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The club. Probably the last place Lucas thought he'd ever be again.

And yet, the conversation had been organic. He didn't remember how they got there, but he knew it had to do with Lucas mentioning he used to love dancing before he lost his leg, and he wouldn't mind watching Thorne dance at all. Besides, he wasn't completely handicap - he knew how to move his hips, thank you very much, and could move for a dance or two, but it could be jarring and painful when he got carried away (and if Lucas wasn't getting carried away, it wasn't a good night for anybody).

It was just him and Thorne that night. It would have struck him as funny to think 'just,' as in, absent of their informal third, but the two of them seemed to have been wound up tightly and needed the time together. Lucas knew he was agitated - and had a good idea why - but lately, Thorne had been a prowling storm, a constant thrum of thunder around him. He'd caught the man looking unfocused out the window at times, watching him in bed at others, and quite frankly, he felt like Thorne wasn't telling him something.

So dancing. It seemed a silly, fun thing to do, even if it would mean that Lucas just got to watch his storm get his groove on.

They approached the club, and in trying to stay close to Thorne (or so he told himself), he had his arm around the man's middle, walking in stride with him and casting him glances with truly excited smiles. "You really frequent places like these? The karaoke was shocking enough, but..." Lucas was teasing, mostly, just trying to keep positive. He'd been in a relatively mellow mood that day, almost able to forget his clawing suffocation of irritation that reared up in him at the most inopportune moments. Right now, it was just - music, fun, Lucas getting to leer over Thorne and maybe dance with him a bit if the tunes were agreeable. Mostly he'd be at the bar, watching, but it would do him good to just relax.

His fingers slid up Thorne's mostly exposed back, glancing over to him in turn, his expression losing some of the giddiness and tightening. For some reason, the reminder that the man had suffered made Lucas more agitated than normal, set his teeth on edge. Far be it from him to think ill of a dead man, but the amount of horrible thoughts that flit behind his eyes were almost appalling. The only saving grace was that the man that hurt Thorne was dead, and Lucas didn't have to be the one to put him there--

He jerked a little, clenching his teeth against the brief wave of anger. Forcefully reminding himself they were there to have fun and unwind, he didn't say anything else as they entered the establishment. The music was, obviously, exceptionally loud, the walls seeming to vibrate with whatever EDM of the night that was popular just then. He was immediately struck with the cocktail of cologne, sweat, smoke, liquor and other unmentionables, making him lean closer to Thorne like a barrier against the place that he had come to willingly. Abruptly, he found himself pulled closer still - by the front of his shirt, no less, eyes wide and fixated on Thorne's hungry stare with mild shock and confusion -- and, somewhere deeper, contentment.

Lucas lifted his chin, the softer emotions melting away to a more intense gaze, curling his lip slightly around his teeth. "We just got here, don't make me drag us both back outside." It was said almost too soft under the boom of the bass, easily lost, but he was positive Thorne would catch it. Shoulders squared, carrying more of a pride about himself, he walked backwards slowly, his eyes not breaking from Thorne. A dare. Using Thorne's hold on him, he still lead towards the dancing, heedless of the people he might bump into. If Thorne had come for one pair of eyes, he would be hard pressed to find them not on him that night.

When the throngs of people became looser around the dance floor, he tilted his head slowly and slightly to the side, indicating Thorne could go on without him. He could find his way to the bar and get something to unwind, something to just stem the swell of the darkness that slid just beneath the surface of his skin.

Those hunter's eyes, fixated on him, was a thrill. Lucas loved the way Thorne looked at him, the way he could find him anywhere in a room, but today -- today, it was a challenge, one he rose to with an air of confidence and a promise that this was not the end of it. Lucas could taste the tension and the spark, the storm threatening to come in, and he smiled.

Of course, he should have known better - Thorne was a cheater of the highest degree - the man's calloused hands on his neck both welcomed and contested with a low rumble. His hands slid over Thorne's hips, nails biting the exposed skin in turn over the panes of the man's back - his prosthetic hand, gentle, the other, not so much - and he lightly bared his teeth at the words in what could have been a playful sneer of accepting the challenge.

Thorne's hand fell upon his chest, his heartbeat as strong as the bass, and then the man was gone.

He couldn't drown in his absence. He could drown in his hands. Now he was treading water, and daring to dive again.

Lucas moved towards the neon lit bar, flashes of lights and colors across his face painting different strokes of animal, turning once there to find Thorne in the crowd. It was easy - he realized, he could find him, too, with that same predatory atmosphere - watching the dark-haired man dance through the bodies of others. There was a carnal satisfaction in it, seeing him let loose with those dark eyes on him. And that damn smile, one he wasn't entirely sure wasn't taught by Rylan, speaking to him in the way they understood, a language without words. He grinned in return, lop-sided, languid, taking his time -- and then it faded around the edges, his eyes shifting.

There were many watching Thorne, and Lucas - he wasn't a jealous man, not typically. He was confident in Thorne's affections for him. And yet...as a few closed in on the (his) man, his grin faded a few more shades to a tight smile. He tried to reason it was a club, of course there would be people dancing with Thorne - that wasn't a problem.

But it was now.

Like claws tracing his veins, his neck tightened, finding air enough to fill his lungs in short supply. The agitation wrinkled down his shoulders and spine, bringing on the familiar ache of that tight coil inside unwinding. It's nothing, he told himself, even as his chin subtly lowered, brows following suit. Watching the space between them disappear, the come-hither smiles. A trickle of warmth seeped through his chest, a precursor to his rage, familiar and...and not so unwelcome.

Lucas narrowed his eyes, a smile of debatable sanity still held in place, and watched.

It's nothing, he rationalized, and he knew it to be true. It's just a ******** dance. His smile disappeared, tongue tracing over his teeth, trying to use the sharp pain to concentrate.

And yet.

Lucas knew. He knew damn well it was a harmless dance. He was proud that Thorne was drawing admiration, and who could blame him? They both knew it was going to happen, it was understood, there was no ill or jealous feelings. But part of him was realizing it had nothing to do with that -- it wasn't jealousy, it wasn't self-loathing, it wasn't anything that put him out or away from Thorne. It was something else he couldn't put a name to, and as it uncoiled burning hot in his chest, lashing his heartbeat against his ribs and pounding his blood through his ears, he felt an unreasonable need to push. To claw. To bite and growl and fight to assert --

to assert -- what? Not actual anger, not rage, but -- the need to assert, to put the fear of knowing into the unknowing --

Thorne is mine.

The words barely slipped through his conscious thoughts before he was moving, his pupils dilated and dark in his usually washed out gaze. He moved like a thing possessed, his gaze completely fixated on the man with Thorne that did not understand and would be made to understand. Lucas moved with a grace he did not typically possess, winding through the moving bodies like water, his head still, his eyes nearly unblinking. Each step strung him tighter, pulled that hot cord in him through his limbs, real and not, curled through his spine like a wild beast preparing to spring. Anger laced through his veins and it was familiar, it was easy to let take him, because his sense was leaving him and in its place was his most basic of instincts. Mine, his mind whispered, and he agreed.

He was not a small man, tall and broad and poised to strike. Some people moved if they saw him, but most didn't see him at all in the flash of lights and sound. The music was a distant din that didn't compare to his heartbeat, the rush of blood he could hear. It clouded his vision, brows lower over his eyes as he came closer.

Thorne wouldn't get much warning. A man laughing over the music, words spoken back in a barely audible voice, "Just dancing." No danger, no threat to anything, just another guy having a good time.

And Lucas was there, all dark wildness and taut body. He had barely enough threads of sense to swing his left hand when he swung, but he did swing, and he caught the man true in the face. The man didn't even have time to fully hit the ground before Lucas was on him with a gutteral growl, pulling him up by his shirt -- and swinging again. Hard.

Most of the dancers just moved away - it probably wasn't an uncommon scene, someone getting too handsy with someone else's boyfriend - but that wasn't the case here and it was probably only one man who knew it. The man managed to swing defensively, but he was unfortunate enough to hit Lucas on the right side of his jaw. The sound of it connecting, if it could be heard at all, was metallic and not good for the other man's fist.

And Lucas, still possessed, simply looked at him, smiled with bared teeth, and swung again.

The unfortunate dancer didn't seem to understand the claim, and Lucas was going to teach him -- keep teaching him until he ********' got it straight --

But the one (his) didn't seem to accept that, his target moved and -- strong hands around his neck, sharp nails pressing against his jaw. Lucas growled, a sound that was so foreign out of him that it was barely audible, barely able to get his feet a safe purchase as he was dragged backwards.

With his head tilted back against the hold, he couldn't see much but the flash of lights, the brief flickers of complete darkness. He gripped Thorne's wrists, but didn't pull away, his confusion and sense of injured pride swallowed in an attempt to keep from falling. The fingers bit against his skin and his neck was so tense, he swore Thorne would be able to feel it - the white hot claws that ran through his veins, pressing against the man's fingers, trying to reach him. It was for him. Because you're mine. Didn't Thorne understand? A low sound rolled in the back of his throat, another vibration against the hands that held him.

The darker part of the club swallowed them, the lights no longer jarring and revealing every threat to his territory. He was briefly winded when they hit the wall, but too brief, reeling in Thorne's grip, trying to face him -- and landed right into the kiss. It fed the anger in him, kissing Thorne back with the rage that just spun around in his chest, mouth seeking a fuller intimacy, gripping the man's hips in a refusal to let him go. It hurt, the sensation of unsatisfied boundaries, it hurt it hurt it hurt, but sharp teeth against his lip slammed the instinct back, pulling out a different and equally primal one in a low snarl.

Lucas looked at Thorne, listened, but it was almost beyond him. His pupils were still too dilated, his breath still too ragged. He couldn't even find words, couldn't find his ability to use words at all, instead kissing him again fiercely. Mine, the voice purred, bordering on satisfaction, and he still agreed. His fingers hooked and clawed, dragging from Thorne's hips to his back, tracing around back to his hips and abdomen. Closer.

Mine. His possession spread to the moment, a desperate heat needing to be sated, a demand that needed to be answered to.

God, he hurt.

There were two types of hurt: good and bad, and he had both warring through him. On the one hand, he wasn't sure he was going to be able to forget the image of attacking an innocent man in a club with intent to do harm. On the other, what had come from it was...like being struck by lightning.

His body was deliciously tired, floating in a warm haze of contentment, wrapped up in sheets that smelled like Thorne. There'd probably be bruises in the morning, mottled memories of the club, perhaps even on his neck (please not his neck, he could not bare to try and explain this to Rylan). His mind was a twisting maze of being lost and not knowing what turn to make, a veritable lost wolf.

The artist's fingers tracing his back were a balm to his troubled thoughts, the heat of his body, shifting subtly beneath the patterns to encourage. He let Thorne paint the images in his head that way, and he thought, for a moment, he might be able to fall asleep like that, guided by the man's gentle art. That maybe Thorne wouldn't ask what had gotten into him, maybe he wouldn't seek answers that Lucas didn't have.

He heard his name, and the gentle haze became a tension over his skin.

Lucas swallowed hard, but turned his head on the pillow to face Thorne, slightly down-turned with his unbound hair wild and concealing, like a dog expecting a reprimand. And wasn't it just that? "Thorne," he murmured back softly, just in case he was wrong, just in case - in case it would be something as superficial as 'stop hogging the blankets.' Still on his stomach, he extended his good hand to the man and gingerly touched his chin, tracing the contours of his jaw. Adoring, even as he braced himself.

The smile quieted him. His shoulders relaxed along with his gaze, his hand falling to the side as Thorne moved. The new pattern the man made was more intimate, sweeter, gentle, making his skin flare with a pleasant warmth at each touch of lips. Thorne's brush of lips was tender, mindful, and for a moment, Lucas was consumed with guilt for what he'd not said to the other.

Words were breathed over his back, and Lucas closed his eyes.

So many things.

"I think we've done what we could, if it was the last night," he murmured in a soft tone, his smile audible in it. "We'd just have one more with us, if that was the case."

He paused, considering the last part, his throat tightening. I'm a monster probably would not be high on the list of things to tell your lover before you all die horribly. "Probably something about love." Lucas hummed softly, turning his thoughts over in his head, wondering if in the face of The End, what he would do. "I'd tell you this is the happiest I've been in my life, and probably the closest to love I've ever been. Love of another being, love of myself." Especially since the war. God knows there was a lot of love lost, in there.

Lucas turned his head to peer over his shoulder, his arms folded beneath the pillow. "Why? You know something I don't?" he teased delicately.

The laughter was everything. After the tension, the heat, the clash at the club and finding themselves tangled at home - the uncertainty, the fear - Thorne laughing made him feel like he could breathe again. Lucas grinned a little, watching the other as he fell back to bed, pulling himself over to Thorne and over his arm, kissing his bicep.

And then he said all those beautiful, heartfelt things and the guilt came back like a tidal wave. "Waiting your whole life for me? Sorry to disappoint, there's not a whole lot left," he teased, but his words were empty, swallowed between emotions that were too big for words, too big for him to wrap his head around. He looked at Thorne with his brows raised high and disbelief in his pale eyes, and when the tattooed man was done, he had to make a conscious effort to keep it all at bay -- his thoughts, his own blossoming feelings towards the other, his fears, his truth.

Not yet. Not today. Not here, like this.

Lucas moved again, pushing himself up and on top of Thorne, laying over his chest and pressing a kiss over the inked skin, and another - peppering him with affectionate touches of his lips the way Thorne had to his back. He traced them up the man's collar bone, his scarred neck (taking extra slow care there, lingering) and up to his lips, very softly. "I will fight for you," he murmured softly, a lilt to his voice. "I'd lie for you, walk the wire for you -- " he pressed another, longer kiss, "yeah, I'd die for you..." It was clear he was singing by that point, but there was a heaviness in his words, a weight that caught even him off guard.

Gazing at him with their lips brushing, he sung the last part soft and with more meaning than he could share in that moment. "You know it's true," his prosthetic finger gently traced a heart shape over his actual heart. "Everything I do," Lucas smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I do it for you."

He paused. "You two," he clarified, and smiled a little more.