Alejandro sighs a laugh, still teary-eyed and emotional, and repeats his endearments again and again in between kisses. 'So much' doesn't matter; Alejandro can take it, could take it even in 330BC. His intensity is not diluted by the memories of a hundred lives - he is who he is, son of Mexico and Macedon, deep enough for even gods to drown in.

He's alive and vibrant and happy in Jon's arms, the both of them finally where they belong. He smooths one hand down the other man's chest, tucking it beneath his shirt to splay his palm over his warm skin. Is he scarred? Does he have tattoos? Alejandro imagined him a thousand ways, different ages, other genders. He's beautiful no matter what, but of course he's this classic, clean-cut Hollywood gorgeous to contrast against Alejandro's untamed curls and deliberately-in-between beard.

"I better not be dreaming."