Alec’s by the pool table, hustling every poor guy that thinks they can beat him, collecting fifty after fifty just for the hell of it. You’re nearby, watching him work. He’s in his element, leaning over the table, smirking. “You wanna play?”

You raise your brows. “Yeah, no thanks. I suck at pool.”

Alec tucks the cue under his arm, grabs his drink, and strolls over. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll teach you.”

“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He hands you a cue and steps in behind you. You bite back a grin and pretend to fumble with your grip. “Nah,” he murmurs, his voice right by your ear. “You’re holding it all wrong.” He places his hands on your sides, turning your hips just slightly. Then one hand slips down your arm, guiding your cue into place. His chest is practically against your back now. “Gotta bend a little more,” he murmurs, clearly enjoying this way more than he deserves.

“Oh,” you say breathy, angling yourself like he wants. “Like this?”

“Mhm.” His hand is still over yours, helping you aim. “Now just take it slow. Smooth stroke. Don’t rush it.” You intentionally overshoot the ball and miss, cue clicking awkwardly against the felt. Alec tries to keep a straight face, but you can feel him grinning behind you. “Wow. That was… tragic.”

“Told you I suck.”

“That’s alright. I like a project.” You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. He thinks he’s got you flustered, thinks he’s playing you, but he has no idea. He leans down again, hand creeping back to your waist. “One more shot, babe. We’ll get it.” You nod, cueing up like a good student, fully aware of his eyes on you, fully aware that you could clear this table if you wanted. But where’s the fun in that? Alec laughs, the sound low and smug. “Guess I better keep you close till you get it right, huh?”