We stepped out into the crisp night air, and the sudden shift in temperature hit me instantly. The damp chill from the earlier rain still hung in the alley, carrying the fresh, clean scent of wet asphalt mixed with lingering hints of garlic and woodsmoke from the diner's kitchen. It was past midnight now, and the city had fallen into a deep, quiet stillness. Overhead, the narrow strip of dark sky between the stone rooftops was clear, dusted with a few faint stars against the blackness.

Luca unchained the scooter and pulled off two helmets, handing mine to me with a faint, crooked smile. His cheeks were still slightly flushed, though whether from the hot pasta or the cold night air, I couldn't be entirely sure.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low in the quiet alley.

I nodded, strapping the helmet beneath my chin.

I climbed onto the passenger seat behind him, sliding forward until there was no space left between us. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my hands resting over his stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. When Luca kicked the engine to life, the low hum echoed softly off the brick walls. He leaned back slightly against me, his thumb briefly pressing into my thigh in that familiar, grounding check-in, before twisting the throttle.

We glided back out into the sleeping streets. With the post-match traffic long gone, the ride home was smooth and uninterrupted. The cool wind rushed past us, biting at my exposed neck, but against Luca's back, it was warm and calm. Every turn he took, I leaned with him naturally, our bodies moving as one fluid unit—just like on the pitch, but stripped of all the noise, the pressure, and the stadium lights.

I pressed my cheek lightly against the heavy leather of his jacket, watching the amber glow of the streetlamps sweep over us one by one. I didn't care how long the route took, as long as the wheels kept turning.

I tapped on his shoulder as we reached the turn toward my building, my stomach tightening in a sudden pang. I had calculated twenty-five minutes from OREGANIC to my place, and even though it had taken almost double that time, I realised I didn't mind it at all.

I hopped off the bike and stood in front of Luca, watching as he unbuckled his helmet and gave a low whistle. He said something, his face turned toward the building. I couldn't catch his words apart from 'street' and 'big.' I realised I wasn't watching his mouth to read his words at all. I was watching his lips because my own seemed to be tingling.

He turned back to look at me, and in that moment, I decided to kiss him. I lifted my face, rising slightly on my boots to plant a brief, soft kiss on his lips. His mouth was warm and still. He didn't seem to react at all as I leaned back. But my own stomach had gone completely weightless, which was odd considering that I wasn't in a free-falling lift.

"Thank you for everything," I said softly, the inside of my chest warm and fuzzy—a feeling I only ever seemed to have around Luca Moretti.

He was gazing quietly at me, his lips slightly parted. His eyes glassy under the starlight as his breath came out in short rasps.

"Goodnight," I said, nodding at him, forcing my concrete-like feet to move. However, before I could turn away, he reached out and caught my forearm.

"Wait—" he said as I turned to face him, his chest rising and falling in a shallow manner. When he spoke next, he enunciated each word more than usual.

"Come to my place."

"Hm?" I furrowed my eyebrows. It was late, and we both had recovery training tomorrow. If I went to his flat now, my projected sleep duration would drop well below my seven-hour threshold. I opened my mouth to remind him of that, but he was looking away, biting his lower lip so hard I was afraid he was going to hurt himself.

"Okay," I responded softly.

And so, I climbed back onto the scooter.

Neither of us said a word for the brief ten-minute ride to his district. My arms wrapped around his waist again, but the dynamic had shifted; the air felt heavier, charged with an invisible tension that hummed right alongside the scooter's engine. Luca's driving was noticeably sharper, his fingers gripping the handlebars tightly as he wove through the quiet residential streets leading toward his high-rise complex.

When he finally pulled into the underground car park, the sudden silence after he cut the engine was almost deafening. We took off our helmets in tandem. Luca didn't look directly at me as he set his helmet on the seat, but his fingers brushed against mine as he took my helmet from my hands, his touch lingering just a second too long.

He pointed one finger straight up, mouthing 'PENTHOUSE.'

I nodded in understanding and followed him into the cramped lift. I watched our reflections in the polished steel doors—Luca standing tall, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his jaw set, his dark eyes that seemed to have their own magnetic force fixed on the lift numbers as they lit up one by one. His eyes met mine for a split second in the reflection, which seemed to suck out all the air from the claustrophobic lift in a way that was thrilling, and not the expected scary.

The lift chimed, opening onto the eighth-floor hallway. He pointed at the stairwell and started leading me up to the top floor. He led the way to his door, unlocking it with a soft click of the electronic keypad, his fingers trembling—which made sense, since he had been riding glove-less for the past hour.

He stepped inside first, reaching back to hold the door open for me. I crossed the threshold into his penthouse, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind us and locking the quiet, cold world out. Inside, it was dark—illuminated only by the distant city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, casting soft, long shadows across the hardwood floor.

Luca tossed his keys onto the small entryway console and turned around to face me in the dim light, his presence filling the quiet entryway as he took a slow step closer. He walked over to the kitchen counter, tapping lightly on the dark stone surface. "Come here."

And so, I did.

I hopped up onto the counter, turning to face him. I couldn't make out his mouth too well because of the semi-darkness.

He placed his hands on either side of me, leaning close and mouthing slowly, "Open your legs for me."

I obeyed automatically, parting my legs so he could step between them. I could feel his hot breath on my face as he leaned in, touched his forehead to mine, and kissed me softly—a tender, sweet pressure. I placed one hand on his chest, feeling the hard metallic necklace he wore under his T-shirt before sliding my hand lower to feel his erratic heartbeat mirroring mine. I kissed him back before I could form any coherent thoughts. He groaned low in his throat before his mouth opened against mine, finding my tongue with a breathless hunger. He pulled me flush against his hard chest, his hands gripping my waist with bruising pressure as the kiss deepened, leaving me breathless and wanting more all at once.

He leaned back, breathing hard, his thumb circling my thigh in a silent ask. I could have said yes, out loud. I could have nodded my head. But movement and speech seemed too exhausting and limiting. So I gripped the lapel of his leather jacket and pulled him close, kissing him in response.

He gasped immediately, one of his hands left my waist and found the back of my head, his fingers entangling in my hair and pulling gently until I let out a muffled gasp against his mouth. My entire body seemed to be on fire, and this time, I had no logical reasoning for it other than the man in front of me.

He murmured something against my lips, his mouth planting fiery, open-mouthed kisses down my jaw and into the base of my throat. I threw my head back, my knees weak from the sudden barrage of sensations I wasn't used to. My legs closed around him, pulling him closer by his collar as I kissed him again—tasting him, devouring him, letting my screaming logic take a back seat as I surrendered to my own body.

His hands reached my waist again, sliding lower down my body to hold me pressed firmly up against him. He shifted his hips once, letting out a strangled moan and pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. The slight tingle sent shockwaves straight down to my toes.

I shifted so I was closer to him, which made him suddenly freeze. I leaned back to look at him, my heart seizing when I saw what looked like pain on his face. I squinted at him to see more clearly. "What is wrong?"

I was surprised by how hoarse, low, and unrefined my voice seemed to sound.

He bit his bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes dark like pools of ink. "What?" he gasped breathlessly.

I reached up to trace my fingertips over his swollen, glistening lips, my own feeling colder without them. "Are you okay?"

His shoulders were tensed, his chest heaving. The dark ink of the tattoo on his neck stood out starkly under his taut muscles.

I placed a hand on his tight jaw as he shook his head.

"I've never been better," he enunciated slowly, his voice trembling in direct contradiction to his words.

I moved again, and he let out a soft cry, grabbing my waist and planting me in place. I could feel his arousal through his trousers and wondered if that was what was causing him the discomfort.

"Stop," he let out a weak laugh. "Stop moving, you idiot."

"Oh."

"No... you're not an idiot, fuck—"

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and simply leaned in to kiss me again.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said softly, cupping my face with one hand.

"Okay," I nodded. "You are an excellent kisser," I added. "Even though I do not have a baseline for it, I would say objectively speaking it was rather-"

He huffed out a laugh, leaning in to kiss me again, his thumb tracing circles against my outer thigh just below my waist. He shifted backwards so I could see his face again, although my brain felt suddenly sluggish and slow and entirely too focused on how warm and pleasant his mouth had felt.

"I must...verify-" I added weakly, moving to kiss him even before I had planned that action in my head, which was not something I ever did. He responded immediately, his chest rumbling under the palm of my hand as his tongue found mine, sucking on it till I gasped, butterflies erupting in my stomach. I shifted so I had better access to him, and this time he broke the kiss with a grunt.

"Luca?"

"Shh," he whispered, his eyes shut, his forehead against mine as he took ragged breaths through his parted lips. Dark red patches had formed on his face, which I had earlier mistaken for an allergic reaction but was now sure it was something else. His eyes were half-lidded, glassy, and unfocussed as he cupped my face.

"You seem-" I began, furrowing my eyebrows as I studied the stiffness in his shoulders, his neck muscles pulled taut. I reached one hand out to try and soothe him, to feel any knots in his muscles. However, as I moved, he let out a hiss, grabbing my hands and pinning them against the counter with a bewildering urgency.

He leaned his forehead against my shoulder, his own trembling slightly. I could hear him cursing; I was almost sure. But they weren't really curses, as they landed more like whimpers. His hands came back to rest on either side of my thighs, twitching like he couldn't control them, before he choked out. "S-sorry."

"Hm?" I wasn't sure why he was apologising. For all intents and purposes, I had so far had a brilliant night.

"You should stay here," he added, caressing my thighs before he stepped away from me and immediately reached for the water bottle kept on the counter. "It's late. Need to be up early tomorrow."

I nodded again, watching the sharp line of his throat work as he took a long, fast pull from the bottle.

The quiet of the flat settled around us once more, thick and heavy after the sudden storm of heat. Luca offered me a clean grey t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his eyes avoiding mine just enough for me to sense the subtle retreat in his posture.

"Take the bathroom first," he murmured, pointing toward the hallway.

I brushed my teeth, washed the night's chill from my skin, and removed my hearing aids, laying them neatly on the marble counter. The world abruptly muted into a muffled, rhythmic pulse—just the quiet thrum of my own heartbeat and the faint vibration of the building around us.

When I stepped out, Luca took his turn.

I settled into his bed, pulling the duvet up to my chest. I breathed deeply, the pleasant smell of fresh laundry detergent, the citrus and cedar that I was now slowly establishing as his scent of choice. Beside the bed stood a large closet. Mounted on its door was a wide, floor-length mirror, currently inky black in the darkness of the room.

I settled into the soft pillows, staring at the bathroom door.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then nearly twenty. It was highly inconsistent with his established hygiene routine. Without my hearing aids, I couldn't tell if the shower was running, but I could see the narrow strip of warm light cutting beneath the bathroom door into the dark bedroom.

Finally, the light flickered off.

The bedroom door opened, and Luca walked back in, carrying a fresh wave of steam and the sharp, clean scent of soap. He moved quietly, sliding into the opposite side of the mattress. I noted the flush on his face was now gone, his shoulders not as tense as before.

"You look relaxed now."

He stiffened up instantly, the very flush I had mentioned creeping back so fast I did a double take. He let out a cough, spluttering and reaching for the water bottle kept on the bedside table.

"Are you okay?" I enquired, placing a hand on his forearm, which somehow seemed to make his coughing worse.

Finally, he nodded and placed the water bottle back onto the table. I settled back onto the mattress.

He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, keeping a deliberate, careful distance between us. I turned onto my side to face him in the shadow-draped dark. He didn't turn his head, but I knew he was aware of every breath I took.

Slowly, I reached across the gap dividing the mattress. I reached out until my hand found his resting on the sheets, and gently slid my smallest finger around his, entangling our pinkies together.

Luca's breath hitched slightly—I felt the subtle shift through the mattress. He didn't pull away. Instead, his pinky hooked back around mine, his thumb resting over my knuckle in a light, steady hold.

With that anchor keeping us tied together in the quiet dark, I let my eyes close, the exhaustion of the match and the night finally pulling me under.

TEEHEE IT HAPPENED 

WAS IT EVERYTHING YOU GUYS IMAGINED? TOO MUCH TOO LITTLE TOO PERFECT NOT PERFECT ENOUGH NOT HOT ENOUGH WAHHHHH Also, what do you guys think of sweetie patootie Elliot's forwardness:")