What's love? Dan thinks as he downs another drink at the club, searching for his mark.
He stalks like a jaguar, his eyes roaming the noisy club. He is searching for someone, but for no one in particular. He is searching for his type: tall, light-skinned, shy, but with a presence.
He searches.
Dan is reasonably handsome, tall, just around 6 feet. His eyes are an amber-brown that almost look divine. He works out and has a modest frame, almost a perfect human — even he thinks so.
So he carries this air around him, one of command, of sheer hunger. His words, few and uncolored, seem to contain a spell-like power.
His friends would say he never failed to pick up a girl whenever they went out. They think it's because of his looks.
But Dan knows otherwise.
It's the process.
The almost animalistic way he looks for his next mark.
Tonight, he is at it again.
Then he spots her.
Across the room.
Black dress.
Trying to blend in and go unnoticed.
He stands almost immediately, like the movement had already been rehearsed in his head before now.
He moves through the crowd until he's standing in front of her table.
Now he can truly see her.
A face that looks unreal.
For the first time that night, Dan pauses.
She looks divine, but not like an angel. More like a devil. Or a nymph.
He lets his eyes wander for a second too long before finally speaking.
Smooth.
Natural.
Nothing out of the ordinary for him.
She says her name is Hannah.
They talk for a while. The noise in the club slowly fades into the background until it feels like there's only the two of them sitting there.
Dan watches carefully as she loosens up around him.
Every smile.
Every pause.
Every shift in her voice.
There are no real emotions in his words. It's just script, code programmed into him through repetition and experience.
Still, she responds to it.
People always do.
Eventually, he invites her somewhere else.
She glances toward her friends for a moment, hesitates slightly, then nods.
A few minutes later, she leaves with him.
The ride there is quiet.
Not awkward.
Just unnecessary.
Dan doesn't care much for the in-between. The beginning and the ending interest him more.
By the time they arrive at the room, the tension between them is already heavy.
His hands roam her body carefully, paying attention to every little reaction. He doesn't know her body yet, but he learns quickly.
A breath catches.
A slight shiver.
The smallest twitch beneath his fingertips.
He notices everything.
He teases her patiently, enjoying the effect he has on her. Eventually, he carries her to the bed and lays her down gently before undressing her piece by piece.
Almost methodical.
He kisses her forehead before trailing kisses lower, studying her reactions like he's solving a puzzle.
Every movement feels controlled.
Practiced.
Like muscle memory.
Hannah trembles beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention. Every time she thinks he'll give her what she wants, he slows down again, dragging the moment out.
Like he's playing her body like an instrument.
Moans.
Breathing.
Shaky whispers.
All blending together into background noise.
For a second, Dan loses himself in it too.
Not emotionally.
Just physically.
Then he regains control again.
Eventually, Hannah grabs him desperately, pulling him closer, no longer caring about composure or pride.
Dan obliges without hesitation.
The rhythm between them becomes rougher now, less controlled, more primal. Flesh against flesh, uneven breathing filling the room.
For a brief moment, it almost feels real.
Almost.
When it's finally over, silence settles over the room.
Hannah lies there trying to catch her breath while Dan stares blankly at the ceiling beside her.
No satisfaction.
No guilt.
Just emptiness.
Another club.
Another girl.
Another night.
And somehow, the question still remains.
What is love?