Lucien rose from the table with the same unhurried grace he carried in every movement, slipping his coat over his shoulders as the late afternoon settled around him like a familiar cloak. Lunch had ended pleasantly enough, and Reed's laughter still lingered faintly in the air, soft and a touch of self-consciousness especially once Nicholas arrived.
Nicholas had been polite, warm even, offering his hand with the kind of confidence that suggested he knew exactly who Reed was to him. Lucien noted the ease between them, the unspoken tether, and he'd offered a courteous nod in return that was civil, respectful and detached.
When Nicholas led Reed out with a gentle touch at the small of his back, Lucien's gaze followed for a moment, he wasn't envious, he was simply observant cataloguing the quiet affection in the gesture, then he let it go.
Outside, the late-afternoon air met him with a coolness brushing against his skin like a quiet invitation to slip into the evening ahead. The sun was still lingering, low enough to cast long shadows but bright enough that the streetlights were only beginning to hum awake, their soft amber halos forming timid glows along the sidewalk.
Lucien stepped out of the restaurant with an easy, fluid stride, sliding his hands into the pockets of his tailored coat. His phone buzzed faintly again but he didn't so much as glance at it. He'd already set it to Do Not Disturb, turning the device face-down earlier, a silent declaration that for the rest of the day, the world could wait.
He inhaled slowly, letting the cool air settle in his lungs. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't rushing to a meeting, skipping sleep for deadlines, or letting responsibility dictate his pace. He had time, a rare, unclaimed stretch of hours and he intended to use it.
Lucien's gaze drifted down the street, where the warm light softened the edges of the city, making everything feel suspended,
A friend had been trying to drag him to that particular club for months the kind of place only whispered about, and never advertised. It was hidden but it didn't mean it was cheap; far from it, the club thrived in velvet luxury, an exclusive indulgence tucked behind an unmarked entrance only the well-connected even knew existed.
Inside, it was five-star excess disguised as secrecy. Lucien had always intended to go, but time was a demanding, possessive thing, and his schedule rarely loosened its grip. Tonight, though, he found himself with an unexpected sliver of freedom. The late afternoon stretched open before him dark, expensive and indulgent.
He walked with quiet purpose through the city's fading light, the streets hummed beneath him, alive in that decadent way only upscale districts could be polished glass, soft golden lighting, the muted growl of luxury cars passing by. Everything here was sin dressed in silk, vice wrapped in wealth.
A turn down a narrow, discreet side streetband and there it was. The entrance wasn't cheap: a matte-black door set into polished stone, accented by a single crimson light glowing above it like a whispered invitation. It was elegant and minimalist designed to be overlooked by anyone who didn't belong.
Lucien paused, smoothing a curl behind his ear, his expression calm and neutral. A faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth with anticipation, curiosity, and a darker hunger he rarely indulged.
He lifted his hand, pushed the door open and slipped inside with the smooth confidence of a man entering a world built precisely for people like him.
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Mikhail lounged in the shadowed corner of Chamber XII , glass of aged bourbon in hand, Chamber XII was an obscenely expensive club built for the kind of people who didn't blink at membership fees that cost more than a car. He'd been coming here since its grand opening, drawn to the anonymity it promised the elite. The ground floor passed for a regular upscale bar, but the second floor was another world entirely, restricted access, masked guests, and every fantasy available for the right price. Tonight, the club was lively for a Friday evening. Guests drifted across the room in an array of Dom/sub attire some in tailored harnesses, others in intricate lace that revealed more than it concealed.
Movement and murmurs blended together, the scent of expensive perfume and faint leather weaving into the rhythm of the space. Mikhail observed it all with his usual detached precision, taking in every detail without seeming to, noting the subtle shifts of posture, the confident sway of someone accustomed to being obeyed, the shy excitement of those testing boundaries. To him, it was as much a performance as the ballet he admired elsewhere a carefully choreographed display of power, desire, and control.
The second floor of Chamber XII thrummed with quiet intensity masked faces, whispered commands, leather and lace with the understated elegance of the space. Some guests revealed only glimpses of themselves; others unmasked, confident in their appearance, flaunting their indulgence like a private signature. Everything here was deliberate and controlled.
Then he saw him, the man entered with a presence that made the room shift without a word. He's tall, and impossibly composed dressed in a Dom outfit that was tailored, sleek, and perfectly unflashy, yet impossible to ignore. He moved with a subtle authority, and a faint edge in his stride, as if the air itself bent slightly to his will. Masculine strength softened by fluid elegance, his each step was measured and effortless, magnetic without asking.
He approached the bar and ordered a bourbon neat, settling onto a stool, he leaned back slightly, eyes casually scanning the room. His posture was impeccable, his attention both selective and unconsciously commanding.
Mikhail's gaze lingered longer than he meant it to. He didn't know the man's name, but he knew that kind of presence it was impossible to ignore. The stranger didn't raise his voice or demand attention; he simply was, and the room reshaped itself around him.
The chaotic mix of leather, lace, and whispered hunger suddenly felt… intentional. As if the club had just been waiting for him to walk in and bring everything into focus.
Lucien moved past the bar, bourbon in hand, and drifted toward the raised platform where a couple was putting on a show for the room. All around them, people were already lost in their own pleasure soft moans, gasps, bodies tangled in shadows and colored light. But Lucien carried himself like none of it touched him.
He leaned against the railing, watching the couple with slow, focused interest. There was heat in his gaze, it was controlled but strong enough that Mikhail felt it from across the room. It was the kind of quiet hunger that could burn if he ever chose to unleash it.
And something in Mikhail tightened at the sight. Then he noticed it the shift of Lucien's head, the slight turn of his mouth and the subtle pull of a smirk. Lucien wasn't just watching the couple, he knew someone was watching him and he didn't mind, if anything, he seemed to enjoy it.
Mikhail's pulse kicked up, his breath catching as he took in the man fully: the sharp jaw, the clean lines of his shoulders, the way every movement looked powerful.
The couple on the platform moaned louder, their bodies arching in delight, but they faded into background noise completely overshadowed by the stranger who didn't say a word and still managed to command more attention than the ones actually performing.
Every time Lucien shifted, every time his eyes flicked toward the crowd even if it wasn't directly at Mikhail it sent a warm rush through him. The tension between them felt thick enough to touch, like a wire stretched tight.
Mikhail couldn't look away, his presence alone was enough to make Mikhail's skin prickle and his mind wander places he usually kept locked away.
For the rest of the night, Mikhail stayed in his corner, his bourbon forgotten, watching the stranger who seemed to pull the entire room into orbit without trying. He didn't know the man's name and he didn't know where he came from. But the heat, the pull, the unspoken promise had already sunk deep.