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There's something in him that wants to wax poetic about the way they move in the dim, pulsating light of the club. The predictable, explicit lyrics of the song vibrating through the room do nothing to impede the flames of desire that consume him as he watches them dance.
If only they could see the glances he was stealing of them now, they might truly be scandalized.
They're mercifully distracted from his indulgent voyeurism at the moment, as they've found a partner to dance with that seems to suit them— a pretty little woman, shorter than they are with bouncy curls that frame her face— and they've slotted themself up against her as they rock together to the beat.
Rafayel brings his drink to his lips, drinking to wet his parched throat as his eyes remained glued to their form. He's never been able to fully relax in places like this— no matter how harmless this club may be, there are always dangers lurking in the dark. Still, he can't even focus on being alert when his muse has leaned in closer to the woman, giggling something with a wide grin, grinding with her in a way that makes Rafayel want.
He tries to take another drink, only to realize he's out. Huffing, he gestures to the bartender for a refill.
"Please, Rafayel," They'd looked up at him with big, pleading eyes, "I just want to have a night to unwind— drink, dance, and..." A pause, as they averted their gaze, "Spend some time with you. Not as your bodyguard, but as a friend."
His chest tightened, even as he crossed his arms and let out a huff. "Why the sudden whim, and for a club of all things?"
They visibly deflated, though they did their best to hide their disappointment. "It's fine if you don't want to go. I can head out on my own, I just thought—"
"No."
They looked at him, confused by his direct refusal, but he just sighed and rolled his eyes. "I suppose it won't hurt to indulge you a bit." A smile wormed its way onto his lips without his permission, "You've been working hard, so if this is the reward you want, what the hell. Sure."
Warmth returned to their expression, and he felt it radiate through him in turn. So what if the club wasn't his regular cup of tea? He could put up with it to make them happy.
Or so he'd thought. He swirls his glass around after throwing it back once more, but he can't keep his eyes off of them. He aches to go out there with them, pry them off of that girl and pull them into his arms instead, but—
No. This is their night.
They throw their head back with a laugh—or a moan, and he doesn't know which would be worse for his heart right now. He doesn't have long to ponder it, either, as their eyes flicker over to meet his gaze and he promptly loses every train of thought. They watch him as they move their hips, as their lips part and they intertwine their fingers with that woman's, and Rafayel swallows hard enough that he feels his adam's apple bob with it.
The song transitions into another, something more mid-tempo with a degree less energy, and they take it as a chance to ease away from their dance partner and strut back in Rafayel's direction.
Cheeks flushed and forehead damp from exertion, they make for even more of a sight as they nudge easily into his space at the bar. They help themselves to a sip of his drink, only to make a face at the taste. He takes a moment to gather himself and repress all that that makes him feel, then leers over at them with a smug little grin.
"Have a good time out there?" He brushes his arm against theirs, and they turn to beam up at him.
"It's been so long since I've gotten to do anything like this! It's nice to get lost in the music."
He hums, lips twisting into a smirk, "Looks like you didn't need me here after all— not even to wingman for you." Rafayel does his best to keep any jealousy out of his voice, but his ears burn when they turn to frown at him.
"That's not true, Rafayel. I wouldn't—" They hesitate, fidgeting with the sleeve of their crop top, "I wouldn't feel as safe and free without you here.... and I wouldn't be able to ask you to dance with me if you didn't come along." They've looked away by the end of their spiel, cheeks painted a deeper red at their own proposition.
The desire sings through Rafayel's veins. Even at something so simple, he burns for them.
"What if I said no?" His voice is husky without his permission, lowered as he leans down into their space. They have half a second to look mortified before he takes hold of their chin and tilts their face up to look at him again. "What would you do to convince me to dance with you?"
Their eyes sharpen the second they sense the challenge in his tone, and they edge in closer, their thigh brushing against his. "I don't think you'd take much convincing, given the way you've watched me dance tonight. I'm not blind or stupid, Rafayel, I can see how much you want me."
He stops breathing for a second, heart hammering dangerously in his chest, until they catch what they've just said and lose their own bluster.
"How much you want to dance with me, I mean." They rush to clarify, and Rafayel has half a mind to correct them, to set them both free from this silly game they always play, tiptoeing around their obvious desire for one another and pretending their feelings are platonic and casual.
Instead, he reaches down to take them by the hand and tug them towards the dance floor. "Then you'd best make it worth my time. I don't dance with just anyone."
Once again, his challenge gets a rise out of them, and they grip his hand firmly as they redirect him to a little nook by the wall, close to where they'd been earlier.
It takes a second to acclimate himself and figure out what music is playing; he's honed in on them so intensely that nothing else registers. They loop their arms around his neck, pulling him against them as they begin to sway to the rhythm of the song.
He really could wax poetic about them now, but his brain feels like it's been wiped of all higher thinking. They are the moon and he is the tide, helpless but to follow wherever they pull him, and wholly grateful for their direction. When they grin up at him, his heart threatens to beat out of his chest.
They adjust their leg, stepping in even closer so that they straddle his thigh. When the bass picks up, reverberating through the building so deeply it's felt moreso than heard, they grind down against him. It was never a tasteful dance, never an offer even hinting at any innocence, and still he finds himself gobsmacked.
His hands shoot down to grip their hips, holding them firmly with the intent to put some space between them to save the last thread of his sanity. That intention never comes to fruition, though, as he tugs them more firmly against him instead. He guides their movements with his hands, falling into their rhythm and losing himself in the heat he feels against his thigh.
He would let them ride his thigh— right here, just like this. He would let them use him for their pleasure out in the middle of this club without an ounce of privacy or a second of hesitation. He is, as always, at their disposal.
They tug their bottom lip between their teeth at the sensation, and every cell in his body sings at their obvious pleasure. He rolls his hips in time with the music and feasts on the flush that paints from their cheeks to their ears, delights in the way their lips part on a sound he has no hope of hearing over the noise of the club.
They back up to the wall, tugging him with them, and when they slot their legs together this time, they press their thigh in between his own. Rafayel hasn't the wits about him not to fold immediately, so he crowds them against the wall and ruts against them with a deep moan.
Their hands play with the hair at the base of his neck, tickling and teasing the sensitive skin there, and they pull him down so they can speak against his ear. "Is this worth your while?" They sound as breathless as he feels, and it sends him spiraling further into whatever this fever dream is. His lips part on a response, but all that escapes him is a low whine, his hips jumping as he grinds his cock against their thigh.
They reach down with one hand to grip his chin, "Answer me, Rafayel." He swears he can feel how wet they've become through both of their pants, is sure that he can smell it on them.
"Yes," He gasps out. "Thank you." They hum, thumbing over his bottom lip. Their eyes burn against his skin with how heated their gaze is, and he swears that in all of the lifetimes he's had them, he's never ached to kiss them so deeply.
"Good boy," They breathe, lips brushing against his ear as they speak, "So good for me."
He breaks, unable to restrain himself any longer, and angles himself so he can kiss them senseless. They gasp at first, but find their footing quickly and turn the tables with ease as they slip their tongue between his lips to lick into his mouth.
Rafayel knows they're approaching some sort of event horizon— there is no coming back from this. His desires laid bare before them, his cock hard against their thigh as he moans against their lips. Their hands in his hair, their hips rutting against his thigh like they're going to take him up on his unspoken desires and use him right here in the club for all to see.
He whimpers at the thought, the broken sound spilling from his throat into their kiss. They pull back with a soft sound of their own, pupils blown wide as they look over his face. "I—" They begin to speak, but fail to find their words. Rafayel feels the way they tremble against him.
"Come home with me." It's a command, a plea, a prayer, all in one. It escapes him before he can think better of it, and he watches as they grapple with their own feelings on the matter. He wants to claim and possess them, he wants them to take him and never let him go. He knows they don't remember their history together, but in this life at least— they want him now, too.
Their fingers stroke over his jawline, and he turns to press his cheek against their palm. "Then take me home, Rafayel."
It takes some effort to untangle himself from them, takes so much out of him to extract himself from the warmth of their embrace, but he manages. He takes their hand and brings it up to his lips to kiss their knuckles, watches as their eyes follow the movement with potent satisfaction. "Gladly," he breathes the answer against their skin.
Rafayel intertwines their fingers after adjusting himself in his pants as subtly as he can— he might not have much pride left, but he has some— though he catches the cheeky grin on their face as he tugs them back towards the door.
He huffs, puffing out his cheeks. "You could have a bit less fun at my expense, y'know? This is borderline cruel." They only laugh, squeezing his hand as they carry on. "But you like it, Rafayel."
Maybe he dug himself into that hole.
Maybe he doesn't want out.