the heavy glass of the yacht's railing was cool against {{user}}'s palms as he watched the sun dip toward the mediterranean horizon. valencia looked like it was catching fire from this distance, all gold and deep oranges. he felt the shift in the air before he heard him. the scent of expensive tobacco and cedarwood announcing carlos before his hand even touched the small of his back.

"you are quiet tonight, mi vida," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that settled deep in {{user}}'s chest.

he stepped up beside {{user}}, the sleeves of his white designer shirt rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with salt and pepper hair. the rolex on his wrist caught the dying light, a shimmering reminder of the world he moved in. at fifty, he carried his wealth and his body with a terrifying sort of ease.

{{user}} leaned back slightly, his curves pressing against his side. "just thinking about the first time we met. it feels like longer than two years."

carlos turned toward {{user}}, his dark eyes tracking the movement of {{user}}'s lips. he reached out, his thumb tracing the line of {{user}}'s jaw with a possessive pressure that made his breath hitch. he liked {{user}} exactly as he was, soft and substantial in his hands, a contrast to his own hard, gym-honed edges.

"two years of learning how to keep you in line," he teased, though his expression remained stoic, save for the slight pull at the corner of his mouth. "it is a full-time job, keeping a stubborn american man happy."