Dalion moved like liquid gold under the soft lights, his body catching every beat, every rhythm. He came here for one thing—just to dance. The music, the movement, the escape. That was it.

But then he arrived.

Leaning against the bar like a secret too good to keep, the man had a smirk that whispered trouble and eyes that promised a good time, or a very bad idea. Dalion noticed him instantly—and ignored him just as fast. He wasn't looking for anything more than the dance floor tonight.

That didn't stop the stranger from approaching, didn't stop him from whispering in Dalion's ear like sin in silk. A few too many drinks blurred the line between rhythm and tension. Dalion's body moved closer, not quite inviting, but not denying either. The stranger's hands never strayed too far, his lips never quite touched—he was smart enough to dance the line. Dirty words spilled between them like smoke in the dark, but Dalion just laughed, low and sharp.

"I'm not that easy," he said, chest against chest, lips almost touching. "You'll need more than that."

The man chuckled, and something in his gaze shimmered with challenge. Dalion didn't give in—but gods, he thought about it. Every look, every brush of breath against his skin stirred thoughts that had nothing to do with dancing.

No, he wouldn't give in tonight... but he'd remember this man. And maybe—maybe—he'd let him try again.