"What was that all about?" I ask irritably, glancing after Alec. Gracefully he moves across the room and if I didn't know better, you'd think he was moving his hips provocatively on purpose. But why would he do that? He's considered straight. Flirting here in front of the people of his past with a man he fucked out of his mind years ago is guaranteed not what he wants. Yet he doesn't move that way. Quite the opposite. His backside is just as beautiful as the rest of him. I have to suppress an excited sigh. The images in my mind, they are not faded and in an antique brownish-tinted state. They are colorful and extremely real. Alec on the large bed in my hotel room, belly-down with his head resting on his arms and an expression transfigured with lust as my lips explored every inch of his athletic body.

"Alec doesn't talk much. It was like that in school," Jonathan explained, shrugging his shoulders. I remember that differently. Three years ago, he talked quite a bit. Dirty, insinuating words, but he did talk. I can't explain his behavior right now. Even if we are not going to reveal our little secret here in front of everyone, he could at least have said hello. It hurts that he ignores me so easily.
"Would you like another drink?", I ask Jonathan.
"No, thanks. Not for now," he replies, once again looking around searchingly. What or who is he looking for this time? It's a mystery to me. His whole behavior since our conversation at home and 'him' in general are a mystery to me. When did our relationship change like this?

"Okay, so it's just me," I say, once again getting no response. Jonathan has been extremely nervous the whole time and the longer we are here, the more my feeling that I am unwanted intensifies.
"Jonah, is everything okay?", I ask and receive a confused look.
"Of course," comes his prompt reply, and the fake smile I was still wearing in the cab now graces his face.
"Good," I counter.
"Good," he replies. Rarely has our communication been so monosyllabic and asleep.
"I'm just going to get another beer. Be right back," I say and Jonathan hums in agreement. His hand leaves mine and I feel strangely relieved. The oppressive emotional chaos in my chest that has been raging inside me since I recognized Alec is focused on the man in the kitchen. I know only one goal and I don't care in which direction Jonathan is heading.

"We'll find each other," he says half-heartedly, addressing me. The kiss on my cheek makes me shiver. Not pleasantly comforting and with my heart racing until the next day. Unpleasant, cold and extremely out of place. Without another word, I turn away and walk purposefully toward the sliding glass door. My friend is already halfway to a guy with blond curls and a sugary smile. I don't know him, but judging by the grin on the man's face, my friend does. Indecisive, I stop in front of the door and catch a glimpse of Alec standing in front of the small kitchen table with his head down and his arms supporting him. I would like to know what is going on in his pretty head. That his thoughts never stand still and his heart cries out for something it can never have is only for me to guess.

After our union in that dark London night, with a heart full of pain and the mind far away from us, Alec did not leave me alone. Why he did so I do not know. He didn't leave, snuggled into the warming blanket after an extensive shower which we thoroughly enjoyed, and pulled me into his arms without a word. That was something I had not expected at all. After an orgasm full of soaked pleasure and desire, I prepared myself for the painful fall and shame. But nothing of the sort happened.

Protectively, Alec nestled his body against my back and held my legs tightly in a clasping grip. Sliding an arm under my head, Alec's left hand rested on my chest and traced small circles. Each touch of his fingertips on my skin sent electrifying sparks through my body. His warm skin enveloped me and the fingers of his right hand intertwined with mine. Calmly they rested on my hip, no annoying piece of cloth preventing the unrestricted effect of two bodies lying close together. Security and affection settled over us like a protective blanket and I sighed as my eyelids grew heavier and I slowly drifted off into well-deserved sleep. The sex with Alec was more than satisfying. It had been a long time since I had felt so safe and complete. I was never a man of only one preference. If my partner wanted it, then I was quite willing to satisfy him as well. But for nothing in the world would I have let myself miss feeling Alec's hot throbbing cock inside me.

"I can stay a little longer. But I have to get up early," he said into the darkness of the night. I hummed in agreement and didn't worry about it. He was a horny adventure for a night and didn't owe me an account. At least that's what I told myself. But at his subsequent words, I widened my eyes in confusion and scolded myself a sex-crazed idiot.
"My wife is not going to be thrilled when she wakes up to an empty bed." Wife. My. Bed. Wife. Wife. Wife. He. was. married. Woman. To a woman. Panic-stricken, I tried to free myself from his clinging grip and faltered briefly at his resistance. Tightly his arms wrapped around my torso and the folded over leg pushed me determinately into the soft mattress. Alec put his lips to my ear and even though he just told me one of the worst things for a gay man to say, my body reacted differently than my head. Hot breath hit the shell of my ear and I felt his lips glide gossamer softly over my willing flesh.

"Please," he breathed and all the hairs on my body straightened to salute for a second round. The excited drumming of Alec's heart pressed painfully against my back. From the opposite side, my heart tried to match his beat. I breathed in and out frantically while Alec spread gentle kisses down my neck. This gesture was so intimate and tender. His words hurt all the more.
"I'm sorry Magnus. I couldn't tell you the truth. Not before I let you..."
"Shut up," I interrupted him angrily, trying to free myself from his grip one more time. I succeeded, Alec loosened his grip and sat up. I slid off him a bit. The thin fabric slid smoothly off his hips, exposing the center of his lust. Well-defined muscles played around the taut skin, how I would have loved to follow the path of the dark line with my fingertips. The telltale tingle I had already felt in the pub was back. With each passing second, pain ate through my neural pathways, replacing the gentle pulsing in my veins.

"Why are you doing this?", I asked, but Alec remained silent. My gaze on his hips, the pelvic bones stood out slightly. Mentally, I cursed England and the lousy London weather, which directed me to a pub instead of Hyde Park. As well as the bartender and the palate-flattering amber liquid, which wetted my throat tingling and cooling. It loosened my tongue and also the restraint towards the strange man. Of course, I was aware that someone was waiting for me thousands of miles across the ocean. But I also knew that I wanted Gideon.

His voice resonated with a powerful timbre and the deep bass, sending pulsating pulses through my body. Midnight blue eyes competed with millions and millions of stars sparkling in his irises. I felt the excitement flow through my body like a whirlpool. Every fiber of my body yearned for the touch of the man from the pub. I didn't know who or what he was. Nor was it necessary to know his resume. A one-night stand is what it is. A sexual adventure for one night. Today, three years later, I look at that man's back and know I was lying to myself. He wasn't just a quick hot number, a fuck because I was frustrated and horny. He was and is so much more.

One last glance at Jonathan and my hand touches the smooth glass of the sliding door. My hands tremble slightly and I exhale noisily as the soft sound of the door opening announces my arrival. Alec is still standing there with his hands propped on the tabletop, his head slightly lowered, and I stand unasked at his left side. I look at his beautiful face unconcernedly. The eyes are closed, thick black eyelashes rest on light skin. A straight nose joins the portrait with sensual lips and a masculine chin. He is still as handsome as he was three years ago, and has changed little. My gaze continues to wander over the soft skin on his neck, throbbing hot blood pulsing in those veins my fingertips have already felt. Even now I see it flowing through his body and I wish nothing more than to let my lips taste this tingling-pulsating elevation.

Every inch of skin tightens tightly around muscles and tendons, forming the likeness of a Roman athlete. Long slender fingers complete the perfect image. His butt is tucked into a teasingly tight pair of black jeans, and in my imagination I've long since used my teeth to free Alec from the troublesome piece of fabric.
"Why are you staring at me?" he interrupts my exploration of his body. Slightly caught off guard, I nimbly consider several excuses and reluctantly take my eyes off his cute butt. Before I can say anything back, he grabs my wrist and turns to face me. Angrily, he glares at me and an uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. I ask myself the same question.
"I could ask you that. But wait. Officially, we don't know each other," I counter, earning a snide snort.

"Exactly. We don't know each other."
"Are you going to tell Jonah?"
"Are you crazy?" thunders Alec, and I flinch slightly. The grip on my wrist tightens and flickering anger mixes with the angry expression.
"You better not be talking about this. Do we have an understanding? We don't know each other. Let's leave it at that. You don't talk to anyone about this. I warn you. If I hear you talking about me and my sexuality, God help you. I'm married. You made a promise. Don't forget that."

The man who pleasured me to the hilt in a small London hotel room, had my cock deep in his throat and moaned lustily as his dripping glans breached my ring of muscle, is not the man standing before me now. Alec Lightwood is a gay man married to a woman he does not love. And why? Because the politics of football and the money it generates are guided by old obdurate and, above all, homophobic ideals. Sport is rarely fair. Everyone wants to be the best. Faster, higher, further, more successful, more popular with the fans and richer. For success they sell their soul. But the heart demands what the heart desires. And my heart desires it. Alec Lightwood.