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Darkness had well and truly settled over the massive compound.
The party that never seemed to end had quieted to an almost dignified affair as the cool breeze swept in off the desert sands to chase away the last of the days heat.
And consequently sending string-bikinis aplenty running for the indoor hot tub.
A high-pitched giggle and a playful screech echoed down from a second story window – breaking the quietude of the crackling wood fire and the mellow guitar still audible from Nachos hideaway.
The man let out a long sigh through his nose at the interruption.
Whatever alcohol Don Eladio had been serving was a barely distinguishable flavor on his tongue by this point in the evening, and Nacho supposed that was a testament to its quality as much as anything.
No bitter, gasoline aftertaste to remind him of why he was here.
No edge to match the twin feeling deep in his gut.
Whatever it was, it burned slow and steady like the red, glowing coals at the bottom of the fireplace he sat next to – warming him into a relaxed state he knew he should reject with his entire being.
A complacent man around Don’s and Salamanca’s could very very soon find himself a dead man.
“Ey! Nachito! There you are!”
Speak of the devil.
Lalo swaggered towards Nachos quiet corner of the yard with a surety Nacho could only assume was half-born, half-alcohol as the taller man looked about as inebriated as he’d ever seen him.
A heavy crystal decanter swung carelessly from the Don’s hand. Half-full and dark amber.
Settling himself into the chair next to Nacho with a huff, Lalo wasted no time in clinking a pair of expensive-looking glasses down onto the table between them and filling each with a more than healthy amount.
“Did we scare you away?” Lalo teased, grinning that cat-like smile over at Nacho.
Snorting, the lieutenant didn’t deign to reply – ignoring the Don as well as the second glass he’d scooted closer to Nacho with one long finger.
Pouting at the other man’s dismissal, Lalo leaned back in his chair – sliding a paisley-covered arm across the space to swing halfway in the air.
He took a long sip from his glass.
Nacho glanced over with a blank expression, finally giving Lalo the attention he seemed to want.
Chuckling around his glass, the Salamanca scion made a show of swallowing with a slight grimace.
“I don’t blame you for sticking with the tequila. The rum is…”
He made a waving motions with his free hand – stretching it farther to settle over the back of his companions chair.
“When we get back to my house I’ll get you some of the really good stuff.”
Nacho nodded.
“Okay.”
Lalo’s mustache twitched slightly at his taciturn reply.
Not the type to be dissuaded so easily, the Don laughed lightly, reaching out to slap Nacho on the shoulder.
“Hey, you did good today, Nacho. Real good. A caballero de los Salamanca’s in the making.”
Nachos eyes flicked up to meet Lalo’s.
There were no words in any language to describe how much he didn’t want to be the Salamanca’s caballero.
Not even back when it had just been him and Tuco.
And especially not for Lalo.
“I’ll have the car ready to take us back to the states tomorrow.”
There was too much to do stateside anyway.
Collections to be made, Fring to satisfy, his papa to… what?
Nacho half-wished he’d listened to Manuel when he’d advised his son to call the cops.
A life looking over his shoulder or one caught between a rock and a hard place.
No part of him could decide if one sounded better than the other right now.
“You dance, Nachito?”
Nacho blinked back to the present.
“What?”
Lalo perked up, moving around in his chair a bit and snapping his fingers to the beat of the guitar still playing across the yard.
“You know – dance. You take your girls to the salsa club?”
Nacho scoffed a bit at the idea.
“No. That’s – no. That’s not our scene.”
Sighing, Lalo rolled his eyes dramatically.
“You can, though?”
“Can what?”
“Dance! Oh for – Nacho, if you tell me this guitar doesn’t make you want to get up and swing your hips a little I’ll be very disappointed.”
Letting out a breathy laugh, Nacho relaxed back to stare at Lalo.
“I think my dad listens to this stuff.”
His brow furrowed at the focused look on the others face.
“You’re serious?! Shit, Lalo. I don’t know - That’s not how I dance!”
The older man let out a long, exasperated breath – clapping his hands against his knees and rising to his feet.
He turned to look down at Nacho expectantly.
A long-fingered hand was extended - palm up and waiting.
“Well?”
“… You’re shitting me.”
Lalo grinned.
“If you don’t step on my loafers I might even let you lead.”
Nacho stared up at the other – dumbfounded and floundering for an excuse to get out of the Don’s impromptu dance-class.
“I… someone’s gonna see.”
Lalo made a show of peering around the corner, poking his head up over the small wall of topiary cordoning them off from the rest of the party.
Well damn, Nacho didn’t know his desire for privacy would come back to bite him like this
Scrubbing a hand over his scalp in agitation, Nacho glared minutely up at the Salamanca – who was already swaying and moving in time with the beat.
“Fine. One song.”
Lalo smiled brightly, stepping far too close into Nachos personal space.
“Of course. I’ve got other things to do tonight, you know.”
Bastard.
Letting out an aggrieved sigh, Nacho reached for the other, only to have his wrists caught and held firmly.
“You said I could lead.”
“There was a big If in that statement, Nachito. These are expensive shoes.”
“Jesus Christ…”
Nacho frowned sharply as a long-fingered hand settled at his waist.
“Hand on my shoulder, Nacho. Let’s do this right.”
Nacho was going to kill him. Forget whatever Fring was planning, he’d do it his damn self he’d –
Suddenly Lalo was right there.
Filling every one of Nachos senses and leaning in to whisper in his ear.
“There. Much better…”
Tense was too kind of a word to describe how Nacho felt as Lalo grasped his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness.
Though, was it really uncharacteristic?
He’d seen how Lalo could be almost sweet – like he’d been earlier with Yolanda at the hacienda… hell, even with Hector in the nursing home…
God. He was an idiot.
Lalo wasn’t sweet.
Lalo was a predator. A pack animal.
If he seemed kind it was the ploy of a wild dog wagging its tail.
No sane person would mistake a wolf for a pet.
“Nacho…”
Clearing his throat, the lieutenant blinked up at the taller man.
Lalo was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, tempered by his expensive cologne.
A whiff of engine grease made Nacho shiver involuntarily.
“Ready?”
Nacho watched Lalo swallow hard as they stared at each other.
Not nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be.
They stood for a moment – almost chest to chest and waiting – as the heat that had departed with the sun lit back bright and hot in the space between them.
The younger licked his suddenly dry lips and watched the taller Don track the small movement with his eyes.
Jesus…
“… Lalo…”
“LALOOOO!!!”
“LALO SALAMANCA!!! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!!”
A loud, drunken call interrupted their quiet, and Nacho sprang away like he’d been burned.
Lalo stood, statue like, still watching him go with an indefinable look in his eyes.
Rustling branches signaled the arrival of more people to the area and, like a switch had been flicked, Lalo turned with arms outstretched and a smile on his face to greet Eladio and the other Dons.
Unruffled and unbothered.
As if he hadn’t just been holding Nacho like…
Fuck.
Nacho hung back as far as he dared while the party pulled them back into its ebbs and flow.
The guitar continued to play – moving on to a more uptempo tune in response to the bikini-clad women starting to writhe about for the group’s enjoyment.
But even watching this, Nacho couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that the slow, soulful strains were gone.
That he hadn’t taken that first step.
He glanced over across the pool to where Lalo stood laughing; surrounded by men and woman and holding court as only he could.
Dark eyes moved casually across the yard – looking for something.
Nacho didn’t let himself hope it was him.
Turning on his heel, Nacho strode quickly back to his corner.
Where he’d left his tequila and his fire and apparently his damn mind.
His step hitched just a little as he finally settled on a word to describe the look Lalo had given him.
It didn’t change a thing.
It didn’t matter.
It was hunger.