⧼Steven⧽

Summertime is regarded as a ‘favorite season’ by many for various reasons; relaxing vacations, blooming greenery, more time to spend with friends, or the simple victory of knowing that Winter’s reign of terror was long over. You shared most of these sentiments, especially when it came to having a nice drink by the poolside, or sitting on the porch in the morning to watch the sun rise.  

There were downsides of course—the heat could be downright miserable at times, not to mention unwanted tans, and God forbid it be humid outside...But for you, there was still a bright side to it all. A sight like no other: Seeing your husband hard at work in the backyard.  

You fold your arms against your chest, cross your ankles and lean against the patio doorframe, withholding a dreamy sigh. 

He makes basic lawn care look so mesmerizing, it baffles you to no end. Every so often, he’d wake up just before the break of dawn, gather all the tools he needed, and head out back to begin a dutiful process of tidying up the yard. He typically started by tending to his garden, watering them, checking the soil, and picking any ripened fruits or vegetables that he could spot. This year he’d dedicated himself to growing kale, cucumbers and honeydew melons amongst a few other fruits, all of which were developing nicely from the looks of it. 

With that taken care of, he’d move on to mowing the lawn, the sound of which was always a rude interruption of your ‘sleeping in’. But at the very least, being awake meant you got to watch your husband. It became routine for you, jumping out of bed and trudging to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee while you stared out at your beloved through the window above the sink. If not for trying to be modest about the whole thing, you’d have a lawn chair set out and a pair of sunglasses thrown on in no time. Regardless, he never noticed you, or at least pretended not to, and only continued his task with his eyes focused on the lawn mower.  

The real show began when the sun finally started to peak. Lacking an awning or any cloud cover, the direct sunlight beaming down on your husband's back would quickly become unbearable. He’d eventually be urged to peel off his t-shirt, revealing a beautifully dark complexion, broad shoulders, and a sturdy stature that made you hold onto your mug a bit tighter. Sweat would begin to form, making his skin gleam as it trailed down the curve of his lower back and between the harsh line created by his brows. He’d use his discarded shirt as a makeshift rag as he squatted down to feed the chickens, or swept debris off the patio...you weren’t sure what excited you more: seeing him taking care of the things that matter to him, or seeing him grunt and put his muscles to good use.  

Either way, you were eternally grateful for the sacrifices he made to keep your home looking presentable. As such, it was only fair that you did something nice for him in return, even if it meant taking your eyes off of him for a few moments.  

You step back inside, retreating to the kitchen pantry where you pull out a large pitcher and a few other items to whip up a light breakfast. It only takes you ten minutes or so before you’ve sat out two plates arranged with toast, fried eggs, and small sausage links on the counter. You took the liberty of making some lemonade as well, figuring it might quench his thirst better than orange juice could. With one last satisfied glance over your contribution, you return to the patio door, resuming your nonchalant stance. You spot your husband now going around the edges of the fence with the weedwhacker, back facing you as the invasive stocks are kicked up into the air and tossed into the open grass.  

“Mo!” You shout, immediately realizing that it’s going to take a lot more than that to grab his attention with how loud his machine is. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you attempt another yell, this time with a bit more bass and vigor.  

Perhaps only catching onto the echo of your voice, your husband's head perks up, and he powers off the whacker, turning round as he sets it against the fence. Upon seeing you, his face breaks into a familiar smile, soft and loving, the kind that set your heart’s pace askew. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, making his way over to you in a few calm strides. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him as he stands before you, and you almost feel bad for not calling him in sooner.  

“Good morning, Mr. Avdol.” He says cheerily, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead. The statement sets off alarms in your mind: there was no feeling as good as being reminded that you had taken on such a wonderful last name.  

You briefly close your eyes and grin, hardly concealing the adoration in your tone. “And to you as well...I see you’re hard at work, yet again.” You gesture towards the yard.  

Mohammed looks over his shoulder, pursing his lips at the progress he’d made so far. “Mhm. I’ve still got a lot of maintenance left to do, but it’s looking much better than before.”  

“Agreed. But uh...I made you some breakfast. Maybe take a break and have a bite, replenish yourself a bit?”  

When he glances down at you again, his expression looks a tad shocked. He sighs heavily, lips drooping into a weary, but grateful smile. “You shouldn’t have, my dear.”  

You raise a brow, “Don’t even. I’ve got to make myself useful around this place somehow. It’s the least I could do.”  

He chuckles, cupping your jaw lightly in his clammy palm. “You do plenty already, I assure you.” Mohammed tips your head up, allowing him to press his lips to yours. “..I appreciate it nonetheless. I won’t deny that my stomach was starting to get antsy.”  

“The consequences of hard labor. It’s a damn miracle you didn’t faint out there.”  

You take hold of his wrists, pulling him inside the house and closing the door behind you. He allows himself to be dragged in, humming in relief as he’s met with the chill of the AC. At your words, he laughs a little, heading to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Who do you take me for? I was made for this weather, habibi.”  

“Yeah, you say that every time.” You stand opposite of him, smirking whilst pouring him a glass of lemonade, the ice clicking quietly as you do so. “No harm in being at least a little bit more cautious though.”  

“Mm..if it would make you worry less, then I suppose I have no choice. I quite hate to see that crease between your brows.” He mutters, grabbing a few paper towels. 

“You mean to sound sweet, but I guarantee you’ll be right back in the scorching sun the minute I take my eyes off you.”  

Mohammed leans over the island, lips curved ever so slightly. “No comment.” He gazes down as you push his plate and drink towards him, face alight with interest. “Looks delicious. Shall we eat?”  

With a nod of confirmation, the two of you dig into your meals. Your husband, a typically polite eater, makes a poor attempt at pretending he isn’t near starving... The facade crumbles when he starts using both his fork and hand simultaneously to shove food into his mouth, and you watch with awe as he clears his plate in less than a few minutes as if it were a mere snack. 

He waits until he’s chewed and swallowed before he speaks, “Remind me, what’s on the calendar for today, my love?”  

You blink back into consciousness, setting your toast down to look back at the refrigerator. “Grocery shopping, phone conference with Mr. Joestar at five, and dinner with Jean-Pierre at eight. You also mentioned wanting to stop by your shop, something about a book you’d forgotten to bring-” 

In turning back to your husband, your words die off into silence. Now that his food was demolished, he’d moved on to his drink, and it is...definitely a sight to behold. Mohammed has his head titled back fully, large hand almost engulfing his glass as he holds it up to his lips. Built up condensation rolls down between his fingers as he chugs, and a few streams of escaping lemonade trail along the length of his neck to mix with the glistening sweat that had yet to dry up.  

You aren’t sure if it was just because of your previous ogling, but this felt so...strangely erotic. There’s an inexplicable heat piling at your nape and in your cheeks, like you’ve just come down with an awful fever the longer you watch him; His throat bobbing when he swallows, the relived sigh he huffs when he sets the glass back down, and the gradual droop of his eyelids as he relaxes.. 

He raises his brow once he notices that you’ve stopped talking, and a little pout forms on his lips when he sees you staring so intently. “..Are you alright?” And then with a small smile he adds, “Have I got something on my face?”  

You cover your mouth with your hand pensively. Glance back at the calendar. Then to him again.  

“Mohammed.”  

His expression visibly tenses at the call of his full name. “Yes, that’s me.”  

With the way your thoughts are bouncing all over the place, you where to start with what you want to say... Circumventing this, you take a few steps back, slowly rounding the counter until you stand next to him, hands clenched by your side. He looks down at you in silent confusion, waiting patiently for your next words.  

You raise your hand to his shoulder, letting your voice sink lower. “..Think you could hold off on finishing the yard for a few minutes?”  

He cocks his brow, twisting to face you fully. “I mean, I could, but it’s already a little past twelve. It’s only going to get hotter from here on out..It’d be ideal for me to finish up as quickly as possible.” 

“Well yeah, but..” You slip your hand from his shoulder to his chest, fighting to not bite your lip as you feel over his torso, fingers traveling down until they settle on the waistband of his burgundy shorts. You lift your eyes to him, seething with whatever seduction you can muster. “You can always finish it tomorrow, right..?”  

Your husband seems to catch on, his skin twitching at your touch. His gaze sharpens like he’s ready to accuse you of something, but you swear you see the corner of his mouth curl up. He remains quiet for a moment longer, narrowing his eyes in what you assume is contemplation.  

“..What did you in this time, hm? This early in the day, too?” Mohammed smiles playfully, leaning one hand on the counter while the other lightly scritches your jaw.  

You lean into the touch, but frown in mild embarrassment. “It’s not my fault you make everything look so...enticing.”  

He laughs boisterously, “You are a strange one...but as your spouse, I will refrain from making fun of you too much. After all..” He looks over his empty plate, quieting his voice. “..your little ‘good deed’ you set up has me feeling a certain way myself..”  

You snicker, shaking your head. “And you dare call me strange...getting turned on by a small favor is ridiculous.”  

“But I am turned on, nonetheless.”  

... 

The sudden seriousness in your husband's tone stuns your senses. He is a generally forward individual in all that he does, but hearing him speak with such impropriety was still jarring at times. You feel a little kick of adrenaline rush through you, and with Mohammed’s heated glare focused on your own, you wondered only why neither of you had made a move yet.  

“I know you’re probably tired and all but..I could help you with that...if you want.” You mumble, half-shrugging.  

“That is exactly what I want.” He smiles, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Right after I shower.”  

Immediately, your frown returns. “What? No.”  

“..No? What do you mean ‘no’?” He pouts right along with you.  

“The sweat is part of the appeal; you can’t just get rid of it.” 

“Oh..” Mohammed pulls a grimace at first, but it slowly softens into a smirk the longer he thinks about your proposition. “’This a new kink of yours, my love?”  

You settle for a quiet, “..Maybe.” Calling it ‘new’ was a bit of an understatement. It was more like you’d never made your stance known out of shame.  

Your husband hums and raises his thumb to your cheek, caressing the tinted skin as he speaks plainly. “Alright...I’ll indulge.” 

The small smile that follows lightens the strain in your chest, and you press your face fully into his palm. “You don’t have to-”  

He tuts, cutting you off as he moves his hands to your hips. “None of that, mister. You should know by now that I mean what I say, and I say what I mean. Now,”  

Mohammed’s expression holds both reverence and curiosity, that fiery gleam in his eyes reflecting a frightening burst of energy suddenly driving through him.  

“Let’s get to work, shall we?”  

The best you can give in response is a vigorous nod of your head.  

You ease Mohammed backwards with a hand to his chest until his knees have hit the edge of the bedframe, your lips pecking intermittently as he lowers to sit on the mattress. Subconsciously, you cringe at the idea of his outside clothes touching the blanket and sheets, but they needed to be cleaned anyways, so you let the thought pass.  

The bed creaks as he leans back on his hands, allowing you room to press your knee between his legs and slide your fingers beneath the fabric of his shorts. He shudders, grabbing at the sheets when you rake your nails along his outer thigh. Your free hand cups his face, steadying your balance so that you can press your lips more insistently upon his, kissing away lingering citrus and sugar crystals.  

Mohammed reaches out for you, eager to touch, laying his palm against your lower back, and lifting your pajama shirt just enough to where you can feel his signature warmth. You control the rhythm of the kiss, gently coaxing his mouth open until you can nudge your tongue inside to roll against his. He reciprocates your forwardness with a quiet chuckle, but you get just the tiniest groan out of him when you bite the edge of his bottom lip. You don’tlet up either, continuing to kiss him languidly until he’s breathing heavily and balling his fist into the hem of your shirt.  

You pull back, now kissing his jaw as you murmur, “You okay, baby?” knowing full well what you’re doing to him. With your knee still between his thighs, you can feel he’s pitched a sizeable tent, which only spurs you on.  

Mohammed turns his eyes away, a prominent red undertone painting his cheeks. “..You know I hate it when you tease, habibi.”  

“’Wasn’t on purpose, I swear.”  

He huffs, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”   

You smile, dipping down to his neck just to stare at the shimmering skin. It seems the closeness and stimulation have made him start to perspire again...You feel a tingle in your fingers, and you barely hesitate to glide your knuckles against his throat. Mohammed quivers, clenching his teeth and swallowing hard.  

“..Maybe not. But can't a guy have a bit of fun? I like watching your expressions.” You admit, gaze flicking back up to him.  

You feel him take in a deep, composed breath that comes out jagged. “No...not when I want you this bad.” 

 Your eyes widen, a tinge of both guilt and arousal striking your nerves. Again, he has this focused look on his face, brows lightly furled, soft lips straightened as he tugs on your shirt once more. He has no idea how impossibly sexy he is, and that almost frustrates you.  

“Mo..” You groan and drop your forehead to his shoulder, letting go of whatever act you had been putting on.  

He turns to kiss the shell of your ear, whispering, “Are you through being cruel to me..?” 

 You huff a laugh, leaning to the side until your body flops over onto the mattress beside him. “You’re being dramatic...but yes. I apologize.”  

“Good.”  

The moment you’re off of him, Mohammed begins to shuffle around, prompting you to do the same, both of you maneuvering until your husband is kneeling between your legs, his hands placed on either side of your head while yours stay wrapped around his neck. Sunlight peeking through the bedroom window casts a golden aura around his frame as he leans over you, breathing heavier the longer he stares.   

“..Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” You hum, curling your fingers around his long ponytail.  

A smirk. “Every day, my love.”  

“Well, what’s one more, mm?”  

You smile and pull yourself up, reveling in his gasps when you attach your lips to his neck. You begin licking careful stripes along his jugular where the heat radiates the most, and suck the salt from his skin. The taste is not entirely pleasant on its own, but knowing it’s from him is the aspect that really counts. Your hand lowers to his chest, where incoming peach fuzz is coated in a layer of sheen that transfers to your fingertips the further you drag them. Mohammed’s muscles flex and relax simultaneously, and you can tell he’s making a conscious effort not to make any humiliating sounds.  

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks.  

You nod against his neck just as your lips come off with a quiet ‘smack’, “Entirely too much. You?”  

He trembles ever so slightly. “..I am certainly enjoying your attention. But..”  

You draw back to look over his face as his words trail off. At first, you think you might’ve done something wrong, but that pout on his lips says otherwise. You nearly laugh, but hold it in for his sake.  

“But you want more..?”  

“I have been patient..” Is all he utters, lid’s drooping as if he’s asking for your sympathy. Not like he needed to.  

You grin and return to lying flat on your back, but keep your hands on him. "You're needy today.”  

He tilts his head, “Don’t make it sound as if you aren’t the exact same. You haven’t stopped clinging to me since we entered the room.”  

“...Touché.”  

With a final, victorious quirk of his brow, Mohammed leans down on his elbow to kiss you properly, one of his hands snaking around the small of your back and down into your pajama pants. You chuckle against his mouth when he playfully grabs at your ass, but the sound devolves into rasp when he begins a gives a little pinch. He removes his hand to place it on your side instead, bringing himself in closer until his crotch is pressed fully against you, hips beginning a faint grinding motion that has your stomach dropping. You angle your own hips upwards so that you can feel more of his bulge, heart setting to an increasingly passionate beat. 

“Feels good?” He inquires between kisses, yet somehow it feels more like a statement. Like he knows. 

Still, you nod weakly, turning your face away to curse under your breath. You feel strangely sensitive even with all this fabric still between the two of you, and you have half a mind to be embarrassed about it. Ever disapproving of such a notion, your husband gently grabs your chin, guiding you to look at him once more. His smile is soft and charming, but in your mind, it feels crass, especially considering the phrase that follows,  

“Words, please.”  

You huff routinely, eyelids flitting as you try to wrap your brain around a coherent sentence. “Yes..’ts good..so good, Mo..”  

Mohammed’s fingers twitch against your face, and his movements slow to a halt. He looks dazed, but the flare in his gaze seems to surge. Before you can even think to whine in complaint, your pajama pants are being done away with, tossed to bedroom floor to be forgotten for the next few minutes. You watch in shock as your husband strips you bare, clearly doing his best to be careful in his haste, but you can already see the apology forming in his brows when he leans over you again.  

“’Didn’t mean to startle you, I just-”  

You grin and shake your head, quick to reassure him. “It’s fine. I’m okay... Keep going.”  

He still gives you a once over for his own sake, but soon enough he’s reaching towards the nightstand, one hand pressed against your hip while the other digs around the drawer for some lubricant. He fumbles through squeezing it out on his fingers, but takes the time to admire you all the while. In truth, you’re both admiring each other...despite his skin being mostly dried of the sweat that had previously got you going, your husband is still an absolute beauty, a full fledge painting of desire... 

The feeling of him softly pushing your knees apart brings back your focus, and you willfully comply, shifting on your back to get in a more comfortable position. You get a complete sense of clarity when he lowers his hand past where you can no longer see, a testament to the amount of trust you’ve placed in him since the day you said, ‘I do.’ Mohammed appears to have the same mindset, as he doesn’t say a word when he begins to press his fingers to your rim, but rather closes his eyes and kisses over your forehead, cheeks, and lips.  

You try to reciprocate whatever he gives, but with the quiet moans now following your every breath, it’s growing difficult. His fingers continue a slow circling motion, applying a subtle pressure with each pass that has you biting the inside of your cheek. Even with your eyes half-lidded, you can see the tiniest smile spreading on your husband's face as he feels your muscles twitching and relaxing, opening up for him without a fight. It isn’t long before he’s able to wedge the tip of his middle finger inside, and even that already feels like too much. If there was one thing you loved about your husband, it was his heavy stature, which included his thick...appendages.  

Your hips slant upward as he slowly works his finger inside, pumping in increments until he’s able to get down to the knuckle. No matter how many times you’ve done this with him, it’s like he gets more attuned to your body every time. With just one finger, he reaches the spots that make you clench and whine, intensifying the pleasure by sucking hickeys just below your collar bone, and dragging his hot tongue along your Adams apple. When he adds the second finger, you swear you’ve lost your breath, gasping over the sound of your own squelching as he stretches your hole. You’ve deduced that he takes some kind of secretive pleasure in feeling you try to desperately grind against his fingers and hearing your broken calls of his name considering his current heavy breathing against your neck, but you know he’d never admit it out loud.  

“Fuck, Mo..” You whimper, pressing your head back into the pillows.  

He murmurs an acknowledgement. “I know...just a while longer.”  

“’Don’t think I can wait..-” Your voice cracks and breaks off into a cry when he unexpectedly curls his fingers, back arching off the mattress.  

He merely kisses your cheek, speaking lowly, “Try, for me?...I like seeing your expressions.” 

You want to feel angry at him using your own logic against you, but all you can do is close your eyes and moan to the ceiling, precum dripping helplessly onto your stomach. Mohammed continues to take his sweet time, spreading and scissoring his fingers in practiced motions despite you being more than prepped at this point.  

“Are you some sort of sadist?” You grit out.  

“Of course not.” He laughs breathily, “You think you’re the only one having a hard time here?”  

“Well, that’s your own fault. No one is holding you back.”  

“Sure..but patience is a virtue, you know.” He says it with a hint of malice, and you’re certain he’s messing with you again.  

“My god, you cannot be serious..”  

He smiles insidiously, bringing his fingers to a complete stop and pulling them out slowly. Your muscles clench and seize around nothing, and involuntary whine escaping you at the loss of contact. He tilts his head at the sound, 

“Seems you don’t quite want me to leave yet.”  

Your chest heaves as you mourn the loss of fullness, and the delirium of lust almost has you nodding and agreeing with him. Your mouth hangs open as you search for a proper comeback,  manifesting senseless groans and whimpers that only prove his point.  

Mohammed looks down at you sympathetically, grazing his knuckles against your side and speaking calmly. “Do not worry. I know exactly what you need..” 

The stress of indecision melts away as you watch your husband sit back on his heels and hook his thumb into the band of his shorts and boxers, tugging them down his hips until the fabric bunches at his knees. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, curving eagerly upwards in your direction. You watch in idle hunger as Mohammed caps the tip with a thin condom, sliding it down the rest of his length with ease. He keeps a steely expression as he gives himself a few light strokes, but you catch a glimpse of a smirk before he whispers,  

“You’re staring.”  

You want to say you’re ashamed, but... “When am I not?”  

He scoots closer, setting your calves on either side of his hips. “Some might find it rude...” 

You hold in a chuckle, “Yeah? Well, do you?”  

Mohammed trails his fingers against the tops of your thighs, smiling tenderly. “No. I wouldn’t want your eyes anywhere else.”  

How infuriating. Even in a situation like this, he finds time to be adorable...You sigh deeply and reach up to touch his face, tracing the bridge of his nose and jaw. 

“..I love you.”  

His eyes flutter like the phrase could've struck him dead, a wider smile on his lips. “I love you too.”  

You drop your hand back to the bed, flooded with anticipation as he positions himself at your entrance, gaze on you all the while. He waits for your breathing to even out before finally starting to press inside, rewarding you with an even more intense stretch than before. Your body is invaded with a delicious heat as you take every inch, akin to the beat of the summer sun on your skin. Even with your eyes now closed, you can feel Mohammed watching your face, studying it for signs of pain or discomfort...but they never come, not when he’s halfway in, and not when his hips make contact with your ass.  

He rests the side of his cheek against yours, uttering a soft, “Good.” such a simple word, yet it makes your heart pound every time.  

He gives you a moment to adjust, lips finding their way to yours again while he whispers more appraisals, letting them linger between the two of you until he feels they’re far enough ingrained into your mind. With him this close, you can smell the musk of high noon not yet gone from his skin, which is practically a sedative of its own kind.  

When he feels you're ready, he starts cautiously pulling his hips back, before sinking himself inside again, letting out quiet moans into your ear with each thrust. The sensation is dizzying, thick veins pressing against your walls, and just the general girth pumping you full.. 

Mohammed fucks you deep and slow, making sure you can feel every drag, and that he can feel every tweak of you constricting, as if subconsciously trying to trap him inside. Your arms wrap around sun kissed shoulders, back arching as your moans are absorbed into his mouth, craving nothing more than to be completely full of him for the rest of your godforsaken life. You shift your hips to a slightly higher angle, gasping aloud as his cock now nudges divinely against your G-Spot.  

“Fuck- right there-”  

“I’ve got you.” Your husband's voice is similarly shaky, his face dropping to your shoulder. “Want it faster?”  

You shake your head vigorously, clinging to him tighter. “No- just like this, don’t change a thing.”  

Mohammed responds with an uncharacteristic moan, proceeding with long, steady strokes that begin to push your body up against the headboard. It’s like your insides are being massaged in all the right ways, an itch scratched that you can never reach.  

“Shit I’m-” 

You know you’re done for when you can feel your hands starting to tremble. As much as you would’ve like to last longer, trying to hold back is entirely too taxing. You shut your eyes tight, hanging on to every spark of pleasure that he delivers until it builds into a full-on blaze in your gut, the feeling consuming you wholly. Your legs quake and try to squeeze around his torso as you reach your climax, cum sputtering onto your stomach as your voice cracks beneath the pressure of a jumble of curses and groans.  

With a hand to your hip, Mohammed quickens his pace just slightly, using shallower thrusts before orgasm seems to claim him too, his moans barred behind clenched teeth. One day, you’d get him to break that habit, you swear.  

You keep your hands pressed to his shoulder blades, and he continues to goad quiet sounds out of you until he brings himself to a complete stop, panting against your collar bone. You both remain like that for a while, just breathing and taking in the buzz of relief. Eventually though, he slowly pulls out and lies his head on your chest without a word, the rest of his body essentially smothering you like a warm weighted blanket. You smile blearily, rubbing his back and enjoying the feeling of your hearts beating against each other, gradually returning to a natural rhythm.  

“..I think I’ve over exhausted myself.” He mutters. “You’ve got me sweating again..” 

You lazily trace around the knots of his hair with your forefinger, laughing under your breath. “Mm..I’m sorry.” 

“No need. It was worth every ounce of energy.” He turns his head just enough so that he can kiss your skin. “’Love the way you make me feel..”  

The statement is like pure bliss. “..Me too.” Biting down on a boyish grin, you close your eyes, thanking whatever god for sending you such a perfect man. “Couldn’t have asked for a better start to my day..” 

“I’m glad to hear..” Mohammed is cut off by his own fit of yawns. “..that.”  

He's quieter as the seconds pass, and it’s obvious that it won’t be long before he drifts off to sleep entirely. As much as you want him to stay awake, you’re technically at fault for tiring him out.  

You gently pat his back, speaking softly, “Taking a nap, baby?”  

Theres a short delay before he hums in affirmation.  

“Okay...could you move a bit so I can go shower? Promise I’ll come back.”  

You wait..and wait...and wait, for a response... 

 But all that you get is the sound of him snoring. 

You suppose it’s just another well-deserved taste of your own medicine. So rather than trying to wake him up, (which would be impossible anyways), you kiss the top of his head and wrap your arms around him, trying to get as comfortable as you can.  

a/n: As much as I write about summer, it is my least favorite season. It's only good for its aesthetic and I stand by that. (Also first time writing bottom reader..can you tell...)

The overhead flash of neon pinks and greens, blues and oranges, throws a horde of people into a frenzy on the dance floor, the already heavy bass of the music amplified by their unified jumping. Strobe lights scan the crowd geometrically in intervals, blinding at times, but somehow only encourages everyone to get a little wilder in their movements. The crowd swarms with an intense energy, arms and necks being tossed every-which-way, distracting them from what was meant to be a discomforting warmth in the air, and the stickiness of sweat across their skin.  

In the center of all this, Mista shouts the lyrics of the chorus with what little breath he has left, his calves aching each time he springs up with the rhythm. He holds onto his hat for dear life and tries his hardest not to elbowanyone in the face, successful only 60% of the time. Not like he could hear their complaints over the music anyways, so technically he couldn’t get in trouble, right?  

Life never felt so easy as it did when Mista was at the club. Of all the simple pleasures he’d come across in his life, this one was undoubtedly his favorite. Absorbing concerning amounts of alcohol, meeting awesome strangers, and being able to move his body in any way his mind desired? It’s an experience that just can’t be replicated. So, he took it upon himself after each boring, under-stimulating work week to hit up the best underground club in Naples: Il Seminterrato.  

He was essentially a regular at this point, considering the DJ, bartenders, and owners knew his name and face. It earned him nothing more than a few drinks on the house every other weekend, and they’ve even stopped asking for his ID at the door, granting him quicker access. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it even though he probably should; who wouldn’t want benefits like that? If it meant he could get on the floor faster, then who gives a damn?  

Mista opens his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling, smiling to himself as the colors swirl and twinkle above him. Tonight felt...particularly exciting. He couldn’t explain why: maybe he’d had a little bit too much to drink already, or perhaps that monthly horoscope he’d read in the papers had been right after all—whatever it was, he knew for sure he wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.  

“Hey, you’re hot! Wanna dance?”  

A voice shouts at him from over his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. He snaps his head around, the stranger respectfully hovering behind him. The guy looked to be a few years older, but the flicks of glow-in-the-dark paint he had splattered on his face made it clear he was still in Mista’s ideal range. Regardless, he was pretty cute, so... 

“Hell yeah!”  

Mista backs up into the man's arms, allowing them to strap around his waist as they both continued to move with the music. Best to take what he could get.

 Recently, it felt like he was getting less and less action, but he couldn’t think of one reason why. He was as handsome as always, hype, friendly, all the things that magnetize people...yet the most he could get out of anyone was a brief kiss. Perhaps it’s because his taxi fare was $14.44 a few weeks ago...yeah, definitely that. Either way, he was sure this would finally be the night that he left the building with something more than a raging headache and sore feet.

With a deep sigh, you take a seat on the first open bar stool you can find, propping your elbows up on the counter and digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. A comforting—though it feels patronizing—hand lightly rubs your back, 

“Come on, you can’t start sulking now that we’ve finally made it here. That would put all my efforts to shame!” Your friend speaks into your ear, sounding a bit disheartened.  

You shake your head and wave him off, “Bruno please, I’m not sulking, I'm just...adjusting.”  

Your lie doesn’t seem to bode well with man, and his gentle rub turns into a ruthless pinch.  

“Ow-what the hell!” You turn around to glare at him, reaching back to soothe the pain.  

Bruno only smiles at you, placing his clutch in the hands of the man behind him before taking the stool beside you. “Don’t even, I can see it all over your damn face." 

“Jesus, Leone, could you please tell this prick to keep his hands to himself?” You complain to the tall man still standing, but the shrug he gives you is telling of who’s side he’s on.  

“Can’t. He’s right, you need to get outta your head.”  

“Sell out..” You say under your breath, placing your hand in your chin.  

“See? We’ve got to get you back to how you were in the cab. And I know just the trick..” Bruno doesn’t wait for your response as he reaches out to flag down the bartender, a young woman, who approaches with a friendly smile.  

“Hey ya’ll, what can I get ya?”  

“A round of tequila shots, please.”  

“You got it, boss.”  

Bruno tries to ignore the look you’re blatantly giving him by pretending to fix his shirt, as if the entire club couldn’t see his tits enough already.  

“Seriously? Are you trying to get me to make a fool of myself?” You tut, nudging him with your elbow. The last time you had too much tequila in your system, things had gotten a little...depraved.  

Bruno laughs, “Kind of, yes. This is the fastest way to get that stick out of your ass.”  

“I don’t have a ‘stick up my ass’, I’m reacting like how anyone else would if they’d just gotten dumped!”  

“You knew the guy was a piece of shit, you should’ve expected it at some point.” Leone chimes in, draping his arms over Bruno’s shoulders and resting his chin on his head.  

You roll your eyes. “He wasn’t that bad. I mean, sure he had a few quirks, but-” 

“Remember that time he ‘borrowed’ your car without asking to meet up with some ‘friends’ downtown?” He interrupts. Your face sours at the memory.  

“Oh right, and it turned out they’d gone to a strip club?” Bruno adds.  

“Not to mention him never paying for dinner and refusing to take photos with you-”  

“Okay, I get it, he was shady!” You groan, putting a fist to your forehead. “..You don’t gotta be so blunt about it.”  

Three short glasses are slid across the bar counter landing in a nice little cluster in front of you, their rims decorated with salt and a slice of lime. You all thank the bartender in unison, each of you grabbing the glass of your choosing.  

Staring down into the clear liquid, you feel your lips pull into a frown. As annoying as they were being about it, your friends are right about your ex. You’d met the man eight months ago by what felt like a miracle, considering your romantic life had been drier than a desert prior to his arrival. It started as a one-night-stand (which should’ve been your first sign), but he insisted on seeing you again multiple times afterwards. A few solid dates later, you’d developed a charming relationship, though it only stayed that way for a month or so. Upon first meeting him, your closest friends Leone and Bruno were skeptical of the guy’s intentions, but you brushed it off as them being overly protective.  

You had so easily gotten caught up in the excitement of having a boyfriend that you neglected all his distasteful tendencies; how he wouldn’t hold your hand or kiss you in public, the way he’d coincidentally run out of cash right after you’d already given him some...But oh, he gave the sweetest compliments, and in the comfort of your home, he treated you with such tenderness.. 

‘That bastard is going to bleed you dry.’ 

Leone had said in his usual aggravation. For whatever reason, you still held on to hope that the man would change, with a little pleading here and there...but it always fell on deaf ears. On Wednesday, it all came crashing down, and it was revealed that he had been seeing other men behind your back, an admission that had apparently only been a surprise to you. But without even getting a chance to discuss the matter, the man broke up with you on the spot, claiming he ‘had other clientele to tend to.’ You’d never felt so dejected in your life. Just like that, more than half a year of your time had gone to waste.  

“Shady doesn’t even cover it. He was a sleaze, and I should’ve decked him when I had the chance.” Leone’s gruff voice brings you back to the present.  

You huff, “Yeah, maybe...”  

With his free hand, Bruno presses his hand to your cheek, your gaze lifting to him. “Enough about that. We’re here to get him off your mind, not for you to ruminate.” The smile he gives is genuine, and it makes the tension in your chest ease up a little. He raises his shot glass between the two of you, “We’ve got more important business right now!”  

You respond with a softer smile, lifting yours as well. “-Okay, okay..cheers.”  

“Bottoms up, bitch.” Leone is the last to slot his glass into the circle, each of you laughing as you clink your shots together, lick the salt from the rim, and toss the liquid back. 

The tequila goes down without a fight, sparking your nerves with a thrill that you know will come to haunt you sooner rather than later. Before you can even set your glass down, Bruno is already ordering another round, nodding his head to the music which seems to grow louder by the second. Within what feel like mere minutes, the three of you are four shots in, and you even take it upon yourself to try one of the special edition cocktails they were selling for this week's event. It’s more fruity syrups than it is alcohol, but the little ball of flashing light at the bottom and the edible glitter inside of it makes up for the taste.  

Bruno gets his fingers around your straw when you glance away for the briefest second, giggling as he keeps the drink just out of your reach so that he can take a few sips of his own.  

“Hmmm...more tart than I expected it to be.” He sighs. “Not half bad though. Maybe I should get one of my own..”  

You smile and shake your head, reclaiming the glass. “I think you should time-out for a bit. The night is young, no need to rush the buzz.”   

“Not to mention you’ve already bitten off more than you can usually chew..” Leone comments with a smirk, leaving a glowing purple stain on the others cheek as he kisses him.  

Bruno folds his arms defensively, but his lips still have a small curve to them as he turns around to face his partner. “You drink like a sailor, and no one bats an eye.”  

“That’s ‘cause I can handle myself afterwards. You on the other hand..”  

“-Lightweight-” You cough into your fist.  

“Oh, whatever! I can ‘handle’ myself perfectly fine...besides, even if I can’t, Leone always knows the perfect way to tame me..”  

Bruno’s words are somewhat proven by the way Leone’s arm remains hooked around his waist, and he complies willingly when Bruno leans his head back for a kiss.  

“Uhmm, gross?” Your face twists in playful disgust at the display.  

“Envy is not a good look on you.” Bruno chuckles, crossing one of his legs over the other. Leone remains close, kissing the man's temple and some parts of his neck, leaving him covered in lipstick.  

“I’m just saying, have some decency. Your lap dog looks just about ready to dive his hands beneath your skirt at a moment's notice.” You grumble, taking another gulp of your drink.  

He shrugs, “Well, no one’s telling you to watch.”  

You furrow your brows, glancing away quickly. “My God, I hate you.”  

Bruno’s hands shoot out to grab your sleeve, tugging as he laughs. His drunken smile is way too cute, impossible to stay mad at. “Hey, hey, I’m kiddingg-! You know I’d never...especially not in a place like this.”  

“Yeah, whatever..”  

He purses his lips, dissatisfied with your conceding response. He ponders for a moment, glancing back at the dance floor before giving your arm another tug. “Look.. how about we do some cruising?”  

Your mouth dives into a frown around your straw at his suggestion. “...you can’t be serious.”  

“Do I look as though I’m joking?”  

...Indeed, Bruno has a rather resolute expression on his face, his brows firmly set, eyes just wide enough to show his conviction.  

“You know the saying; the best way to get over one is to get under another, mm?”  

He had a way of getting what he wanted out of anyone, stranger or not. Fortunately for him, you weren’t in the mood to argue. You draw in a deep breath, wedging your thumb into your forehead before sitting up straight, and turning fully towards him.  

“Okay, fine. But I’m making you two do all the work for me.”  

“Oh, trust me, you’re in great hands.” Bruno winks, shifting on his stool until he’s facing the bustling crowd, prompting you to do the same. He narrows his eyes and taps his chin as he looks over all the potential contenders. Leone follows suit, shielding his eyes from the lights and covering whatever ground Bruno doesn’t.  

At the very least, you were grateful that they were trying their best to keep you in high spirits. It wasn’t their job to do so, and they very well could have let you third wheel for the entire night, but instead they’re doing...this. It feels nice, knowing that you can always rely on them.  

“Ouu...what about him? Hot pink pumps, to your right.” Bruno points, guiding your attention.  

The character in question was almost half-naked, wearing what looked like a bright green bikini set that was definitely too small for him, paired with lacy pink thigh-high tights that matched his shoes. He has light purple hair cut asymmetrically, and some futuristic looking visor over his eyes. You tilt your head, looking him up and down, briefly considering. If nothing else, he sure did have a nice pair of legs.  

“...Cute, but he’s giving me a strange vibe.”  

Bruno rolls his eyes. “How can you catch a ‘vibe’ from all the way over here? Ridiculous.”  

As if overhearing your conversation, the stranger ends up locking eyes with you, a smirk appearing on his face before he licks his lips predatorily.  

You shiver. “Nope, it’s totally there. Next.”  

Bruno sighs, but dutifully returns to his surveying. “Okay, then...how about blondie over there?” 

The next man put under your curious gazes is deliciously tall with pale blonde hair scaling his back that sways as he moves, sporting a tight red jumpsuit and a variety of glowsticks around his wrists. 

“He’s pretty.” Bruno adds, looking for your approval. “You like pretty boys, don't you??”  

You rub your hand against your jaw. There was a slight hitch in this particular selection. “Sure, I do but..I don’t think he’s up for grabs.”  

Turning his head back to the man, Bruno grimaces at the downright murderous glare that another patron is giving the three of you; some red head with a snarl sharp enough to make a baby sob at first sight. The possessive type,you presume.  

“Talk about intense...Guess a threesome’s off the table then?”  

“Jesus, Bruno-”  

Your friend holds his hands up in surrender before folding them in his lap. “Just looking at all sides of the coin here, alright? I’m not letting you leave this place without at least one worthwhile interaction.”  

You massage the bridge of your nose between your fingers, speaking wearily, “Okay sure..but I think we need to step out of the box a little. Trying to shoot for my type is obviously getting us nowhere-”  

“How about him?”  

Leone’s voice breaks through your haphazard strategizing, causing both you and Bruno to look at him in mild shock. For what it was worth, it seemed he’d actually taken his time seeking someone out, but you still brace yourself for another failed suggestion. Once again, your eyes follow the direction of his pointed finger out towards the thrashing bodies, landing on- 

..Huh.  

Well, it certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, but maybe that was a good thing. You lean back against the bar top, brow lifted with intrigue. A wildly energetic man dances at the center of the floor, wearing a purple crop top with indigo trim, cross hatched with white stripes to create wide diamond shapes. The sleeves have been cut off, allowing him to show off his strong arms, and the glow-in-the-dark tiger stripes that he’s painted on them. As for his pants..well, they’re basically nonexistent: the white shorts have that same tiger pattern but in black, cut so high above his thighs that if he jumps too high, his ass cheeks might poke out. Really, it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.  

You’re momentarily confused as to why he’s wearing a hat in the club, especially since he’s practically in the ‘eye of the storm’ so to speak, but at the same time it feels like his outfit wouldn’t be complete without it. You track his face as he twirls around, subconsciously wondering what his eyes might look like beneath those shades he’s wearing.  

“Well? Thoughts?” Leone is already smirking in accomplishment, looping his arm around Bruno’s neck, who speaks up before you can.  

“’Looks a bit rough around the edges. A little trashy, even.” His words sound judgmental, but his expression seems admiring.   

You hold your chin in your hand, lips pulled askew. “Dunno..trashy isn’t always bad. He’s definitely an attention grabber.”  

“That’s true..” Bruno hums in agreement, leaning forward with his elbows on his knee. “If you haven’t got any gripes about him, then you should go for it. Don’t let me stop you.”  

You suck your teeth, fingers clenching into a fist. Suddenly, the prospect of approaching the attractive stranger was making your stomach twist. It’s not like you didn’t know how to put the moves on a guy when you wanted to, but you feel like you don’t have your usual spark. On top of that, you’re not sure if you could handle the possible rejection with the state you’re in now. Leone side-eyes you, noticing the confliction in your frown. He raises his hand from around Bruno to tap your shoulder, speaking clearly,  

“Hey. Think about it; you’ve really got nothing to lose. If he isn’t interested? Fine, we’ll find someone else. Don’t get yourself down in the dumps before you’ve given it a chance.”  

More than hating that he was being entirely reasonable, you hated that the statement was actually giving you courage. Despite this smidge of motivation, you felt glued to your seat, like you couldn’t take the first step of your own volition.  

“..I don’t know..maybe I should just wait and see if he notices me staring first..”  

“What, so then he can pin you as a creep? Besides, he’s too busy dancing to notice anything but his own two feet.” Bruno notes.  

“Okay, fair but-!”  

“Oh my god, get the hell up!” Leone hits your shoulder with more force, causing your body to jerk and scramble away in such a way that gets you right out of your stool. Bruno doesn’t let you sit back down either, pushing you gently towards the crowd.  

“Wait-I’m not ready!”  

“And you never will be. Just be yourself, and all will be fine! We’ll be right here if you need us.” 

With a final shove, you’re separated from your friends, left only to look back at their satisfied smiles as you get sucked into the whirlwind that is the dance floor. You want to shake your fists vigorously at them, give them a piece of your mind, but decide it's better if you don’t embarrass yourself in front of literally everyone. Your best bet is to try blending in; you begin side-stepping and jouncing your shoulders to the music, nervously shiftingyourself in the direction of your ‘target.’ For a moment, you lose sight of him, perks of getting bumped into every few seconds, sending you into just the slightest panic that totally doesn’t have your palms sweating, and the word ‘bail’ echoing in your head..  

But the Universe, of course, wouldn’t let you get away so easily. Your back smacks into that of another dancer, but as you turn to apologize for getting in their way.. 

“Argh- My bad, didn’t see ya’ there!”  

... 

He’s certainly hotter up close.  

Your tongue falls flat, whatever statement you’d been trying to make slipping away in an instant. Upon seeing what must be your dumbfounded expression, the man doesn’t turn away, instead continuing to dance as he looks you up and down. As if to get a better look, he lowers his glowing shutter glasses.  

“..’You good, man?” He asks with a questioning smirk, speaking loudly over the music.  

You try to swallow down all the excuses coming to mind, recounting Leone’s words. “Yeah-yeah I’m fine. Sorry for fucking up your flow.” You laugh, the sound awkwardly quiet and forced.  

“Eh, no sweat. When you’re a professional like me, it’s easy to catch the beat.” He pushes his glasses back up, a wider smile on his face.  

You raise a brow “Professional? For real? Impressive.”  

He chuckles like you’d said something stupid. “Hell, I wish. I do think I’ve got some killer moves though.”  

You feel a little relief. This guy was making things easy for you...he’s talkative, not afraid to brag a little. Good..as long as he isn’t the quiet type, you’ve got a bit of wiggle room.  

Realizing you’ve been standing practically still since he began speaking to you, you start dancing as well. “Yeah, I think so too. Been watching for a minute...honestly I’m surprised your legs are still intact.” 

“Watching you say? Well, then you should know I’ve taken enough shots to keep my system running for the next 48 hours, eh?”  

You smile, knowing you were somewhat in the same boat. “Sounds about right.” An idea comes to you then, the tiniest opening that you’d be damned to not exploit. “..Mind if I join you? I’ve got quite a bit of energy to spare myself.” 

Bruno would be so proud if he could hear you now.  

The stranger smirks, glancing around. “Considering my other partner ditched me...I don’t think I’d mind one bit.”  

You breathe out, anxiety fading away. So long as you don’t make an ass of yourself here, this might actually work. You unbutton the cuffs of your sleeves, rolling them up to your elbows for some better range of motion, trying to really get into the groove. Just as they’re exposed, he takes hold of one of your wrists, strapping one of his neon bracelets around it.  

You raise your brow at him. “-What’s this for?”  

“So I don’t lose sight of you, of course. This place’s like a death trap if you ain’t careful.”  

“Ah..” It felt more like he’d laid claim on you, but you shake that thought from your head quickly, smiling down at the little band. “Thanks..and uh-probably should’ve asked this first but, what’s your name?”  

“It’s Mista!” He replies excitedly, as if you’d been the only one to ask the entire night. “Or Guido, if you wanna get formal. Either’s fine with me!”  

Your smile grows a little. “Nice to meet you, Mista.”  

“Yeah, you too, cutie!”  

Probably too drunk to realize, Mista never reciprocates the question, which should worry you..but hearing him call you cute was enough to satisfy you for the moment.  

You work up a sweat trying to keep up with Mista’s sporadic and carefree movements, all in the hopes of not losing his interest. He’s like an animal, really, moving on pure instinct, which you find to be eerily attractive.  

“God, sometimes I feel like Timberlake just gets me, yknow?” He shouts, linking his arm over your shoulder.  

You chuckle and nod, “You’ve certainly got that playboy attitude down pact.”  

“Think so? I’ve been workin’ on it, honest.” Mista leans his head against yours.  

“Mm..you’re a natural, baby.” You fumble the last word, cheeks warm with caution. 

But Mista seems flattered regardless, smirking and leaning his weight further into you. “Seems you ain’t so bad yourself.”  

He pulls away, grabbing at your hands and curling his fingers around yours so that you both move in unison, back to dancing like nothing had happened. You’re partially grateful, as he makes it easy for you to brush off your mistake, but you mentally remind yourself that you’ve got to step up your game at some point.  

The DJ continues to play what could be a miles long list of different music artists, throwing some EDM in the mix with the usual Pop hits and a few classics from the late 80’s to give everyone a bit of what they wanted, a true melting pot. Though, everything has been so high tempo, you feel like you haven’t had a real chance to catch your breath...and anyone with a brain knows that asphyxiation and inebriation are not usually a good combination. You consider stepping off the floor for a minute, just to get some fresh air, maybe even catch up with Leo and Bruno, but you also really don’t want to leave Mista’s side. He’s so captivating; it’d almost be a disservice to take your eyes off of him for even a second.  

Almost as if smelling your dilemma in the air, the DJ finally decides to play something slower. Not just slow, but awfully sensual as well. The overhead lights dim down to a stable blood orange, no longer flashing, but instead revolving over the crowd like a wave. The energy in the room doesn’t exactly die down, but its charge becomes a lot more...intimate. If everyone was close before, they were definitely a lot closer now; people grabbing hold of their lovers and friends alike, committing to more fluid and alluring movements.  

You find out very quickly that Mista is no exception to this sudden change. No, in fact, he was made for it. He eases himself out of your grasp, his previous motions going down to his hips, arms moving to frame a perfect perimeter of space around himself. Shit, maybe he really is a professional. Your eyes flick down to those shorts again when he turns around, and you tug at your shirt collar when you’re face to face with an ass that sits a little too nicely. You’d be a moron to let him get away from you now.  

You toss your apprehension somewhere off to the side, sliding up behind the man and gently slipping your fingers into his beltloops. Mista doesn’t flinch not one bit, but he does glance over his shoulder with a small smirk, as if waiting to see what you’ll do next...as if he knows what he’s doing to you. You huff a small laugh at the thought, pulling him towards you until your chest meets his back, hips meet his ass, before you’re swaying in sync again.  

“Knew you had it in ya’.” Mista quips, reaching behind to grab one of your hands and place it against his waist.  

“You were waiting on..me?”  

“Duh? You’ve been gawking at me all night, no way you were gonna step-off from an opportunity like this.”  

You should be ashamed by his observation, but it’s hilarious in it’s own way. “Fair. But you’re intimidating..can’t blame me for being a little hesitant.”  

Mista lays his head back on your shoulder, only to show you the way he screws his face up at your comment. “Intimidating? What’s there to be scared of, I’m just livin' it up here.”  

You shake your head, “You’ve just got a certain..aura, I guess. Like you’re untouchable. It’s even more intense up close like this..”  

His expression fades into something more pleased. “You’ve got a funny way of complimenting people.”  

You trail your fingers against his side, shrugging lightly. “I could stop, if you’d like.”  

Mista grins, “Bastard, don’t you dare. You’re like, the only guy who’s stayed with me tonight. I’ll take whatever I can get.”  

The admission makes you frown a bit, “I remember you mentioning that earlier...what’s up with that?”  

He waves it off, facing forward again. “Hell if I know. Most only stuck around for a friendly interaction, or a little making out..”  

Listening to him, you feel a little guilty, knowing you too had approached him for the idea of getting a quick lay. Worse that you were doing it to get over your ex. But...it didn’t have to stay that way. You did have some genuine interest in the guy.  

“That’s awful.”  

“Eh, I’m already over it. I’ve got better company now..” Mista chuckles to himself, raising his finger to trace along your jaw. He hums as he watches you lean into it.  

God damn it. Maybe it was the alcohol that was making you so easy, or just your overall exhaustion from dancing but...you’re hooked on his every move. He begins to roll his body back against yours in time with the music, sending a jolt through your core.  

“Glad I could be of service, then.” You mumble, moving your hands down to his hips and giving them a small squeeze. “Feels like I just got lucky, though..” 

“Aye, what’s so wrong with that? You should be over the moon if Lady Luck is on your side!”  

“..Huh?” 

“I’m sayin’ you should be grateful for luck’s grace. She doesn’t show up for just anyone, so that means you must hold good fortune..”   

The tone he takes with you is genuine, and you blink a little at his adamance, trying to think of something to steer the conversation back in the right direction. “..Uh..yeah, you’re right. Not every day I get my hands on a guy ashot as you.”  

“Yeah?” Mista’s smile returns, a hint of mischief in it. “I’d bet not, perv.”  

If it was meant to be an insult, it has the opposite effect, a slight tingle spreading along your palms. “..Have I gotten too-”  

“Nah..” He cuts you off, bringing his hand to your cheek to turn your face to his. “..I don’t mind. Touch as much as you wanna.”  

Your jaw drops pathetically, some dormant urge suddenly awakening within you. Trying to save face, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together as you stare at him. “I am like..painfully into you.”  

He laughs, tilting his head to the side. “Are you? Can’t tell with the way your hands are trembling, like you’re scared or somethin’.”  

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but his mention of it brings you to a shameful awareness. Indeed, your fingers shake lightly against the flat of his hips, as if ignorant of the lust currently pooling in your brain.  

"Not scared..well, maybe a little. ‘Wanna make sure I’m not doing anything to startle you..” You mutter, having just enough sense to re-fasten your grip on him, one hand now making a pass over the warm leather of his belt.  

“What, you think I’m fragile? I can handle anything you throw my way....wait, does that make me sound like a skank?” He frowns. 

You snicker at his randomness. “..Kinda. But hey, nothing wrong with knowing your limits.”  

He seems consoled by your assertion, relaxing in your hold. “Yeah..exactly. Point is, I ain’t built like a brick wall for nothin’. I’m not a fan of the gentle crap..too boring..”  

“Mm..” You nod along as his words begin to slur, eyes turned up at him while your palm slides against his stomach, grazing over a thick patch of curly hair.  

His overall frame is indeed very solid, toned muscles covered by a decent layer of chub, especially around his chest and legs. Makes your mouth water a bit. Maybe it was the alcohol finally catching up to you, but you wanted nothing more than to grab and squeeze at every inch of him, watch your fingers sink in and see his face contort in a strange pleasure... 

“I’m not so well versed in being ‘rough’, but I can try...for you.” You whisper. 

Mista sighs, leaning himself more firmly against you. “Yeah? That’d make me feel realll special, baby. Hit me with the best that you’ve got, and maybe you’ll get even luckier tonight..”  

That pet name rolls so easily off his tongue..he should be ashamed. As should you, with your lopsided smile, excitement threatening to clog your arteries.  “..That a challenge I’m hearing?”  

Mista's teeth flash beneath a passing red light. “Damn straight it is.”  

Pride and competition have a funny way of eliminating one’s anxiety. “...Bet.”  

Your body whirrs with adrenaline, hand still wobbling as you raise it to his chin. Behind his shades, you can tell Mista has his eyes focused on you, his smirk nowhere near disappearing as he waits for you to make a move. Screw him for being so fine. You turn Mista’s face towards yours, guiding him forward until your lips brush against each other. He teases you, letting your bottom lips touch for a split second before pulling his head back a little, to which you give chase. You narrow your eyes, trying not to pout, but he only stares with a raised brow. Cleary he was trying to get a rise out of you...but you find his behavior more adorable than aggravating.  

Still, you give him what he wants; tugging his chin back towards you, this time leaving no room for him to jerk away. Your lips finally press together in a hurried clash, the kiss completely void of congeniality. Despite you initiating, Mista has control over every movement, his tongue being the first to slip it’s way past your teeth to probe and relish in the warmth of your mouth. He doesn’t stop grinding against you all the while, deliberately swaying and pushing his hips into your crotch, somehow still in tune with the music. You’d find time to be impressed about it later, as right now all you can think of is how fucked you are for this guy already.  

With his lips captured, you focus your hands back on his body, trailing your fingers along the edge of his shorts, silently reveling at how the fabric strains around his legs. Mista shifts when your knuckles sweep against the skin of his inner thigh, heaving a little sigh that vibrates against you. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to recognize that he’s sensitive there, so you abuse your newfound knowledge by grabbing a handful of his upper thigh, giving it a tight squeeze while you nip at his lip. You’re dually satisfied when Mista arches against you, a groan sounding at the back of his throat.  

He swallows hard, but hardly stops to smile before diving back in to kiss you harder, laying his hand on top of yours for encouragement. Your heart feels like it could jump out of your chest, all this incoming stimulation almost too much to handle. Mista appears to be in the same boat, his pulse so palpable throughout his entire body; you can even feel it on his tongue. You wrap your unoccupied arm around his midsection, hand slowly slipping underneath his crop top to gently caress the soft skin of his ribs, causing him to press further into you. He’s practically hot to the touch, torso dampened with lingering sweat.  

“So warm..” You break away to say, now kissing the shell of his ear.  

Mista’s chuckle is caught on what you think might’ve been a moan. “That’s what hours of dancing will do to ya..”  

“No kiddin’.” You huff.  

He tilts his head up willingly as you lean forward to kiss his jaw, your lips tingling against the stubble that he’s allowed to grow there. Finally finding your own rhythm, you begin trailing kisses down the side of his neck, leaving blotches of red against his bronze skin along with small bites here and there. Not enough to pierce him, but definitely enough to leave small indents. Your hands continue to roam, crossing his love handles and tracing over the tiger stripes painted on his arms with a quiet tone of desire and need. Mista seems to be losing hold of his cool demeanor if the way he grabs at his hat is any indicator, 

“You ain’t so bad at this...” He breathes out, chewing on a whine when your nails drag along his abdomen.  

“Yeah, and you’re easier to break than I thought you’d be.” You try to hold back your smile, but the way he’s reacting is giving you a bit of an ego boost.  

“Dunno what the hell you mean..I’ve still got this shit on lock.” He smirks down at you wearily.  

You hum and press a little closer against his back, moving your hand to grope the space just below his belt buckle where his shorts are swallowed by his thighs. Expectedly, Mistas hips buck up into your palm like they’resentient, giving away his true position in the matter. Admittedly, it makes your own pants feel a bit tighter.  

“On lock? Kinda seems like you’re just about ready to give it up..”  

He sucks his teeth, embarrassed by the way his body betrayed him. “I blame the alcohol.”

It isn’t long after that that Mista is leading you off the dance floor, the two of you mushing through the crowd hand in hand. The DJ resumes his usual set, bringing back that original erratic flow that had everyone on their last breaths earlier, which only makes it harder to find a good break in the sea of people. Just when you think you’ve made it out in one piece though, you hear a familiar voice shouting at you from afar few feet away. 

“We knew you could do ittt!”  

You freeze, whipping your head around to see Bruno waving his arms at you, grinning wide. Leone stands behind him, pumping his fist to the music, but also apparently in solidarity with Bruno’s statement. You want to shrink into oblivion to the point of no return. Mista barks out a laugh, pointing at the couple with a raised brow.  

“You know them?”  

“...Friends of mine.” You grumble. Tomorrow, you’d be sure to give the two a piece of your mind.  

Mista smiles. “They seem nice! Veryyy supportive.”  

You resist rolling your eyes, tugging his hand to get his feet moving again. “Yeah, something like that...cmon, I’ll catch up with them later.”  

“Eh? You sure? I can wait a little bit if you wanna talk to ‘em.”  

You glance over your shoulder one more time, regretting it as soon as you see Bruno making a lewd gesture with his hands. “Nope. Totally fine.”  

The farther away you get from the main room, the thinner the crowd gets, reduced to small friend groups spread out and in their own worlds. Mista seems to know the layout of the club like the back of his hand, hardly as confused as you are when navigating the two of you to the far side of the building. But there was one thing you knew for sure-- 

“Isn’t the washroom in the opposite direction..?”  

Mista scrunches his face as if offended by the comment. “You wanna fuck in the bathroom..? What kinda man do you take me for?”  

“..Shit, sorry..I mean-you don’t exactly strike me as the refined type..”  

He snickers, “Nobody ever told you about not judgin' a book by it’s cover?”  

Cliche, but true. “..My bad.”  

“Aye, no need to get all sober about it. It’s cool..plus, I’m taking us somewhere even better.” Mista wiggles his eyebrows playfully, bringing a small smile back to your face.  

After speaking briefly to what you assume is a security guard of some sort, Mista shoulders open a large metal door, quickly dragging you in behind him. He holds your hand tight, the other keeping his hat in place as he takes you up a staircase that you never knew existed. The space is bathed in blacklight, highlighting the colorful graffiti tactfully scribbled on the brick walls around you. Your footsteps echo loudly in time with a now muffled tune, indicating you two were the only ones back here. Mista takes you up two levels, perhaps for good measure, stopping on one of the landings and pushing you back against the wall with a certain force that has your head spinning.  

Even as he rears closer, your eyes are still darting around, trying to get a feel for where the hell you are.  

“Is this...the fucking fire escape?”  

Mista pins a hand against the wall beside your head, the other taking off his shutter glasses. “Sure is. Neat, right?”  

Your gaze lands on him again, that sultry smirk of his, and now...his big brown eyes. Finally being under a stable light source, you can really admire the other features of his face..like his thick eyebrows and the little divots inhis cheeks...Dimples. Too cute. Seems he is a pretty boy after all.  

The realization makes your nerves spike again, and you stumble over your words. “S..Seriously? You’d fuck in a stairwell, but not the bathroom? Sounds contradictory.”  

He hooks his thumb into his shorts, tilting his head. “What? Come on, this place is ten times more sanitary.”  

“.withering concrete and glowing paint. Sanitary...right.” You say with a smile.  

Mista sighs. “Gimmie a break! Beggers can’t be choosers, aight? You’re welcome to leave if it’s not to your standards.” 

You shake your head, reaching out to lay your hand against his side. “What, after all the work I put in to woo you? No chance.”  

“Didn’t think so. Besides..no one will see us here, so we can get up to whatever we wanna.” He asserts, smiling as his lips are drawn to your neck, kissing the skin reverently.  

You chew your lip, hand now set on his back to keep him close. “You sound pretty sure of that... D’you bring a lot of guys here?”  

“Why, you jealous?” Mista’s soft chuckle sends a ripple of electricity through you. His banter is so effortless...it should be the absolute last thing that turns you on, but alas.. 

“’Course not..just curious..” You mutter.  

“Uhuh..so you say..” Mista hums and drags his lips along the underside of your jaw, free hand pressing against your stomach. His fingers slink beneath your shirt, making you squirm. “I don’t come here that often so...consider yourself special.”  

“Wow..I’m touched.”  

Had your brain been anymore scrambled with intoxication, you might’ve let yourself believe him without question. Though, your sarcasm only seems to rouse him, his knee nudging your legs apart so that he can slot himself closer. He consumes your gasp with a sloppy kiss, kickstarting the beat of your heart once more as his tongue fights for the attention of your own, to which you have no desire to refuse. You slide your hands down and aroundhis back until they settle over his ass cheeks; the way they fill your palms, so plump and malleable, you feel obligated to give them a generous squeeze.  

“Mmh-” Mista grunts and bites down on your bottom lip, breaths stuttering.  

You smile with a sort of pride, licking your way back into his mouth. Mista is just as eager to match your fervor, the kiss devolving into chaos in mere seconds. He moans and jitters the more you continue to fondle him, growing surprisingly vocal at even the smallest addition of pressure. You aren’t doing much better, panting pathetically and trying to clutch onto every bit of him that you can, as if that will somehow save you from being drowned in his passion. In reaching for the back of his head, you accidentally knock off his hat, revealing curly, dark hair that’s cropped just above his ears. Despite it being a bit damp, you pass your fingers through it, grip it, hold him as close as possible.  

Mista breaks to catch his breath, “Jesus christ—where have you been all my life? ’Feels like you’re trying to devour me.”  

Your eyelids flutter, and all you can think to say is, “..I am pretty hungry.”  

“..Ah?”  

Mista has only a split second to register the words before you grab him by the shoulder, using the brief pause as leverage to flip your positions, his back now against the wall. His eyes widen considerably, but he doesn’t recoil or complain. No, he doesn’t struggle in the slightest when you lift up his crop-top the rest of the way, exposing his bare chest to the warm air that surrounds you. In fact, he kindly holds the fabric up for you, giving what you assume is permission.  

Thoughts of your ex are so far removed from your mind now, you don’t even have the urge to question your own morals, how wrong it is to be engaging with someone else in this manner after such a recent breakup. Instead, a slur of depraved images shoot through your mind as you stare down at his torso; how you want to slather your lips all over it, squeeze his tits, run your hands over the dispersing pattern of every grove of hair...because damn is there a lot of it. It was only a matter of how far he’ll let you go...  

“Fuck, you’re sexy.” You decide to start by just feeling his body, dragging your knuckles against the length of him while capturing his lips in another soft kiss.  

He chuckles tenaciously, “I’ve been told..”  

He relaxes into your touch, but perks up a little when your hand cups his pec—yet you’re the one to let out a small whimper, horrifyingly aroused by the feeling of the fat seeping through the gaps of your fingers. Mista isn’texempt by any means, making his own erotic sounds into your ear when your middle finger so much as grazes his nipple. It only takes a few passes before it’s practically reaching out for you, hardened and waiting. What kind of man would you be to deny it? Deny him?  

You lower your head and turn your eyes up to Mista, melting beneath his needy stare as you flatten your tongue against his nipple, giving it one slow lick after another, now alternating between both pecs. His laid-back facade crumbles, brows pinched together as he stares with his mouth wide open, letting whiny croaks tumble out. It’s like music to your ears, far better than anything the DJ could’ve spun.  

His back bows off the brick wall as your tongue swirls in tight circles, and he bites down on his finger as if that will keep him from making anymore noise. It does not.  

“Shit..didn’t even know I was into this..” Mista is unsure of where to put his other hand, clear by the way he awkwardly latches it onto your shoulder.  

You simply smile and close your mouth around him, beginning a gentle sucking at the flesh, causing him to stutter out a rough moans, head now thrown back. You fear you could watch him like this forever, the way his lips quiver, and his long lashes flutter against reddened cheeks. But you also know that there’s so much more that you want to get around to... You allow yourself the pleasure of kissing, biting, and grasping his tits one last time, before forcing yourself off. His skin is left shimmering wet and slightly swollen, but that seems to be the least of his concerns.  

“Why’d you stop?” He sighs heavily, almost glaring at you. “Bored already?”  

“Nowhere near it. It's just..my mouth’s more useful for other things..” You quirk your brow, setting your hands on his hips before slowly starting to lower yourself. 

Mista blinks, and barely lets your knee hit the ground before he’s shaking his head and laughing. “Woah, woah, aye, the hell are you doing?”  

You stop in your tracks, staring confusedly. “...Was gonna give you head..?”  

He smirks slyly, tapping your chin. “Uh-uh, that’s a cop out. Off your knees, big guy...want you to fuck me proper.”  

Your stomach flips upside down, and you swear your vision goes blurry. Of all the things you suspected would come out of his mouth, it wasn’t..that. You swallow hard, fingers trembling as you make to stand again, guided by his persistent touch on your jaw. Your speechlessness clearly entertains him, as that smile of his only spreads further. He coaxes you back into his space, slipping his arm around your neck and hooking his thigh around your hip. Your hand moves instinctively to hold it up, and you’re drawn in by his hypnotizing gaze until your mouths end up pressed together once more.  

Mista grinds against you, a slow drag of bulging fabric along your front that has your mind buzzing with lust. You aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to taking off your damn pants—you don’t want to lose these intoxicating sensations for even a millisecond. You slant your hips forward in time with his own, the two of you no longer kissing, but more so breathing into each other’s open mouths.  

“’M not gonna last if we keep on like this..” You whisper.  

Mista’s forehead falls to your shoulder, his voice low and shaky. “Yeah..just a little longer though..”  

There was no room left to discuss it. “Mh..okay..”  

You reach down for Mista’s other leg, hauling it up so that you’re holding him against the wall by his thighs. He whines against your neck, crossing his ankles around your back to keep himself securely suspended. The position allows your bodies to remain in constant contact, your barred erections feeding off the equally euphoric and discomforting friction. It’d be a miracle if you walked away from this without any chafing.  

The slow grind morphs into a desperate, staccato thrusting on your part, and Mista can do little more than cling to you, curling a fist into your shirt as his head is thrown back once more. His moans echo through the stairwell, mixing with yours to spiral throughout the space and completely overtake whatever already muffled background music that had been playing. You can feel your arms growing tired, knees a little weak, but nowhere in your mind do you plan on stopping.  

“Fuck-fuck yes-God, please..” Mista stammers, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “More- g’me more-”  

Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, eyes feebly locked onto his face as you whimper, humping him like a man starved for far too long. Seeing this, he pushes himself forward to kiss you yet again, returning that same level of greed in the flick of his tongue. It’s anything but controlled, and you soon feel a bit of drool running down your chin..but from whom, you’re not sure.  

“Think I’m gonna cum-” You blurt, bumping your teeth against his in the process. The realization had hit you way sooner than expected, and lord knows you’d never been good at trying to force a delay upon yourself.  

You expect him to protest, but Mista doesn’t even stop to speak, just nods as he anchors his arms further around your neck. And it wasn’t like you needed his permission...but somehow, having it made it so much hotter. As that flurry feeling begins setting your lower half on fire, your hips press hard into his, both of you jerking against each other until a final drag does you in. You should be embarrassed by the pitchy sound that escapes your throat as you come, but you’re too busy being buried by relief to care. Mista’s climax is soon to follow, his calves trembling against you, moans waning on your lips as his hips come to a grating halt.  

“Ugh..” A string of saliva connects your lips as he pulls back for air, warm breaths still littered with quiet whines.  

You close your eyes and sigh, leaning your head into the crux of his neck. The feeling of soiled jeans is something you hadn’t had the misfortune of experiencing since you were probably a teenager...needless to say, you didn’tmind it all that much at the moment.  

“..So much for fuckin’ you proper...” You murmur, mentally kicking yourself for getting so carried away.  

Mista laughs hoarsely, patting your back. “Hey, I ain’t mad...shit was amazing.”  

You hum, still feeling as though you gave him a pretty lackluster experience. If he claimed to have enjoyed it though, you weren’t going to argue...especially considering it was one of the best orgasms you’d had in a while. And that’s saying a lot.  

After taking a second to let your heart calm down, you carefully set Mista’s legs down on the floor again, crouching down to fix his shorts for him. Admittedly, you’re still thinking about what it would’ve been like to suck him off...in fact there were many things that you still wanted to do to him and for him. Unfortunately, you have too much dignity and are feeling way too exhausted to make any of this known. So, you give his inner thigh a little parting kiss before standing again, and adjusting your own clothes.  

Mista smiles shyly, scratching his cheek. “You’re a real interesting guy.” 

Dusting off your shirt, you raise a brow. “..Interesting?”  

He bends over to pick up his hat, a sinful view that should have you backtracking. “Can’t put my finger on it but...I think I like you.” Indeed, he says it as if it’s a question to himself. 

“Pretty straightforward way of putting it..” You try to play it cool, folding your arms against your chest.  

He shrugs. “No need to beat around the bush. But uh...Listen..” Mista approaches again, setting his hands on your waist with a small grin. “I can tell you’re pretty bummed at how things ended here so...maybe you can ‘make it up to me’ some other time?” 

If only he could see the rainbows and sunshine sprouting in your mind right now.  

You clear your throat. “..Yeah?”  

“Mhm.”  

“..Okay..I’d like that.”  

“Sweet.”  

Mista’s eyes trail over your face one last time, lingering as he digs something out from his pocket, and sticking it into the crease of your elbow. It might’ve been mysterious and cool if the crumpled paper didn’t immediatelyunravel and fall to the ground..but clearly Mista could care less as he’s already heading for the stairs, leaving you blinking stupidly after him.  

“See ‘ya round, cutie.” He throws up a hand, waving goodbye over his shoulder. 

You quickly reach down for the piece of paper, smoothing it out the rest of the way and holding it up to the light:  

‘xxx-xxx-xxxx  

~Guido Mista, available 25/7 Fri-Sat'  

“A fucking homemade business card..” You shake your head with a short laugh, shoving the scrap into your pocket.

Somehow, it seems very on brand for someone like him. Though, the state of the ‘card’ makes you think he had handed it out and taken it back several times...you now being the only one who actually got to keep it. You touch your fingers to your lips, glancing at the staircase where Mista’s footsteps have already stopped clacking, and the bracaelte still glowing on your rist..  

Seems you really do have good fortune after all.  

a/n: My Mista hunger is no where near satiated after this...there will be more in the future, mark my words...

The overhead flash of neon pinks and greens, blues and oranges, throws a horde of people into a frenzy on the dance floor, the already heavy bass of the music amplified by their unified jumping. Strobe lights scan the crowd geometrically in intervals, blinding at times, but somehow only encourages everyone to get a little wilder in their movements. The crowd swarms with an intense energy, arms and necks being tossed every-which-way, distracting them from what was meant to be a discomforting warmth in the air, and the stickiness of sweat across their skin.  

In the center of all this, Mista shouts the lyrics of the chorus with what little breath he has left, his calves aching each time he springs up with the rhythm. He holds onto his hat for dear life and tries his hardest not to elbowanyone in the face, successful only 60% of the time. Not like he could hear their complaints over the music anyways, so technically he couldn’t get in trouble, right?  

Life never felt so easy as it did when Mista was at the club. Of all the simple pleasures he’d come across in his life, this one was undoubtedly his favorite. Absorbing concerning amounts of alcohol, meeting awesome strangers, and being able to move his body in any way his mind desired? It’s an experience that just can’t be replicated. So, he took it upon himself after each boring, under-stimulating work week to hit up the best underground club in Naples: Il Seminterrato.  

He was essentially a regular at this point, considering the DJ, bartenders, and owners knew his name and face. It earned him nothing more than a few drinks on the house every other weekend, and they’ve even stopped asking for his ID at the door, granting him quicker access. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty about it even though he probably should; who wouldn’t want benefits like that? If it meant he could get on the floor faster, then who gives a damn?  

Mista opens his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling, smiling to himself as the colors swirl and twinkle above him. Tonight felt...particularly exciting. He couldn’t explain why: maybe he’d had a little bit too much to drink already, or perhaps that monthly horoscope he’d read in the papers had been right after all—whatever it was, he knew for sure he wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.  

“Hey, you’re hot! Wanna dance?”  

A voice shouts at him from over his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. He snaps his head around, the stranger respectfully hovering behind him. The guy looked to be a few years older, but the flicks of glow-in-the-dark paint he had splattered on his face made it clear he was still in Mista’s ideal range. Regardless, he was pretty cute, so... 

“Hell yeah!”  

Mista backs up into the man's arms, allowing them to strap around his waist as they both continued to move with the music. Best to take what he could get.

 Recently, it felt like he was getting less and less action, but he couldn’t think of one reason why. He was as handsome as always, hype, friendly, all the things that magnetize people...yet the most he could get out of anyone was a brief kiss. Perhaps it’s because his taxi fare was $14.44 a few weeks ago...yeah, definitely that. Either way, he was sure this would finally be the night that he left the building with something more than a raging headache and sore feet.

With a deep sigh, you take a seat on the first open bar stool you can find, propping your elbows up on the counter and digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. A comforting—though it feels patronizing—hand lightly rubs your back, 

“Come on, you can’t start sulking now that we’ve finally made it here. That would put all my efforts to shame!” Your friend speaks into your ear, sounding a bit disheartened.  

You shake your head and wave him off, “Bruno please, I’m not sulking, I'm just...adjusting.”  

Your lie doesn’t seem to bode well with man, and his gentle rub turns into a ruthless pinch.  

“Ow-what the hell!” You turn around to glare at him, reaching back to soothe the pain.  

Bruno only smiles at you, placing his clutch in the hands of the man behind him before taking the stool beside you. “Don’t even, I can see it all over your damn face." 

“Jesus, Leone, could you please tell this prick to keep his hands to himself?” You complain to the tall man still standing, but the shrug he gives you is telling of who’s side he’s on.  

“Can’t. He’s right, you need to get outta your head.”  

“Sell out..” You say under your breath, placing your hand in your chin.  

“See? We’ve got to get you back to how you were in the cab. And I know just the trick..” Bruno doesn’t wait for your response as he reaches out to flag down the bartender, a young woman, who approaches with a friendly smile.  

“Hey ya’ll, what can I get ya?”  

“A round of tequila shots, please.”  

“You got it, boss.”  

Bruno tries to ignore the look you’re blatantly giving him by pretending to fix his shirt, as if the entire club couldn’t see his tits enough already.  

“Seriously? Are you trying to get me to make a fool of myself?” You tut, nudging him with your elbow. The last time you had too much tequila in your system, things had gotten a little...depraved.  

Bruno laughs, “Kind of, yes. This is the fastest way to get that stick out of your ass.”  

“I don’t have a ‘stick up my ass’, I’m reacting like how anyone else would if they’d just gotten dumped!”  

“You knew the guy was a piece of shit, you should’ve expected it at some point.” Leone chimes in, draping his arms over Bruno’s shoulders and resting his chin on his head.  

You roll your eyes. “He wasn’t that bad. I mean, sure he had a few quirks, but-” 

“Remember that time he ‘borrowed’ your car without asking to meet up with some ‘friends’ downtown?” He interrupts. Your face sours at the memory.  

“Oh right, and it turned out they’d gone to a strip club?” Bruno adds.  

“Not to mention him never paying for dinner and refusing to take photos with you-”  

“Okay, I get it, he was shady!” You groan, putting a fist to your forehead. “..You don’t gotta be so blunt about it.”  

Three short glasses are slid across the bar counter landing in a nice little cluster in front of you, their rims decorated with salt and a slice of lime. You all thank the bartender in unison, each of you grabbing the glass of your choosing.  

Staring down into the clear liquid, you feel your lips pull into a frown. As annoying as they were being about it, your friends are right about your ex. You’d met the man eight months ago by what felt like a miracle, considering your romantic life had been drier than a desert prior to his arrival. It started as a one-night-stand (which should’ve been your first sign), but he insisted on seeing you again multiple times afterwards. A few solid dates later, you’d developed a charming relationship, though it only stayed that way for a month or so. Upon first meeting him, your closest friends Leone and Bruno were skeptical of the guy’s intentions, but you brushed it off as them being overly protective.  

You had so easily gotten caught up in the excitement of having a boyfriend that you neglected all his distasteful tendencies; how he wouldn’t hold your hand or kiss you in public, the way he’d coincidentally run out of cash right after you’d already given him some...But oh, he gave the sweetest compliments, and in the comfort of your home, he treated you with such tenderness.. 

‘That bastard is going to bleed you dry.’ 

Leone had said in his usual aggravation. For whatever reason, you still held on to hope that the man would change, with a little pleading here and there...but it always fell on deaf ears. On Wednesday, it all came crashing down, and it was revealed that he had been seeing other men behind your back, an admission that had apparently only been a surprise to you. But without even getting a chance to discuss the matter, the man broke up with you on the spot, claiming he ‘had other clientele to tend to.’ You’d never felt so dejected in your life. Just like that, more than half a year of your time had gone to waste.  

“Shady doesn’t even cover it. He was a sleaze, and I should’ve decked him when I had the chance.” Leone’s gruff voice brings you back to the present.  

You huff, “Yeah, maybe...”  

With his free hand, Bruno presses his hand to your cheek, your gaze lifting to him. “Enough about that. We’re here to get him off your mind, not for you to ruminate.” The smile he gives is genuine, and it makes the tension in your chest ease up a little. He raises his shot glass between the two of you, “We’ve got more important business right now!”  

You respond with a softer smile, lifting yours as well. “-Okay, okay..cheers.”  

“Bottoms up, bitch.” Leone is the last to slot his glass into the circle, each of you laughing as you clink your shots together, lick the salt from the rim, and toss the liquid back. 

The tequila goes down without a fight, sparking your nerves with a thrill that you know will come to haunt you sooner rather than later. Before you can even set your glass down, Bruno is already ordering another round, nodding his head to the music which seems to grow louder by the second. Within what feel like mere minutes, the three of you are four shots in, and you even take it upon yourself to try one of the special edition cocktails they were selling for this week's event. It’s more fruity syrups than it is alcohol, but the little ball of flashing light at the bottom and the edible glitter inside of it makes up for the taste.  

Bruno gets his fingers around your straw when you glance away for the briefest second, giggling as he keeps the drink just out of your reach so that he can take a few sips of his own.  

“Hmmm...more tart than I expected it to be.” He sighs. “Not half bad though. Maybe I should get one of my own..”  

You smile and shake your head, reclaiming the glass. “I think you should time-out for a bit. The night is young, no need to rush the buzz.”   

“Not to mention you’ve already bitten off more than you can usually chew..” Leone comments with a smirk, leaving a glowing purple stain on the others cheek as he kisses him.  

Bruno folds his arms defensively, but his lips still have a small curve to them as he turns around to face his partner. “You drink like a sailor, and no one bats an eye.”  

“That’s ‘cause I can handle myself afterwards. You on the other hand..”  

“-Lightweight-” You cough into your fist.  

“Oh, whatever! I can ‘handle’ myself perfectly fine...besides, even if I can’t, Leone always knows the perfect way to tame me..”  

Bruno’s words are somewhat proven by the way Leone’s arm remains hooked around his waist, and he complies willingly when Bruno leans his head back for a kiss.  

“Uhmm, gross?” Your face twists in playful disgust at the display.  

“Envy is not a good look on you.” Bruno chuckles, crossing one of his legs over the other. Leone remains close, kissing the man's temple and some parts of his neck, leaving him covered in lipstick.  

“I’m just saying, have some decency. Your lap dog looks just about ready to dive his hands beneath your skirt at a moment's notice.” You grumble, taking another gulp of your drink.  

He shrugs, “Well, no one’s telling you to watch.”  

You furrow your brows, glancing away quickly. “My God, I hate you.”  

Bruno’s hands shoot out to grab your sleeve, tugging as he laughs. His drunken smile is way too cute, impossible to stay mad at. “Hey, hey, I’m kiddingg-! You know I’d never...especially not in a place like this.”  

“Yeah, whatever..”  

He purses his lips, dissatisfied with your conceding response. He ponders for a moment, glancing back at the dance floor before giving your arm another tug. “Look.. how about we do some cruising?”  

Your mouth dives into a frown around your straw at his suggestion. “...you can’t be serious.”  

“Do I look as though I’m joking?”  

...Indeed, Bruno has a rather resolute expression on his face, his brows firmly set, eyes just wide enough to show his conviction.  

“You know the saying; the best way to get over one is to get under another, mm?”  

He had a way of getting what he wanted out of anyone, stranger or not. Fortunately for him, you weren’t in the mood to argue. You draw in a deep breath, wedging your thumb into your forehead before sitting up straight, and turning fully towards him.  

“Okay, fine. But I’m making you two do all the work for me.”  

“Oh, trust me, you’re in great hands.” Bruno winks, shifting on his stool until he’s facing the bustling crowd, prompting you to do the same. He narrows his eyes and taps his chin as he looks over all the potential contenders. Leone follows suit, shielding his eyes from the lights and covering whatever ground Bruno doesn’t.  

At the very least, you were grateful that they were trying their best to keep you in high spirits. It wasn’t their job to do so, and they very well could have let you third wheel for the entire night, but instead they’re doing...this. It feels nice, knowing that you can always rely on them.  

“Ouu...what about him? Hot pink pumps, to your right.” Bruno points, guiding your attention.  

The character in question was almost half-naked, wearing what looked like a bright green bikini set that was definitely too small for him, paired with lacy pink thigh-high tights that matched his shoes. He has light purple hair cut asymmetrically, and some futuristic looking visor over his eyes. You tilt your head, looking him up and down, briefly considering. If nothing else, he sure did have a nice pair of legs.  

“...Cute, but he’s giving me a strange vibe.”  

Bruno rolls his eyes. “How can you catch a ‘vibe’ from all the way over here? Ridiculous.”  

As if overhearing your conversation, the stranger ends up locking eyes with you, a smirk appearing on his face before he licks his lips predatorily.  

You shiver. “Nope, it’s totally there. Next.”  

Bruno sighs, but dutifully returns to his surveying. “Okay, then...how about blondie over there?” 

The next man put under your curious gazes is deliciously tall with pale blonde hair scaling his back that sways as he moves, sporting a tight red jumpsuit and a variety of glowsticks around his wrists. 

“He’s pretty.” Bruno adds, looking for your approval. “You like pretty boys, don't you??”  

You rub your hand against your jaw. There was a slight hitch in this particular selection. “Sure, I do but..I don’t think he’s up for grabs.”  

Turning his head back to the man, Bruno grimaces at the downright murderous glare that another patron is giving the three of you; some red head with a snarl sharp enough to make a baby sob at first sight. The possessive type,you presume.  

“Talk about intense...Guess a threesome’s off the table then?”  

“Jesus, Bruno-”  

Your friend holds his hands up in surrender before folding them in his lap. “Just looking at all sides of the coin here, alright? I’m not letting you leave this place without at least one worthwhile interaction.”  

You massage the bridge of your nose between your fingers, speaking wearily, “Okay sure..but I think we need to step out of the box a little. Trying to shoot for my type is obviously getting us nowhere-”  

“How about him?”  

Leone’s voice breaks through your haphazard strategizing, causing both you and Bruno to look at him in mild shock. For what it was worth, it seemed he’d actually taken his time seeking someone out, but you still brace yourself for another failed suggestion. Once again, your eyes follow the direction of his pointed finger out towards the thrashing bodies, landing on- 

..Huh.  

Well, it certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, but maybe that was a good thing. You lean back against the bar top, brow lifted with intrigue. A wildly energetic man dances at the center of the floor, wearing a purple crop top with indigo trim, cross hatched with white stripes to create wide diamond shapes. The sleeves have been cut off, allowing him to show off his strong arms, and the glow-in-the-dark tiger stripes that he’s painted on them. As for his pants..well, they’re basically nonexistent: the white shorts have that same tiger pattern but in black, cut so high above his thighs that if he jumps too high, his ass cheeks might poke out. Really, it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.  

You’re momentarily confused as to why he’s wearing a hat in the club, especially since he’s practically in the ‘eye of the storm’ so to speak, but at the same time it feels like his outfit wouldn’t be complete without it. You track his face as he twirls around, subconsciously wondering what his eyes might look like beneath those shades he’s wearing.  

“Well? Thoughts?” Leone is already smirking in accomplishment, looping his arm around Bruno’s neck, who speaks up before you can.  

“’Looks a bit rough around the edges. A little trashy, even.” His words sound judgmental, but his expression seems admiring.   

You hold your chin in your hand, lips pulled askew. “Dunno..trashy isn’t always bad. He’s definitely an attention grabber.”  

“That’s true..” Bruno hums in agreement, leaning forward with his elbows on his knee. “If you haven’t got any gripes about him, then you should go for it. Don’t let me stop you.”  

You suck your teeth, fingers clenching into a fist. Suddenly, the prospect of approaching the attractive stranger was making your stomach twist. It’s not like you didn’t know how to put the moves on a guy when you wanted to, but you feel like you don’t have your usual spark. On top of that, you’re not sure if you could handle the possible rejection with the state you’re in now. Leone side-eyes you, noticing the confliction in your frown. He raises his hand from around Bruno to tap your shoulder, speaking clearly,  

“Hey. Think about it; you’ve really got nothing to lose. If he isn’t interested? Fine, we’ll find someone else. Don’t get yourself down in the dumps before you’ve given it a chance.”  

More than hating that he was being entirely reasonable, you hated that the statement was actually giving you courage. Despite this smidge of motivation, you felt glued to your seat, like you couldn’t take the first step of your own volition.  

“..I don’t know..maybe I should just wait and see if he notices me staring first..”  

“What, so then he can pin you as a creep? Besides, he’s too busy dancing to notice anything but his own two feet.” Bruno notes.  

“Okay, fair but-!”  

“Oh my god, get the hell up!” Leone hits your shoulder with more force, causing your body to jerk and scramble away in such a way that gets you right out of your stool. Bruno doesn’t let you sit back down either, pushing you gently towards the crowd.  

“Wait-I’m not ready!”  

“And you never will be. Just be yourself, and all will be fine! We’ll be right here if you need us.” 

With a final shove, you’re separated from your friends, left only to look back at their satisfied smiles as you get sucked into the whirlwind that is the dance floor. You want to shake your fists vigorously at them, give them a piece of your mind, but decide it's better if you don’t embarrass yourself in front of literally everyone. Your best bet is to try blending in; you begin side-stepping and jouncing your shoulders to the music, nervously shiftingyourself in the direction of your ‘target.’ For a moment, you lose sight of him, perks of getting bumped into every few seconds, sending you into just the slightest panic that totally doesn’t have your palms sweating, and the word ‘bail’ echoing in your head..  

But the Universe, of course, wouldn’t let you get away so easily. Your back smacks into that of another dancer, but as you turn to apologize for getting in their way.. 

“Argh- My bad, didn’t see ya’ there!”  

... 

He’s certainly hotter up close.  

Your tongue falls flat, whatever statement you’d been trying to make slipping away in an instant. Upon seeing what must be your dumbfounded expression, the man doesn’t turn away, instead continuing to dance as he looks you up and down. As if to get a better look, he lowers his glowing shutter glasses.  

“..’You good, man?” He asks with a questioning smirk, speaking loudly over the music.  

You try to swallow down all the excuses coming to mind, recounting Leone’s words. “Yeah-yeah I’m fine. Sorry for fucking up your flow.” You laugh, the sound awkwardly quiet and forced.  

“Eh, no sweat. When you’re a professional like me, it’s easy to catch the beat.” He pushes his glasses back up, a wider smile on his face.  

You raise a brow “Professional? For real? Impressive.”  

He chuckles like you’d said something stupid. “Hell, I wish. I do think I’ve got some killer moves though.”  

You feel a little relief. This guy was making things easy for you...he’s talkative, not afraid to brag a little. Good..as long as he isn’t the quiet type, you’ve got a bit of wiggle room.  

Realizing you’ve been standing practically still since he began speaking to you, you start dancing as well. “Yeah, I think so too. Been watching for a minute...honestly I’m surprised your legs are still intact.” 

“Watching you say? Well, then you should know I’ve taken enough shots to keep my system running for the next 48 hours, eh?”  

You smile, knowing you were somewhat in the same boat. “Sounds about right.” An idea comes to you then, the tiniest opening that you’d be damned to not exploit. “..Mind if I join you? I’ve got quite a bit of energy to spare myself.” 

Bruno would be so proud if he could hear you now.  

The stranger smirks, glancing around. “Considering my other partner ditched me...I don’t think I’d mind one bit.”  

You breathe out, anxiety fading away. So long as you don’t make an ass of yourself here, this might actually work. You unbutton the cuffs of your sleeves, rolling them up to your elbows for some better range of motion, trying to really get into the groove. Just as they’re exposed, he takes hold of one of your wrists, strapping one of his neon bracelets around it.  

You raise your brow at him. “-What’s this for?”  

“So I don’t lose sight of you, of course. This place’s like a death trap if you ain’t careful.”  

“Ah..” It felt more like he’d laid claim on you, but you shake that thought from your head quickly, smiling down at the little band. “Thanks..and uh-probably should’ve asked this first but, what’s your name?”  

“It’s Mista!” He replies excitedly, as if you’d been the only one to ask the entire night. “Or Guido, if you wanna get formal. Either’s fine with me!”  

Your smile grows a little. “Nice to meet you, Mista.”  

“Yeah, you too, cutie!”  

Probably too drunk to realize, Mista never reciprocates the question, which should worry you..but hearing him call you cute was enough to satisfy you for the moment.  

You work up a sweat trying to keep up with Mista’s sporadic and carefree movements, all in the hopes of not losing his interest. He’s like an animal, really, moving on pure instinct, which you find to be eerily attractive.  

“God, sometimes I feel like Timberlake just gets me, yknow?” He shouts, linking his arm over your shoulder.  

You chuckle and nod, “You’ve certainly got that playboy attitude down pact.”  

“Think so? I’ve been workin’ on it, honest.” Mista leans his head against yours.  

“Mm..you’re a natural, baby.” You fumble the last word, cheeks warm with caution. 

But Mista seems flattered regardless, smirking and leaning his weight further into you. “Seems you ain’t so bad yourself.”  

He pulls away, grabbing at your hands and curling his fingers around yours so that you both move in unison, back to dancing like nothing had happened. You’re partially grateful, as he makes it easy for you to brush off your mistake, but you mentally remind yourself that you’ve got to step up your game at some point.  

The DJ continues to play what could be a miles long list of different music artists, throwing some EDM in the mix with the usual Pop hits and a few classics from the late 80’s to give everyone a bit of what they wanted, a true melting pot. Though, everything has been so high tempo, you feel like you haven’t had a real chance to catch your breath...and anyone with a brain knows that asphyxiation and inebriation are not usually a good combination. You consider stepping off the floor for a minute, just to get some fresh air, maybe even catch up with Leo and Bruno, but you also really don’t want to leave Mista’s side. He’s so captivating; it’d almost be a disservice to take your eyes off of him for even a second.  

Almost as if smelling your dilemma in the air, the DJ finally decides to play something slower. Not just slow, but awfully sensual as well. The overhead lights dim down to a stable blood orange, no longer flashing, but instead revolving over the crowd like a wave. The energy in the room doesn’t exactly die down, but its charge becomes a lot more...intimate. If everyone was close before, they were definitely a lot closer now; people grabbing hold of their lovers and friends alike, committing to more fluid and alluring movements.  

You find out very quickly that Mista is no exception to this sudden change. No, in fact, he was made for it. He eases himself out of your grasp, his previous motions going down to his hips, arms moving to frame a perfect perimeter of space around himself. Shit, maybe he really is a professional. Your eyes flick down to those shorts again when he turns around, and you tug at your shirt collar when you’re face to face with an ass that sits a little too nicely. You’d be a moron to let him get away from you now.  

You toss your apprehension somewhere off to the side, sliding up behind the man and gently slipping your fingers into his beltloops. Mista doesn’t flinch not one bit, but he does glance over his shoulder with a small smirk, as if waiting to see what you’ll do next...as if he knows what he’s doing to you. You huff a small laugh at the thought, pulling him towards you until your chest meets his back, hips meet his ass, before you’re swaying in sync again.  

“Knew you had it in ya’.” Mista quips, reaching behind to grab one of your hands and place it against his waist.  

“You were waiting on..me?”  

“Duh? You’ve been gawking at me all night, no way you were gonna step-off from an opportunity like this.”  

You should be ashamed by his observation, but it’s hilarious in it’s own way. “Fair. But you’re intimidating..can’t blame me for being a little hesitant.”  

Mista lays his head back on your shoulder, only to show you the way he screws his face up at your comment. “Intimidating? What’s there to be scared of, I’m just livin' it up here.”  

You shake your head, “You’ve just got a certain..aura, I guess. Like you’re untouchable. It’s even more intense up close like this..”  

His expression fades into something more pleased. “You’ve got a funny way of complimenting people.”  

You trail your fingers against his side, shrugging lightly. “I could stop, if you’d like.”  

Mista grins, “Bastard, don’t you dare. You’re like, the only guy who’s stayed with me tonight. I’ll take whatever I can get.”  

The admission makes you frown a bit, “I remember you mentioning that earlier...what’s up with that?”  

He waves it off, facing forward again. “Hell if I know. Most only stuck around for a friendly interaction, or a little making out..”  

Listening to him, you feel a little guilty, knowing you too had approached him for the idea of getting a quick lay. Worse that you were doing it to get over your ex. But...it didn’t have to stay that way. You did have some genuine interest in the guy.  

“That’s awful.”  

“Eh, I’m already over it. I’ve got better company now..” Mista chuckles to himself, raising his finger to trace along your jaw. He hums as he watches you lean into it.  

God damn it. Maybe it was the alcohol that was making you so easy, or just your overall exhaustion from dancing but...you’re hooked on his every move. He begins to roll his body back against yours in time with the music, sending a jolt through your core.  

“Glad I could be of service, then.” You mumble, moving your hands down to his hips and giving them a small squeeze. “Feels like I just got lucky, though..” 

“Aye, what’s so wrong with that? You should be over the moon if Lady Luck is on your side!”  

“..Huh?” 

“I’m sayin’ you should be grateful for luck’s grace. She doesn’t show up for just anyone, so that means you must hold good fortune..”   

The tone he takes with you is genuine, and you blink a little at his adamance, trying to think of something to steer the conversation back in the right direction. “..Uh..yeah, you’re right. Not every day I get my hands on a guy ashot as you.”  

“Yeah?” Mista’s smile returns, a hint of mischief in it. “I’d bet not, perv.”  

If it was meant to be an insult, it has the opposite effect, a slight tingle spreading along your palms. “..Have I gotten too-”  

“Nah..” He cuts you off, bringing his hand to your cheek to turn your face to his. “..I don’t mind. Touch as much as you wanna.”  

Your jaw drops pathetically, some dormant urge suddenly awakening within you. Trying to save face, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together as you stare at him. “I am like..painfully into you.”  

He laughs, tilting his head to the side. “Are you? Can’t tell with the way your hands are trembling, like you’re scared or somethin’.”  

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but his mention of it brings you to a shameful awareness. Indeed, your fingers shake lightly against the flat of his hips, as if ignorant of the lust currently pooling in your brain.  

"Not scared..well, maybe a little. ‘Wanna make sure I’m not doing anything to startle you..” You mutter, having just enough sense to re-fasten your grip on him, one hand now making a pass over the warm leather of his belt.  

“What, you think I’m fragile? I can handle anything you throw my way....wait, does that make me sound like a skank?” He frowns. 

You snicker at his randomness. “..Kinda. But hey, nothing wrong with knowing your limits.”  

He seems consoled by your assertion, relaxing in your hold. “Yeah..exactly. Point is, I ain’t built like a brick wall for nothin’. I’m not a fan of the gentle crap..too boring..”  

“Mm..” You nod along as his words begin to slur, eyes turned up at him while your palm slides against his stomach, grazing over a thick patch of curly hair.  

His overall frame is indeed very solid, toned muscles covered by a decent layer of chub, especially around his chest and legs. Makes your mouth water a bit. Maybe it was the alcohol finally catching up to you, but you wanted nothing more than to grab and squeeze at every inch of him, watch your fingers sink in and see his face contort in a strange pleasure... 

“I’m not so well versed in being ‘rough’, but I can try...for you.” You whisper. 

Mista sighs, leaning himself more firmly against you. “Yeah? That’d make me feel realll special, baby. Hit me with the best that you’ve got, and maybe you’ll get even luckier tonight..”  

That pet name rolls so easily off his tongue..he should be ashamed. As should you, with your lopsided smile, excitement threatening to clog your arteries.  “..That a challenge I’m hearing?”  

Mista's teeth flash beneath a passing red light. “Damn straight it is.”  

Pride and competition have a funny way of eliminating one’s anxiety. “...Bet.”  

Your body whirrs with adrenaline, hand still wobbling as you raise it to his chin. Behind his shades, you can tell Mista has his eyes focused on you, his smirk nowhere near disappearing as he waits for you to make a move. Screw him for being so fine. You turn Mista’s face towards yours, guiding him forward until your lips brush against each other. He teases you, letting your bottom lips touch for a split second before pulling his head back a little, to which you give chase. You narrow your eyes, trying not to pout, but he only stares with a raised brow. Cleary he was trying to get a rise out of you...but you find his behavior more adorable than aggravating.  

Still, you give him what he wants; tugging his chin back towards you, this time leaving no room for him to jerk away. Your lips finally press together in a hurried clash, the kiss completely void of congeniality. Despite you initiating, Mista has control over every movement, his tongue being the first to slip it’s way past your teeth to probe and relish in the warmth of your mouth. He doesn’t stop grinding against you all the while, deliberately swaying and pushing his hips into your crotch, somehow still in tune with the music. You’d find time to be impressed about it later, as right now all you can think of is how fucked you are for this guy already.  

With his lips captured, you focus your hands back on his body, trailing your fingers along the edge of his shorts, silently reveling at how the fabric strains around his legs. Mista shifts when your knuckles sweep against the skin of his inner thigh, heaving a little sigh that vibrates against you. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to recognize that he’s sensitive there, so you abuse your newfound knowledge by grabbing a handful of his upper thigh, giving it a tight squeeze while you nip at his lip. You’re dually satisfied when Mista arches against you, a groan sounding at the back of his throat.  

He swallows hard, but hardly stops to smile before diving back in to kiss you harder, laying his hand on top of yours for encouragement. Your heart feels like it could jump out of your chest, all this incoming stimulation almost too much to handle. Mista appears to be in the same boat, his pulse so palpable throughout his entire body; you can even feel it on his tongue. You wrap your unoccupied arm around his midsection, hand slowly slipping underneath his crop top to gently caress the soft skin of his ribs, causing him to press further into you. He’s practically hot to the touch, torso dampened with lingering sweat.  

“So warm..” You break away to say, now kissing the shell of his ear.  

Mista’s chuckle is caught on what you think might’ve been a moan. “That’s what hours of dancing will do to ya..”  

“No kiddin’.” You huff.  

He tilts his head up willingly as you lean forward to kiss his jaw, your lips tingling against the stubble that he’s allowed to grow there. Finally finding your own rhythm, you begin trailing kisses down the side of his neck, leaving blotches of red against his bronze skin along with small bites here and there. Not enough to pierce him, but definitely enough to leave small indents. Your hands continue to roam, crossing his love handles and tracing over the tiger stripes painted on his arms with a quiet tone of desire and need. Mista seems to be losing hold of his cool demeanor if the way he grabs at his hat is any indicator, 

“You ain’t so bad at this...” He breathes out, chewing on a whine when your nails drag along his abdomen.  

“Yeah, and you’re easier to break than I thought you’d be.” You try to hold back your smile, but the way he’s reacting is giving you a bit of an ego boost.  

“Dunno what the hell you mean..I’ve still got this shit on lock.” He smirks down at you wearily.  

You hum and press a little closer against his back, moving your hand to grope the space just below his belt buckle where his shorts are swallowed by his thighs. Expectedly, Mistas hips buck up into your palm like they’resentient, giving away his true position in the matter. Admittedly, it makes your own pants feel a bit tighter.  

“On lock? Kinda seems like you’re just about ready to give it up..”  

He sucks his teeth, embarrassed by the way his body betrayed him. “I blame the alcohol.”

It isn’t long after that that Mista is leading you off the dance floor, the two of you mushing through the crowd hand in hand. The DJ resumes his usual set, bringing back that original erratic flow that had everyone on their last breaths earlier, which only makes it harder to find a good break in the sea of people. Just when you think you’ve made it out in one piece though, you hear a familiar voice shouting at you from afar few feet away. 

“We knew you could do ittt!”  

You freeze, whipping your head around to see Bruno waving his arms at you, grinning wide. Leone stands behind him, pumping his fist to the music, but also apparently in solidarity with Bruno’s statement. You want to shrink into oblivion to the point of no return. Mista barks out a laugh, pointing at the couple with a raised brow.  

“You know them?”  

“...Friends of mine.” You grumble. Tomorrow, you’d be sure to give the two a piece of your mind.  

Mista smiles. “They seem nice! Veryyy supportive.”  

You resist rolling your eyes, tugging his hand to get his feet moving again. “Yeah, something like that...cmon, I’ll catch up with them later.”  

“Eh? You sure? I can wait a little bit if you wanna talk to ‘em.”  

You glance over your shoulder one more time, regretting it as soon as you see Bruno making a lewd gesture with his hands. “Nope. Totally fine.”  

The farther away you get from the main room, the thinner the crowd gets, reduced to small friend groups spread out and in their own worlds. Mista seems to know the layout of the club like the back of his hand, hardly as confused as you are when navigating the two of you to the far side of the building. But there was one thing you knew for sure-- 

“Isn’t the washroom in the opposite direction..?”  

Mista scrunches his face as if offended by the comment. “You wanna fuck in the bathroom..? What kinda man do you take me for?”  

“..Shit, sorry..I mean-you don’t exactly strike me as the refined type..”  

He snickers, “Nobody ever told you about not judgin' a book by it’s cover?”  

Cliche, but true. “..My bad.”  

“Aye, no need to get all sober about it. It’s cool..plus, I’m taking us somewhere even better.” Mista wiggles his eyebrows playfully, bringing a small smile back to your face.  

After speaking briefly to what you assume is a security guard of some sort, Mista shoulders open a large metal door, quickly dragging you in behind him. He holds your hand tight, the other keeping his hat in place as he takes you up a staircase that you never knew existed. The space is bathed in blacklight, highlighting the colorful graffiti tactfully scribbled on the brick walls around you. Your footsteps echo loudly in time with a now muffled tune, indicating you two were the only ones back here. Mista takes you up two levels, perhaps for good measure, stopping on one of the landings and pushing you back against the wall with a certain force that has your head spinning.  

Even as he rears closer, your eyes are still darting around, trying to get a feel for where the hell you are.  

“Is this...the fucking fire escape?”  

Mista pins a hand against the wall beside your head, the other taking off his shutter glasses. “Sure is. Neat, right?”  

Your gaze lands on him again, that sultry smirk of his, and now...his big brown eyes. Finally being under a stable light source, you can really admire the other features of his face..like his thick eyebrows and the little divots inhis cheeks...Dimples. Too cute. Seems he is a pretty boy after all.  

The realization makes your nerves spike again, and you stumble over your words. “S..Seriously? You’d fuck in a stairwell, but not the bathroom? Sounds contradictory.”  

He hooks his thumb into his shorts, tilting his head. “What? Come on, this place is ten times more sanitary.”  

“.withering concrete and glowing paint. Sanitary...right.” You say with a smile.  

Mista sighs. “Gimmie a break! Beggers can’t be choosers, aight? You’re welcome to leave if it’s not to your standards.” 

You shake your head, reaching out to lay your hand against his side. “What, after all the work I put in to woo you? No chance.”  

“Didn’t think so. Besides..no one will see us here, so we can get up to whatever we wanna.” He asserts, smiling as his lips are drawn to your neck, kissing the skin reverently.  

You chew your lip, hand now set on his back to keep him close. “You sound pretty sure of that... D’you bring a lot of guys here?”  

“Why, you jealous?” Mista’s soft chuckle sends a ripple of electricity through you. His banter is so effortless...it should be the absolute last thing that turns you on, but alas.. 

“’Course not..just curious..” You mutter.  

“Uhuh..so you say..” Mista hums and drags his lips along the underside of your jaw, free hand pressing against your stomach. His fingers slink beneath your shirt, making you squirm. “I don’t come here that often so...consider yourself special.”  

“Wow..I’m touched.”  

Had your brain been anymore scrambled with intoxication, you might’ve let yourself believe him without question. Though, your sarcasm only seems to rouse him, his knee nudging your legs apart so that he can slot himself closer. He consumes your gasp with a sloppy kiss, kickstarting the beat of your heart once more as his tongue fights for the attention of your own, to which you have no desire to refuse. You slide your hands down and aroundhis back until they settle over his ass cheeks; the way they fill your palms, so plump and malleable, you feel obligated to give them a generous squeeze.  

“Mmh-” Mista grunts and bites down on your bottom lip, breaths stuttering.  

You smile with a sort of pride, licking your way back into his mouth. Mista is just as eager to match your fervor, the kiss devolving into chaos in mere seconds. He moans and jitters the more you continue to fondle him, growing surprisingly vocal at even the smallest addition of pressure. You aren’t doing much better, panting pathetically and trying to clutch onto every bit of him that you can, as if that will somehow save you from being drowned in his passion. In reaching for the back of his head, you accidentally knock off his hat, revealing curly, dark hair that’s cropped just above his ears. Despite it being a bit damp, you pass your fingers through it, grip it, hold him as close as possible.  

Mista breaks to catch his breath, “Jesus christ—where have you been all my life? ’Feels like you’re trying to devour me.”  

Your eyelids flutter, and all you can think to say is, “..I am pretty hungry.”  

“..Ah?”  

Mista has only a split second to register the words before you grab him by the shoulder, using the brief pause as leverage to flip your positions, his back now against the wall. His eyes widen considerably, but he doesn’t recoil or complain. No, he doesn’t struggle in the slightest when you lift up his crop-top the rest of the way, exposing his bare chest to the warm air that surrounds you. In fact, he kindly holds the fabric up for you, giving what you assume is permission.  

Thoughts of your ex are so far removed from your mind now, you don’t even have the urge to question your own morals, how wrong it is to be engaging with someone else in this manner after such a recent breakup. Instead, a slur of depraved images shoot through your mind as you stare down at his torso; how you want to slather your lips all over it, squeeze his tits, run your hands over the dispersing pattern of every grove of hair...because damn is there a lot of it. It was only a matter of how far he’ll let you go...  

“Fuck, you’re sexy.” You decide to start by just feeling his body, dragging your knuckles against the length of him while capturing his lips in another soft kiss.  

He chuckles tenaciously, “I’ve been told..”  

He relaxes into your touch, but perks up a little when your hand cups his pec—yet you’re the one to let out a small whimper, horrifyingly aroused by the feeling of the fat seeping through the gaps of your fingers. Mista isn’texempt by any means, making his own erotic sounds into your ear when your middle finger so much as grazes his nipple. It only takes a few passes before it’s practically reaching out for you, hardened and waiting. What kind of man would you be to deny it? Deny him?  

You lower your head and turn your eyes up to Mista, melting beneath his needy stare as you flatten your tongue against his nipple, giving it one slow lick after another, now alternating between both pecs. His laid-back facade crumbles, brows pinched together as he stares with his mouth wide open, letting whiny croaks tumble out. It’s like music to your ears, far better than anything the DJ could’ve spun.  

His back bows off the brick wall as your tongue swirls in tight circles, and he bites down on his finger as if that will keep him from making anymore noise. It does not.  

“Shit..didn’t even know I was into this..” Mista is unsure of where to put his other hand, clear by the way he awkwardly latches it onto your shoulder.  

You simply smile and close your mouth around him, beginning a gentle sucking at the flesh, causing him to stutter out a rough moans, head now thrown back. You fear you could watch him like this forever, the way his lips quiver, and his long lashes flutter against reddened cheeks. But you also know that there’s so much more that you want to get around to... You allow yourself the pleasure of kissing, biting, and grasping his tits one last time, before forcing yourself off. His skin is left shimmering wet and slightly swollen, but that seems to be the least of his concerns.  

“Why’d you stop?” He sighs heavily, almost glaring at you. “Bored already?”  

“Nowhere near it. It's just..my mouth’s more useful for other things..” You quirk your brow, setting your hands on his hips before slowly starting to lower yourself. 

Mista blinks, and barely lets your knee hit the ground before he’s shaking his head and laughing. “Woah, woah, aye, the hell are you doing?”  

You stop in your tracks, staring confusedly. “...Was gonna give you head..?”  

He smirks slyly, tapping your chin. “Uh-uh, that’s a cop out. Off your knees, big guy...want you to fuck me proper.”  

Your stomach flips upside down, and you swear your vision goes blurry. Of all the things you suspected would come out of his mouth, it wasn’t..that. You swallow hard, fingers trembling as you make to stand again, guided by his persistent touch on your jaw. Your speechlessness clearly entertains him, as that smile of his only spreads further. He coaxes you back into his space, slipping his arm around your neck and hooking his thigh around your hip. Your hand moves instinctively to hold it up, and you’re drawn in by his hypnotizing gaze until your mouths end up pressed together once more.  

Mista grinds against you, a slow drag of bulging fabric along your front that has your mind buzzing with lust. You aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to taking off your damn pants—you don’t want to lose these intoxicating sensations for even a millisecond. You slant your hips forward in time with his own, the two of you no longer kissing, but more so breathing into each other’s open mouths.  

“’M not gonna last if we keep on like this..” You whisper.  

Mista’s forehead falls to your shoulder, his voice low and shaky. “Yeah..just a little longer though..”  

There was no room left to discuss it. “Mh..okay..”  

You reach down for Mista’s other leg, hauling it up so that you’re holding him against the wall by his thighs. He whines against your neck, crossing his ankles around your back to keep himself securely suspended. The position allows your bodies to remain in constant contact, your barred erections feeding off the equally euphoric and discomforting friction. It’d be a miracle if you walked away from this without any chafing.  

The slow grind morphs into a desperate, staccato thrusting on your part, and Mista can do little more than cling to you, curling a fist into your shirt as his head is thrown back once more. His moans echo through the stairwell, mixing with yours to spiral throughout the space and completely overtake whatever already muffled background music that had been playing. You can feel your arms growing tired, knees a little weak, but nowhere in your mind do you plan on stopping.  

“Fuck-fuck yes-God, please..” Mista stammers, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “More- g’me more-”  

Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, eyes feebly locked onto his face as you whimper, humping him like a man starved for far too long. Seeing this, he pushes himself forward to kiss you yet again, returning that same level of greed in the flick of his tongue. It’s anything but controlled, and you soon feel a bit of drool running down your chin..but from whom, you’re not sure.  

“Think I’m gonna cum-” You blurt, bumping your teeth against his in the process. The realization had hit you way sooner than expected, and lord knows you’d never been good at trying to force a delay upon yourself.  

You expect him to protest, but Mista doesn’t even stop to speak, just nods as he anchors his arms further around your neck. And it wasn’t like you needed his permission...but somehow, having it made it so much hotter. As that flurry feeling begins setting your lower half on fire, your hips press hard into his, both of you jerking against each other until a final drag does you in. You should be embarrassed by the pitchy sound that escapes your throat as you come, but you’re too busy being buried by relief to care. Mista’s climax is soon to follow, his calves trembling against you, moans waning on your lips as his hips come to a grating halt.  

“Ugh..” A string of saliva connects your lips as he pulls back for air, warm breaths still littered with quiet whines.  

You close your eyes and sigh, leaning your head into the crux of his neck. The feeling of soiled jeans is something you hadn’t had the misfortune of experiencing since you were probably a teenager...needless to say, you didn’tmind it all that much at the moment.  

“..So much for fuckin’ you proper...” You murmur, mentally kicking yourself for getting so carried away.  

Mista laughs hoarsely, patting your back. “Hey, I ain’t mad...shit was amazing.”  

You hum, still feeling as though you gave him a pretty lackluster experience. If he claimed to have enjoyed it though, you weren’t going to argue...especially considering it was one of the best orgasms you’d had in a while. And that’s saying a lot.  

After taking a second to let your heart calm down, you carefully set Mista’s legs down on the floor again, crouching down to fix his shorts for him. Admittedly, you’re still thinking about what it would’ve been like to suck him off...in fact there were many things that you still wanted to do to him and for him. Unfortunately, you have too much dignity and are feeling way too exhausted to make any of this known. So, you give his inner thigh a little parting kiss before standing again, and adjusting your own clothes.  

Mista smiles shyly, scratching his cheek. “You’re a real interesting guy.” 

Dusting off your shirt, you raise a brow. “..Interesting?”  

He bends over to pick up his hat, a sinful view that should have you backtracking. “Can’t put my finger on it but...I think I like you.” Indeed, he says it as if it’s a question to himself. 

“Pretty straightforward way of putting it..” You try to play it cool, folding your arms against your chest.  

He shrugs. “No need to beat around the bush. But uh...Listen..” Mista approaches again, setting his hands on your waist with a small grin. “I can tell you’re pretty bummed at how things ended here so...maybe you can ‘make it up to me’ some other time?” 

If only he could see the rainbows and sunshine sprouting in your mind right now.  

You clear your throat. “..Yeah?”  

“Mhm.”  

“..Okay..I’d like that.”  

“Sweet.”  

Mista’s eyes trail over your face one last time, lingering as he digs something out from his pocket, and sticking it into the crease of your elbow. It might’ve been mysterious and cool if the crumpled paper didn’t immediatelyunravel and fall to the ground..but clearly Mista could care less as he’s already heading for the stairs, leaving you blinking stupidly after him.  

“See ‘ya round, cutie.” He throws up a hand, waving goodbye over his shoulder. 

You quickly reach down for the piece of paper, smoothing it out the rest of the way and holding it up to the light:  

‘xxx-xxx-xxxx  

~Guido Mista, available 25/7 Fri-Sat'  

“A fucking homemade business card..” You shake your head with a short laugh, shoving the scrap into your pocket.

Somehow, it seems very on brand for someone like him. Though, the state of the ‘card’ makes you think he had handed it out and taken it back several times...you now being the only one who actually got to keep it. You touch your fingers to your lips, glancing at the staircase where Mista’s footsteps have already stopped clacking, and the bracaelte still glowing on your rist..  

Seems you really do have good fortune after all.  

a/n: My Mista hunger is no where near satiated after this...there will be more in the future, mark my words...