For minutes I stand in front of the house, behind whose red-painted door is the billiard hall and our meeting place. From the outside it is quite inconspicuous, the windows are not illuminated, the facade is slightly pitted. In one place or another, the eggshell-colored clinker bricks have a crack. The ravages of time have clearly cut their claws into the masonry and yet, it fits wonderfully into the neighborhood and is so typical New York. The fire escape looks sturdy and makes a great escape if the guy proves to be a misstep in the morning. People live behind the windows, anonymous and lonely, with a gaggle of screaming children or twenty cats. Nothing reveals the backgrounds, black frames and yellowed curtains. A new coat of paint couldn't hurt, friendly yellow or inviting light blue? Soothing green would be most welcome right now.
My hands are sweaty and it's clearly not due to the prevailing Sahara-like ambient temperature. I'm more nervous than I've been in a long time. Again and again I wipe my hands on the rough fabric of my jeans and look at the red letters above the windows and the door. Dominantly stretching across the width of the house, they are the clue to what lies behind these walls. 'Baltic Billiards & Bar'
"Are you going to stand there staring at more holes in the wall?" a deep dark voice snaps me out of my stupor. I look into dark eyes, brown curls curling on top of my head, the sides shaved military short, the fair skin against it, a very striking contrast.
"No," I reply, and the strange man smiles kindly at me. His aura exudes strength and first impressions seem to be deceiving. I have a hard time judging his age. He looks younger, but his clever eyes betray his true age. Mid-forties, at least.
"You're Magnus, aren't you?" he asks, and I draw my eyebrows together skeptically.
"That depends," I say curtly.
"On what?" His giggling chuckle is mildly infectious, and I do need a little more self-control not to go for it. Little dimples form, supporting his handsome face.
"Whether you want to make small talk or drag me off to the nearest dark alley to either use or smash my body," I reply brashly. The man looks confused and I can't blame him. He certainly doesn't get talked to like this every day.
"Um... I was actually going to invite you in. If you're Magnus. Alec is already waiting for you," he says, already turning to leave.
"Wait. Sorry. I guess it was a bit of a misunderstanding and I'm slightly out of my depth... this neighborhood, shit.... I haven't been here in a while and it was for a reason," I apologize.
"Okay. I'm Thomas by the way," he says, reaching out to me and the moment our hands touch I know he's one of the good guys. His grip is firm and for the first time I look at him more closely, his slim build and casual sporty clothes. An average guy and not someone who would catch my attention. Not like Alec, whose presence looms over everything.
"How do you two know each other?", I ask Thomas.
"We met through my husband."
"You're gay?", I ask, and I could slap myself for it. Of course he is, or bi. Otherwise, he'd hardly be talking about his husband.
"Sure. Sorry," I try to salvage the awkward situation. Thomas laughs heartily and this exuberance is contagious.
"No big deal. My husband was a kit attendant at Alec's first professional club for many years. They got along well and Christian took him under his wing. I'm sure Alec will tell you about those days. You have to know he's not alone, but he also has a hard time breaking through the old structures," Thomas explains to me, giving me a little insight into what to expect.
After a last deep breath and encouragement to my nervous self, I enter the pool hall behind Thomas. It's different than I expected, even here appearances are deceptive and immediately my eyes search for Alec. He is sitting in the back corner at a round table, a bottle of wine and two glasses on the wooden platter join an arrangement of various culinary delights. Alec's gaze is fixed on the table, his right thumb stroking the delicate skin between thumb and forefinger in a steady beat. A characteristic feature of nervousness. I remember him paying this attention to the same part of his hand in London. Thomas pays no attention to me, walks unerringly behind the bar and begins polishing glasses and unobtrusively observing the scenery. I stand in the middle of the bar, surrounded by pool tables in dark polished wood and shiny brass feet. The green of the tables is illuminated by lights hanging from the ceilings and the cues lie invitingly in front of me.
I know nothing about billiards. Neither do I know anything about soccer, and sports in general are not my world at all. That I fall in love with a worldwide known top athlete is the cliché par excellence. The universe apparently found it very entertaining. I'm sure it has truly gotten its money's worth so far. If the universe is into drama and kitsch, it has already seen a great show.The pool hall exudes an inviting cozy atmosphere. Tables against the outside walls, upholstered seating areas covered in velvety fir-green fabric, invite you to lose yourself in conversation, and the lamps on the walls provide soft light to match. The dark wood of the counter shines in the soft light of the illumination and the rust-brown carpet muffles my steps, which carry me to Alec.
"Alexander," I breathe, simply not trusting my voice to muster the necessary strength. Jerkily he lifts his gaze and his blue irises sparkle, joy settles on his face and the radiance covers everything. My breath catches and I try to ignore the excited pulsing in my veins. The heart in my chest, which presses noticeably hard against my erected barricade, all the way up to my throat. He looks good, a little short on sleep, slightly reddened eyes and a soft touch of pallor. The light here does a lot to accentuate his godlike appearance.
Today, he's not wearing a statement shirt. A light linen shirt in dark blue and, matching the color, a pair of jeans, just a few shades darker than the shirt. My eyes wander over his body, registering the pushed-up sleeves that expose sinewy forearms and the beginnings of soft fuzz on his chest. My fingertips tingle at the sight and memory of the feel of Alec and his skin. My resolution to face Alec with distance and detachment runs into the nearest pool table, laughing out loud. Should he touch me even gauzily with his little finger, I can't guarantee anything.
"Hi," he replies.
"I'm glad you came. I wasn't expecting you anymore," he admits. Embarrassed, I rub my forearms. A stupid habit on my part. Alec stands up, circles the small table, and puts his warm hands to my cheeks. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine a 'forever'. The tip of his nose rubs gently against mine and tingles all over and inside my body. This little innocent gesture blows my mind. I feel his breath on my quivering lips and Alec lets me taste him. Fresh mint and a hint of longing. Gently his lips glide over mine, not demanding and driven by impatience and haste. He signals me that we have time and can simply enjoy this moment undisturbed.
As if of their own accord, my hands slide to Alec's hips, the rough fabric of his jeans sending tingles of excitement through my veins as I think of what lies beneath. It's one of the things Alec has surprised me with to no end. But like many a revelation, this one is one of the good ones. We kiss and breathe, his fingertips caressing my skin. With gentle little movements across my cheek and down my chin over the sensitive spot behind my ear. Light pressure and Alec's hot tongue on my lips elicit a soft moan. I need to feel him, close up, stop the stream of thoughts in my head and surrender to the moment. Alec's tongue tip nudges against mine and his warm body presses closer with each passing second.
Every kiss is a memory, every touch feels familiar. Not like long forgotten. How could I? My head is packed with moments, one night that changed so much and left a lasting mark on my life. Alec's soft skin under his shirt, I know the feeling. When my fingertips caress through the dark fuzz on his chest, circling the nipples, and the erection signals to me how much he likes it. That's how it was then, that's how it was yesterday, and that's how it is now. My hands find their way under the light fabric of his shirt, feeling shapely abs and the small navel, lingering there as Alec intensifies the play of our tongues. A new memory, the sensitive navel and my tongue. Heavenly sweetness exploded on my tongue and Alec sank into his lust and my play. Gentle teasing and again Alec rewards me with his sinful lips. He takes it all, literally devours me and I let it happen all too gladly. I feel him, so close and the excitement on his skin. His warmth on my body, it is healing and gives strength.
"That's really hot," I hear a deep raspy voice and I break away from Alec's lips so quickly that a gasp escapes his throat. He holds me tightly and even tighter as I try to pull away from his grip. I'm confused and terrified. Pure fear creeps up my spine, startled shivers, flashes of cold twitch through my veins and abruptly everything is freezing. My hands and skin, worry eats deep through my trembling body. Panicked, I close my eyes and watch Alec leave the pool hall in a hurry. With tears and a silent ending. That's it, it's over before we even had a chance to talk. He's not going to let a careless moment destroy his future a second time. Not after what happened last night.
But Alec's reaction doesn't match the images in my head. Strong arms hug me close to his body, no trembling, no frantic breathing, no tears. Instead, I feel breathy kisses and vibrating laughter that threatens to turn my tense muscles into shreds. What the hell is going on here? Alec smiles softly, the corners of his mouth slightly raised, and the small circles on my lower back radiate gentleness and relaxation. He feels safe and I don't know what to make of it. I'm not there yet and my mind is still trying to put together the pieces of the giant puzzle. After the escalation with Jonathan, he couldn't leave fast enough and now, his reaction is to know me firmly in place. My gaze shifts down from his smiling face and as if mesmerized, I stare at the open part of his shirt. A piece of skin, pale and delicate, the dark hair on his chest, downy. One button is a different color and lost in thought I stroke the wooden panel, brown instead of dark blue. I wonder if his wife is to blame.
"Relax. It's all good," he says, turning his attention to the newcomer.
"Hi Queen," the unfamiliar man says. Alec wraps one arm around my waist, the other lands in a hug, and with eyes widened in surprise, I watch as Alec Lightwood, internationally celebrated soccer star and homosexual man in hiding, kisses a strange man.
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