Aidan operated under an absolute binary. A few nights ago, he was on one end of the spectrum. Evenings were full of drinks and debauchery, days filled with sleep and ancient poetry. The past two days had been spent on the opposite end of the binary. Aidan hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours, had been buried under research and schematics, and had eaten only when he felt too faint to function. It left him looking worse for the wear. His hair was a mussed mop of black, his eyes accented by just as much color beneath them as within. He’d fallen into wearing gray sweatpants and a simple black shirt, often walking around the base in bare feet. 

Today was no different. He’d worked through the night and into the morning before finally pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Another couple of hours had brought him to new conclusions and the beginnings of new plans, and he would have kept working on those plans if he hadn’t received word that one of his star teams had returned from their latest mission. That news forced Aidan to surface, and he sat through a rough debrief before deciding that this was cause enough to celebrate. A drink was in order, Jared had proposed, and Aidan had agreed. With enough whiskey, maybe he could manage a few hours of sleep despite the paperwork flooding his bed. 

Prepared to let his guard down for a few hours, Aidan stalked up to the main level of The Deposition. Good spirits were already spilling into the air, and a woman had just stood upon the bar to offer a toast to independence and the art of ruling the underworld. Cheers went up around her, and Aidan leaned against the bar just as someone placed a beer bottle before him. 

With such high spirits, the silence the fell moments later was palpable. Aidan glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see an old flame but instead met with a new spark. Marcus Vallaine was standing in his base, looking absolutely dashing and entirely out of place. 

“Vallaine!” Aidan called, and the hum of voices picked up again. Marcus still didn’t belong here, but if Aidan knew him well enough to call to him, there was no need for people to be on edge. Marcus may not be a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. 

Aidan pushed himself away from the bar, bottle forgotten, and suddenly regretted not running a comb through his hair earlier. “Didn’t know you ever made it to this part of town,” he said, closing the distance between he and Marcus. 

Marcus false lashes fluttered with relief -- the only sign of it -- when Aidan called his name. His stiff authoritative pose slipped into something more comfortable and by the time Aidan was standing before him, Marcus moved in a step as if they’ve met up hundreds of times before this. He flicked a curl away from his smiling eyes primly and had to look up to meet his gaze. 

He’d always had a thing for tall men. Even exhausted, bedhead haired, sweatpants-wearing tall men. The fact that Aidan could pull off this look and even where it comfortably in front of others when Marcus knew he could never dare to left him impressed, despite his refined fashion tastes.

“Aidan,” he greeted intimately. “It’s my first time, if you could believe it. Hard to convince my driver that he wouldn’t get carjacked upon entering the neighbourhood.” 

Marcus looked Aidan up and down, now that he stood closer to him. The black t shirt, though plain, fit him in all the right places. It just wasn’t fair.   

He glanced at the bar behind Aidan.