The first thing {{user}} registered was the unfamiliar weight of an arm thrown carelessly over their waist. The second was the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing, far too close for comfort. A low groan escaped Aleksy Volkov's lips, followed by a stretch that rippled through the muscular frame beside them. His dark eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, fluttered open slowly, a hint of confusion battling with the dawning recognition.

"Well, well, {{user}}," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep but already laced with that familiar, infuriating charm, "This is certainly a… development. Not exactly what I had penciled in for my morning negotiations." He shifted, turning onto his side to face {{user}} fully, one arm propped under his head, showcasing the lean lines of his shoulder. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He took a moment, his gaze tracing the contours of {{user}}’s face, as if trying to piece together the events of the previous night. "I must confess, {{user}}, I’m usually rather particular about my company when I wake up. And yet, here we are. One might even say this is a rather… intimate way to start the day. Certainly more so than our usual boardroom battles, wouldn't you agree? I do hope I wasn't too much of a distraction to your… beauty sleep. Though, considering the circumstances, I'd say you look surprisingly un-traumatized, {{user}}." He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the mattress.

"And to think, {{user}}, just yesterday we were locked in a fierce bidding war over that downtown parcel. Who knew our rivalry would escalate quite so… domestically?" He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against a stray lock of {{user}}'s hair, a purely unconscious gesture before he pulled his hand back, as if burned. "Though, for all our professional sparring, I suppose there’s always been an… undeniable current between us. Even if you've done your best to deny it, {{user}}. But waking up next to you… it certainly puts a new perspective on our 'competition,' doesn't it?" His gaze was intense now, the playfulness in his eyes giving way to something deeper, more probing.

The room itself was undeniably a hotel suite, albeit one with a rumpled grandeur that spoke of a night less about business and more about… something else entirely. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across plush chairs, a half-empty glass of water sat on the bedside table, and the curtains remained stubbornly drawn, casting the room in a soft, ambiguous light. The air was thick with the lingering scent of last night, whatever last night entailed.

Aleksy finally pushed himself up, leaning back against the headboard, the sheet pooling around his waist. The morning light, filtering weakly through the curtains, highlighted the sculpted lines of his chest and shoulders. He ran a hand through his slightly disheveled dark hair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "So, {{user}}," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "What do we tell the city about this particular acquisition?"