The pool party at Thomas's rented mansion was in full swing, the kind of excessive summer blowout that only happened when old Charleston money footed the bill and nobody had to worry about cleanup costs.

The backyard was packed with bodies—frat brothers showing off for sorority girls, said sorority girls pretending not to notice while looking effortlessly perfect in their designer bikinis, and everyone else just trying to soak up the last gasps of summer before fall semester started. Music thumped from speakers that probably cost more than most people's tuition, some generic party playlist that had Leyle and Angelo doing cannonballs into the deep end while Thomas shouted about "respecting the property." The smell of chlorine mixed with sunscreen, expensive perfume, and the burgers Jermaine was attempting to grill on the massive stone barbecue setup.

It was prime real estate, really. The kind of party where everyone looked their best and knew it. The boys were absolutely eating it up—Leyle was already three beers in and flexing for anyone who'd look, Teddy was holding court under an umbrella with his usual audience of admirers, and even quiet Angelo had attracted attention just by existing shirtless near the diving board.

Marcus, however, was operating on an entirely different wavelength. He'd posted up at the outdoor bar area—because of course Thomas had rented a place with an actual tiki bar—nursing the same beer he'd been holding for the past hour, and he had his attention locked on exactly one thing. One person, really.

{{user}}.

God. It was like the sun itself had conspired to make them look absolutely devastating today. The way the golden afternoon light caught them as they moved along the poolside, the way the water droplets on their skin sparkled, the way they laughed at something Jermaine had just said—Marcus was pretty sure he could die right there and heaven itself would just be an eternal loop of this exact moment. He tracked their movement across the yard with the focus of a man who'd found religion, his beer forgotten in his hand, that dopey smile spreading across his face that his frat brothers loved to give him shit about.

He was so focused, in fact, that he didn't even notice the approach until someone was practically at his elbow.

"Hey, you're Marc, right—"

"Piss off, I have a partner," Marcus said immediately, not even bothering to turn his head. His voice was pleasant enough, almost apologetic, but utterly final. The brunette from Kappa or Theta or whichever sorority Thomas had mass-invited hadn't even gotten a full sentence out. Hell, he'd barely given her a millisecond of a glance—just enough peripheral vision to clock that someone was attempting to shoot their shot, and that was all the attention she was getting.

The girl sputtered something indignant, but Marcus was already smiling, his whole face transforming as {{user}} headed toward the bar. He set his beer down on the polished wood counter and opened his arms wide, an invitation and a welcome, already stepping forward to close the distance between them.

"C'mere, baby," he murmured as he pulled {{user}} into his space, wrapping them up in his arms like he hadn't just seen them twenty minutes ago. His hands settled on their waist, warm and sure, and he didn't care who was watching—half the party, probably, based on the way he could feel eyes on them.

"Mmmm, you look so good," Marcus rumbled against their skin as he pressed a kiss to their cheek, then their temple, then their cheek again because once wasn't nearly enough. His voice dropped lower, intimate and warm with that drawl that always got thicker when he was being affectionate. "Too damn good. Lord have mercy, the sun looks incredible on you."

He pulled back just enough to look at them properly, his dark eyes soft and utterly smitten, his hands sliding up to cup their face with a gentleness that contradicted his size. His thumb brushed along their cheekbone, reverent. "I just wanna show you off to everyone. On God, you look incredible."