Warnings: little angst, maybe some OOC-ness (I'm shaky with Alaude so far), future lots of angst, and a lemon without detail

AN: I've had this done since November and didn't plan on publishing it till the entire fic was done, but I'm hoping some reviews on the early chapters will be more...motivating? I have it all plotted out and such. I know this is short, and chapters here will vary in length, I'm not trying to make them similar at all. Um, I know there's wacky formatting here, but it IS ON PURPOSE. If it's annoying or distracting, please tell me; I'm experimenting.

Soundtrack: Naked Angel - Armin van Buuren

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Prologue

"Enzo."

As always, the Cavallone boss's smile was like honey. Sweet, but not too much. Maybe a little inviting. He tilted his head in response, chocolate-coloured hair falling off of his forehead to be disturbed by the breeze—not that it made a difference. His hair was always a little ragged, as if he'd just woken up from a nap; his face had the same sleepy features, relaxed and a little distant. Long lashes framed expressive caramel eyes; his smile was slow and assured, the type that made everyone in the room feel as if it was meant especially for them.

"Alaude," he replied softly. His voice was even, low, almost a purr. Enough to make anyone trip over their own feet for him. "I'm glad you came." As if he thought he wouldn't.

He nodded slowly. His blonde hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away with a hand. His ring was cold on his forehead. "What did you need?"

-x-

It sent him reeling.

First it was the heat, then the pressure. Then it was the breath against his lip, hot and musky. The hand that combed through his hair as if cherishing something precious. It seemed like he was still for a long time before his lips yielded to the gentle prods, the soft touches, the hand that now brushed his cheek slowly. Savouring. He didn't know that his arms had risen till he felt a heartbeat beneath his fingers. One hand wound around to tangle in his hair, and he marveled at the softness of the curls.

It was a slow kiss. Like he would have imagined from this man, had he ever thought to do so.

They were strong arms that wrapped around his waist and pressed him against Enzo's chest. Strong and gentle. So puzzlingly gentle. Nimble fingers that began, in time, to tug at his coat, at his shirt, never impatient or urgent. That brushed across his chest softly as if memorizing every line. That traced circles on his shoulders, down his spine, caressed his hips.

Throbbing heat and whirling feelings. His fingers delving along the plains of Enzo's stomach, curious and captivated. That honey smile and a soft glimmer in caramel eyes as his hand was lifted to his smooth face, palm kissed. It sent a shiver down his spine, breath on the soft skin of his wrist. His voice was soft, almost a whisper when he murmured that man's name, just before their lips pressed together again, his breath stuck in his throat, fingertips tingling, eyes slowly sliding shut.

-x-

The lips on his neck made his knees weak. He heard that name again on his lips, barely there in an exhalation of surrender. He heard his own name murmured against his shoulder, soft as a caress. It was maddening and soothing at the same time, contradictory and enveloping. It was the hands along his skin, appreciating every detail like it was a work of art. It was the lips that followed them, attentive and warm. It was like something he'd never imagined, never thought to consider. It was teasing, prodding, pulling him to look for more. It was the slick feeling of his own perspiration at the small of his back, the heat of two bodies so close. It was—

No.
It wasn't.
It wasn't any of it.
His breath came quickly as Alaude sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead, eyes wide open in alarm as he looked around the room.
Dream.
It took too long for his heart to slow down. His hand was resting on his chest as if it would help. His nightshirt was tangled around him. Finally, the rhythm slowed, softened, and the upset gradually began to fade.
He'd had the dream for weeks.
It hadn't happened like that.

It was warm and sweet, the touch on his lips, slow and tantalizing. It blew everything else from his mind, pulling him into the sensation, until he gave way, lips moving with Enzo's, a hand reaching up to tentatively run through his thick curls. His coat had fallen to the carpet silently. It was so much temptation. So much beckoning.
Give in.
Let him have you.
Give in, every bit of you.
Into this.
No.
And he'd pushed him away. He was pale—he felt pale. He took his coat, pulled it on quickly, sparing an unreadable look over his shoulder, back at the devastated expression on Enzo's face, and walked out the door.

That was what had happened.

He took a last, slow breath and turned to look at the clock. The soft ticking was soothing, an imperturbable rhythm, untouched by fatigue or upset. Reliable so long as it was wound every Sunday.
Four o'clock.
With a shake of his head and a sharp sneer of annoyance he put the clock back on the nightstand with a soft thump and rolled over to go back to sleep.