It wasn’t until they heard their next cue that they broke apart, panting.

Mateo nodded, took Archer’s hand, and squeezed.

He didn’t need to say anything.

After the show, Archer tingled, as if he and Mateo were tied together by an electric wire, humming and singing with an undeniable current.

He stole glance after glance at Mateo as they changed and stored their gear. Mateo was always looking back.

When there was nothing else left to put away and the room had thinned out, Mateo approached him. “Archer.”

“Yes?” He waited, pulse humming.

Mateo leaned in, his lips nearly brushing Archer’s cheek as he whispered. “Tonight … would you like to—I think we should … that is, do you—”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Archer winked, eyes sliding over Mateo’s face, taking in every inch of skin, every hair, wanting to remember this moment.

Mateo closed his eyes briefly, embarrassed. “Yes, and doing a terrible job at it.”

Archer tilted closer, lips grazing Mateo’s cheek in turn. “Yes, I would love to, thank you.”

Their eyes met. Mateo smiled. “I’ll pick you up at your room in thirty minutes.”

Archer shivered. “Make it twenty.”

Nineteen minutes later, Mateo was rapping on Archer’s doorframe. “Ready to go?”

Archer smoothed his hair with one last look in the mirror. “Where are we going? Night out on the town?”

Mateo took his hips and pulled him in for a kiss. “Would it be ungentlemanly if I took you straight back to my room?”

“Do you care if—?”

“I don’t care who sees. I don’t care who hears. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I just want you.”

Archer’s heart tried to squeeze its way through his rib cage. “Then yes, please, and hurry up about it.”

Archer barely remembered the walk down to the cabin, aside from the feeling of his fingers laced through Mateo’s. He barely remembered climbing the stairs and rushing down the hall, only Mateo’s warm hand in his, tugging him along.

But he remembered Mateo’s bedroom door slamming closed as Mateo kissed him against the back of it. He remembered Mateo’s hands on his body, pulling his shirt up, pushing his shorts down. He remembered every kiss.

He remembered the way they moved.

Archer reached for Mateo. Their hands met, firm yet gentle. Mateo grasped his waist, then his thigh, his shoulders. Their arms and legs threaded together, weaving a story, a spell that captured them both. Mateo lifted Archer, held him. They breathed at the same time, their sweat mingling on flushed skin. The thump of Mateo’s pounding heart vibrated through Archer’s hand when he rested it on Mateo’s chest. His fingers brushed Mateo’s face, and Mateo held him, so safe, so secure in those arms.

The only thing that existed was the two of them as one.