The dive bar on 7th smelled like stale beer, old wood, and secrets. 

Dim red neon buzzed above the entrance, casting a bloody glow over the cracked sidewalk. Alex parked two blocks away, hood of his black jacket pulled low, heart hammering like he was about to commit a crime. 

In a way, he was. It was 9:12 p.m. when he pushed through the heavy door. 

The place was half-empty on a Sunday night— a few regulars nursing whiskey at the scarred bar, a couple arguing quietly in the corner. 

Low blues played from hidden speakers, slow and aching. No one looked up. Perfect. Dami was already there, tucked into the back booth like he belonged to the shadows. 

Black hoodie, dark jeans, the brim of a worn baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. 

A single beer bottle sat in front of him, untouched. 

When Alex slid into the seat opposite, Dami lifted his head just enough for their eyes to meet. 

Hazel burned into brown, and the air between them ignited instantly.

“You came,” Dami said, voice low enough to stay between them.

“I said I would.” Alex kept his hands on the table, resisting the urge to reach across. 

“We’re just talking, right?” Dami’s mouth curved into a half-smile that didn’t hide the hunger in his gaze.

 “That’s what I said.” 

The bartender—a grizzled man with a tattooed neck—wandered over. 

Alex ordered a whiskey neat, same as Dami’s untouched bottle. 

When the drink arrived, he took a long sip, letting the burn ground him. It didn’t help. Every nerve felt exposed, raw, waiting for the spark.

For the first few minutes, they danced around it. Small talk. Safe territory.

“How’s the big project going?” Dami asked, fingers tracing condensation on his bottle.

“Intense. Partners loved the bold concept. Might actually get to lead it.” 

Alex shrugged, trying for casual. “You? Any gigs this week?”

“Thursday at The Hollow. Small crowd, but they liked the new stuff.” 

Dami’s eyes flicked to Alex’s mouth, then away. 

“Wrote a couple lines about rain and bad decisions.” Alex’s pulse spiked. 

“Dami…”“I know.” 

Dami leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. The hood slipped back just enough to reveal the fading bruise on his lip. 

“I keep telling myself to leave you alone. You’re Marcus’s brother. You’ve got your perfect life lined up. I’m a fucking mess with a guitar and a bar tab.”

Alex’s drink burned going down. “You’re not a mess.”

“Yeah?” Dami’s voice dropped even lower. 

“Then why do I feel like I’m on fire every time I think about that night?”

The words landed like a match on dry tinder. Alex’s breath caught. He glanced around—no one was paying attention. 

The booth was dark, private, shielded by high wooden backs. Under the table, Dami’s knee pressed deliberately against his.

Just that small contact sent electricity racing up Alex’s thigh.

“We said it never happened,” Alex whispered.

“We lied.”

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. The blues song shifted into something slower, more sensual. 

Dami’s foot hooked around Alex’s ankle under the table, holding him there. Not aggressive. Just… claiming.

Alex’s whiskey glass trembled slightly as he set it down. 

“This is crazy. If Marcus finds out—”

“He won’t. Not tonight.” Dami’s eyes darkened. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it too. Tell me you haven’t jerked off remembering how I tasted.”

Heat flooded Alex’s face. He couldn’t lie. 

Not here. Not with Dami looking at him like he was the only thing keeping him breathing. 

“Every night,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “I try to stop. I can’t.”

Dami exhaled sharply, like the confession had punched the air from his lungs. 

“Fuck, Alex.” One of them moved—Alex wasn’t sure who. Their hands met under the table, fingers intertwining for a brief, desperate second before letting go. The touch was too much and not enough.

“Outside,” Dami said suddenly, standing. 

“Now.”

Alex followed without argument, leaving cash on the table. They slipped out the back door into the narrow alley behind the bar. 

The night air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of rain that hadn’t quite fallen yet. 

A single security light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows.

The moment the door clicked shut, Dami spun him around and pushed him against the brick wall.

Their mouths crashed together. This kiss was nothing like the careful, whiskey-fueled one on the couch. 

It was raw, urgent, years of restraint shattering in seconds. Dami’s hands framed Alex’s face, thumbs stroking his jaw as their tongues met—hot, demanding, perfect. Alex groaned into it, fingers fisting in Dami’s hoodie, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned from chest to thigh. Dami tasted like beer and want. 

His stubble scraped deliciously against Alex’s smoother skin. When Dami tilted his head and deepened the kiss, 

sliding one thigh between Alex’s legs, the friction drew a sharp, needy sound from Alex’s throat.

“Quiet,” Dami murmured against his lips, but he was smiling—dark, satisfied. 

“Don’t want anyone hearing how good you sound for me.” Alex’s hips rolled involuntarily, chasing more pressure. 

His hands slipped under Dami’s hoodie, finding warm skin and the hard ridges of muscle. He traced where the phoenix tattoo is supposed to be with his fingertips, feeling Dami shudder at the touch.

“You’re killing me,” Alex breathed when they broke for air.

“Good.” 

Dami’s mouth moved to his neck, sucking lightly just below his ear—the same spot he’d marked that first night. 

“I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”

Their bodies pressed harder against the wall. Alex could feel Dami’s arousal, thick and insistent against his hip. 

He wanted to drop to his knees right there in the dirty alley. Wanted to taste every inch of the man who’d haunted him for years. 

Instead, he slid a hand down, palming Dami through his jeans. Dami hissed, hips jerking forward. 

“Alex—”

“Just touching,” Alex whispered, voice wrecked. 

“We said no further.” But his hand stroked slowly, feeling the heat and hardness through denim. 

Dami’s forehead dropped to Alex’s shoulder, breath coming in ragged pants. He returned the favor, 

cupping Alex firmly, thumb rubbing in maddening circles until Alex’s knees threatened to buckle. 

They moved together like that—frantic, clothed, desperate. Kisses turning sloppy and wet. Hands stroking, squeezing, teasing. 

The danger of the public alley only heightened everything. Any second someone could step outside for a smoke. 

The thrill made it toe-curling, addictive.

Dami nipped at Alex’s collarbone. 

“I want to take you home. Want to strip you slow and hear you moan my name properly.”

Alex shuddered, pleasure coiling tight at the base of his spine.

 “We can’t. Not yet.”

“Not yet,” 

Dami agreed, but his hand tightened, stroking faster. 

“But soon. Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.” The words tumbled out, honest and raw.

 “God, Dami, I want you.” That confession seemed to undo something in Dami. 

He kissed Alex again—deep, claiming, almost reverent. Their rhythm faltered as pleasure built, sharp and inevitable.

 They didn’t finish—not fully—but they rode the edge together, breathing each other’s air, bodies trembling with restraint.

When they finally stilled, foreheads pressed together, the alley felt quieter. 

Only their ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic remained.

Dami brushed a thumb over Alex’s swollen lower lip. 

“This is going to ruin us.”

“Probably,” Alex whispered. But he was smiling, small and helpless.

Dami kissed him once more—soft this time, almost tender. “Worth it.”

They slipped back inside separately, five minutes apart, like nothing had happened. Alex finished his whiskey with shaking hands. 

Dami nursed his beer, eyes never leaving him across the booth.

Later, in the parking lot, they stood beside Alex’s car under the flickering streetlight.“No promises,” Alex said quietly.

 “We keep it secret. We stop if it gets too dangerous.”Dami nodded, but his hand caught Alex’s wrist, thumb stroking the pulse point. “One more thing.”

“What?”

Dami leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Next time, I’m not stopping at touching.”

A shiver ran down Alex’s spine. He watched Dami walk away, shoulders broad under the hoodie, gait loose and confident despite everything. Alone in his car, Alex gripped the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath. 

The spark had officially caught.

And the fire was only just beginning to rage.