Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vic Fuentes had never been able to resist the pull of a beautiful subject. Sometimes it was a person with a face that caught the late afternoon light just right, sometimes it was a mural blooming with colors on the side of a forgotten building, sometimes it was something as simple as steam curling out of a coffee cup against a windowpane. But today, it was a car. He had only meant to duck into Walmart for a pack of batteries and maybe some instant ramen to keep him from starving during another week of late-night editing marathons. He parked his beat-up Toyota in a sea of minivans and sedans, slung his camera bag over his shoulder, and started walking toward the sliding doors. That was when he saw it.

The Corvette Z06 practically shimmered in the parking lot, its paint a deep, glossy black that seemed to drink in the sunlight before spitting it back out in gorgeous highlights that danced across its curves. The car looked like it was sculpted rather than manufactured, low, sleek, and unapologetically fast even while sitting perfectly still. The red brake calipers peeking through the rims made it look even cooler.

Vic stopped dead in his tracks. His photographer’s brain lit up like fireworks. He had the camera with him, he always did, and his fingers itched to snap a picture. He looked around once, twice, hesitated, then thought: Screw it. It wasn’t like anyone was around to care, right? Cars like this practically begged to be photographed. The thing looked like it belonged in a magazine spread, not a Walmart parking lot.

Vic slipped the camera out of its bag with ease, adjusted the strap around his neck, and crouched slightly as he brought it to his eye. The satisfying click of the shutter filled the air as he framed the Corvette’s front end, getting the grill angled just right, so the sun was streaking down across the hood like a spotlight. He shifted, snapped another shot, then circled slowly, squatting lower to capture the reflection of a passing cloud on the windshield. He lost himself quickly, as he usually did. The rest of the world fell away until there was nothing but angles, lines, light. He adjusted exposure, leaned closer, caught the details in the Z06 badge near the fender. His heart sped up the way it always did when he felt the click of a perfect capture.

He was so wrapped up in it that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until a voice cut through his concentration.

“Usually,” the voice drawled, not hostile but not exactly warm either, “people ask before they start taking pictures of someone else’s car.”

Vic jerked upright so fast he nearly dropped his camera. He spun around, and there was the owner. Had to be . A tall guy with broad shoulders and tattoos climbing down his neck and both arms, with his dark hair pulled back into a low bun. He wore ripped black jeans and a faded Misfits t-shirt, and the way he crossed his arms gave off the impression he was pissed but didn’t want to say it.

“Oh uh,” Vic stammered, caught completely off guard. Heat rushed to his face, and he lowered the camera like a guilty kid caught stealing candy. “Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t, uh, I mean, I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful or anything. I just… it’s a gorgeous car. Couldn’t help myself.”

The guy arched an eyebrow, still watching him, then he gave him a smirk and sighed, like he was used to this happening.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice smoother now. “She does that to people.”

Vic let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, scratching the back of his neck. “I should’ve asked first, I know. Bad habit. The whole ‘better to ask forgiveness than permission’ thing doesn’t really hold up when it comes to… well, expensive things.”

That earned him a small chuckle. The guy stepped closer, glancing at the camera still hanging from Vic’s neck. “Are you a photographer or something?”

“Yeah,” Vic said quickly, then added with a self-deprecating shrug, “Well, trying to be. I do freelance gigs, band shoots, that kind of stuff. But I can’t turn it off. If I see something worth shooting, I’m already framing it in my head before I even realize it.”

The guy studied him for a moment, then looked back at the Corvette, pride flickering across his face. “I guess there are worse things than someone thinking your ride’s picture-worthy.” He extended a hand. “Tony Perry.”

Vic blinked, then shifted his camera to one side so he could shake it. Tony’s grip was firm, warm, and confident.

“Vic,” he said. “Vic Fuentes.”

“Nice to meet you, Vic. Glad you stalked my car.” Tony’s grin widened enough to show he was teasing now, not accusing.

Vic laughed nervously, the embarrassment fading away. “Yeah, that’s gonna look real good on my resume.” He glanced back at the car, the photographer in him still itching. “For what it’s worth, though, I wasn’t lying. That’s one hell of a car.”

Tony’s expression softened at that, a kind of pride glowing behind his eyes. He turned his head toward the car, like he couldn’t help admiring it too. “Yeah. She’s mine. Put a lot of work into her.”

“Z06, right?” Vic asked, gesturing toward the badge.

Tony looked back at him, slightly impressed. “You know your cars?”

“Not… really,” Vic admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I know enough to recognize when something looks like it could outrun the devil.”

Tony laughed, a low, genuine sound that made Vic’s shoulders relax. “Not a bad way to put it.”

For a moment, they stood there together, both looking at the Corvette as if it were a piece of art in a gallery. Vic’s embarrassment had melted into curiosity, and maybe a little awe, not just of the car, but of its owner. There was something magnetic about Tony, the way he carried himself, the mix of coolness and humor. Vic cleared his throat. “So… if I, uh, asked properly this time- would you mind if I took a few more shots? Nothing weird, I swear. The lighting’s good right now, and cars like this don’t exactly pop up at Walmart every day.”

Tony tilted his head, considering. His eyes flicked from Vic to the camera and back again, like he was sizing up his sincerity. Finally, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You ask nicely, and maybe I’ll even pop the hood for you,” he said.

Vic’s grin broke across his face before he could stop it. “Deal.”

Vic shifted the camera strap nervously, thumb running across the worn leather like a tic. “Okay, properly this time.” He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet Tony’s eyes, though they were prettier than he expected up close. “Would you mind-” his voice cracked, and he winced, then tried again. “Would you mind if I took a few more photos of your car? I promise I’ll respect boundaries. No leaning on it, no fingerprints. Just… shots.”

Tony didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, scanning Vic like he was trying to decide whether this stranger with messy brown hair and camera in hand was worth the risk. Finally, Tony gave a short nod.

“That’s better,” he said. “See? Not so hard to ask.”

Vic grinned, half embarrassed but relieved. “Lesson learned. Always ask the cool car guys for permission.”

“Damn right,” Tony said, smirking as he stepped closer to the car. He slid his keys out of his pocket and twirled them once around his finger before pressing the fob. The Corvette chirped, headlights blinking. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

Vic didn’t need to be told twice. He crouched again, repositioned himself, and snapped a shot that captured the whole sleek line of the car against the sprawl of the lot. He adjusted, taking one from the rear, the sunlight glinting off the polished chrome. Then he lowered the camera for a moment, squinting at the composition.

“You know,” he said casually, “this thing’s way too pretty for a Walmart lot backdrop. It deserves, like, a desert road with mountains behind it. Or a cityscape at night.”

Tony laughed under his breath, leaning against a shopping cart corral as he watched Vic work. “Guess I should’ve thought about that before I came here for toothpaste.”

Vic chuckled. “Hey, some things can’t wait.”

Tony didn’t move, just let Vic circle the car, snapping away. After a moment he called out, “So you always carry a camera with you? Or just when you’re creeping on random cars?”

Vic lowered the camera long enough to shoot him a mock-offended look. “Always. It’s my job. Well, job and obsession. I’m a photographer. If I don’t keep it with me, I spend the whole day wishing I had.”

“Makes sense,” Tony said, watching him with an unreadable expression. “You good at it?”

The question caught Vic off guard. He blinked, shifting his weight. “I… hope so? I mean, I’ve gotten paid for it, so someone thinks so.” He lifted the camera and snapped another quick shot, hiding behind the lens like it was a shield. “Bands, mostly. Sometimes portraits if people don’t mind me bossing them around.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “So why’s a car going in your portfolio?”

Vic grinned again. “Cars are like portraits of people’s personality.”

That earned him another chuckle, and this time Tony pushed off the cart corral and walked closer, resting his hands casually in his pockets as he stopped by the hood. “Alright, philosopher. Since you asked nicely, want me to pop the hood? Get the engine in the shot? She’s prettier on the inside.”

Vic’s jaw practically dropped. “Wait- you’d let me shoot the engine?”

Tony shrugged, lips twitching into a smile at Vic’s excitement. “Long as you don’t drop your camera in there.”

Vic laughed nervously. “That only happened once. And it was an old Nikon, so it doesn’t even count.”

Tony raised a brow but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned down, flicked the latch, and lifted the hood. The engine gleamed, polished, clean, humming like it was alive. Vic sucked in a breath, already angling his camera.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, the shutter snapping rapidly. “This is- okay, yeah, you weren’t kidding. She’s gorgeous.”

Tony’s pride was obvious in the way he stood just to the side, watching Vic like the Corvette’s beauty was reflected in every click of the shutter. “Told you.”

For a few minutes, Vic forgot entirely that he was in a Walmart parking lot. It was just him, the car, and the perfect interplay of light on metal. When he finally lowered the camera, grinning, Tony caught the look and shook his head.

“Man, you look like you just shot a supermodel.”

Vic shrugged, his cheeks warming. “Kinda feels like I did.”

Tony leaned against the fender, careful not to actually touch it, and gave him a sideways glance. “You get this into everything you shoot? Or just cars that make you drool?”

“Both,” Vic said honestly. He hesitated, then added, “Though, for the record, it’s not just the car. The owner’s half the story.”

That line slipped out before Vic could stop himself. His face burned immediately, and he busied himself with checking the camera settings even though he didn’t need to.

Tony’s smirk deepened as he lowered the hood, like he’d heard the slip perfectly well. “That so?”

Vic coughed. “Uh. Yeah. Y’know. Context and all that.”

“Mm.” Tony didn’t press, but he didn’t look away either.

The silence stretched, though it wasn’t awkward- it had tension. Finally, Vic broke it by lifting the camera slightly, angling it toward Tony. “Can I-?”

Tony blinked, then tilted his head. “You wanna take my picture?”

“Well,” Vic said quickly, “you kinda go with the car. Balance, contrast, all that. But only if you’re cool with it. I mean, you’ve already been patient with me-”

Tony chuckled, holding up a hand. “Relax. If it makes the shot better, go ahead.”

Vic adjusted quickly, snapping a frame where Tony leaned next to the car, tattoos on display, the Corvette gleaming beside him. The shot came out electric, the kind of photo Vic knew people would stop and stare at.

He lowered the camera, breathless. “Okay. That one’s a keeper.”

Tony watched him for a beat, then smiled- really smiled, it made Vic blush. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Photographer.”

Vic smiled back, his pulse hadn’t quite slowed when Tony nodded at the camera dangling from his neck.

“Alright,” Tony said, his voice casual but edged with curiosity, “show me this masterpiece you’re grinning about.”

Vic hesitated, suddenly nervous. He wasn’t usually shy about his work, his whole career depended on showing it off, but this felt different. He scrolled quickly through the shots until he landed on the one that had made his stomach flip: Tony leaning against the Corvette, Tony’s tattoos stood out in sharp relief against the glossy black hood, the sunlight haloing the strands of hair that had slipped loose from his bun. The whole frame buzzed with attitude and quiet confidence.

“Damn,” Vic muttered under his breath.

Tony tilted his head. “Good shot?”

Without giving himself time to chicken out, Vic turned the screen toward him. “You tell me.”

Tony stepped closer, leaning just enough to peer at the display. His arm brushed Vic’s shoulder, light but enough to send a jolt down Vic’s spine. After a moment, Tony gave a low whistle.

“…Okay,” he said, lips curling into a grin. “Yeah, that’s sick. Didn’t think I could look that cool standing next to a Walmart cart return.”

Vic exhaled, relief rushing through him. “Really? You like it?”

“Yeah.” Tony leaned back, arms crossing as his lips tugged into a half-smile. “I mean, I don’t usually let strangers take pictures of me, but if they all came out like that, maybe I should start charging.”

Vic laughed, embarrassed heat crawling up his neck. “Please don’t. I can barely afford ramen as it is.”

Tony chuckled at that, the sound warm enough that Vic’s shoulders relaxed. “You gonna post it somewhere?”

“Only with your okay,” Vic said quickly. “I mean, client stuff, yeah, that’s different. But random people? I don’t exactly have a release form handy.”

Tony smirked. “So professional.”

Vic shrugged. “Gotta cover my ass.”

There was a small pause, then Tony said, “Well… if you don’t post it, at least send me a copy. Kinda want proof I looked that sexy once.”

Vic blinked, caught off guard. “Send it to you?”

“Yeah,” Tony said simply. He dug his phone out of his pocket and held it out like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Number swap?”

For a second, Vic just stared at the phone, his brain buffering like a bad WIFI connection, then he scrambled to pull his own phone free, fumbling with the cracked screen. “Uh- yeah. Sure. Totally.”

They exchanged devices, fingers brushing briefly as they passed them over. Vic tried not to think too hard about how warm Tony’s hand had been. He typed his number into Tony’s contacts with a nervous kind of precision, adding his name and, because he couldn’t resist, a little camera emoji.

When he handed it back, Tony glanced down at the entry and smirked. “Vic - camera emoji - Fuentes, huh?”

Vic flushed. “What? It helps people remember what I do.”

“Mm,” Tony said, clearly amused. He finished typing into Vic’s phone and handed it back. Vic looked down to see Tony Perry 🚗 saved in his contacts.

He laughed. “Really? Car emoji?”

“You started it,” Tony said, his grin widening.

“Fair enough.”

Another beat of quiet passed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. The late-afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the asphalt gold. Around them, Walmart life buzzed, shopping carts squeaking, car doors slamming, but it all felt far away.

Tony leaned back against the Corvette again, casual, like he belonged there as much as the car itself. “So, Vic… are you always out here hunting down muses in parking lots, or was today special?”

Vic fiddled with his camera strap, a small smile on his lips. “Guess that depends. You planning on parking here again tomorrow?”

Tony’s smirk sharpened. “Smooth.”

Vic flushed but didn’t look away. “I try.”

Tony chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t decide if Vic was bold or just a dork. “Well, I’ll give you this- you’ve got guts, pointing a camera at someone else’s ride without asking. Not everyone would’ve been cool about it.”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Vic admitted. “Could’ve been chased off with a gun or something.”

Tony tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you’d do when I called you out.”

Vic raised an eyebrow. “And? Impressed?”

“Not bad,” Tony said. His tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes was steady, thoughtful.

Vic’s chest did that twisting thing again, the one that made his stomach flip. He swallowed and lifted the camera slightly, almost like a shield again. “So… you’ll let me send you the photos?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah. Text ‘em to me. Maybe I’ll even let you shoot her again sometime. In a better spot than Walmart.”

Vic’s heart skipped. “Really?”

“Sure,” Tony said casually, though there was a spark of something more behind his smirk. “You made her look good. I respect that.”

Vic smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. “Then it’s a date.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. His eyes widened, and he fumbled, waving his free hand. “I mean- not a date-date. Just, like, a photography date. Car date. Uh, shit.”

Tony stared at him for half a second, then burst out laughing. “Relax, man. I got what you meant.”

Vic groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. “God, kill me now.”

“Don’t worry,” Tony said, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “I’ll let you live if you text me.”

“Deal,” Vic said quickly, grateful for the out. “Alright then. Guess I should actually buy the crap I came here for before the sun goes down.”

Tony smirked at that, then walked around to the driver’s side of the Corvette. He paused with his hand on the door, glancing back once. “Text me those shots tonight, Fuentes. Don’t make me chase you down.”

Vic held up his camera in a mock salute. “You got it.”

Tony slid into the driver’s seat, door closing with a solid, expensive-sounding thunk . A moment later, the engine roared to life, deep and throaty, vibrating through the pavement. Heads turned in the lot, but Tony’s gaze was fixed only on Vic through the windshield. Vic’s mouth went dry. He lifted his hand in a small, awkward wave, but before he could even think of something clever to shout after him, Tony shifted into gear.

The Corvette glided out of the parking spot. But just before pulling onto the main road, Tony gave it a sharp rev, it was loud , and powerful , the kind of sound that rattled through Vic’s ribcage and made his heartrate jump. The smirk that flashed across Tony’s face in that split second was impossible to mistake, and then he was gone, the car tearing down the street like he had somewhere better to be.

Vic stood there in the fading gold light, heart hammering, camera still dangling forgotten around his neck. He hadn’t just gotten the best shots of the month. He’d just been revved at .

It felt like the beginning of something between the two.

Chapter Text

Vic sat cross-legged on his bed with his laptop balanced on one knee, the glow of the screen illuminating the clutter of his tiny apartment. Open Photoshop windows were layered across his desktop, but he hadn’t touched a single adjustment in nearly half an hour. Instead, he kept picking up his phone, unlocking it, staring at Tony’s contact name, and then setting it down again like it had attacked him. He’d been through crushes, awkward dates, and long stretches of nothing romantic. But something about the way Tony had looked at him across the hood of that Corvette, like Vic wasn’t just some random stranger pointing a lens at him, but someone worth a moment of attention, had made his stomach twist in a way he thought he’d outgrown. He wasn’t thirteen anymore, so he felt kinda immature for getting so many anxious butterflies over getting his number. He was also kinda intimated by his tattoos and overall stature. Now he was spiraling. The camera sat on the nightstand, a memory card tucked inside with today’s shots. Vic had already imported them, culled the bad ones, and spent an unnecessary amount of time zooming in on the single frame where Tony leaned against the car like a rockstar. He’d adjusted contrast, shadows, highlights, nothing heavy, just enough to make the image look gorgeous. It was objectively good. He knew that.

But hitting send on it? That was a whole different beast. God he was so pathetic, it was sort of painful. Vic raked a hand through his messy hair and muttered to himself, “It’s just a text, man. Just a text. You send photos to clients all the time.”

Except Tony wasn’t a client. He wasn’t paying for Vic’s time, and wasn't expecting a Dropbox folder or an invoice. He was a guy, the guy, apparently, who had caught Vic’s attention so completely that he couldn’t even edit photos without glancing at his phone every five seconds. He opened his messages again. The last thread was empty, just Tony’s name at the top with no history beneath it.

Vic thumbed out a message.

Hey, it’s Vic. Got some shots ready for you. Want me to send ‘em here?

He stared at the words until they blurred, then deleted them, it was too business-like. He tried again.

Yo, it’s the camera guy from Walmart. Pics are ready, wanna see?

He winced. Camera guy from Walmart sounded weird and stalkerish. Well he kinda was. Delete.

Another attempt: Hey, letting you know my shopping trip was successful. Got those shots if you want me to send a few.

He bit his lip, hovering for a moment. That one wasn’t bad. A little casual, a little callback joke. But did it sound too eager? He groaned and flopped backward onto his pillows, phone clutched to his chest. “Why am I like this?”

From the corner of the room, his cat, a calico fluffball named Clementine lifted her head from the laundry basket and yawned as if to say, you always do this, dude. Get it together.

On the one hand: Tony Perry wanted to see him again. On purpose. He’d even revved his engine like some cocky movie character before driving off, and Vic had stood there in the parking lot blushing afterwards. It should’ve been flattering and exciting.

On the other hand: people with that much confidence were dangerous.

What if this was a trap? Vic thought miserably, rolling onto his side and glaring at Clementine, who blinked back at him like she agreed he was pathetic. What if he’s not a cool guy at all? What if I end up in some sketchy warehouse zip-tied to a chair? Vic groaned, burying his face in the pillow, his anxious brain had already written a crime drama where he was the disposable first victim.

Vic sat back up, restless. Maybe he needed a distraction. He opened the photo again, full screen this time. The Corvette gleamed in the frame, but his eyes kept drifting to Tony with his casual posture, inked arms, and that smirk like he knew exactly how good he looked. Vic’s stomach flipped. He snapped the laptop shut. No use obsessing over the picture when the whole problem was getting it out of his hard drive and into Tony’s phone. He typed the previous line again, attached the photo, and hovered over the blue arrow. His thumb wobbled, then he locked the screen and tossed the phone face-down on the blanket like it was radioactive. Five minutes passed. He flipped it back over. Still no message sent. Come on dude! 

“Coward,” he muttered at himself, though his chest ached with nervous energy. He stood, paced the room, grabbed a guitar from the corner, strummed a couple of chords, and put it back. Nothing settled him. Finally, with a frustrated noise, he snatched the phone and hit send before he could change his mind. The message whooshed away. The photo thumbnail appeared in the chat bubble, Tony’s lean and the Corvette shining back at him. Vic stared at it like his phone might self-destruct.

Three dots appeared almost instantly and Vic’s heart launched into his throat.

The dots blinked, paused, and then blinked again. Then Tony’s reply came:

Mission: successful. Looks like a magazine cover. You sure you don’t secretly work for Chevy?

Vic’s lips parted in a silent laugh of relief. His fingers flew.

Haha no, I wish. Just freelancing my way through this season. Glad you like it though.

Tony responded quick again:

Like it? Bro, I look badass. Never thought I’d see the day Walmart made me look good.

Vic snorted out loud. Clementine startled and leapt off the basket. He typed back:
Told you, it’s all context. Car + owner = story. Walmart’s just the backdrop.

So what you’re saying is, you could make anything look good with a camera?

Vic tilted his head, thumbs moving before his brain caught up:

Pretty much. Even a toothpaste run.

He hit send, then realized too late how flirty that sounded. His stomach twisted. Tony replied with a string of laughing emojis. 

Careful, man. might have to hire you to follow me around and make my whole life look cool.

Vic grinned, warmth spreading through his chest.

That’ll cost extra.

Tony sent back. I’ll pay handsomely. toss in some revs 

Vic’s face heated instantly at the callback. He tapped back,

…deal.

For a long moment, no reply came. Vic thought maybe that was the end of it until his phone buzzed again.

Seriously though, these shots are dope. You free sometime this week? We could take her somewhere that’s not Walmart and give you better material.

Vic blinked, reread the words twice. His pulse hammered.

You mean another shoot? he typed.

Yeah. You seemed pretty into it. And tbh? I wanna see what else you can do.

Vic’s grin spread until his cheeks ached. He tapped back, fingers trembling just a little:

Name a time and place. I’ll bring the camera.

Another pause, then Tony’s reply:

Saturday night. I know a spot. I'll pick you up?

Vic leaned back against the pillows, phone clutched tight in his hand. Saturday wasn’t far. After Tony’s last text, Vic laid awake far longer than he’d meant to. It played on a loop in his head. He should have been excited, hell, he was excited but it was threaded with nerves just enough to keep him restless until the small hours of the morning. The thought of standing in front of Tony again, camera in hand, pretending he wasn’t totally rattled by the guy’s casual confidence and potential shady ways of income made Vic’s stomach knot and heart flutter at the same time.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

The next morning, life settled back into its usual rhythm. Vic’s apartment was a shoebox, but it was his shoebox. His walls were lined with posters of bands he’d shot, gear bags stacked in the corner, the week bled together with the kind of half-chaotic pace he was used to.

Monday, he shot a local pop-punk band in a friend’s venue, sweating through his flannel while trying to keep the mic stand out of the frame. Tuesday, he edited until his eyes blurred, fueled by bad coffee and mediocre cooking. Wednesday, he met up with an old client for a quick headshot session in the park, and Clementine was clawing at his shoelaces the minute he got home.

It was all normal. But threaded through everything was Tony. Every time Vic lifted his camera to his eye, he flashed back to Tony leaning against that Corvette. Every rev of an engine on the street outside his window had him craning his neck like maybe, somehow, it would be the Z06 again. He told himself not to overthink, that Tony was just being nice, that a second shoot wasn’t anything more than what it was. But his inner 15 year old was desperate for the hot guy with the cool car to be his “friend.” 

By Friday, he’d convinced himself at least three times to cancel. What if Tony didn’t like the shots this time? What if he realized Vic wasn’t as good as he thought? What if he kidnaps hi-

But Saturday came anyway.

The sun dipped low as Vic double-checked his gear, making sure his camera batteries were fully charged, lenses packed, and memory cards wiped. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, debating whether changing out of his worn black jeans and hoodie would make him look like he was trying too hard. He didn’t exactly have “going out” clothes. Being a photographer usually meant functional and dark, the kind of outfit that let him melt into a crowd. Still, he swapped the hoodie for a cleaner denim jacket, ruffled his hair into something resembling intentional, and told himself Tony wouldn’t care either way.

At 7:30, his phone buzzed.

You ready? I’ll swing by.

Vic’s pulse leapt. He typed back quickly:

yep. Gear’s packed.

The reply came fast. Cool. I’ll pull up. listen for the engine.

Vic laughed nervously to himself and slipped the phone into his pocket, grabbing his gear bag. Clementine blinked up at him from her perch on the couch, tail flicking.

“Don’t wait up,” Vic said, locking the door behind him. The growl of the Corvette reached him before he saw it. Vic stepped outside just as the black Z06 slid to the curb, headlights cutting through the dusk. The car purred low, sexy, and impatient. Tony was behind the wheel, his arm draped casually over it, tattoos catching the last streaks of sunlight. When he spotted Vic, he gave a short rev, loud enough to make Vic’s chest vibrate, not so loud it felt like showing off.

Vic walked up, trying to play it cool. Tony leaned across the passenger seat and popped the door open from the inside. “Hop in, photographer.”

Vic slid into the seat, the leather cool beneath him, his bag tucked between his legs. The interior smelled faintly of gasoline, polish, and something warm and clean that Vic realized was just Tony’s cologne.

“Where to?” Vic asked, buckling in.

Tony smirked, shifting gears as the car eased away from the curb. “Told you. I know a spot.”

The Corvette roared down the street, smooth and powerful. Vic gripped his bag tighter, heart racing, not just from the speed, but from the sense that tonight wasn’t going to be normal. The Corvette’s low rumble settled into a steady hum as Tony shifted smoothly out of the neighborhood streets. Streetlights flickered past in gold streaks, their glow sliding across the dash and the curve of Tony’s jaw. Vic tried not to stare but failed miserably, his gaze darting between the neon blur of the city outside and the way Tony’s tattooed arm rested against the wheel like he’d been born to sit there.

“So,” Tony said after a comfortable stretch of silence, “you ever do car shoots before me? Or was I your first?”

Vic snorted, turning his head toward the window to hide his smile. “You make it sound like I’m losing my car photography virginity.”

Tony grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “Not denying it.”

“Okay, yeah, fine,” Vic said, laughing softly. “You were my first. Happy?”

“Very.” Tony smirked, giving the engine a playful rev at a stoplight. “Figured. You’ve got an eye, but you don’t have that grease under your nails most car guys do.”

Vic shrugged, fiddling with the strap of his camera bag. “Guess my vibe is more… coffee-stained notebook, and live music.”

“Sounds accurate from what I know about you so far,” Tony said. He glanced sideways. “But you’re good at what you do. Could tell the second you started snapping pictures.”

Vic blinked, caught off guard. Compliments usually rolled off him, but something about the way Tony said it so matter of factly made him blush.

“Uh. Thanks,” he muttered, suddenly grateful for the darkening sky so Tony couldn’t see the heat rising in his cheeks.

The car surged forward again, smooth as a shark cutting water. After a moment, Vic asked, “So where exactly are we going? You aren’t kidnapping me, right?”

Tony chuckled. “Relax. Not that creative. There’s this spot up by the ridge that overlooks the city. At night, it’s all lights. No one bothers you out there.”

“That sounds… kinda perfect, actually,” Vic said, his photographer’s mind already imagining the frames.

Tony gave him a quick glance, then returned his eyes to the road. “Yeah, figured you’d like it. The first time I parked up there, I thought it was wasted not having a camera around.”

Vic smiled faintly. “Guess it was just waiting for us.”

Tony didn’t answer right away, but Vic caught the slight tug of a grin at the corner of his mouth. The drive stretched long enough for Vic to settle into the car’s rhythm, the hum of the tires against asphalt, the occasional growl when Tony shifted gears. The city peeled away behind them, replaced by dark stretches of road lined with scrub and the faint outline of hills. The air grew cooler as they climbed. Finally, Tony turned off onto a narrow pullout and the pavement opened to a wide overlook, the city sprawling below in a quilt of lights stretching endlessly against the night sky.

“Whoa,” Vic breathed, pressing a hand to the window. “Okay, yeah. You totally undersold this.”

Tony smirked, easing the Corvette into a spot near the edge. He killed the engine as he spoke. “Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad?” Vic turned to him, grinning wide. “This is insane. You just casually keep a whole skyline hangout spot to yourself?”

Tony shrugged, unbothered. “Guess so. She looks good with the city behind her.” He patted the dash affectionately, then nodded toward Vic’s camera bag. “Better get to work before the light changes.”

Vic didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out of the car, the cool night air biting against his skin as he set up his first shots. The Corvette gleamed under the moonlight, its glossy surface reflecting streaks of city glow. Every angle was perfect, the kind of location photographers dreamed about.

Tony leaned against the hood again like he did the first time Vic shot his car, his arms folded as he watched. “You get this worked up every time you shoot, or is it just me?”

Vic crouched low, snapping a shot from near the ground. “Depends. Not every subject’s worth getting worked up over.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. “Flatterer.”

“Not flattery if it’s true,” Vic muttered, more to himself than to Tony, his ears burned. Tony chuckled softly and stayed quiet, letting Vic circle the car, frame after frame filling his camera. 

When Vic finally straightened, lowering the camera, Tony asked, “Get what you wanted?”

Vic looked down at the display, scrolling through the shots. He swallowed hard. “Yeah. And then some.”

“Good.” Tony’s voice was softer now, it was almost thoughtful. He pushed off the car and came to stand beside Vic, close enough that their shoulders brushed as he peered at the tiny screen. Vic’s breath caught, heart kicking up as Tony studied the images in silence. The city lights painted faint gold across his face, his tattoos stark against his skin.

“Damn,” Tony said finally. “You make her look better than I thought possible.” He glanced sideways, eyes sharp. “And me too.”

Vic’s throat felt dry. He managed a small smile. “Told you.”

Tony hummed, still studying him more than the photos. “Guess you’re right.”

The moment stretched. The night air wrapped around them, cool and quiet, the hum of the distant city far below. Vic shifted his weight, slipping the camera back onto its strap. The rush of shooting slowed, leaving him standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Tony in the quiet pullout. The Corvette gleamed like a predator at rest as the city spilled out in lights below them.

“So…” Vic began, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I gotta ask. How does someone even afford a beast like this?” He jerked his chin toward the car. “Pretty sure I’d have to sell a kidney, a lung, and probably my soul to come close.”

Tony chuckled, low and warm. “It’s not that dramatic. Well, maybe a little.” He leaned back against the hood, folding his arms. “I co-run a tech company with my buddy. Been at it since we were, like, nineteen.”

Vic blinked, surprised. “Wait, like, actual CEO suit and tie boardroom kind of company? Or more like two dudes in a garage convincing people they’ve invented the next Twitter?”

Tony smirked at that, shaking his head. “Both, kind of. We started in a garage. Now it’s… not huge like Apple or Google, but decently sized cyber security stuff. Enough to have investors breathing down our necks, enough to keep the lights on, and yeah, enough for me to splurge on cars.” He patted the hood behind him affectionately.

Vic whistled low. “Okay, now I’m picturing you in a tie and I just… can’t.”

“Good,” Tony said. “You won’t see me in one. My partner handles the fancy pitches. Kellin’s more of a smooth talker. He’s good at making people believe us. I’m more of a behind the scenes guy.”

“Kellin?” Vic tilted his head. “That’s his name?”

“Yeah. Kellin Quinn. Been my best friend forever. He’s the one who roped me into turning our little side project into an actual business. Guess he was right.”

Vic forced a small laugh, nodding like he bought it but inwardly? His stomach twisted. A tech company. It sounded vague as hell, like something people said when they didn’t want to explain what they actually did. Guys driving six-figure cars at twenty-something weren’t exactly thick on the ground, and Vic’s brain jumped immediately to the less flattering explanations.

Shady investments? Some kind of crypto scheme? Maybe money laundering?

Vic pushed the thoughts down, telling himself not to be such a pessimist. Tony didn’t seem like that type. Still, he’d been around long enough to know that people who got rich young either got seriously lucky, or played dirty. Out loud, he said carefully, “Huh. That’s cool. Tech’s not really my world. Guess I just didn’t peg you for, like, a start-up guy.”

Tony smirked, almost like he could hear the skepticism under Vic’s words. “What’d you peg me for?”

Vic hesitated, then shrugged. “Honestly? More like… musician, mechanic, maybe tattoo artist. So let me get this straight, you help run a whole tech company, and you still find time to speed around in your Corvette?”

Tony grinned. “Gotta have balance, right?” He shrugged. “Cars keep me sane. Work’s good, but it’ll eat you alive if you let it. Out here it’s just me, the road, and whatever song’s blasting through the speakers.”

Vic nodded slowly, studying him. The way Tony talked wasn’t what he expected. He’d pegged him for a show-off, maybe cocky, maybe kinda careless. Either the guy was telling the truth, or he was really good at bullshitting. Vic couldn’t decide which made him more interested. They stood there in silence for a moment, the city stretching out endless below. Vic’s thoughts churned, curiosity, skepticism, and attraction all tangled together.

“You sound like you actually like it,” Vic said quietly. “Not just the car, the work. Like you’re proud of it.”

Tony looked out toward the city, the lights reflecting in his eyes. “Yeah. I am. Doesn’t mean it isn’t exhausting as hell sometimes, but…” He let out a small laugh. “Beats clocking in somewhere I hate.”

Vic leaned against the hood next to him, letting their shoulders brush without moving away. “Guess I can’t argue with that. I take photos because it’s the only thing that feels like… me. Even if half the time I’m broke. At least it’s on my terms.”

Tony’s gaze flicked to him for a moment. “You’re damn good at it. Don’t sell yourself short.”

The words made Vic blush, he stared down at his sneakers, scuffing the dirt with his toe, trying not to let the warmth in his chest show too much. Compliments from strangers were one thing. From Tony, it felt different.

“You’re, uh…” Vic cleared his throat. “You’re also pretty believable.”

Tony smirked. “You sound surprised.”

“Maybe I am.” Vic grinned, lifting his camera again. “Mind if I grab a couple more of you? Against the skyline. It’d be criminal not to.”

Tony arched a brow but didn’t move. “Guess I can allow it. But don’t make me look soft, Fuentes.”

Vic’s grin widened. “No promises.”

He raised the camera, framing Tony against the city lights. The shutter clicked, the sound of it was sharp in the quiet night. Through the lens, Tony looked both untouchable, the tattoos, the smirk, the calm steadiness in his posture screamed sexy. Vic lowered the camera, his chest tight.

Tony studied him in return, head tilted just slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.” Vic shook his head, forcing a small laugh. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The night stretched, cool and quiet, the city glowing beneath them. 

Then Tony shifted, his voice casual: “You ever go clubbing?”

Vic blinked, caught off guard. “Uh- what?”

“Clubs. Like a nightclub? You ever go?”

Vic scratched the back of his neck, still half-stuck on the tech company thing. “I mean… not really. Not that kind of guy.”

“Mm.” Tony tilted his head. “Shame. Thought about taking you sometime.”

Vic froze, his brain stuttering. “You- you what? I mean, uh…” His words tumbled over themselves, until he forced himself to breathe and try again. “Like… with you?”

Tony grinned, clearly amused by the reaction. “Yeah. With me. You free next weekend?”

Vic hesitated, part of him screaming don’t trust this guy, another part buzzing with excitement he couldn’t shake. His mouth worked before his brain could stop it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m free.”

“Cool.” Tony pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it with a flick. “I’ll text you the details later. Nothing fancy. Just a place I go sometimes. You’ll like it.”

Vic shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating. “O-Okay. Sounds good.”

Tony smirked, sliding his phone away again. “Relax, Fuentes. I’m not asking you to sign a contract. Just one night out.”

Vic let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head at himself. “Right. Yeah. One night out.”

They lingered there a little longer, the Corvette gleaming quietly in the dark as the city lights sprawled infinite below. And when they finally packed up to leave, Vic couldn’t shake the war in his chest. Tony Perry was either exactly what he seemed, or he was hiding something. Whatever way, Vic was already in too deep.

Chapter Text

By the time next Friday had rolled around, Vic had convinced himself at least four different times that Tony wasn’t going to text him. Maybe the Corvette guy had gotten bored, maybe he was busy being a mysterious “tech co-CEO” or whatever. Or Vic’s favorite theory, Tony had realized Vic was just a broke, nerdy photographer and realized he wasn't worth his time. But then, at 8:02 PM, his phone buzzed.

Tony Perry 🚗: You free tonight?

Vic froze, staring at the screen like it had just personally threatened him. Tonight? Did Tony’s calendar work differently? Why'd he wait so long to text? Still, his thumbs moved before his brain caught up.

Uh yeah I’m free

The little typing dots popped up immediately.

Good. Club night! Nothing crazy. Just drinks, music, people watching.
Pick you up in an hour?

Vic’s stomach dropped and lifted all at once. He read the texts three times before answering.

Sure. Just let me throw something on.

Don’t overthink it, Fuentes. You’ll look fine.

Vic groaned out loud. Don’t overthink it. As if that was possible, overthinking was his entire brand. He tossed the phone onto his bed and yanked open his closet, which it sort of looked more like the clearance rack of a thrift store than a functioning wardrobe, hoodies, flannels, worn-out band tees, and skinny jeans were scattered around. He wanted to look… nice, or at least like someone Tony wouldn’t regret being seen with.

After twenty minutes of frantic indecision, he settled on his best black skinny jeans, one's with no holes for once, a vintage band shirt with a faded logo, and a clean flannel layered open over it. He hesitated at his jewelry box, looking at the tangle of cheap rings and a chain necklace he’d bought off a street vendor years ago. Normally he saved them for shoots when he wanted to look a little more “artsy.” Tonight, though, he slipped on the rings and clasped the chain around his neck catching his reflection in the mirror. Not bad, not amazing, but not bad. The rings caught the light when he adjusted his flannel, and the necklace gave just enough edge to make him look like he hadn’t rolled straight out of bed.

Clementine leapt onto the bed, blinking at him as if judging his outfit.

“Don’t start,” Vic muttered, ruffling her fur before grabbing his camera bag, no way was he leaving it behind. If things got awkward, at least he’d have his camera and could ask to take cool pictures. He shoved his phone into his pocket, his stomach buzzed with a mix of nerves and excitement, the same cocktail of emotions that had been brewing since the first night he’d met Tony.

When his phone buzzed again, Outside, Vic nearly jumped out of his skin.

He took one last look in the mirror, smoothed down his hair, and whispered to himself, “Don’t be weird. You can do this.”

Then he headed out the door to meet Tony Perry. The low growl of an engine cut through the quiet street as Vic stepped out of his apartment complex just in time to see headlights sweep across the curb. The Corvette glided up like a predator, paint gleaming under the amber streetlight.

Tony rolled down the passenger-side window with a smooth flick of his wrist. “Fuentes,” he called out, leaning an elbow casually out the window. His grin was amused. “Well, well. You clean up.”

Vic felt heat crawl up his neck immediately. He tugged at the open flannel self-consciously, suddenly regretting the necklace and the rings. “I-I didn’t really… it’s just clothes. People wear clothes to places, you know.”

Tony chuckled, his laugh was low and amused. “Relax, I’m not roasting you. Just saying, I didn't expect jewelry.” His gaze flicked to the chain glinting against Vic’s shirt collar. “Looks good, though. Fits you.”

Vic blinked, totally thrown off. He’d been braced for a mocking comment, not that. “Oh. Uh. Thanks,” he muttered, tugging at the necklace. “Figured I should at least try not to look like I just crawled out of a ditch.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “Mission accomplished.”

Vic rolled his eyes and made for the passenger door, muttering, “You’re impossible,” under his breath.

When he slid into the seat, the smell of leather and Tony’s cologne filled his lungs, Tony smelled warm, and clean. His bag sat awkwardly in his lap. Tony put the car in park long enough to glance him over again, one brow raised like he was cataloguing every detail, then he nodded once as if satisfied. “Alright. You’ll do.”

“Gee, thanks,” Vic said dryly, buckling his seatbelt.

Tony chuckled again and shifted gears, the Corvette rumbling back into motion. They rolled down the street, neon lights from shop windows streaking across the dash.

“So,” Tony said casually, “a couple of my friends are meeting us there. That cool?”

Vic’s heart stuttered. “Friends?”

“Yeah.” Tony drummed his fingers lightly against the wheel. “Kellin, you already heard me mention him, and Jaime. They’re good people. Kellin’s my business partner, and Jaime’s…” He shrugged with a small grin. “Jaime’s just Jaime. You’ll see.”

Vic nodded quickly, though his nerves spiked higher. Meeting with Tony was one thing, but meeting his friends was another thing entirely. “Cool. Yeah. Totally fine..”

Tony glanced sideways, smirking at Vic’s obvious nerves. “You’ll be fine, man. I wouldn’t throw you to the wolves if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“Comforting,” Vic muttered, fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

They fell into a quieter rhythm after that, the engine humming as the city streets stretched out ahead of them. Tony drove confidently, Vic found himself sneaking glances, not just at Tony’s face lit faintly by passing lights, but at the little details. That was when he noticed the bracelet.

On Tony’s right wrist, catching the glow of neon and streetlights was a golden chain bracelet, not flashy, but solid and polished. Hanging from it were several small charms that clinked softly when he shifted the gear. A guitar pick, a tiny lightning bolt, and the unmistakable stripes of a bisexual pride flag, Vic’s breath caught. Vic said nothing, eyes darting back to the windshield like he hadn’t seen a thing. His heart thumped hard, he’d met plenty of guys with tattoos and cars, but not many who wore something so openly personal. It didn’t fit the “mafia boss” image his paranoia kept painting. Vic tightened his hands on his bag, making a mental note and locking it away.

Tony caught him sneaking a look and smirked. “What? Something on my face?”

Vic nearly choked. “N-no. Just, uh. Ignore me.”

Tony shook his head with a soft laugh, focusing back on the road. “You’re kinda quiet, Fuentes.”

“I’m not quiet,” Vic grumbled automatically, cheeks burning. “I’m just… observant.”

“Same thing,” Tony said smoothly, his grin never fading.

Vic huffed, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. The city grew brighter as they neared the heart of downtown. Music pulsed faintly from blocks away, a bass-heavy thrum that made Vic’s stomach twist with nerves and anticipation. He tugged at his flannel again, checking his reflection in the window. Tony caught the movement and smirked again. “Relax, Fuentes. You’re not walking into an audition. It’s just a club.”

“Easy for you to say,” Vic muttered. “You look like you belong in one.”

Tony tilted his head like he was about to tease back, then said simply, “So do you. Trust me.”

Vic swallowed hard, eyes darting back to the neon blur outside. His paranoia hummed faintly in the back of his mind, but for the first time those thoughts didn’t drown out the excitement. The Corvette prowled down the final stretch of downtown, neon signs buzzing over bars, restaurants, and a cluster of nightclubs. Friday night meant the sidewalks were thick with groups of friends, couples, and strangers already half-buzzed, laughing too loud and weaving under the streetlights.

Vic tugged at the hem of his flannel nervously again as Tony slowed to a stop at the curb. The line outside the club was already long, a colorful crowd clustered behind velvet ropes, bass rattling faintly from inside. Tony cut the engine, the sudden silence almost startling. He turned to Vic with that easy grin. “Ready?”

“No,” Vic admitted immediately.

Tony chuckled, unbothered. “You’ll survive.”

The driver’s door popped open, and Vic fumbled with his seatbelt before following suit. The cool night air was thick with cigarette smoke, perfume, and god knows what from the city, the club’s neon sign bleeding blue light across the street. Standing off to the side of the line were two men, clearly waiting, Vic spotted them instantly. One was shorter, about 5’8, pale skin, sharp features and a cute nose framed by dark hair. He wore a leather jacket over a white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, the kind of effortlessly cool look that Vic could never pull off. The other was taller, maybe 5’10 with warm skin, dressed in a black tshirt, jeans, and vans, his grin wide enough to be seen even across the sidewalk.

The shorter guy spotted Tony first and smirked. “Well, look who finally decided to show.”

“Kellin,” Tony greeted, walking up like he owned the street. “Good to see you too, man.”

Kellin gave him a once-over, then shook his head with mock disappointment. “You’re late, dude. What’s your excuse this time?”

Tony smirked. “Had to pick someone up.” He angled his head slightly, gesturing toward Vic, who hovered awkwardly behind him. Both men turned their attention, and Vic nearly shrank into his flannel.

“This is Vic,” Tony said smoothly, clapping a hand on Vic’s shoulder. “Vic, meet Kellin, he’s my partner in crime. And this,” he tilted his chin toward the taller guy, “is Jaime. Try not to let him talk your ear off.”

“Rude,” Jaime said cheerfully, stepping forward to shake Vic’s hand. “Ignore him. I’m delightful.”

Vic fumbled but managed to shake back. “Uh, hi. Nice to meet you both.”

Kellin’s handshake after Jaime’s was firmer, his smirk less intimidating up close. “So you’re the mysterious photographer. We’ve heard a little about you.”

Vic blinked, glancing sideways at Tony. “You… you talked about me?”

Tony’s smirk deepened. “Maybe.”

Heat crept up Vic’s neck again, but Kellin let him off the hook with a small grin. “Relax, man. All good things. Tony doesn’t usually bring people around, so you must’ve made an impression.”

“Oh,” Vic said, voice cracking embarrassingly. “Cool.”

Jaime grinned wider. “Don’t worry, he gets that face a lot. We’ve all been there.”

Vic opened his mouth to protest, but Tony cut in. “Alright, enough hazing. Let’s get in before the line eats us alive.”

They joined the end of the queue, the bass from inside the club pounding like a heartbeat underfoot. Around them, strangers laughed, shouted, and scrolled on their phones, the line inching forward every few minutes. Vic found himself between Tony and Jaime, with Kellin just ahead. Conversation came easy for them, Vic noticed, Jaime cracked jokes, Kellin rolled his eyes with practiced tolerance, and Tony chimed in with the kind of dry humor that landed every time.

“You didn’t tell us you were bringing someone,” Jaime said at one point, nudging Tony.

“Didn’t think I needed your permission,” Tony replied lazily.

“Not permission,” Kellin said with a wink. “Just a heads up. Gotta make sure we don’t scare the poor guy off.”

Vic raised a hand weakly. “Uh, still here. I can hear you.”

“Exactly,” Kellin shot back.

Jaime gave Vic a sympathetic look. “He does that to everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“It’s fine,” Vic muttered, fiddling with his rings again. “I’m used to people assuming I’ll run away screaming.”

Tony chuckled low under his breath, just loud enough for Vic to hear. “You’re still here, though.”

Vic glanced at him, caught the faint glint of the golden bracelet on Tony’s wrist again as he shifted his hands. The charms clinked together softly, catching the neon glow. Vic tried not to stare but couldn’t stop cataloguing the details, the bisexual flag charm, the lightning bolt, the guitar pick. The line moved steadily, conversation filling the gaps. Vic listened more than he spoke, occasionally chiming in when Kellin teased him directly. He felt out of place, but Tony’s presence beside him kept him tethered. Finally, the line thinned, and the bouncer came into view, a massive guy in a black polo, scanning IDs with the vibe of a border guard. The bass was louder here, rattling the windows, the door pulsing with each thump. Kellin stepped up first, handing over his ID with an easy smile. The bouncer scanned it, nodded, and waved him through. Jaime followed, chatting cheerfully even as the bouncer remained stone-faced, then it was Vic’s turn. He handed over his license with clammy fingers, trying not to look guilty of anything. The bouncer studied it longer than felt necessary, then flicked his eyes up at Vic’s face.

Vic swallowed hard.

Finally, the ID was handed back, and the bouncer grunted. “You’re good.”

Vic nearly sagged in relief, tucking the license back into his wallet. Tony was last, handing over his ID with a bored expression. He got a nod almost immediately and then the four of them slipped past the rope and into the building.

The club swallowed them whole. Inside, everything was a blur of sound, light, and heat. The bass that had been muffled outside was deafening here, rattling Vic’s ribcage. Colored lights swept across the crowd, rainbow strobe flashes casting bodies into silhouettes that moved and collided in the crush of the dance floor. The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and spilled liquor, sticky against Vic’s skin. Music throbbed overhead, the kind of beat that made conversation nearly impossible without leaning close, the main floor stretched wide, a sea of people dancing, laughing, and shouting. To one side, a long bar glowed with backlit bottles, bartenders moving in a blur as they mixed drinks. The opposite wall was lined with leather booths, already packed with groups shouting to be heard over the music.

Vic’s eyes widened, overwhelmed by the sheer sensory overload, his fingers tightened on his bag strap.

Tony leaned close, his breath brushing Vic’s ear. “You good?”

Vic nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Totally.”

Tony smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Stick with us. You’ll be fine.”

Jaime had already started weaving through the crowd, Kellin on his heels. Tony gestured for Vic to follow, and together they pushed toward the bar, neon lights flashing over their faces. For a moment, Vic let himself just absorb all the pulse of life all around him. It was overwhelming, terrifying, but there was something exhilarating about it too. The press of bodies parted just enough for the four of them to claim a corner of the bar. Jaime waved down a bartender like it was the easiest thing in the world for him, grinning when a cocktail napkin slid his way. Kellin leaned one elbow against the counter, his leather jacket catching the neon glow, while Tony settled next to Vic, keeping close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed in the crowd.

“What are you drinking?” Jaime asked, looking first at Vic, then at the others.

Vic froze. His bar knowledge consisted of “beer” and “uh, something fruity?” He opened his mouth, closed it, then mumbled, “Whatever’s not too strong.”

Tony smirked down at him. “Translation: he’ll take whatever doesn’t taste like fire.”

“Exactly,” Vic admitted, relieved someone else had said it.

Jaime grinned. “I got you. You’re in good hands.” He ordered a round: something dark for himself, something sharp for Kellin, a whiskey neat for Tony, and for Vic, something colorful and fizzy that tasted more like juice than alcohol.

When the drinks arrived, Jaime raised his glass. “To Friday nights and questionable decisions.”

They clinked glasses, Vic nearly dropping his in the process, and took their first sips. The burn was milder than he feared, sweet enough to trick him into a second sip almost immediately. “Not bad,” he admitted.

“See?” Jaime said proudly. “Delightful.”

Vic smiled faintly. Jaime was easy to like, he was warm and talkative, the kind of guy who could probably make friends with a brick wall.

“So, Vic,” Kellin said, leaning in slightly to be heard over the pounding bass. His voice had a smooth cadence, calm in contrast to Jaime’s animated energy. “Tony told us you’re a photographer.”

Vic’s fingers tightened on his glass. “Uh. Yeah. Mostly freelance. Events, bands, portraits… whatever keeps the lights on.”

“Got a studio?” Jaime asked curiously.

Vic laughed dryly. “Studio? Yeah, it’s called my office.”

That earned a chuckle from Kellin, even a faint grin. “Hey, gotta start somewhere. Half the guys I know who run media now started in their basements.”

Vic shrugged, uncomfortable but grateful for the validation. “I mean, I like it. Capturing things other people don’t notice is a fun job.”

Jaime leaned in with mock seriousness. “Like… my good side.”

“Exactly,” Vic said, deadpan.

That got a laugh from the group, even Tony cracked a grin, sipping his whiskey with a faint shake of his head.

“And you?” Vic asked, feeling like he should return the question. He glanced between them nervously. “What do you guys do? Other than… you know… looking cooler than me in bars.”

Jaime puffed his chest out theatrically. “Glad you asked. I’m a bassist.”

Vic blinked. “Oh. Like… professionally?”

Jaime grinned. “In my dreams. Nah, in my free time. Bands here and there. Right now I’m in culinary school though. Gonna be a chef if music doesn’t make me famous first.”

Vic tilted his head, curious despite himself. “That’s… actually awesome. Music and food? You’re like double talented.”

“Triple, if you count being charming,” Jaime added, winking.

Kellin rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s insufferable when he’s had two sips of anything.”

“And what about you?” Vic asked Kellin. “Tony said you guys run a company?”

Kellin nodded, leaning back slightly. “Yeah. Tech startup, though we’ve been around long enough to not really call it that anymore. We do a mix of software development and some niche cyber security stuff. We’re under an NDA so we can’t say much. Keeps us busy.”

Vic nodded slowly, the skepticism he’d been nursing all week flickering faintly in the back of his mind. Sure. Tech. Or code for money laundering. But Kellin seemed… normal, not the shady mobster his paranoia had cooked up.

“And Tony?” Jaime teased, elbowing him lightly. “Mr. Corvette himself. He doesn’t talk about work much outside of Kellin.”

Tony smirked, unbothered. “Because I don’t want to bore people.”

“You don’t bore them,” Jaime said. “You just keep secrets.”

Vic, to his own surprise, blurted, “Yeah, I was wondering about that. Like… what exactly do you do?”

Tony turned his head, amused. “You don’t waste time, huh?”

Vic flushed. “Sorry. Just curious.”

Tony tilted his glass, the charms on his bracelet glinting faintly under the bar’s neon. “Operations. I keep things running smooth. Make sure people don’t screw up the good work Kellin does. That’s all.”

Kellin smirked. “Don’t let him undersell it. He’s basically the reason we still exist.”

“Don’t inflate my ego,” Tony muttered, but there was warmth behind it.

Vic sipped his drink again, letting the conversation swirl around him. Jaime launched into a story about a disastrous cooking lab involving a flambé gone wrong, Kellin chimed in with dry commentary, and Tony stayed quieter, but Vic could feel the weight of his presence next to him shooting him an occasional amused glance whenever Vic looked too overwhelmed. At some point, the conversation drifted to movies.

“I mean,” Vic said without thinking, “Star Wars is basically the blueprint for half of them anyway.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he realized he’d said them out loud. His stomach plummeted. Great. Now they think I’m a nerd. But Tony actually lit up for a fraction of a second. His brows raised, a genuine spark of interest flashing in his usually composed expression.

“You like Star Wars?” he asked, leaning in just enough to be heard.

Vic blinked, surprised. “Uh… yeah. A little. Or… a lot.”

Tony smirked, but it wasn’t mocking this time. “Good to know.”

That was it. He didn’t elaborate, didn’t launch into a rant or a trivia dump like Vic expected. Just let the spark fade back into his usual calm, taking another sip of whiskey. But the look lingered, the kind that said there’s more to this conversation later. Vic clutched his drink tighter, heart thudding, and tried to pretend the bass rattling the bar was the reason. The drinks kept coming. Jaime made sure of it, always sliding another glass his way with a grin and a “Come on, you’re too tense, man. It’s Friday.” Kellin sipped his own slower, while Tony nursed his whiskey like it was second nature. But Vic? By his third, he was warm all the way down, his head pleasantly fuzzy. The bass didn’t feel so much like an assault anymore, more like a pulse he was syncing with. Somewhere between Jaime’s flambé story part two and Kellin rolling his eyes for the tenth time, Tony straightened from his lean against the bar. He tipped back the last of his drink, set the glass down, and jerked his chin toward the main floor.

“Alright,” Tony said over the music. “Enough sitting around. Let’s dance.”

Jaime grinned immediately. “Finally. I thought you’d never say it.”

Vic blinked, clutching the edge of the bar like a lifeline. “Wait, what?”

“Dance,” Tony repeated, already moving through the crowd with Kellin at his side. “Come on, Vic. Don’t make me drag you.”

Before Vic could protest, Jaime slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the floor. “Don’t worry, man. Stick with me. You’ll be fine.”

The crowd swallowed them whole, heat and lights pressing in, b odies moved shoulder-to-shoulder, hips and arms and laughter blending into one relentless tide. The bass thudded harder here, rattling Vic’s bones, syncing his heartbeat to its rhythm. Fate had a sense of humor, the speakers kicked into Like a G6.

“Oh my god,” Jaime laughed, immediately throwing his hands up as the crowd erupted in recognition.

The beat dropped, and suddenly everyone around them was jumping, swaying, shouting the lyrics into the neon haze.

Vic froze at first, overwhelmed. He hadn’t been on a dance floor since his high school prom. His idea of “fun” usually involved his cat, a tripod, and two cans of cold brew, but the alcohol had loosened something inside him, and Jaime’s infectious grin didn’t leave much room for self-pity.

“Come on!” Jaime shouted over the music, grabbing Vic’s wrist. He pulled him into the beat, bouncing to the bass like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Vic stumbled at first, awkward and hyper-aware of his arms, his legs, his everything. But Jaime was easy to follow, his rhythm exaggerated enough that Vic could just mimic without thinking too hard. The alcohol buzzed through him, fuzzing the sharp edges of embarrassment. The crowd around him blurred into flashing lights and shadows, strangers cheering as the chorus hit again. Jaime laughed, tossing his head back, and Vic found himself laughing too caught in the absurdity of it all. He swayed with the beat, jumped when everyone else jumped, shouted the “Like a G6” hook even though his voice cracked. Jaime whooped beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. For the first time that night, Vic didn’t feel like he was 4th wheeling.  He risked a glance across the floor, Tony and Kellin weren’t far, moving with their own brand of rhythm. Kellin had that laid-back sway, head bobbing just enough to prove he was enjoying himself. Tony was harder to read, more restrained, but his eyes found Vic in the crowd for just a second and in that second, Vic swore he saw something. A glimmer of amusement, maybe pride, at the fact that Vic had actually let go. But then the moment passed, swallowed by the next bass drop.

Vic laughed again, shaking his head as Jaime pulled him into a clumsy spin. He stumbled, nearly crashing into a stranger, but caught himself with both hands on Jaime’s shoulders. They both cracked up, the sound swallowed by the music. For once, Vic didn’t care how stupid he looked. By the time the DJ switched tracks for the 12th time and Jaime had tossed back his 9th shot, Vic’s legs ached from bouncing, his shirt clung to his back, and his hair stuck damply against his forehead. He wasn’t even sure how long they’d been on the floor, five minutes? An hour? It was fun. Vic couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much in public.

But even fun had its limits.

When the next song hit, a remix Vic didn’t recognize, he watched as Tony leaned toward Kellin, said something Vic couldn’t hear, and gestured toward the exit. Kellin nodded, Jaime raised his hands in a final cheer, and then the four of them began weaving through the crowd, sticky with sweat and grinning like idiots. The second the club doors swung open, the outside air hit them like salvation. Cool night breeze swept over Vic’s overheated skin, raising goosebumps where sweat clung to his neck. The city was still alive out here, traffic humming, groups of strangers laughing on the sidewalk, the faint echo of other clubs down the block, but compared to the inside, it felt like silence.

“Holy shit,” Jaime gasped dramatically, leaning against the wall just beyond the line of smokers. His grin was wide and flushed. “I am so glad I don’t work tomorrow.”

Vic laughed, clutching his bag against his chest. “What would you even do if you did? Show up smelling like tequila?”

“Exactly,” Jaime said cheerfully. 

Kellin rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. He pulled a pack of gum from his jacket pocket, popped one in his mouth, and offered it around. Vic took one gratefully, the cool mint cutting through the taste of alcohol.

Tony leaned back against the wall, bracelet glinting faintly under the streetlight. He didn’t look as disheveled as the rest of them, his shirt was still neat, hair barely mussed, but his cheeks were a little warmer.

“You held your own out there, Fuentes,” he said casually, eyes flicking toward Vic.

Vic flushed, fumbling with the gum wrapper. “Barely. I looked like a malfunctioning droid.”

“Malfunctioning droids have their charm,” Tony said smoothly.

“Wow,” Jaime said, pointing between them. “That was either the nerdiest flirt I’ve ever heard or the coolest. Can’t decide which.”

Vic made a strangled noise, nearly choking on his gum. “It wasn’t- he wasn’t- it’s not-”

Kellin laughed softly. “Relax, man. Jaime lives to stir the pot.”

“Damn right I do,” Jaime said, unrepentant. He shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head back to look at the night sky. “Seriously though, that was fun. Haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

Vic nodded faintly, still trying to calm the blush burning his face. He chewed his gum, letting the cool air wash away the last of his nerves. The city felt different now, less threatening. He could still feel the bass reverberating in his chest, but out here it softened into something like an afterglow. For a few moments, the four of them just stood there catching their breath, watching the flow of people coming and going, basking in the comfortable pause after the chaos.

Jaime broke the silence first. “So, round two next weekend?”

Kellin groaned softly. “You’re relentless.”

“You love me,” Jaime shot back.

Tony smirked, pushing off the wall. “We’ll see.” He turned his head toward Vic, one brow arched. “What about you, Fuentes? Survive your first night?”

Vic hesitated, then gave a small, awkward grin. “Survived. Still alive. Not kidnapped by the mafia. So… yeah. Pretty good.”

Tony chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head. As the moment stretched, Tony shifted, fishing his phone from his pocket. He unlocked it with a lazy swipe, tapped something in, and then looked up at Vic. “I’ll call you an Uber, make sure you get home safe.”

Vic’s mouth opened to protest, he could call his own, he wasn’t helpless, but Tony’s expression shut it down before it even left his lips. It was calm, firm, and left no room for argument.

“And you?” Vic asked instead, chewing his gum nervously.

Tony’s mouth tugged into a crooked grin. “I’ll hang back, sober up. Not in a rush.” He tilted his head toward Kellin and Jaime. “We’ll close out the night here. Don’t worry about me.”

Something warm settled in Vic’s chest at that, not just the offer, but the way Tony said it like it was nothing. Like making sure Vic got home safe was second nature, not an obligation. The Uber pinged a few minutes later, headlights rolling up to the curb. Jaime clapped Vic on the back like they’d been friends forever as he said goodbye, Kellin gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and Tony just held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

“See you soon,” he said, low enough that it didn’t feel like it was for anyone else.

Vic swallowed, his throat tight, then nodded. “Yeah. See you.”

And as he slid into the backseat of his Uber, he caught himself smiling.

He was okay, he actually couldn’t wait to see them again.

Chapter Text

Vic laid sprawled on the couch, half-buried under a blanket, Clementine snoring softly at his side. His laptop hummed from the coffee table, abandoned mid-export; even the photos he’d taken last weekend felt blurry compared to the storm still circling in his head.

That was when his phone buzzed.

Tony Perry 🚗: [photo] Working so you can take more cool pictures of my cars.

Vic thumbed the screen open, expecting… he wasn’t sure. Maybe an office selfie? Or some sterile corporate nonsense? Instead, the photo was an assault on his eyes. Triple monitors glowed in sync, each one stacked with a background of a random rainbow car and neon overlays. LED strips bathed the whole desk in an unholy shade of electric blue, a hulking PC tower sat to the right, tubes of bright blue cooling liquid weaving through it, and inside sitting on the GPU glinting smugly from a corner was a Star Wars Funko Pop.

Vic barked out a laugh so loud Clementine startled, tail flicking.

Of course. Of course- Mr. Corvette fucking has a stormtrooper shoved in his PC case.

Is that a Funko Pop inside your tower or are my eyes cursed?

The bubbles popped up almost instantly.

Don’t hate. He regulates temps with the Force.
Also he’s my copilot.

Vic snorted, pressing a hand over his mouth. Jesus Christ.

You realize that’s the nerdiest thing I’ve ever seen, right?
And I hang out with myself daily.

You say nerdy like it’s a bad thing?

That made Vic pause, his thumb hovered over the screen. People usually did say it like it was bad. He shrugged, smiling faintly.

I thought your whole deal was like… billionaire minimalist. Not a spaceship command center with a stormtrooper?

Nah thats more Kellin
If it doesn’t glow like a spaceship, what’s the point?

Vic rolled his eyes. He tried to imagine Tony leaning back in some racing chair, headphones on, maybe yelling at twelve-year-olds. It was… surprisingly easy. It was surprisingly endearing, actually.

Okay but… gotta admit, it’s kinda sick. Your whole setup.

Knew you’d cave.
Promise u it looks even better in person.

Vic’s stomach did a little lurch. In person. He chewed his lip, not sure how to reply. Before he could, another message popped up.

You busy tomorrow morning?

Vic blinked. Tomorrow morning- Did Tony know mornings were basically Vic’s natural predator?

Uh… depends on your definition of “busy.”
If drinking three cups of coffee and staring at Photoshop counts, then yeah. Super booked.

Good. I’ll save you.
Wanna shoot again? My car, maybe some city stuff. Nothing heavy. Just messing around.

Vic hesitated. His fingers itched at the idea, could he get away with even snapping Tony himself if he’d let him? Vic also felt the familiar twist of doubt. Why him? Tony could hire any photographer he wanted, someone with better gear. Still, the thought of saying no made his chest tighten.

Yeah, I’d like that.

Cool. I’ll pick you up.

Simple. No overthinking. Vic stared at the chat until Clementine pawed at him for attention. His brain was already running a hundred miles per hour: what to wear, where they’d go, what it would mean.

Another buzz.

[photo]

Vic thumbed it open without thinking and froze. The shot was angled down, casual, like Tony had meant to snap his keyboard or maybe his chair. What filled the frame was Tony’s torso, Vic focused on the tattoos peeking under his black tee that was pushed up, and his low-slung sweatpants dipped just enough to show the sharp “v” of his hipbones. It was the kind of picture you’d see if you scrolled too far on Twitter at 2 a.m.

Vic’s brain flatlined.

No. Nope. This is illegal. That’s his v line. That’s- oh my god. He didn’t mean to. Did he-?

Another buzz.

Shit. Wrong pic, that was the one I took before I actually was holding my phone right lol

Vic slapped the phone against his face like that would somehow delete the image burned into his corneas. His ears were hot as he scrambled for a response.

Whoops

He wanted to crawl under the couch and never emerge. Seriously though. Sorry. Didn’t mean to send that. Ignore it?

Vic’s laugh came out strangled. Ignore it? As if that was possible. The image was seared into his brain like a screensaver. He flopped backward, tomorrow morning suddenly felt very, very complicated. The typing bubbles reappeared almost immediately.

Here's what I meant to send. [photo]

A clearer image of Tony’s storm trooper friend filled Vic's screen, and Vic stared at the words until they blurred, heat prickling at the back of his neck. He knew he should just type “no worries” and move on, except his thumbs wouldn’t stop hovering like he was defusing a bomb.

Finally, he tapped out:

It’s fine.
Honest mistake. Happens to everyone.

Everyone? Really? As if the average person was just accidentally sending thirst-trap torso shots between gaming desk pics. Vic buried his face in his arm, groaning into the couch cushion.

Still. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.

Vic’s chest squeezed. Tony sounded sincere, like he actually cared what Vic thought.

You didn’t. Promise.
If anything I just feel bad for your Funko Pop. Must’ve been traumatized.

He hit send before he could overthink it. When the three dots popped up again, he braced himself, only for Tony’s reply to come through casually.

Lmao. He’s seen worse.

Vic exhaled hard, relief bleeding into laughter. Okay. Okay, they were still fine. The earth hadn’t cracked in half beneath him. Except every time he blinked, the image flashed in his mind. The tattoos, the sweatpants, the sharp angle of Tony’s hips. That stupid v line. He dragged both hands down his face, groaning so loud Clementine abandoned him for the kitchen.

“God. What is wrong with me?” he muttered to the empty room. He tried to scroll back through their previous conversations, desperate to reset his brain. The Funko Pop, the hiking jokes, the music talk, but the more he read, the worse it got. His heart thudded as he imagined tomorrow. Standing next to Tony, camera in hand, pretending like he hadn’t seen half his torso and committed it to memory like an idiot.

What if he blushed the whole time? What if Tony noticed? What if Tony expected him to notice?

He wanted to text something else to prove he wasn’t still short-circuiting but all his drafts sounded wrong, too thirsty. In the end, he set the phone face-down on his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. His brain wouldn’t shut up, running in useless circles. He could already picture Clementine judging him tomorrow when he inevitably made a fool of himself. Vic had finally managed to calm down enough to stare at the ceiling in something like peace when his phone buzzed again against his chest. He jumped so hard it slid onto the floor, clattering against the wood.

He cursed, scrambled to grab it, and unlocked the screen like it had personally betrayed him. Another message lit up the chat.

Don’t forget your camera tomorrow.

Vic’s shoulders slumped with relief. He could handle that, he typed back. 

Don’t worry, I’m not showing up empty-handed.

After a moment, stupidly, his thumb twitched. Out of pure masochism, he scrolled up. Back to that photo. It still sat there in his messages, bold, like it knew exactly what it was doing to him. The angle was careless, the lighting unplanned, but none of that mattered. His eyes went straight to the lines, the muscle shifting under tattoos, the black sweatpants slung dangerously low, and the dark trail leading down. That stupid sharp “V” cut that made his brain short-circuit.

He swallowed hard. His chest felt too tight.

Don’t look at it. Don’t be that guy. He said it was an accident.

And yet he was looking. Studying, really. His photographer’s brain clicked into autopilot, analyzing framing and shadow, the way the light caught on Tony’s ink, the contrast between the softness of the fabric and the hardness of the muscle. All of it burned into his memory as he felt an awkward tent begin to grow in his jeans. His thoughts slipped sideways before he could stop them. How that skin might feel under his hand, what it would mean to trace those tattoos, follow the line of his hips down, down-

Vic squeezed his eyes shut, groaning like he could physically shut it out. His face burned hot enough to fry his brain.

Oh my god. Stop. Stop. You’re disgusting. He didn’t send that for you. It was an accident. You're sitting here thirsting like a creep.

He tossed the phone aside, only to snatch it back up again, glaring at the photo like it was mocking him.

But what if it wasn’t an accident? What if it was on purpose? People don’t usually send that kind of picture by mistake. Or do they? God, I wouldn’t know. The last time someone sexted me was… never. I wouldn’t recognize flirting if it walked up and bit me. But what if it was on purpose and he’s waiting for me to say something? And I’m just sitting here acting like an idiot?

He stood, walking into his bedroom and flopping onto his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling again. His chain necklace pressed cool against his throat as his pulse hammered.

No. He said wrong pic. He literally said it. You’re building mountains out of nothing, as usual. Why would he send something like that to you on purpose?

Vic mentally curses before turning to bury his face into his pillow. It was so frustrating that he couldn't send a simple text to Tony. As he rolls over and rubs his face into the pillow, Vic suddenly gasps when he brushes against the mattress. Even as he tried to bury it all down, the image kept flashing behind his eyes, Vic was NEVER going to be able to get to sleep like this. He unlocked the phone again, staring at the photo one last time. He's been on edge since he saw Tony's messages earlier. As much as he tried to ignore it, the lingering arousal was still there. Vic groaned into his pillow when he rolled his hips slowly against the bed. He supposes it wouldn't be bad to get off. It's not like he was going to think of Tony's cock when he jerked himself off… so he didn't see a problem.

He reaches down with a hand to slide his underwear and pajamas down his legs. Vic sighs when he wraps a hand around his half hard cock, opening Twitter and immediately thumbing through a couple of the NSFW accounts he followed.

It felt good. It wasn't often that he got himself off and Vic can't remember the last time he did. He groans into his pillow as he starts to stroke his cock faster, staring at the top in the video he was watching. Vic tried to focus on the pleasure coursing through his body, but his mind wanted to agonize him by remembering the message Tony sent him earlier instead. He could feel the pressure building up in his gut and Vic desperately wanted to cum, but the harder he stroked himself the less satisfied he felt. Vic stops his movements on his cock and sighs in annoyance into his pillow. He knew what he wanted, but that meant giving into the sexual fantasies that his mind ached for. As much as he knew he would feel guilty afterwards, at that moment he couldn't take it anymore and just wanted to get off. He rolled back onto his back, staring at the top in the video again.

The video he was watching was generic, some hastily-clicked link on a gay Twitter he didn’t even think about. Just two guys on screen, one with ink winding down his arms, the other arching beneath him with practiced moans, Vic should have been focusing on literally anything other than what he was actually thinking about.

All he could see was Tony, the tattoos were the first problem, the guy on screen wasn’t even close to Tony in real life. But his arms, thick with color and dark ink across the muscle, lit up the same part of Vic’s brain that had been humming since the Walmart parking lot. His mind filled in the gaps without his permission: Tony leaning over him, Tony’s weight pressing him into the mattress, Tony's hand wrapped around his cock. Vic’s stomach twisted tight. His hand stilled on his cock for a second, his face heating with the realization. It was one thing to crush a little, to overthink a bracelet or replay the sound of Tony’s laugh in his head, but this? This was letting his brain wander down a path it shouldn’t. And yet… the thoughts came in anyway. The tattoos blurred into Tony’s, Vic was filling in the details from memory. Tony’s grin when he teased him, the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the Corvette, the way his hands looked around the steering wheel, it all tangled together with the heat pooling low in his stomach until he couldn’t separate one thing from the other.

It wasn’t the video anymore. It was just him and Tony. 

He probably has more tattoos I haven’t seen yet. 

Vic squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath as he finished with that final thought.

You’re pathetic, his brain supplied helpfully. You can’t even watch porn like a normal person without turning it into a fanfiction about your maybe-friend who lets you take pictures of his car.

By the time he closed Twitter, he felt wrung out and restless all at once, he always got hit with post nut clarity hard. He stared at the ceiling, face burning even though no one was there to see it. He should’ve felt better, that was the point, right? To take the edge off, to quiet his thoughts so he could sleep. 

Vic groaned into his pillow. “I’m so screwed.”

The words were muffled, and half a pathetic whine, but they hung in the dark like a truth he couldn’t take back. No amount of overthinking or denial was going to erase the fact that he’d crossed a line in his head tonight. And the worst part? Some secret, freaky traitorous piece of him wasn’t even sorry.

With a choked laugh, he tossed the phone onto the bed and dragged himself upright. His legs carried him on autopilot toward the bathroom. He needed to wash this off, drown it in steam and shampoo and the illusion that he could scrub the thoughts out of his head.

The water roared to life, hot enough to sting, and Vic stepped under it like penance. His mind kept replaying the spiral anyway, looping through every humiliating thought, every what-if, every too-sharp detail of that photo.

God, I’m doomed. Tomorrow I’m going to stand there with my stupid camera, and the whole time I’ll be thinking about this. About him. And he’ll know. He’ll just know, then he’ll look at me and I’ll melt into a puddle on the sidewalk.

Tomorrow was going to ruin him.

Chapter Text

Vic woke up feeling like a criminal. Not in the cool outlaw way either, more like he’d jaywalked through traffic and gotten caught on by a cop. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, weighing down with every inhale. His brain kept trying to rerun last night, and he kept batting it away like a mosquito. He rolled over, face buried in the pillow. Stop. Forget it. Pretend it never happened.

The problem was pretending didn’t erase the buzzing heat in his memory. Every time he blinked, he saw Tony’s sweatpants photo flashing like a neon sign. Every time he stretched, he thought about tattoos, his tattoos- Tony’s tattoos, and the part of himself that had run wild with them last night.

“Ughhh,” Vic groaned into the pillow. He wasn’t built for this kind of thing. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, Vic flinched. The universe had a sick sense of humor. He reached over, half-expecting some cosmic punishment, maybe his banking app telling him he was overdrawn again.

But no. It was Tony.

What’s your coffee order?

Vic blinked at the screen, his heart rate instantly doubling. Coffee order. Not “hey, good morning,” not “you alive?” but coffee order. He typed, erased the sentence, and typed again. Finally settling on:

Uh… vanilla latte is my go to? I guess?

Three dots popped up immediately.

Got it. Vanilla latte with a side of I guess. be ready in 30

Vic stared at the message, torn between laughing and screaming. Be ready in thirty. He glanced at the clock. He’d barely been awake for ten minutes. He glanced at the mirror above his dresser, his hair was a bird’s nest, his shirt was the one he’d slept in, and he definitely still had pillow lines on his face. He texted back anyway, because apparently he had no self-preservation instinct.

You’re insane. You don't need to buy me coffee

And you’re dumb. Coffee’s my treat. Don’t forget your camera.

Vic dropped the phone onto the bed like it had burned him. The words glared back at him anyway: Don’t forget your camera. He pictured Tony typing it, casual and confident, like it was just a given that Vic would be coming with him, a given that his camera would be slung over his shoulder, and a given that they were doing this. He ruffled his hair, exhaled hard, and muttered, “Okay. Gotta fix my shit. Now.”

It was either that or sit here spiraling until Tony showed up at his door, and Vic had already done enough spiraling for one morning. Vic tore through his closet like it was supposed to hold the answer to life’s biggest mysteries. Coffee run and pictures with Tony weren’t supposed to feel like a job interview, but somehow his brain had filed it under “life-altering events.” He wanted to look casual, but not sloppy, effortless, but not “I tried so hard I sweated through my flannel.” Eventually he threw on a clean band tee, it was black, slightly faded but not hole-ridden, and layered a soft flannel in monochrome colors on top. He tossed on a pair of jeans that didn’t look like they’d been through a war. He slid his chain necklace over his head, added a couple rings, then squinted at his reflection.

“Passable,” he muttered. “Barely.”

Clementine leapt onto the dresser and stared at him like she disagreed. Vic sighed. “Yeah, I know. I’m hopeless.”

When the buzz of his phone announced Tony was outside, Vic’s stomach dropped. He snatched up his camera bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out the door, except when he stepped onto the curb, it wasn’t the black Corvette idling there.

It was a red Porsche 911. Sleek, polished, and sexy in the way expensive cars always seemed to be. Vic froze mid-step, for a second he thought he’d walked into the wrong parking lot. But then the driver’s side window slid down, and there was Tony, grinning at him like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Morning, photographer,” Tony said, holding up a to-go cup with Vic’s name scribbled on the side.

Vic walked up slowly, his eyes glued to the car. “Uh. This isn’t- this isn’t your Corvette.”

Tony chuckled. “Good catch. It’s not. I figured I’d give the Vette a break today.” He patted the dashboard with an affectionate look. “Meet my Porsche.”

Vic blinked at him, then at the car again. “You… just have a Porsche? Like, in addition to the Corvette?”

Tony smirked. “What can I say? I like options.”

Vic squinted, torn between awe and suspicion. “You seriously have options?”

Tony laughed, the sound was warm and made Vic’s heart race. “Pretty much.” He leaned across the passenger seat to push the door open for Vic. “You getting in, or are you gonna stand there making fun of me all day?”

Vic flushed, clutching his camera bag tighter. “I wasn’t- okay, maybe a little.” He slid into the seat, the leather cool against his skin, and he noticed the interior smelled faintly of Tony’s cologne and new car. He glanced around, still a little dazed. “I swear, you’re trying to give me whiplash. One minute it’s a Corvette, the next it’s this.”

Tony handed him the coffee, then shot him a sideways grin. “Guess you’ll just have to keep hanging out with me to see what shows up next.”

Vic sipped the latte to hide his face, but the heat crawling up his neck wasn’t from the drink. The Porsche purred under them, low and smooth, a sound that felt like it belonged in some glossy commercial, not the cracked asphalt roads Vic usually traveled. The seat hugged him in a way his old Toyota never had, and his knees felt awkwardly close together as if the car somehow knew he wasn’t built to be here. But God, Tony looked like he belonged. One hand was loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, his posture was relaxed like they weren’t slicing through morning traffic in a machine that cost more than Vic’s student loan debt. His profile caught in the sunlight, dark hair brushing his forehead, his sunglasses were perched perfectly, and he didn’t even know how sharp he looked.

Vic hated that he noticed. Hated that his brain immediately supplied a dozen stupid adjectives to describe how he thought Tony looked. Tony is sharp, gorgeous, effortless, and that made his stomach coil. He tried to shake it off by fiddling with the strap of his camera bag on his lap, forcing himself to focus on literally anything else.

“So,” Vic said, clearing his throat, “what’s the deal? You’ve got, what- two cars? Three?”

Tony smirked but kept his gaze on the road. “I’ve got… a few.”

“A few,” Vic echoed, narrowing his eyes. “That’s such a billionaire answer.”

“Technically I’m not a billionaire.”

“Yet,” Vic muttered.

Tony laughed, and it was maddeningly smooth, like the sound matched the car. “You sound like you resent it.”

“I resent anyone who can say ‘a few’ about cars without specifying a number,” Vic said, though his lips twitched.

Tony tilted his head. “Alright, fine. I’ve got four. Happy?”

Vic blinked. “Four?”

“Yeah.” Tony replied, his eyes never leaving the road.

“As in… more than three but less than five?”

“That’s what four is, yeah,” Tony teased.

Vic groaned, throwing his head back against the seat. “You’re impossible. Do you just- rotate them out depending on the vibe of the day?”

“Basically.” Tony shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Corvette for when I want raw power, Porsche for style, Audi for long drives, and the Jeep for off-roading.”

Vic stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

He pressed his palm against his forehead. “I think my brain just broke.”

Tony chuckled under his breath, and the sound made Vic’s chest tighten in a way he tried to ignore. Focus. Say something normal. Don’t stare at the way his hand moves on the wheel like that.

“You don’t… like, feel guilty? Owning four cars?” Vic asked, and then flinched at the way it sounded coming out.

Tony shot him a side glance. “You make it sound like I’m hoarding them.”

“Kind of are.”

“They all get driven,” Tony said simply. “I take care of them. They’re not just trophies. It’s not like I let them rot in a garage.”

Vic sighed dramatically, though inside, his brain was spinning on a different track entirely like; He takes care of them. Of course he does.  Of courseTony took care of things. Probably knows exactly when to switch out oil, when to rotate tires, when to polish the damn paint. What the fuck. The image of Tony bent over an engine popped into his head uninvited, and Vic quickly shoved it away before his cheeks caught fire.

“So cars are your big thing,” Vic said quickly. “Any other hobbies, or is it just you and your fleet of shiny midlife crisis mobiles?”

Tony smirked again, but didn’t bite back too hard. “Cars, yeah. Gaming. Hiking sometimes.”

“Hiking?” Vic raised his brows.

“Yeah. I like quiet places. Keeps me sane.”

Vic pictured Tony on a trail, his boots laced, shirt damp with sweat, sunlight breaking through trees and highlighting the tattoos on his arms. His stomach did an actual flip, if he threw up in Tony’s car he might kill himself in front of him. He forced himself to look out the window before his imagination betrayed him worse.

“You hike,” Vic repeated, his voice maybe an octave too high.

“Is it that shocking?”

“You don’t exactly scream… outdoorsman.”

“And you do?” Tony countered.

“Touche,” Vic muttered, fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. “The closest I get to hiking is carrying groceries up three flights of stairs. I almost died last week with a gallon of milk.”

Tony barked a laugh. “You’ve gotta build stamina somehow.”

“Yeah, well, I build mine by lugging camera equipment around.”

“Good cross-training.”

Vic rolled his eyes, but his chest warmed at the easy teasing. Why does he laugh like that? Why does it sound good?

He snuck a glance at Tony again- at the curve of his mouth still quirked in a smile, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, and the way the sunlight glinted off the metal band of his watch. It was unfair. Nobody should look that good just existing.

“Okay, what about you?” Tony asked, pulling him back. “Besides taking pictures of abandoned things and calling it art?”

Vic made a face. “It is art.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t.”

“Mm-hm,” Vic said suspiciously. “Anyways… music. Reading, writing, I like painting too. That kind of stuff.”

Tony hummed, changing lanes like it was effortless. “Play anything?”

“Guitar,” Vic admitted reluctantly. “Not, like, well. But enough.”

Tony grinned. “Garage band dreams?”

Vic snorted. “Please. My neighbors would kill me before the first rehearsal.”

“Pity. You’ve got the look for it.”

Vic froze. “The… look?”

“Yeah.” Tony gestured vaguely with his free hand. “Artsy, scrappy. Photographer frontman vibes.”

Vic’s ears went hot instantly. He ducked his head, picking at the cardboard sleeve around his cup. “You’re imagining things.”

Tony didn’t answer right away, and Vic risked a glance, only to find Tony smirking again, his eyes back on the road. Great. Perfect. Totally fine. Not spiraling at all. He took a deep breath, trying to shake it off. “What about you? I bet you’re one of those guys who can, like, shred on guitar and just hasn’t mentioned it yet.”

“Nope,” Tony said easily. “I can play exactly one instrument: the radio.”

Vic laughed despite himself. “Figures.”

They fell into a rhythm after that, Tony asking about Vic’s favorite bands, Vic defending his love for cheesy musicals, and Tony giving a dramatic recap of the last game he rage-quit. Vic found himself laughing more than he expected, the kind of laughter that left him lightheaded. Every time, though, when the conversation lulled, his brain jumped back to the sight of Tony’s hands on the wheel, the curve of his jaw, and the casual way he leaned back in the driver’s seat. It was stupid. Vic told himself to focus on the photography, on the upcoming shoot, on anything but the steady pulse of attraction going on in his veins. But it was hard, and if he wasn’t careful he might end up hard. Tony looked like every cover of every magazine Vic had ever secretly lingered on in a gas station aisle, and now he was right there, talking casually about graphics cards and mountain trails, like he wasn’t wrecking Vic’s ability to think straight.

By the time the industrial outskirts started rising around them, Vic felt like he’d been holding his breath the entire ride. Tony slowed the Porsche, the hum of the engine softening as he pulled onto a side road.

“Here we are,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Vic forced himself to exhale, staring out the window at the looming steel ahead. The light was golden, stretching shadows long across the gravel. His photographer’s brain sparked to life, already framing shots in his head, he was extremely grateful for the distraction. He clutched his camera bag tighter. “This is… perfect,” he admitted quietly.

Tony glanced at him, satisfied that Vic looked so excited already. “Knew you’d like it.”

Damn it, Vic’s stomach flipped again. He might hurl. The Porsche’s engine went quiet as Tony killed the ignition, the sudden silence making Vic hyper-aware of his own heartbeat. The gravel crunched under their shoes when they stepped out, the cool air laced with faint oil and rust. In front of them, the train yard stretched wide, the endless tracks, hulking freight cars, and graffiti-painted boxcars lined up like half-forgotten monuments. It was perfect. Industrial, dramatic, and raw in all the ways Vic loved. His fingers itched for his camera before he’d even swung the bag off his shoulder.

“You’ve got an eye for spots,” Vic said, surprised at how soft his voice came out.

Tony locked the Porsche with a click and shrugged, casual as ever. “I scout places sometimes. You start to notice what has character.”

Vic nodded, adjusting the strap of his bag. He didn’t trust himself to say much more, not when his brain was already circling back to last night and that damn picture. Tony had apologized a dozen times, calling it accidental, but the image had imprinted itself on Vic’s brain like film burned under too much light. 

“Earth to Fuentes,” Tony’s voice cut in, jolting him.

Vic blinked rapidly. “Huh?”

“You were staring at the trains like they just proposed marriage.”

Vic flushed hot, ducking his head. “Just- just thinking about angles.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, but his grin gave away that he didn’t buy it.

Vic fumbled with his camera, pulling it free, relieved to have something to hide behind. The familiar weight settled into his hands, grounding him. He adjusted the strap across his chest and crouched a little, testing the frame of the tracks stretching behind Tony.

“Alright,” Vic said, his voice steadier. “Stand there.” He gestured to where a rusted freight car loomed in the background.

Tony moved without question, sliding his hands into his pockets, his posture relaxed but somehow sharp all at once. It wasn’t fair. People weren’t supposed to look that good naturally. Vic snapped a few shots, the shutter clicking in rhythm with his quickened pulse. Through the lens, Tony looked untouchable, and Vic thought about the photo again. The sweatpants, the bare skin, the line of muscle that had made his breath catch last night in the dark of his bedroom. His ears went pink, and he lowered the camera under the guise of adjusting settings.

Get it together, idiot. You’re working. He’s just a subject.

Except Tony tilted his head slightly and his neck flexed in a way that caused Vic’s brain to betray him with another rush of heat to his face.

“You do this a lot?” Tony asked, breaking the silence.

Vic focused on his camera. “What- these type of photoshoots?”

“Yeah. Got any good gigs lately?”

The question was innocent, casual even, but Vic’s chest tightened. He hesitated too long, and Tony raised a brow.

“Uh,” Vic said, fumbling. “Not really.”

Tony tilted his head. “Not really?”

Vic’s stomach twisted. He hated admitting it out loud, hated how it sounded like failure. “It’s… the slow season,” he said finally. “Concerts in the summer are where I usually pick up extra, but, y’know, no tours right now because it’s starting to get cold, and nobody really wants promo shots when half the venues are empty.”

Tony frowned lightly, like he actually cared. “That sucks.”

Vic’s throat bobbed. He adjusted his lens just to keep his hands busy. “Yeah. It’s been difficult lately.”

The words slipped out before he could catch them, and he seized with embarrassment. God, why had he said that? Vic forced a laugh. “Anyway, it’s fine. Just gotta make do until things pick up again, it’ll be the holiday season soon which means I can take Christmas pictures.”

But Tony didn’t tease, didn’t brush it off. He just shifted slightly, the sunlight catching on the golden bracelet at his wrist, the one with the little flag charm Vic had noticed before, gleaming faintly like some private detail Tony wasn’t announcing but wasn’t hiding either. Vic swallowed hard and lifted his camera again, desperate to fill the air with something other than the sound of his own spiraling. “Tilt your head a little. Yeah, like that.”

The shutter clicked, and for a moment Vic let himself breathe through the lens. The composition was clean, the light was perfect, and Tony was infuriatingly photogenic. His finger hesitated on the shutter, his pulse a steady roar in his ears. Vic adjusted his stance, leaning a little closer to frame Tony against the freight cars. The graffiti stretched behind him in jagged, colorful lines, like some unintentional backdrop meant for exactly this. Through the viewfinder, Vic caught Tony half-smiling, one hand still in his pocket, the sunlight catching the angles of his face just right. It made Vic’s chest tighten in a way he tried to ignore. 

Click. Another shot.

“So, what’s your work usually like?” Tony asked, breaking the quietness between shutter snaps. His tone was casual, but his eyes were curiously locked right on Vic.

Vic lowered the camera, hesitating. What’s my work like? The truth was it was inconsistent, chaotic, and usually just enough to scrape by. He wanted to make it sound cool, like he lived the glamorous life of a rock photographer. But Tony had already seen through enough of his bullshit.

“Mostly… concerts,” Vic admitted, brushing his thumb over the back of the camera. “Small venues, big venues, whatever comes up. Bands want promo shots, or sometimes I shoot for blogs. I get paid in exposure more often than money, which-” He snorted. “Exposure doesn’t pay rent.”

Tony chuckled softly. “Bet it gets you into some wild places, though.”

Vic tilted his head, thinking about it. “Yeah. Honestly, it’s the best part. Free tickets, backstage passes if I’m lucky. I’ve stood on the side stage while my favorite bands were playing to crowds of thousands, and all I had to do was point a camera.”

The memory made him grin despite himself. “There was this one time- I was shooting this band, and their singer fell back on his back mid-song. Totally ate it. He hit the floor hard, and actually blacked out then finished the show like nothing had happened. The crowd lost it and I caught the whole thing on camera.”

Tony’s smile widened. “Bet he loved you for that.”

“Oh, he fucking hated it,” Vic said laughing. “Begged me not to post it. But, uh… his drummer loved it so much he ended up using it for a promo video. Said it made the band look badass.”

Tony shook his head, grinning. “So you’re the guy capturing all the moments nobody else sees.”

Vic’s chest tightened again. “I guess. I mean, anyone can take a picture of the stage lights. But… catching the way someone’s eyes light up mid-chorus? Or how the crowd looks when they’re screaming the words back? That’s the good stuff. That’s why I do it.”

He didn’t mean to get carried away, but the words kept spilling out. “It’s like… you’re freezing little bits of magic. They’d be gone after that night otherwise but in a photo, they stay. And people can look back, years later, and remember how it felt. I don’t know, it sounds cheesy, but…”

Vic trailed off, realizing how much he’d just said, his face burned. “Sorry. I ramble.”

Tony didn’t laugh at him, he didn’t tease. He just nodded slowly, his expression softening. “No, I get it. That doesn’t sound cheesy at all. Makes sense.”

Vic blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. His pulse stumbled. God, stop. Stop falling for him. He’s just being nice. 

He coughed, snapping the camera back up to hide behind the lens. “Anyway. Look off to the side. Like you’re brooding over something.”

Tony smirked but obeyed, turning his head slightly so the sunlight hit the line of his jaw. Vic snapped another round of shots, grateful for the excuse not to talk. But his brain wouldn’t stay quiet. It kept circling back- Tony leaning casually against his chair in that photo, sweatpants hanging too low, the way his tattoos curved down into lines Vic hadn’t let himself think about too long. His stomach twisted, shame mixing with something sharp and needy, and he had to blink hard to clear his head. The camera clicked again, anchoring him. Professional. Except Tony was watching him again, that amused, steady gaze that made Vic feel like he’d been caught.

“So you get into shows for free,” Tony said. “Kinda makes me jealous.”

Vic huffed. “Yeah, but you can afford to buy front-row seats. Big difference.”

“True.” Tony’s grin widened. “But I doubt I’d notice half the things you do.”

The words warmed Vic in a way that made his stomach ache. He forced his focus back to the frame, shifting slightly to get the shot. But he couldn’t ignore the thought blooming quietly in his chest: He notices me noticing things. Vic lowered the camera after another round of shots, rolling his sore shoulders. They’d gotten plenty already, Tony leaning against the faded freight cars, crouching down by graffiti, even one where he’d jokingly posed like a model, chin tilted, arms crossed like he belonged on a billboard. Vic knew half of those would come out ridiculous, but the light had been perfect. There was something tugging at him though, a thought that wouldn’t leave. His gaze drifted over Tony’s shoulder, to the car parked a little ways down the gravel: the Porsche. Red, sleek, catching the sunlight like it had been polished just for this. Which, knowing Tony, it probably had.

Vic swallowed, wetting his lips. “Hey, uh… would you mind if I got some shots of you with the car?”

Tony turned, following his gaze, then he glanced back, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Vic’s heart kicked. He pretended to busy himself switching lenses, crouching to dig in his bag while his brain spun. Smooth. Totally casual. Just another subject. You’re not obsessing over the way his hand looked on the gearshift earlier, or how the engine sounded when he revved it. You’re fine.

By the time he stood again, Tony was already walking toward the Porsche with his hands in his pockets. The sight of him against the car was painfully attractive- the sharp red paint, Tony’s tattoos peeking from his sleeves, his grin when he leaned casually against the hood like it was second nature. Vic’s throat went dry.

“Like this?” Tony asked.

Vic forced a nod, raising the camera again. “Yeah. That’s- yeah, perfect. Hold it.”

Click. Click. He circled slowly, finding the angle where the car’s curves lined up with Tony’s body. God, stop thinking about his body. He shifted focus, adjusted the aperture, and tried to breathe evenly.

“Okay, now maybe stand by the door,” Vic said, voice embarrassingly tight. “Like you’re about to get in.”

Tony shot him a mock-serious look, but he did it- his hand on the handle, eyes narrowed like he was starring in a spy movie. Vic nearly choked on a laugh, snapping a burst of photos before lowering the camera.

“You look like you’re about to steal it.”

Tony grinned. “Maybe I am.”

Vic shook his head, heart hammering far too hard. He ducked back down to the camera, scrolling through the shots. They were good- better than good. The colors popped, and Tony somehow managed to look both natural and cinematic. He bit the inside of his cheek, heat crawling up his neck.

“Want me in the driver’s seat?” Tony called.

The thought alone made Vic’s brain short-circuit. He cleared his throat, forcing a casual, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”

Tony slid into the seat, hand gripping the wheel. He didn’t even try, he just looked so good right there. Vic lifted the camera again, trying not to imagine what Tony’s thighs would look like if he leaned back more, if that waistband dipped just a little lower- He snapped a photo too quickly, and the shot blurry ended up. He cursed under his breath, adjusted, and tried again.

“Everything good?” Tony asked, glancing over with a raised brow.

“Fine,” Vic said, a little too fast. His palms were sweaty around the camera, and he forced himself to focus on the Porsche’s glossy lines instead of the man inside it. But every time Tony shifted, every time his fingers drummed against the wheel, Vic’s stomach tightened. The way sunlight traced his jawline, the curve of his neck- it was unbearable, and Vic hated himself for how much he noticed.

“Think you got enough?” Tony finally asked after a while, leaning out the open window.

Vic lowered the camera slowly, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “…Yeah. I think that’ll do it.”

He glanced at the screen again, scrolling through the set. They really were good. And Tony… Tony just looked right at home with the car, like the two belonged together. Which was exactly why he shouldn’t be looking at Tony the way he was. By the time Vic finally lowered his camera, the sky had shifted into the bruised colors of late afternoon. His shoulders ached, his knees were dusted with gravel from crouching, and his brain felt like it had been running a marathon just trying not to stare at Tony the whole time. He snapped his head up once he heard the door click shut. Tony straightened from where he’d been leaning against the Porsche, stretching his arms over his head. The hem of his shirt rode up just enough to flash a strip of inked skin, and Vic instantly dropped his gaze to his camera screen again, pretending to fuss with the exposure settings he’d already double-checked five times.

“So,” Tony said, strolling back over once Vic finally slung his camera bag over his shoulder. “You got plans for later?”

The question hit like a spotlight and Vic’s mind scrambled for an answer that didn’t sound like I’m going home to overanalyze the way your hair looks in direct sunlight and maybe cry into my pillow.

He cleared his throat. “Uh… yeah, kind of. I’ve got a backlog of photos I need to edit. Wedding stuff. The couple’s been emailing me nonstop.” He winced at how lame that sounded. 

Tony only nodded. “Got it. I won’t keep you then.”

And just like that, it was over. No pressure, no drawn-out goodbyes, Tony just gestured for Vic to follow him back toward the car. Vic tried not to read too much into it, and tried not to feel disappointed when really, he should’ve been relieved. Time away from Tony meant time for his brain to stop short-circuiting. The drive back was quieter, the engine’s hum filling the space between them. Vic found himself sneaking glances at the dash, the perfect stitching of the seats, and the way Tony’s hand rested so casually on the gearshift. His chest buzzed with something restless, but before he knew it, they were pulling up outside his apartment building.

“Thanks again,” Vic said, fumbling with his camera bag. “For, uh… today.”

“Anytime,” Tony replied with that effortless smile, like it really was that simple. “See you soon, Fuentes.”

Vic slipped out, the late sun warm on his back, and trudged up the stairs to his place. Clementine met him at the door, twining around his legs while he kicked off his shoes. He dropped his bag onto the couch, half-ready to collapse, only to freeze when he realized the zipper was slid halfway open. Something green poked out between his spare lenses. Frowning, Vic tugged the bag open, and nearly choked. Three crisp hundred-dollar bills sat tucked into the side pocket like they’d always been there.

“What the-” He stared, blinking hard as if the money would disappear if he looked too long. But no, it was real, three hundred bucks. He definitely didn’t have that kind of cash just lying around. His stomach flipped and he retraced every step in his head, he hadn’t stopped anywhere, hadn’t bought anything, hadn’t even opened that pocket all day. Which meant…

Tony.

Vic grabbed his phone, thumbs already flying.

Did you put money in my camera bag??

The dots appeared almost instantly.

What are you talking about?

Vic stared, biting his lip. He typed again.

There’s $300 in here. I know it wasn’t me.

Another pause, then:

Damn. Sounds like you got lucky.

Vic frowned.

Seriously?? Dude?

Seriously. Maybe your camera bag’s magic. You should check it more often.

Vic dropped the phone onto the couch, running both hands over his face. His pulse wouldn’t slow down. It had to be Tony. Who else? But if Tony wasn’t going to admit it… what was Vic supposed to do? The bills stared up at him, shocking and green against the worn fabric of his bag. He picked them up, thumb brushing the edges, torn between guilt, gratitude, and something warmer he refused to name.

What kind of person just slips someone three hundred bucks like it’s nothing?

Only someone like Tony Perry, apparently.

Chapter Text

The sliding doors of Walmart sighed open, releasing Vic into the fluorescent, over-air-conditioned shithole that was the grocery section. It was the same old routine- grab a cart with one annoying squeaky wheel, pass by the wall of discounted seasonal veggies and fruit he knew would spoil before he’d remember to eat them if he bought them, and wonder how his life had come to the point where late-afternoon Walmart runs counted as “getting out of the house.” The only difference this time, his wallet didn’t feel like a cruel joke. Three crisp hundreds were tucked neatly in the back pocket, folded like a secret. Every time Vic thought about it, his stomach did that weird fluttery twist, half filled with guilt, half gratitude, and maybe a sprinkle of what the hell was Tony thinking? Still, after weeks of living off instant ramen, questionable leftovers, and coffee strong enough to induce heart palpitations, Vic decided he wasn’t about to question a blessing in disguise.

So, he started in Produce, tossing some actual fresh vegetables into the cart. Broccoli, bell peppers, spinach, and all the things that looked healthy enough to make him feel like a functioning adult. Then pasta, some canned sauce that didn’t look too depressing, and real bread that he probably was way too excited for. By the time he hit the freezer aisle, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down, half expecting it to be a spam notification or an email from some wedding client who still hadn’t decided on their print size. But it wasn’t that, it was a text from Tony.

You busy?

Vic’s heart gave an involuntary kick, like it always did when Tony’s name popped up. He stopped next to a display of discount frozen pizzas and typed back.

Not really. Just doing some grocery shopping. What’s up?

The typing dots blinked, disappeared, then came back.

I might have a gig for you.

Jaime saw those pictures you took of my car and said his partner’s looking for a photographer. It’s an anniversary thing. You interested?

Vic blinked, the words sinking in slowly. Jaime? That Jaime that he met at the club? He grinned before he could stop himself, leaning on the cart handle. Tony had posted his photos? That thought alone was enough to make his chest go weirdly warm.

Wait seriously? He saw my photos??

Yeah. Said they were sick. It’s their 10th anniversary on Friday. They wanted someone casual, local, good with people yk.

Vic could be casual. He was local. Good with people was generous- Vic could barely handle eye contact at times, but still. An anniversary gig sounded… nice. Stable and guaranteed to be paid.

He typed quickly.

I mean, yeah, sure I’d love to!

When exactly on Friday?

A pause. Then:

Party starts at 7. You’d probably want to get there around 6:30 to set up. I’ll text you the address once Jaime sends it.

Vic leaned his elbows on the cart handle, grinning like an idiot right there between the ice cream and microwave burritos.

Sounds perfect. Tell him thanks for thinking of me!

I’ll let him know. Knew you’d say yes. ;)

Vic rolled his eyes, smiling helplessly anyway. He pushed the cart down the aisle, half-distracted now, his head already spinning with mental checklists of stuff he’d need to do- clean his memory cards, charge the batteries, and pick out something halfway professional to wear. And, of course, the inevitable thought that snuck in like it always did:

You’re going to see Tony again.

He shoved that thought back down with the same determination he used to ignore the frozen desserts calling his name. But even as he loaded his cart with sensible food and tried to focus on prices, that same buzz of excitement followed him all the way to the checkout- this warm, nervous hum in his chest that wouldn’t fade, he was actually excited to do this gig. By the time Vic got home from Walmart, the grocery bags felt heavier than they should have. He dumped them on the counter, kicking the door shut with his heel, Clementine weaving around his ankles like she was trying to trip him for his crimes of leaving her alone.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, unpacking frozen vegetables and actual meat for once. “Daddy brought home the good stuff. We’re eating like real people this week.”

Clementine meowed accusingly.

“Fine, you’re eating like a spoiled princess,” Vic corrected, tossing her a treat before sighing at the stack of groceries. It was weirdly satisfying, seeing real food in his fridge, the luxury courtesy of mysterious Tony Perry’s magic money. He’d texted Tony again later that night, pretending not to still be confused about the three hundred bucks. Tony, predictably, had deflected like a pro.

Seriously though, I owe you dinner or something.

? For what ?

Don’t play dumb.

I’d never.

You literally did.

I guess dinner it is.

Vic had stared at that last text for a full minute, trying to figure out whether Tony was joking, flirting, or just being Tony. The man had this way of blurring those lines until Vic didn’t know if he was supposed to laugh or panic, it was usually both.

By the time Friday rolled around, Vic’s fridge was full, his nerves were shot, and his brain had successfully overanalyzed every possible outcome of the upcoming gig. He’d spent the past two days editing wedding photos, but every couple of hours his phone would buzz with another text from Tony- sometimes it was about random stuff like a photo of his cat’s weird sleeping position or a meme about photographers crying over bad lighting, sometimes about the gig. Tony had said he’d be there too, helping set up since it was one of Jaime’s big nights. Which, of course, had sent Vic into another internal tailspin. Now, on Friday afternoon, he stood in front of his closet, towel in his hand, trying not to hyperventilate. His phone buzzed again, and he nearly dropped it.

You ready for tonight?

Vic smiled to himself, typing back, Almost. Still figuring out what to wear.

Seconds later, another message came through, though it was a picture this time. Tony stood in front of a mirror, the phone half-covering his face, he was wearing charcoal slacks and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His forearms were a tapestry of tattoos, colorful and black lines twisting into shapes Vic had tried not to memorize before, and failing miserably. On his wrist was that same gold charm bracelet with the little bisexual flag charm, stacked with a sleek watch and two more bracelets that looked expensive enough to fund Vic’s entire rent. Vic blinked and his brain short-circuited. He didn’t even realize how long he was staring until Clementine meowed at his feet.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, phone still in hand. “You can’t- he can’t just send things like that.”

The message was harmless and totally normal. It was two friends sharing outfits before a work thing, but his stomach did a weird somersault anyway, like his insides couldn’t tell the difference between casual and catastrophic attraction. He shoved his phone face-down on the dresser and marched to the bathroom like he was escaping a war zone.

The shower hissed to life, steam fogging the mirror, and Vic stepped under the water, trying to rinse away the panic. Except all it did was make him think more, about Tony’s rolled sleeves, the veins in his forearms, the casual gold glint of that bracelet, the way his shirt had clung to his chest in the picture- Vic groaned, pressing his palms to the tiles. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this.”

He tried to think about anything else. Grocery lists, camera settings, even taxes, but Tony Perry in slacks was like some kind of curse that wouldn’t wash off. By the time he got out, his face was hot, his heart still doing double-time, and Clementine was sitting outside the door like a judgmental roommate.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Vic muttered, towel-drying his hair. “It’s not my fault he’s- whatever he is. It’s… genetics. He was engineered to ruin my life.”

Clementine blinked.

“Yeah, thanks for the support.”

He rummaged through his clothes, trying to find something that said competent photographer instead of chronically underpaid. He settled on a black button-up, dark jeans, and the same chain necklace he’d worn the night of the club. It made him feel like he had at least some control over his life. He slipped his rings on, ran a comb through his damp hair, and exhaled as he caught his reflection in the mirror.

“Okay,” he told himself quietly. “You can do this. It’s just an anniversary party. You’re taking photos. You’re not gonna stare at his arms the whole night.”

Clementine meowed from the bed, clearly unconvinced.

“I know,” Vic sighed. “I’m totally gonna stare.”

He knelt to give her a pat. “Wish me luck, Clem. I’m about to meet Jaime’s partner, and probably embarrass myself in front of Tony again. Also-” he hesitated, cheeks heating, “he’s so hot. It’s unfair. Like, there should be laws.”

She purred, stretching lazily, as if to say you’re hopeless.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grabbed his camera bag, double-checked his batteries, and slung the strap over his shoulder.

As he headed out the door, his phone buzzed again.

Outside.

Vic’s pulse jumped. He looked down at Clementine one last time. “If I die, tell Tony to cremate me with my camera.”

Vic spotted the red Porsche before he spotted Tony. It was impossible not to, it gleamed under the golden slant of the late-afternoon sun like it had just rolled out of a commercial. He froze halfway down the stairs, his pulse giving that little skip again. Tony leaned casually against the hood, one hand in his pocket while the other was scrolling through his phone. The same outfit from the picture was only sexier in person, the rolled sleeves framed his tattooed forearms perfectly, veins faintly visible where the sun hit, and the gold bracelets were catching the light like they knew exactly what they were doing.

You’re fine, Vic told himself. Tony glanced up, and that easy grin of his kicked in effortlessly as ever. “There he is. The artist himself.”

Vic cleared his throat, forcing his voice to work. “You, uh, brought the Porsche again.”

Tony shrugged, pushing off the hood. “She deserved a little sunlight. And I figured you wouldn’t complain.”

“Right,” Vic said, cheeks warming. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tony opened the passenger door with a mock bow. “After you, Fuentes.”

Vic slid in, clutching his camera bag to his lap like it might protect him. He watched as Tony shut the door, and slipped out of his view, then popping into the driver side as he turned the ignition. The engine purred to life, smooth and confident as always, and Vic tried to focus on the road ahead instead of Tony’s hands on the steering wheel. Tried and failed, because Tony’s hands were ridiculous, the tattooed strong veins curved along his wrists like an artist had drawn them in just to torment Vic personally.

“By the way,” Tony said after a few moments of silence, “you look good tonight.”

Vic almost dropped his camera bag. “What?”

Tony shot him a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I said you look good. Professional. You clean up well.”

“Oh.” Vic could feel his ears burning. “Thanks. You, uh, you too.”

Smooth. Nailed it. Gold star, Fuentes.

Tony chuckled softly, like he’d heard every unspoken panic ricocheting inside Vic’s skull. “Relax, man. It’s just a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Vic said quickly, staring resolutely out the window. “I just don’t get those a lot.”

That earned him a quiet hum of acknowledgment, the kind that somehow made Vic even more aware of the air between them. They talked on and off during the drive, about Jaime’s party, about how Tony had been helping him set things up, about how Vic had almost forgotten what “real food” tasted like until his Walmart adventure. Tony teased him about his “Bachelor Chow diet,” and Vic threw back a weak “some of us don’t make tech CEO money” that made Tony laugh out loud. And god, that sound. It made something in Vic’s chest feel loose, weird, and weightless.

By the time the Porsche turned off the highway, the sky had gone deep blue, the horizon dusted with orange and pink. Tony slowed as they pulled up to the venue, it was an elegant glass-walled hall right on the waterfront. The lake shimmered just beyond it, framed by soft strings of fairy lights that trailed along the walkway. Vic sat there for a second, hands twisting in his lap, watching the reflections dance on the hood of the car. He’d expected something nice. Maybe even fancy, but the venue sitting before them looked like it belonged in one of those wedding magazines his mom used to read, all clean architecture and pale stone, with a long path lined in golden lights that led straight to glass doors overlooking the lake.

“Wow,” he murmured. “I thought it’d be… smaller.”

Tony laughed, easing the car into park. “You’ve met Jaime. Does he do anything small?”

Fair point.

Vic’s gaze flicked toward the passenger window, where people were already filtering in, the silhouettes dressed in sleek suits and glittering dresses, moving beneath strings of warm bulbs that crisscrossed the patio. The low chatter, the sound of a jazz trio warming up near the water, and the occasional burst of laughter carried faintly through the glass. It all made his stomach twist in that specific anxious way that said: you are underdressed, underprepared, and underqualified.

Vic blinked, genuinely still awestruck and terrified. “Holy shit.”

Tony grinned. “Not bad, right?”

“Not bad?” Vic stepped out of the car and just stood there for a second, taking it all in. “This place looks like it belongs in a magazine.”

“It kind of does,” Tony admitted, coming around to stand beside him. “Kellin designed the entire venue for tonight.”

Vic turned sharply, a shocked expression on his face. “Wait, Kellin? Like, CEO partner Kellin?”

“The one and only.” Tony’s grin widened, clearly amused by Vic’s expression.

“They’re married?” Vic blurted.

Tony nodded, the faintest hint of pride slipping into his voice. “Yeah. Ten years strong. They’re disgustingly cute, too. You’ll see.”

Vic blinked again, still processing that. He’d assumed Kellin was Tony’s co-CEO, sure, but somehow hadn’t connected the dots. The man running a company with Tony was also married to Jaime? That meant all of them, Tony, Kellin, and Jaime, already were part of this intertwined, weirdly successful little universe of beautiful people who actually had their lives together. And then there was him: Vic Fuentes, nerdy photographer with an overwatered houseplant and a cat who ate better than he did. He shoved that thought down fast and tried to focus on his job. “Wow. That’s, yeah, okay. I’ll, uh, keep that in mind before I say anything dumb in front of him.”

Tony chuckled, giving Vic’s shoulder a gentle pat. “You’ll be fine, Fuentes. He’s chill. They both are.”

Vic wasn’t convinced. As they walked up toward the venue, he caught sight of the setup inside through the glass: the white draped curtains, hanging greenery, and golden accents catching the light like fireflies. It was beautiful. The kind of place Vic would usually only dream of photographing, and now he actually got to. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, his fingers brushing the cool metal of his camera as a nervous tick. Tony held the door open for him, and Vic stepped inside, his heart thudding. Whatever happened next, this was a step forward. A new gig, a new night. God he hoped it went well. Vic shook his head. “I didn’t even realize they were together when I met them at the club.”

“They keep it low-key.” Tony chuckles.

That got a smile out of Vic, the first one since stepping out of the car. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. As the evening began to unfurl, the guests flowed in like waves, all friends, family, and colleagues of the couple. Vic found himself slipping into photographer mode quickly: his lens up, the shutter clicking, and his mental composition sharp. The camera was his comfort zone, it was a barrier between him and the social chaos. He started with the obvious shots of the decor, the cake, and the table settings, before moving on to candids: plenty of guests laughing, glasses clinking, and cute ones of kids spinning in circles on the dance floor. The soft lighting played beautifully across the room, and for a while, Vic forgot to be nervous.

Then Tony wandered back over, drink in hand. “You working or hiding?”

Vic lowered the camera and gave him a look. “Both. It’s called multitasking.”

Tony smirked, leaning casually against a pillar. “You’re doing great.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easy when everyone’s photogenic.”

“And you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Tony said, his tone playful but edged with sincerity. “You’ve got a good eye, man.”

The praise sent a strange warmth curling through Vic’s chest. Compliments were one thing; coming from Tony, they hit differently, like they meant something more. He looked away, pretending to adjust the focus on his camera. “You’re just saying that because I’m cheap.”

Tony laughed, a deep, genuine sound that made the air feel lighter. “Nah. You’re worth way more than you charge.”

Vic’s face burned. “I- Okay.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Vic, dude.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever, thank you. Now if you excuse me I have to replace this busted battery again.”

Tony shook his head, smiling as he took another sip of his drink. “Guess I know what to get you for Christmas.”

Vic tried to ignore the sudden image of Tony buying him something personal. Was this him implying that he thought about Vic when they weren’t together? He swallowed, hard. “You don’t have to get me anything. Seriously.”

“Too late,” Tony said lightly as he walked away, and Vic had no idea if he was joking.

The evening slipped by in a blur of laughter and music. Jaime and Kellin made their entrance halfway through the night, hand in hand, both glowing with the kind of love that only came from time. Vic found himself smiling behind the camera, genuinely happy to capture it. He caught the way Jaime looked at Kellin, like he’d built his whole world around him, and for just a heartbeat, Vic wondered what it would be like to be looked at that way. Every so often, Tony would drift back into frame, sometimes catching Vic mid-shot, other times brushing by to hand him a drink or steal a laugh. It was easy, the rhythm they fell into. At one point, Vic ducked out to the balcony for a breather. The night air was cool against his skin, the lake stretching out in perfect stillness as he leaned against the railing, his camera hanging from his neck, and exhaled. He heard the door open behind him and then footsteps.

“Hey,” Tony said quietly, stepping up beside him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Vic said softly. “Just… needed a minute.”

Tony handed him a glass of something fruity and sweet, and Vic blushed at the fact that he remembered his drink preference. “You’ve been running around nonstop. Thought you deserved a refill.”

Vic smiled, taking it. “Thanks.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, watching the reflection of the string lights ripple across the lake. The quiet wasn’t awkward though. Tony broke it first. “You did good tonight.”

“Still doing it,” Vic murmured. “They haven’t cut the cake yet.”

Tony chuckled. “You know what I mean.”

Vic’s heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. It was one of those moments that felt charged, not quite romantic, but on the edge of something. The air thickened between them, heavy with unspoken things neither of them seemed ready to name. Vic looked back at Tony, the lights from inside tracing gold along the edges of his hair, and glinting off the charm bracelet on his wrist. For the briefest second, Vic thought about the picture Tony had accidentally sent him- the one that had made his brain short-circuit for an entire night. He looked away quickly, throat tight. Tony didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and he was just being kind enough not to say anything.

“Ready to head back in?” Tony asked eventually.

Vic nodded, and the spell broke. The rest of the night passed in a soft haze. Vic took more photos, caught Jaime and Kellin’s dance and a couple cute pictures of them kissing, and even managed to laugh with a few of the guests. When the party finally began winding down, Tony found him again near the dessert table.

“You’ve been on your feet all night,” Tony said. “You sure you don’t want to sit?”

Vic smiled tiredly. “I’m good. I got the shots I needed.”

“Then mission accomplished.”

Tony’s tone was light, but there was that same warm undertone that always made Vic’s chest feel too small. As they made their way out to the car, the soft thrum of music still echoed faintly behind them, blending with the sound of waves lapping against the shore. The Porsche gleamed under the lamplight, red paint catching the last of the glow from the venue. Vic slung his camera bag over his shoulder and exhaled, sliding into the passenger seat. “You throw a good party.”

Tony smiled. “Wasn’t mine. But I’ll take the credit.”

Vic leaned his head against the window, watching the city lights blur by as Tony turned the radio up and pulled out of the parking spot, feeling that strange warmth still sitting heavy in his chest. He didn’t know what to call it but he knew it had everything to do with the man driving beside him. The drive back through the quiet city was hushed, the kind of silence that felt comfortable. Streetlights rolled by in rhythmic flashes of amber, washing the Porsche’s interior in pulses of warm gold. Vic could still feel the faint hum of music through the speakers, low and slow, something that matched the beat of his pulse a little too closely. He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired, the kind that came after doing something that felt important. It was the kind that settled in his bones with a strange contentment. Tony turned onto Vic’s street, pulling up smoothly to the curb just beneath a flickering lamppost. The engine went quiet with a soft purr as he shifted into park.

For a second, neither of them moved. The air in the car felt different now, it was quieter than silence, and heavier than comfort. Tony finally turned his head, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but softened by a faint smile. The kind of smile that could undo Vic faster than he’d ever admit.

“You did great tonight. I know I said it earlier but I meant it,” Tony said, his voice low and sincere. “Seriously. I know you don’t take compliments well, but, yeah. You did.”

Vic let out a nervous laugh that was half sigh. “Thanks. You, uh… weren’t so bad yourself.”

Tony chuckled under his breath, looking away for a moment, the sound was quiet but warm. “Thanks, Fuentes.”

Vic reached for his bag, the straps rough against his fingers as he pushed open the car door. “Guess I’ll, uh… see you later, then.”

“Yeah.” Tony’s tone was gentle. “Get some sleep. You’ve earned it.”

Vic nodded, stepping out into the cool night air. The distant hum of the city mixed with the soft chirp of crickets from somewhere down the block. He was halfway to closing the car door when-

“Wait up.”

Vic turned. Tony was reaching across the passenger seat, grabbing the strap of Vic’s camera bag and pulling it toward him slightly.

Vic blinked. “Uh, what’s-?”

Tony got out of the car instead of answering. The driver-side door shut with a soft thud, and suddenly Tony was standing there in the dim glow of the streetlight, his sleeves still rolled up, shirt slightly wrinkled from the night, hair just a little messy in a way that shouldn’t have been as distracting as it was. He looked at Vic for a second, some emotion Vic couldn’t place flickering behind his expression. Then, a small, almost shy smile tugged at his mouth.

“Hey,” Tony started, scratching the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab coffee tomorrow morning. Just you and me.”

Vic froze. His brain did that thing again, the short-circuiting in the worst moment thing it does when Tony is nearby.

“Coffee?” he repeated dumbly. “Like… as in…?”

Tony smiled, his confidence bleeding back into his bones as he stood up straight again. “As in coffee. You, me, caffeine. Maybe an everything bagel if we’re feeling dangerous.”

Vic’s heart stuttered, his voice came out soft and uncertain. “Are you- Are you asking me out on a coffee date?”

Tony’s grin broke wider, soft laughter slipping past his teeth. “Yeah, Vic. I’m asking you out on a coffee date.”

The words hung there for a heartbeat too long, the weight of them shimmering in the cool night air. Vic swallowed, trying not to look as flustered as he felt, which was entirely impossible by the way, given the heat creeping up his neck. “Oh. I… yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good.” Tony nodded once, visibly relieved, then let out a small quiet laugh. “Text me when you’re up. I’ll send you the spot.”

“Okay,” Vic said, his voice a little breathless. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Tony took a step back toward the car, hands sliding into his pockets. “Night, Vic.”

“Night, Tony.”

Vic watched him climb back into the Porsche, headlights flaring to life in a soft glow. Tony gave a small wave through the windshield before pulling away, the car disappearing down the road with that low familiar hum. The second it was gone, Vic exhaled, a shaky, half-dazed laugh spilling out before he could stop it. His whole chest felt light, stupidly light, ;ike something inside him had quietly let go finally. Still smiling, he trudged up the steps to his apartment, keys jingling as he unlocked the door. Clementine greeted him with a chirp and a flick of her tail before trotting off toward the kitchen, probably expecting food.

Vic dropped his bag on the counter and leaned against it for a second, letting the events of the night settle. His head was still buzzing, not just from the exhaustion or the faint trace of alcohol still in his system, but from Tony’s smile. That stupid, devastatingly kind smile. He opened his camera bag to check that his SD cards were safe, and froze. There, wedged between his extra lens cloth and a folded napkin was a neat stack of twenties. They were crisp, unbent, and unmistakably new, the band was even still on them still from the bank. Vic’s stomach dropped.

“What the hell…” he whispered, pulling it out and counting it automatically. Two hundred dollars. Again.

He blinked at it in disbelief, his brain scrambling to catch up. He hadn’t put that there, he didn’t have two hundred left over from his shopping trip, and he would’ve remembered two hundred dollars just appearing in his camera bag. Which left one possibility, again.

“No way,” Vic muttered.

He grabbed his phone, thumb flying across the screen.

Hey did you by any chance put something in my camera bag?

? Like what ?

Like. I don’t know. two hundred bucks??

Two hundred bucks? Check if there’s a golden ticket in there too.

Vic stared at the screen.

Tony I’m serious

So am I. If I find out you’re some kind of cash magnet I'm taking you to vegas

Vic groaned, rubbing a hand down his face.

You’re impossible

Maybe the Kellin’s tipping you for your good work tonight ;)

Vic rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile that slipped onto his face. He set the phone down, staring at the stack of bills again. Of course he’d pretend it wasn’t him. Vic sighed, shaking his head. “You’re such a menace,” he murmured to no one in particular, stuffing the money safely back into the bag before glancing down at Clementine.

She blinked up at him, unbothered and unaware of the concept of money at all.

“Don’t give me that look,” Vic said. “It’s not like I’m gonna say no to coffee with him.”

Her tail flicked once.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, half-smiling as he pushed off the counter. “It’s just coffee.”

But as he turned off the lights and headed for bed, his heart still fluttering somewhere between disbelief and excitement, Vic knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. It wasn’t just coffee.

Chapter Text

Vic woke up to the pale blue light of dawn bleeding through his blinds and the distant sound of someone’s sprinklers clicking outside. His phone buzzed against his nightstand, but he didn’t move right away, not because he was tired but because he already knew he didn’t want to wake up. Something in his chest was heavy, a dull warmth spreading under his skin and pooled in his gut. It took a few sluggish blinks for him to realize what was wrong.

Oh.

Right.

That dream.

“God,” he muttered into his pillow, his face burning. He couldn’t remember anything explicit, just fragments and the hazy logic of sleep blurring everything together. Tony’s laugh, the sound of his voice close to his ear, his hand on Vic’s shoulder lingering too long, and now Vic was sitting in his sheets with his heart racing and the most humiliating evidence of that still cooling against his skin.

“Unbelievable,” he groaned, dragging his hands over his face. “You’re an adult. You have bills. You shouldn’t be having dreams like that.”

But his brain wouldn’t shut up so he kicked off the sheets, glared at the ceiling, and muttered, “You’re so stupid,” before trudging to the bathroom.

The shower sputtered to life, the mirror fogging up almost instantly. Steam curled around him, and for a few minutes Vic just stood there, letting the water beat down over his head like it might rinse away the embarrassment. It didn’t. His thoughts kept looping back to Tony, Tony’s smile, Tony leaning over the Porsche’s steering wheel last night, his heart fluttering at the way his voice dropped when he’d asked if Vic wanted coffee. When he finally stepped out of the shower, the mirror was too fogged to see himself clearly, and he was half grateful for that. “Stupid,” he muttered, toweling his hair dry. “Completely stupid.”

At 6:28 a.m., he gave up pretending to be chill about any of it and texted Tony.

Vic: morning. Im up earlier than usual.

A few seconds passed. Then he got a text:

Tony: Good morning ☀️

Already been up since 4:45. Gym time.

A photo followed, and Vic shouldn’t have looked. He knew he shouldn’t have looked, but he did. Tony was at the gym, leaning slightly back against a set of weights, his tank top clinging to his chest and shoulders. His skin glistened faintly with sweat, not in a gross way, just in a sexy way. His hair was pushed back messily, a few strands escaping to brush against his forehead. There was a lazy, unbothered confidence in how he smiled at the camera. His tattoos drew Vic’s eye before he could stop himself, and that grin, that stupid, charming grin that looked like it had no right to exist that early in the morning. Vic’s pulse jumped and his face went hot. He set the phone down on his bed, stared at it like it had personally offended him, and whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

When he finally picked it up again, his thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before he typed:

you’re insane

Insane for gains 💪

I’m reporting you to the normal people police

They won’t find me. i’m already at the protein shake stage

Vic huffed a quiet laugh in spite of himself, shaking his head. He fell back against the edge of his bed, scrolling lazily through their chat, rereading old messages like a total fool.

Heading home to shower. be there at 7:10

Vic blinked at the text.

“Wait- what?” he said aloud to no one, fumbling for his watch. It was 6:46. “Oh my god.”

He leapt up, grabbing the nearest clean clothes that weren’t wrinkled beyond salvation. The black-and-green striped sweater he loved, the one that was soft and a little worn at the cuffs, and his usual ripped black jeans. The sweater draped just right, slightly oversized and the sleeves long enough to cover the nervous fidgeting of his hands. As he adjusted the chain looped on his neck, Vic reached for his contacts case only to find it empty. Of course it was. He sighed and rummaged through his desk drawer for his backup glasses: black-framed, square, the kind that made him look a little too much like a moody indie filmmaker. “Guess it’s a vibe,” he muttered, slipping them on. By the time he grabbed his camera bag, it was 7:15 by the time his phone buzzed again.

Outside ;)

Vic froze halfway through pulling on his shoes, heart skipping like a broken record. He took a deep breath, pushed open his apartment door, and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The car parked at the curb wasn’t the familiar Corvette or the red Porsche. It was low, sleek, and black, and looked like the kind of expensive that didn’t have to announce itself. The faint angelic electric hum barely registered over the breeze. Tony rolled the window down, his smile easy and lopsided. “Morning, sunshine.”

Vic blinked. “Uh… what is that?”

Tony’s grin turned proud, like a kid showing off a science project. “Meet the Audi RS e-tron GT. My electric one.”

Vic blinked again, then laughed softly. “Of course you have an electric one. Why wouldn’t you?”

Tony chuckled. “You’re catching on.”

When Vic opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, he swore he could still smell Tony’s cologne and it made his brain short-circuit for a second. The interior was dark leather, soft and humming quietly with a futuristic glow. Tony rested his hand casually on the gear selector, turning toward Vic just enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

“You good?” Tony asked. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”

Vic managed a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Just… woke up early. Not used to functioning before coffee.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m driving us to some, huh?” Tony shot him a quick, knowing grin before shifting into drive. 

The car pulled away so smoothly that Vic barely felt it. He watched Tony out of the corner of his eye, his eyes focused on the way his tattooed forearm flexed when he turned the wheel and how his profile looked unfairly good in the gold wash of the sunrise through the windshield. Vic couldn’t help the small, stupid smile that tugged at his mouth. Tony turned onto the main road, the city was still half asleep, there were a few joggers, the occasional delivery truck, and the pretty sunlight catching on the glass fronts of stores that hadn’t opened yet. Vic could already feel the picture itch scratching in the back of his mind.

Vic glanced over, eyes tracing the way the early light slid across Tony’s jawline, and focused on the soft shadow of stubble there. He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. “So, uh… where are we going for coffee, anyway?”

Tony’s lips quirked. “You’ll like it. It’s this little place on the other side of town, owned by a friend of Kellin’s. This guy named Nick. He’s been trying to get more traffic lately, and I owe him a couple of favors.”

Vic raised a brow. “Favors?”

Tony smirked without taking his eyes off the road. “Let’s just say he’s pulled me out of a few questionable situations.”

Vic laughed quietly, but his mind stuck on the word favors. The way Tony had said it sounded casual, sure, but there was something about it. He tried not to think too hard about it. Instead, his gaze flicked down to Tony’s hands on the steering wheel again, and the faint glint of gold catching the sunlight. Tony was dressed down, but somehow looked like he’d stepped out of an expensive photoshoot: a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off the ink curling around his forearms, his white T-shirt visible underneath, layered gold chains resting just above his collarbone, a chunky watch gleamed on his wrist beside his usual charm bracelet, and a few thin gold rings hugged his fingers. And then there were the sunglasses, Vic had no business finding them as attractive as he did. But he did. 

He turned toward the window, hoping the cool air from the vent would cool the heat creeping up his neck. “You, uh-” He paused, trying to sound normal. “You dress up for coffee a lot?”

Tony chuckled lowly, warm and amused. “Nah. I just didn’t want to look like I rolled straight out of bed for our first date.”

Vic’s brain short-circuited for half a second. Tony glanced at him briefly, that same teasing glint in his eyes. “Unless you’d rather call it a caffeine acquisition mission?”

Vic’s laugh came out nervous and soft. “No, calling it a date’s fine. Totally fine.”

He wanted to melt into the seat, or maybe open the door and roll into traffic. Anything to avoid sitting here blushing like a teenager. A few minutes passed before Tony handed him his phone with one hand, still steering easily with the other. “Pick something on the aux. We’ve got a little bit of a drive.”

Vic blinked down at the phone. The lock screen was a photo of Tony’s Corvette parked under a sunset, sleek and perfectly framed, it was one of the shots Vic had taken. The realization made something warm flicker in his chest, and heat rushed to his face again. He scrolled through Tony’s Spotify playlists and grinned faintly. The man had everything, hip-hop, classic rock, EDM, even some pop-punk from the early 2000s. Vic hesitated, then queued up some ‘90s grunge, the opening chords of Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun” spilling softly through the car’s speakers.

Tony nodded appreciatively. “Good choice. Didn’t peg you for a grunge guy.”

Vic shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m a little bit of everything guy. I like the texture in sound.”

Tony tapped the steering wheel lightly in rhythm, his smile widening. “Yeah. I get that. I used to play guitar for a bit when I was younger. Wasn’t half bad.”

Vic blinked. “You? Guitar? I thought you said you couldn't play anything but the radio.”

Tony shot him a sidelong glance. “I might've lied. Didn't want to seem lame.”

“No that's awesome, it’s just-” Vic giggled softly. “You do give off more of a revving engines than power chord vibe.”

Tony’s laugh filled the car. “Fair. Guess I contain multitudes.”

Vic smiled to himself, fingers toying absently with the hem of his sweater. The music filled the quiet spaces between them, he took another glance at Tony, who had pushed his sunglasses up to rest in his hair. The sunlight caught in his curls, golden at the edges, and Vic’s stomach flipped. Everything about him was too much, the way he looked so relaxed behind the wheel, the veins in his forearm shifting when he turned, and the faint smile that never quite left his mouth made Vic's heart race like the guys he had crushes on in highschool. Vic forced his gaze back to the window. He could feel his cheeks heating up again. They fell into a comfortable conversation about music. And then, somewhere between Vic switching the song for the tenth time, Tony said it, quietly, like it wasn’t meant to send Vic into another spiral.

“You look really good in that sweater, by the way.”

Vic froze. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

Tony smirked slightly, still focused on the road. “Green suits you.”

“It’s… uh, thanks,” Vic said again, his voice awkward and too soft. His fingers curled against his thigh, gripping his camera bag like it might anchor him to reality. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. Just charged. Thick with all the things Vic wasn’t sure he was supposed to be thinking. He felt like a teenage boy again, sitting next to the jock who probably would’ve called him slurs if he knew he had a crush on him. They typically called him a fag anyways. God, he remembered the photo Tony sent him, and the wet dream, and immediately was flooded with embarrassment. Tony didn’t even know, so why was he embarrassed? 

“This is Nick’s place,” Tony explained, cutting the engine once they rolled up to the building and snapping Vic out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the sign that read, Gravity Coffee. “Kellin’s friend. I owe him a couple favors, so why not give him a little business while we’re out? Plus…” Tony smirked as he got out of the car, “he makes a damn good vanilla latte.”

Vic furrowed his brows at the mention of favors, but the sight of Tony made his pulse spike. “Uh… right. Sure. Sounds… good.”

They stepped inside, and Vic froze for a second at the man at the counter. The red hair, tattoos, the face. Recognition hit. “Nick?” he whispered to himself, and his brain scrambled. 

Socially, this was a disaster. He hadn’t meant to freak out, but Vic knew him. Nick was a content creator that blew up on Tiktok for his coffee videos in the last couple of years, he had 7 million followers. How many connections did Tony have? Vic nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get through the doorway and up to the counter, and Tony noticed immediately. 

“Relax,” he said, leaning closer with a grin. “He’s chill. I know your order. Vanilla latte, two pumps of vanilla. Can we get two of them, Nick?”

Vic’s cheeks flushed a deep red. He barely managed a shy, “Thanks...” 

Tony chuckled, “You’re welcome.”

Nick smirked knowingly, a faint teasing in his voice as he prepared the coffee. “You got a good friend there. Not everyone remembers the small stuff.”

Vic nodded, murmuring a quiet “Yeah,” while internally trying not to combust. Tony just leaned casually against the counter, sunglasses pushed slightly up, looking like he owned the morning and Vic’s heart simultaneously. 

“So Tony,” Nick grins at the tattooed man. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Nick, This is Vic Fuentes, the photographer I told you about. Vic, this is Nick Martin. Friend of Kellin and I, coffee Tiktoker and owner of Gravity Coffee.” Tony replied, motioning to the two of them as a sort of introduction. 

Nick flashed a smile towards Vic, “Nice to meet you Vic, any friend of Tony’s is a friend of mine. The drinks will be right out, go find a place to sit.”

So they did as Nick said. They found a corner booth, and Tony suggested a game to keep the awkward energy away: 20 Questions. Vic immediately relaxed a little, his social anxiety slightly abated by Tony’s easy confidence. Nick delivered their drink with ease, joking with Tony that he better leave a good tip. Nick drifted off to help another customer, leaving Tony and Vic tucked in a corner booth with their mugs steaming between them, sunlight pooling across the table. The café’s early playlist hummed softly in the background, something indie and low-fi, fitting the mood perfectly. Tony leaned back in his chair, casual and poised, that lazy smirk tugging at his lips again. “Alright,” he said, swirling his coffee a little. “You ready for this, Fuentes? Twenty questions. You can’t skip any.”

Vic laughed softly, wrapping both hands around his cup. “You sound like you’re about to interrogate me.”

“Not interrogate,” Tony corrected smoothly. “Just… learn things. You’re mysterious.”

Vic ducked his head slightly, smiling into his drink. “Fine. Go ahead, bossman.”

Tony arched his brow. “Bossman?”

Vic flushed. “You kinda give off the vibe,” he admitted, glancing over the rim of his mug. “All put together. Black button-up, gold chains, expensive car, I mean you’re wearing a watch that probably costs more than my rent-”

Tony laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong. Alright, artist boy, first question. Favorite color.”

Vic hummed. “Green. Like moss green. The kind you find in forests.”

“Of course it’s something poetic,” Tony teased. “Mine’s black. Simple. Clean.”

“Shocking,” Vic deadpanned.

Tony smirked. “Second question, favorite place you’ve ever taken a photo?”

Vic’s eyes lit up. “Venice Beach. Early morning. I caught this older guy sketching by the water with the sun coming up behind him. It looked… cinematic.” He smiled, half to himself. “That’s kinda what I chase with photography. Those moments that feel  like still frames from something bigger.”

Tony studied him quietly, lips quirking into a smile as he took another sip of his latte. “You really talk like that about art all the time?”

Vic blinked, then shrugged shyly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony said, his voice lower, steady. “It’s nice. I like hearing what makes people tick.”

The way he said it made Vic’s pulse jump again. 

“Okay, my turn,” Vic said, clearing his throat. “Favorite hobby outside of work, and don’t say ‘making money.’”

Tony chuckled, taking a slow sip of his espresso before replying. “You think that’s all I do?”

Vic tilted his head, smirking. “That or drive fast cars, I know you lift heavy things.”

Tony pretended to look offended. “That’s profiling.”

“It’s correct though,” Vic said with a teasing grin.

Tony laughed, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you that. I like cars, obviously, but not just driving them. I like building them, working on engines, racing when I can. I like control. But, I also like hosting dinners. Cooking, wine, cigars, and late-night talks about nothing important.”

Vic blinked, surprised by the honesty. “That’s… oddly wholesome for someone who looks like they could run a mafia syndicate.”

Tony laughed again, and it was warm this time. “You’re full of surprises, Fuentes.”

“I could say the same,” Vic murmured.

“Alright,” Tony said, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. “Your turn. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re not working?”

Vic hesitated, tracing the rim of his cup. “I… write music. Mostly for myself. I used to be in a band back in college, but we split after graduation. Now it’s more like… therapy.”

Tony nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in that thoughtful way of his. “You sing?”

Vic nodded. “And play guitar. A little piano. It helps me feel like I’m doing something real.”

There was a pause, and the vibe between them melted into something warm and soft. Tony’s gaze lingered just a second too long before he said, “That’s… really fucking cool.”

Vic smiled shyly. “Thanks. Your turn.”

Tony smirked. “Okay, question five. Ever been to a race?”

Vic blinked, he was pretty sure Tony wasn’t even keeping track of the amount of questions. He didn’t even think they were playing 20 Questions correctly. “Like… NASCAR?”

Tony shook his head slowly, a wicked grin curling. “No. I mean a race. Street racing.”

Vic’s lips parted. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Tony leaned back, his grin spreading. “Back when I was younger, I used to go every other weekend. People would meet in the industrial district after midnight to smoke and race. I used to race my Corvette back then. Won a few. Lost more.”

Vic stared at him, his eyes wide, equal parts fascinated and horrified. “That’s insane. You actually did that?”

Tony chuckled. “Still do, sometimes. It’s… fun. Dangerous, but fun.”

“Fun,” Vic echoed, shaking his head. “You say that like you’re not out here living in a Fast and Furious movie.”

Tony laughed, low and rich. “It’s not that dramatic. But there’s something about the adrenaline. You feel everything at once, the road, the car, the noise. It’s like… you stop thinking.”

Vic tilted his head, studying him like he was trying to memorize the moment between them. “That’s so different from how I see things. You like speed and noise and chaos. I’m the opposite.”

Tony met his gaze, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And somehow, both work.”

Vic blinked, his pulse stuttering again. “That’s… poetic for you.”

Tony smirked. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me already.”

Vic laughed, the sound light and nervous, but warm. He took another sip of his latte to hide his grin, only to catch Nick glancing over with a knowing smile. Tony noticed too, chuckling under his breath. “You’re gonna make him think we’re flirting.”

Vic glanced up quickly. “Aren’t we?”

Tony’s smirk turned mischievous. “Guess we are.”

By this time in the morning the sunlight through the cafe’s wide windows had shifted, no longer a sharp morning brightness but something softer, the color of honey-gold, spilling in and painting everything in warmth. Dust motes drifted lazily in the beams, swirling over the polished wood tables and the faint curl of steam rising from their drinks. The whole place smelled like espresso, vanilla, and something faintly caramelized from the pastries behind the counter. Vic’s cheeks were still burning, that impossible shade of pink that always gave him away. He looked anywhere but at Tony, the window, the reflection of the cars outside, the streak of sunlight tracing across the table, anywhere else. Tony sat across from him, chin resting in one hand, studying him like he was something worth noticing. 

“Do you mind if I take a picture with your fancy camera?” Tony asked suddenly, his voice warm and light, but his gaze sharp. He was focused entirely on Vic.

Vic blinked, caught off guard. “W-What?”

“I want to take a picture of you.” Tony’s grin widened just a little, not cocky but genuine, like he’d just thought of the most natural thing in the world. “You can’t take a picture of yourself and have it look good. Selfies are never as good as pictures taken by other people.”

Vic’s stomach flipped. That was such a Tony thing to say. It was confident, matter-of-fact, and impossible to argue with. He tried anyway, nervous to let someone else touch his baby. “You realize this camera cost me more than my life savings, right?”

Tony lifted both hands slightly in mock surrender. “You think I’d drop something that expensive? Please. I handle million-dollar machines every day.”

Vic wanted to argue, but instead he found himself smirking, sliding the camera bag from under the booth seat. “Fine. Just… don’t touch the lens. I hate cleaning them.”

Tony grinned, taking the camera carefully from his hands, the weight of it solid in his palm. His fingers brushed Vic’s for half a second, just long enough for Vic to feel that little spark that always seemed to hum between them when they got too close.

“Show me how to turn it on,” Tony said.

Vic leaned over the table, pointing to the side dial. “You turn this until you feel a click. That’s manual mode. If you want to adjust exposure, it’s this wheel here-”

“Slow down,” Tony chuckled. “You’re like a professor giving a lecture.”

Vic rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Habit.”

Tony adjusted the strap around his wrist, standing up from the booth. “Okay, then. Come here, Fuentes. Let’s make some art.”

Vic groaned softly, muttering under his breath, “You sound like every film student I’ve ever met.”

But he got up anyway. Tony gestured for him to stand near the huge windows where the light was strongest. The morning glow framed the edges of Vic’s hair, catching the light brown undertones. “Look out the window,” Tony instructed, voice suddenly quieter, almost reverent. “Pretend you don’t know I’m taking the photo.”

Vic swallowed, his pulse loud in his ears. He turned toward the glass, pretending to study the people walking by outside. There was a couple holding hands, a guy walking his dog, and a woman jogging past. He felt weirdly self-conscious, like he’d been caught doing something private, even though all he was doing was… standing there.

The first click came, and Tony frowned, glancing at the screen. “Huh. Why’s it blurry?”

Vic turned around, his eyebrows furrowed. “Let me see.” He walked back toward him, standing close enough to smell Tony’s cologne, it was warm, woodsy, and expensive but not overpowering. His pulse stuttered as he leaned in to look at the preview on the camera’s screen, shoulders brushing.

“You’ve got the focus too wide,” Vic murmured, scrolling through the settings. “And your shutter speed’s a little low for the light. Here, you want it around 1/250 in this kind of sun.”

Tony watched him adjust the dials, eyes flicking between Vic’s hands and his face. “You look like you’ve done this a thousand times.”

Vic smiled faintly, still looking at the screen. “Try taking the shot again. It should be sharper now.”

Tony stepped back, lifting the camera again, his expression shifting from playful to serious. He looked at Vic like he was already envisioning the photo. “Alright,” he said softly. “Same thing. Look back toward the window.”

Vic nodded, turning back toward the glass, one hand curling around his coffee cup as if to give himself something to do. The sunlight hit just right now. It was soft and golden, catching the edge of his jaw and the loose curl at the end of his fringe.

There was a quiet moment before the sound of the shutter again. Tony exhaled, lowering the camera. “Yeah,” he said quietly, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “That’s it.”

Vic turned back toward him, curious. “How’s it look?”

Tony glanced at the screen, and for a moment didn’t answer. He seemed to be staring at it, really staring. Then, after a few seconds, he turned the camera around and held it out. Vic’s breath caught. He almost didn’t recognize himself. The sunlight turned the streaks in his hair to soft amber, lit the faint freckles on his nose, and made his skin look warm and alive. The way the light fell across his cheekbones, and the faint half-smile he hadn’t realized he’d been making was beautiful. It looked like something out of a film still. He wasn’t used to seeing himself like that.

“See?” Tony said, and his voice had dropped low again, that same tone that made Vic’s stomach do somersaults. “You look gorgeous in this lighting. I had to capture it.”

Vic froze. His brain short-circuited for a second, replaying the word gorgeous like a broken record. He blinked at the camera again, as if focusing on the image might distract him from the heat rushing up his neck. “You’re just saying that because you took the picture.”

Tony grinned, unbothered. “Nope. That’s the truth. The light loves you, Fuentes.”

Before Vic could even process a reply, a laugh came from behind the counter. Nick, leaning against the espresso machine, shook his head. “Wow. That was cheesy,” he said, voice full of amusement. “You laying it on thick already, Tony?”

Tony didn’t even flinch, turning just enough to call back, “Just appreciating good lighting, Martin. It's not my fault it’s attached to good company.”

Nick whistled. “Smooth recovery, dude.”

Vic groaned softly, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

Tony chuckled, slipping back into the booth and setting the camera carefully on the table. “You’ll thank me when you see how good that photo looks printed out.”

Vic sat back down too, trying to ignore how warm his face felt. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Tony said, that familiar smirk back in place. “But you’re still smiling.”

Vic wanted to argue, but he couldn’t help it, he was smiling. He took another sip of his latte just to have something to do with his hands, and the corner of Tony’s mouth lifted again, that easy, confident grin that had already gotten him in way too deep. They finished their drinks slowly, conversation softening into easy laughter. The sunlight had risen higher, stretching across the café floor in wide gold stripes. Nick called a cheerful “Come back soon!” as they dropped their cups in the return bin, and Tony waved without missing a beat. The way his hand rested lightly at Vic’s lower back as they stepped out into the crisp morning air made his head spin. The Audi was parked just out front, black paint gleaming and reflecting the cloudless sky. It looked understated from a distance, but up close, the car’s lines were sharp and elegant. It was power disguised as class. Vic swore he could almost feel it humming under the surface, even when it was parked. Tony clicked the key fob, and the headlights blinked in greeting. “You ever been in a fully electric performance car before mine?” 

Vic shook his head, tugging the strap of his camera bag higher on his shoulder. “Nope. I’m guessing this isn’t like my Corolla.”

Tony snorted. “Not unless your Corolla can hit sixty in about three seconds. I’ll show you.”

Vic blinked. “Wait, three- what-?”

Tony gestured to the passenger seat. “Get in. You’ll see.”

Vic hesitated for half a second, then sighed, muttering under his breath, “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

Tony smirked. “You’ll thank me instead.”

The interior was a sleek blend of matte black leather and soft ambient lighting, everything smelling faintly of cologne and new car. When Tony slid into the driver’s seat, the whole dashboard came to life, like a spaceship waking up. Vic buckled his seatbelt a little tighter than necessary after he slid in. “So,” he said cautiously, “what’s the top speed on this thing?”

“Officially?” Tony’s tone was almost casual. “155 miles per hour.”

Vic gawked. “That’s officially?”

Tony’s grin widened. “My Z06 goes up to one ninety-five.”

Vic felt like he was going to have a heart attack. “One ninety- Tony, that’s insane.”

Tony laughed, starting the car with a quiet hum instead of a roar. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do that. Not with you in the car. Just want to show you what she can do.”

“Uh-huh,” Vic muttered, already clutching the edge of his seat like a lifeline. They rolled out of the lot and onto the main road, the city slowly giving way to long stretches of open two-lane highway lined with trees. The morning sun shimmered through the leaves, dappling the car’s hood with light. Vic’s heart was already hammering from the anticipation. Tony’s profile in the driver’s seat was unfair. He was focused, calm, with one hand resting loose on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the volume on the stereo as if this wasn’t terrifying at all. The bass of the 90s playlist they’d queued up earlier thrummed softly through the cabin, Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box” filled the air, the fuzzy guitars vibrating through the seat.

“This feels illegal,” Vic muttered.

Tony chuckled. “Only if I turn the traction control off.”

“Don’t,” Vic said quickly.

“Relax,” Tony said, his voice lower now, his attempt at being soothing. “We’re on a controlled back road. No traffic, no cops, no stupid kids doing donuts. Just us.”

He turned his head slightly, flashing that grin again, the kind that hit Vic square in the chest. “You trust me, right?”

Vic hesitated. His stomach was in knots, but Tony’s voice… It made everything sound safe, steady. “Yeah,” Vic said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

Tony’s smile softened. “Good.”

He eased onto the accelerator, and Vic felt it, the seamless, near-silent surge forward that pinned him back into the seat. There was no engine growl or gears shifting, just raw, electric power. The world outside blurred, the trees melting into streaks of green, road humming beneath them. It wasn’t the kind of speed that felt reckless, like they were going to die. It was controlled. Deliberate. Tony’s hand was steady on the wheel, eyes scanning the road ahead with that laser focus that made Vic’s pulse stutter.

Vic clutched his seatbelt tighter, half laughing, half gasping. He watched the speedometer as it ticked up, 60, 69, 70, 80, 85. “Oh my God-”

Tony glanced over, grinning, the corner of his mouth tilted in that infuriatingly confident way. “What? Scared already?”

“Yes!” Vic’s voice cracked, and Tony laughed, easing off the pedal slightly. Back down to 55.

“See? That was maybe half her potential.”

“Half?” Vic turned to stare at him, wide-eyed. “Tony, you’re ridiculous.”

Tony shot him a sidelong look. “And yet you’re still here.”

Vic opened his mouth to reply, and then they slowed to a stop at a red light on the stretch of rural road that met the highway. Another car rolled up beside them, a silver BMW, low and loud, its driver glancing over with the smug grin of someone who thought they were about to prove a point. He revved his engine, and Tony rolled his eyes. Vic groaned. “Please tell me he’s not-”

Tony smirked, tilting his head toward the other car. “Roll your window down.”

“What?”

“Go on. Humor me.”

Vic did, reluctantly. The other driver, a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a baseball cap backwards leaned slightly toward them. “Nice car, man. That thing got real power, or is it just one of them shitty Teslas?”

Tony laughed under his breath. “Wanna find out?”

Vic’s stomach dropped. “Tony-”

“Relax,” Tony murmured, eyes forward now. “Just watch.”

The light turned green, and Tony tapped the accelerator just enough to surge forward. Not racing, not dangerously at least, just enough to make it abundantly clear who had the faster car. He went 0 to 60 almost immediately. The BMW was still catching up half a block later when Tony eased off the pedal, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t even look smug. He looked satisfied. Vic let out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re insane.”

Tony glanced over, sunglasses catching the sunlight, mouth curving in that sexy way that should be illegal. “And you’re still smiling.”

Vic tried not to, but he was. He looked down, his cheeks hot, trying to play it off. “That was- That was something.”

Tony chuckled, his voice a little softer now. “Admit it, you loved it.”

Vic rolled his eyes, still flushed. “It was terrifying.”

“But?” Tony prompted.

Vic hesitated, glancing out the window at the blur of trees, then back at him. “But… yeah. It was kind of-” Hot. He stopped himself before he said something he might regret, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Tony laughed, and Vic could feel it in his chest more than he heard it. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“Maybe,” Vic muttered. “Still not admitting anything.”

Tony grinned, eyes flicking toward him again. “Fair enough.”

Vic swallowed, forcing his gaze away before he got caught staring. God, why is that so hot? he thought miserably. Tony drove on, completely unaware of the quiet chaos unraveling in Vic’s head. The rest of the drive was quieter, the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward but comfortably full. The adrenaline from the impromptu street-light stunt had melted into something softer, a low hum of shared amusement and something Vic didn’t have a name for yet. Tony dropped the volume on the stereo as they got back into the city, the Audi gliding smoothly through afternoon traffic. The sun hung low, painting the skyline in amber. Vic could still feel his pulse thrumming, though now it was from something other than speed. When they pulled into Vic’s apartment complex, Tony parked neatly along the curb and got out before Vic could unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Hey-” Vic started, but Tony was already circling around to the passenger side, opening the door for him with a casual ease that made Vic’s stomach do a small, inconvenient flip.

“Chivalry’s not dead,” Tony teased lightly, offering his hand as Vic stepped out, then he grabbed Vic’s camera bag from the back seat before Vic could protest.

“You really don’t have to-”

“I know,” Tony interrupted smoothly, slinging the strap over his shoulder. “But I want to.”

They walked up the narrow set of stairs to Vic’s floor, their steps in quiet sync. It wasn’t a long walk, but there was a lot of energy between the two. At the top of the stairs, they stopped in front of Vic’s door. Tony handed him his camera bag but didn’t let go immediately. His fingers brushed against Vic’s warmly.

“I had a really good time today,” Tony said finally. There was that faint blush creeping into his cheeks now, it was barely visible but absolutely there. “You’re… easy to talk to. I’d like to do it again sometime. If you want.”

Vic looked up at him, his heart stuttering in his chest. Tony never looked nervous, not once, but there was something in the way he said it that showed that this time he was nervous.

“I’d love that,” Vic said softly. “Today was… really nice.”

Tony smiled, a real one this time, small and a little lopsided. The kind that hit Vic square in the ribs. For a long moment, neither of them moved. The late afternoon light spilled through the corridor window, catching in Vic’s hair and warming the soft green stripes of his sweater. Tony’s sunglasses were tucked into his shirt now, leaving his brown eyes unobstructed, and the way he was looking at Vic made Vic forget how to breathe for a second. The air between them shifted, heavy and golden.

Tony took a slow half-step forward. “Can I…?”

Vic didn’t answer out loud. He didn’t need to. Tony leaned in, slow enough that Vic could’ve pulled back if he wanted to. He didn’t, he just tilted his chin up, eyes fluttering shut just as Tony’s lips met his. The kiss was soft. Careful. Vic’s heart raced anyway, hands tightening on the strap of his camera bag like he needed to hold onto something solid. Tony’s free hand brushed lightly against his arm, steady and warm. When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t awkward, just quiet. Vic could tell they were going to have a lot of quiet moments like this. Tony’s smile was gentler now, his voice lower when he spoke. “See you later, photographer. I got work to do.”

He pressed the camera bag firmly into Vic’s hands. Vic swallowed, trying to play it cool and absolutely failing. “See you later, speed racer.”

Tony laughed softly, that deep, smooth sound Vic could already tell would live rent-free in his brain for the rest of his life, before turning to head down the stairs. Vic stood there for a few seconds longer, the echo of the kiss still buzzing on his lips, watching the top of Tony’s head disappear around the corner. He didn’t move until he heard the distant sound of the Audi starting up and rolling away, the electric hum fading into the background of the late afternoon. Only then did Vic unlock his door, stepping inside with a dazed little smile he couldn’t shake as it clicked behind him. Clementine circled his feet immediately, and he giggled like a schoolgirl to her.

“Clem- Clem! He kissed me!”

Chapter Text

Monday mornings weren’t supposed to feel this nice, but Vic woke up smiling anyway. It had been two days since the coffee date, since the kiss, and he still felt the warmth of Tony’s lips when he brushed his teeth, when he stirred his coffee, and when he caught himself zoning out mid-song while editing. It was embarrassing, really. He hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Tony’s kiss was soft but confident, like he knew exactly what Vic needed without him having to say it. He shuffled into his living room around nine, Clementine trotting behind him with her tail flicking expectantly. He fed her before setting up at his desk, tugging his camera bag up onto the surface with a lazy grunt. He hadn’t opened it since Saturday, he’d been too busy replaying the date and flirting with Tony over text.

“Okay,” Vic muttered to himself, unzipping the bag. “Time to actually work.”

He reached in for his SD card pouch, and froze. A neat little stack of crisp twenties was tucked between his spare batteries and lens cap that caused his heart to drop straight into his stomach. It wasn’t just a couple of bills, either. He pulled it out slowly, and began counting, one, two, three hundred dollars.

“Oh, no,” Vic breathed out, eyebrows knitting in disbelief. “No way.”

Underneath it was a small folded note, written in pretty, looping handwriting.

Buy yourself something pretty, and preferably green.

– Tony

Vic just stared at it. The words swam a little, like his brain couldn’t fully process what his eyes were seeing. His first thought was that Tony must’ve slipped it in there during their date on Saturday. The timing made sense, Tony had carried his camera bag on the walk back to his apartment. Sneaky bastard. Vic dropped the note onto his desk, staring down at the cash like it might vanish if he blinked too hard, then he grabbed his phone, his thumbs flying before he could talk himself out of it.

Vic: wtf is this

(attached: picture of the $300 and the note)

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Tony: 

Morning to you too, sunshine ☀️

you found it huh

Vic rubbed his face. Sunshine. Jesus fucking Christ.

Vic:

Tony

you can’t just put money in my bag like that?

What does “something pretty and green” even mean 😭 ?

I can do what i want

it means I think you look good in that color

Vic stared at the message, pulse jumping up in his throat. He could practically hear the smug words in Tony’s voice, the way his lips probably curved into that soft grin that made Vic’s stomach flip every damn time.

You’re ridiculous

You’re welcome ;)

Did I at least make you smile?

Vic bit the inside of his cheek, of course he did, he was smiling like he had a crush.

Maybe.

Good. Consider it an investment

Investment??

In my favorite photographer.

…you have more than one?

Just one that makes me wanna spend my money, apparently.

Vic let out a strangled little laugh as his face felt hot.

you’re insane

Probably.

what are you doing later today?

editing. being responsible.

Boring.

What if I took you shopping instead?

Vic blinked. Shopping? He reread the text three times, suspecting he was misinterpreting.

Shopping?? like… grocery shopping?

No, like actual shopping. Clothes?

You said you don’t spoil yourself much. Let me fix that.

Vic could feel his heart in his throat. His entire body was screaming at him to say no, that it was too much, that this wasn’t a thing normal people did after the first date, they barely knew each other for more than a month. But there was another part of him, the part that still felt warm from Saturday’s kiss that wanted to say yes, to say fuck it, why not take the attention from the rich bisexual guy who clearly likes him? If it doesn’t work out, it’ll just be a story for him to tell later on.

you don’t have to buy me stuff, you know that right?

I know.

I just want to.

Vic stared at that message for a long minute. That was the thing about Tony that kind of pissed Vic off, he didn’t just flirt, there was a difference in the way he said things. He was always so serious about his intentions.

Okay. one condition.

You name it.

 I buy at least one thing with my own money.

Deal.

I’ll pick you up at 2. Don’t argue, I know I'm already too charming to resist.

Vic groaned into his hands, a laugh spilling out despite himself. “He’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

Clementine meowed from the couch, like she agreed.

By late morning, Vic had actually managed to get some work done. He’d sat at his desk for hours, headphones snug over his ears, the hum of his music keeping his brain from spiraling too hard about Tony and the $300. Editing photos always helped quiet the noise in his head, it was mundane, the rhythm of adjusting tones, fixing contrast, and cropping imperfections. Still, every now and then his gaze drifted to that folded note sitting just to the side of his mouse pad. Buy yourself something pretty and green. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact that Tony just casually dropped him nearly a thousand dollars in two weeks, or the fact that Vic had thought about it all morning.

By the time his clock read 1:00 PM, his eyes burned from staring at the screen. He shut his laptop, stretched until his back popped, and headed for the shower.

Steam filled the tiny bathroom in minutes. Vic stood under the spray longer than usual, running his hands through his hair and trying to tell himself that this was just shopping. Not another date-date. Just… a shopping trip with his maybe-kind-of-boyfriend who might also be trying to buy his wardrobe. He snorted softly at the thought. Yeah, okay. After his shower, he rummaged through his drawers, eventually settling on a pair of black ripped skinny jeans that fit just right, the ones he’d worn to death but still made him feel confident. He tugged on a forest green crew neck, it was soft cotton, just slightly oversized, with a tiny embroidered flower on his chest. It wasn’t fancy, but it was his style.

He laced up his beat-up Converse next, they were covered in doodles and little lyrics he’d scribbled on during long nights editing, with mini constellations, stars, and a few random hearts he didn’t like to admit were there. He checked himself in the mirror, adjusting the hem of his sweater. His dark hair was still damp, curling slightly at the edges, and his glasses framed his face softly.

He looked fine. Just fine.

At exactly 1:50 PM, his phone buzzed on the counter.

Outside 😎

Vic’s heart stuttered. He grabbed his camera bag (just in case) and keys, telling Clementine he’d be back later. When he stepped outside, the sun hit just right, warm and golden against his skin, and there was Tony, leaning against the sleek, black Corvette parked at the curb like something out of a movie. The car’s glossy finish reflected the afternoon light, but even that couldn’t distract Vic from the man standing in front of it. Tony looked unreal, he was wearing black slacks that were fitted perfectly. Another dark, open button-up with a white tee underneath, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his gold bracelets catching the light on his watch again in a way that made Vic's artist brain tick. His charm bracelet was still there, the bi flag charm dangling just beneath the metal band. A couple of gold chains glinted against his collarbone, and the faintest smile curved his lips when he saw Vic approach, he was wearing his sunglasses again, but Vic could still feel his eyes on him.

Tony pushed off the car with easy confidence, walking toward him, every step measured and slow as he smirked at the shorter male.

“Well,” Tony drawled, tilting his head slightly as his eyes swept over Vic from head to toe. “Would you look at that.”

Vic blinked. “What?”

“You actually wore green.” His grin widened, warm and teasing. 

Vic’s stomach did a little backflip. He opened his mouth, probably to say something like you told me to, so I did, but then Tony leaned closer, close enough that Vic could smell his cologne, clean and woodsy. His voice dropped just a notch.

“I like it on you,” Tony said softly. “Makes your eyes stand out.”

Vic’s face flamed. “Th-thanks,” he stammered, his throat suddenly dry. “You, um, look really good too.”

Tony chuckled, low and pleased, and then before Vic could blink, leaned in like he was going to whisper something and kissed him instead. It was soft, almost playful, but it still sent Vic’s brain straight into static. His eyes fluttered shut instinctively, his hands hovering awkwardly before one found Tony’s arm without him realizing it. The kiss lasted just long enough for Vic to lose his breath, then Tony pulled back, smirking as Vic blinked at him stunned.

“What was that for?” Vic blurted, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

Tony’s grin turned downright boyish. “People who are dating kiss, sweetheart.”

Vic froze. “Dating?” he echoed.

Tony laughed, stepping back to open the passenger door for him. “Yeah,” he said, his voice casual but sure. “This is our second date, silly. That makes us dating.”

Vic could feel the heat rushing up his neck again. His brain felt short-circuited. He wanted to argue, to clarify, to ask what Tony meant and why he moved so fast, as Vic is not that type of guy. He's not someone who falls fast, but as he was thinking, Tony’s hand brushed the small of his back, and every coherent thought fell right out of his head.

“Now,” Tony said, his eyes bright behind his sunglasses, “let’s go spend some money, yeah?”

Vic could only nod as he slid into the passenger seat. The drive was warm and filled with soft music, it was Vic’s playlist this time, which was mostly mellow guitar and honeyed vocals. Tony kept his left hand on the steering wheel, the other resting comfortably on the gear shift, his rings catching flashes of sunlight. Every so often, he’d glance over at Vic with a little smirk that made Vic’s pulse jump.  The mall was buzzing despite it being a Monday afternoon as Tony parked the Corvette, the headlights blinking as it was locked behind them. Vic followed close beside Tony as they stepped through the sliding glass doors, the cool blast of air-conditioning chasing away the warm afternoon sunlight. Tony looked wildly out of place here in the best way possible, he looked like a man who didn’t shop at this type of mall, but it wasn't one Vic shopped at either. The mall was clearly on the higher end of luxury, but Tony looked like he owned wherever he walked. And Vic, in his thrifted jeans and scuffed Converse, felt both wildly not impressive, and strangely comfortable beside him.

Tony reached over and took the strap of Vic’s camera bag off his shoulder without asking, slinging it over his own. “You carry too much around,” he said, his tone casual, but his hand brushed Vic’s shoulder just a little too long to be accidental.

“I’m used to it,” Vic replied, trying not to grin. “Occupational hazard.”

“Occupational hazard of being adorable,” Tony murmured, just quiet enough that Vic could've pretended he misheard it, if not for the smirk that followed. They started in a boutique Tony seemed to like, it was a modern, minimalist store full of clean lines and neutral tones. The sales associate immediately recognized him.

“Mr. Perry! Back so soon?” She greeted him brightly.

Vic blinked. Mr. Perry?

Tony just nodded, polite and unbothered. “Had to bring someone special this time.” He turned his head slightly, motioning toward Vic.

Vic almost tripped over his own feet. “I, uh, hi,” he said, awkwardly waving, his cheeks flushing.

The girl smiled knowingly. “He’s cute,” she said to Tony in a stage whisper.

“Yeah,” Tony said simply, “I know.”

Vic wanted the ground to swallow him. Despite his embarrassment, they wandered through the racks together, Tony occasionally holding something up against Vic’s chest or shoulders, tilting his head like he was studying a painting. When Vic asked if something would look okay on him, Tony didn’t even glance at the mirror, his eyes just stayed fixed on Vic.

“You could wear a trash bag and still look good,” Tony said at one point, his voice low. “But yeah, that color’s perfect.”

After the first store where Vic got to buy a single graphic shirt for $25, Tony insisted on paying for everything Vic even glanced at. When Vic tried to protest, Tony silenced him with a single dangerous look and a quiet, “Let me spoil you, cariño.”

It was scary how easily that word softened his brain. He immediately melted, and they stopped at a jewelry kiosk next. Tony bought Vic a small silver ring shaped like a vine, slipping it into his hand before Vic could even react. “Matches your sweater,” he said with a wink.

And then, oh god- Vic blushed as they walked past Victoria’s Secret. Tony’s eyes flicked to the window display as they passed, and then to Vic. A slow, teasing smile spread across his face. “You ever shop there?”

Vic nearly choked on his iced coffee. “Uh, n-no, not really my scene.”

Tony leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Shame. I bet you’d look great in lace.”

Vic stopped walking altogether, his face burning. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Tony!”

Tony just laughed softly, clearly delighted by Vic’s reaction. “I do what I want.”

The way he said it, his tone was so warm and mischievous, but it had Vic’s stomach twisting in knots. By the time they hit Hot Topic, Vic was grateful for the darker lighting and loud music to distract him from his blush. The store smelled like incense and vinyl, and the walls were plastered with band tees from every era Vic had ever loved. He ran over to the shirt wall, his eyes tracking a cool Nirvana shirt he liked, smiling faintly.

“This is more your vibe, huh?” Tony asked, watching him with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah,” Vic said. “I used to come here all the time in high school. I wanted to look like the kids that hung out in the parking lot. Never had the confidence.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think you could pull it off?”

Vic shrugged, fingering a rack of fishnet shirts. “I guess I just didn’t think people like me were allowed to look like that.”

Tony stepped closer, the distance between them evaporating. “You’d look good in anything, Vic.”

Vic swallowed. “Even this?” He held up the black fishnet shirt with a half-smile, trying to make it a joke.

Tony didn’t laugh. He looked him up and down slowly, his gaze deliberate. “Especially that,” he said. “You’re not leaving without it.”

Vic’s laugh came out breathy. “You can’t just buy everything I look at.”

Tony smirked. “Watch me.”

The cashier, a pierced girl with pastel pink hair, grinned at them as Tony dropped the fishnet, the Nirvana tee, and a matching Disney bracelet set onto the counter Tony had plucked on the way up to the counter. “Cute couple,” she said, scanning the “Aristocats” bracelets. “You guys gonna match?”

Vic sputtered. “We’re not-”

Tony cut him off smoothly. “Thanks, we are.”

When they left the store, Vic still hadn’t recovered from the casual couple comment or Tony’s lack of denial. Tony snapped one of the cat bracelets off its cardboard before handing it to Vic, it was a cute kandi-like bracelet with a charm of the black cat from the movie on it. 

“Why didn’t you correct her?” Vic asked once they were outside.

Tony just smiled, slipping his sunglasses back on. “Didn’t feel like lying.”

It shouldn’t have made Vic’s heart pound the way it did. They spent another hour weaving through stores, Tony insisting on buying Vic a few art supplies when they passed a stationary shop, claiming that “creative investments count.” At one point, Vic dragged Tony into a record store, and for the first time all day, Vic was the one excitedly pulling things from shelves.

“Okay,” Vic said, holding up an old Smashing Pumpkins album. “If you don’t like this, we might not be able to keep dating.”

Tony grinned. “So, we are dating?”

Vic froze, caught mid-laugh. “I, um- You said we were on our second date.”

“I did,” Tony said, smiling so warmly that Vic forgot how to breathe for a moment. “Just wanted to make sure you agreed.”

Vic blushed so hard that Tony ended up buying the record, and two others, too. 

“You can listen to them at my place next time I pick you up,” Tony said as they walked back toward the parking lot.

“Next time?” Vic echoed softly.

Tony glanced at him over the roof of the car, sunlight catching the gold on his wrist. “Yeah, Vic. You didn’t think I was stopping at two dates, did you?”

The sky was dipping into soft gold by the time they left the mall, their arms full of glossy shopping bags. The parking lot shimmered with the late afternoon light, and Tony’s black Corvette gleamed like it belonged to a movie set. Tony took the bags from Vic without a word, loading them carefully into the backseat. “You good?” he asked, his tone lighter than the question itself.

Vic nodded, still clutching the little Hot Topic bag with the fishnet shirt inside. “Yeah, just… that was a lot of shopping.”

Tony smirked. “You didn’t complain once.”

Vic laughed quietly, watching Tony walk around to the driver’s side. “I didn’t know how to stop you.”

“That’s the trick,” Tony said, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head. “You won't.”

Vic rolled his eyes and climbed in. As Tony started the engine, the low purr of the Corvette filled the quiet, almost as intimate as a whisper. For a bit, they just drove. The highway stretched out ahead, the setting sun painting everything in shades of amber and rose. 

“So…” Tony started after a while, glancing at him briefly. “You want to come to a race?”

Vic blinked. “Like… the ones you talked about when we went out for coffee?”

Tony’s mouth curved into a grin. “Yes, sweetheart, a street race.”

Vic’s stomach flipped. “Oh.”

Tony chuckled at his reaction. “Relax, it’s not as illegal as it used to be. At least, not the ones I go to.”

“That’s a weird sentence,” Vic muttered, making Tony laugh.

“Maybe. But it’s fun,” Tony said, his tone softening. “I was thinking… There's one next weekend. You should come.”

Vic’s immediate instinct was to shake his head. “I don’t know. That’s kinda… not really my scene.”

“Neither was going 90 miles an hour,” Tony pointed out, eyes flicking toward him with that lazy, confident smile. “But you handled that pretty well.”

Vic’s cheeks heated. “That was different.”

“How?”

“Because…” Vic started, then faltered. “Because you were driving.”

Tony hummed. “Exactly. And I’d be driving next weekend too.”

Vic looked out the window, heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “You really think I’d like it?”

Tony thought for a moment, then said quietly, “I think you’d like the rush, and the noise. You spend so much time in your head, Vic… maybe you could use a night that’s all instinct. Take some cool pictures.”

The words landed deeper than Tony probably meant them to. Vic exhaled slowly, watching the city blur by outside. He wasn’t the kind of person who took risks, not until Tony. He wasn’t sure if that made Tony dangerous or just magnetic.

“Live a little,” Tony added, glancing over again, his voice teasing but warm. “You already took a chance today. What’s one more?”

Vic turned toward him, catching the way the sunlight hit the tattoo on Tony’s neck, blushing when he noticed how Tony’s eyes softened just slightly when their gazes met. “Alright,” Vic said finally, voice quiet but certain. “One more.”

Tony smiled, a real one this time, not the practiced smirk or the charming grin he usually wore. “Good. I’ll pick you up Saturday night.”

The drive the rest of the way home felt slower somehow, and when they finally pulled up in front of Vic’s apartment, Tony parked and stepped out first, circling around to open Vic’s door like he’d done it a hundred times before. He grabbed Vic’s camera bag from the back seat, slinging it over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to-” Vic started.

Tony shook his head. “Remember, I want to.”

They walked side by side up the stairs, the air cooling with the setting sun. The city felt softer here, quieter, like the world had narrowed to just the space between them. At Vic’s door, Tony stopped, handing him the bag. “I had a great time today,” he said, voice low and earnest. “Better than I expected, actually.”

Vic smiled, shy but real. “Yeah. Me too.”

Tony hesitated a moment, eyes searching Vic’s. Then, he spoke softly, “Can I kiss you again?”

Vic froze, his breath catching. But his answer came before he could even think about it. “Yeah.”

Tony leaned in slow enough for Vic to change his mind like he did after their first date, but he didn’t. Their lips met gently, careful at first, then steadier. It was the kind of kiss that didn’t rush to say too much, just promised more kisses to come. When Tony pulled back, he smiled against the soft sound of Vic’s breath. “See you Saturday, photographer,” he murmured, pressing the strap of Vic’s camera bag back into his hands before turning to head down the hall.

“S-See you later, speed racer.” Vic could barely manage out loud enough for Tony to hear. Vic stood there for a long moment after he was gone, the taste of coffee and adrenaline still lingering.

And God, he was already counting down the time until Saturday.

Chapter Text

The week passed in a blur of texts and half-finished photo edits, social media doom scrolling, and YouTube video essay binges. Vic would wake up to a good morning from Tony more often than his alarm, and tons of little messages that made his heart stutter before his brain caught up.

How’s my favorite photographer?

Did you eat today or are you running on caffeine again?

Send me what you’re working on later today. I like seeing how your brain works.

They slipped into an easy rhythm, Tony texting between meetings, and Vic replying during editing breaks. Vic sent him behind-the-scenes shots from the weddings he was editing, with all the quiet in-between moments he loved most. Tony seemed genuinely fascinated, asking questions about lenses and lighting, like he wasn’t the kind of man who usually had people doing that work for him. They exchanged pictures often, like ones of Clementine, of Tony's inventory in an alien game Vic couldn't remember the name of, Vic's work, Tony and Kellin selfies during meetings, and the list goes on. Tony’s tone would shift in the messages after Vic sent a selfie, his tone was soft, teasing, and a little flirt curling around the edges.

You always look focused in your selfies. I can’t tell if it’s because you’re editing or because you’re trying to kill me

Vic never knew what to say to that, so he’d send a picture of Clementine the cat instead. It didn’t help. Tony would just reply with something along the lines of, Cute, but not what I meant.

By Friday night, their texts had turned into a string of inside jokes and little confessions, then Saturday came. As it has for the past few days, Vic’s phone buzzed at 5:02 a.m., the screen lighting up against his cheek. He squinted, groaning as he rolled over, thumb brushing open the message before his brain could stop him. It was a photo. It was Tony, shirtless at the gym, the morning light spilling in through high windows behind him and showing a gorgeous city skyline view, catching on the sheen of sweat across his skin. The black ink of the owl tattoo on his neck stretched with each breath, wings sweeping over the lines of muscle that carried stories Vic suddenly wanted to know. His arms were all definition and veins, the tattoos wrapping down to his wrists, all little fragments of a past that made him look dangerous and beautiful all at once. And then there was the rest of him… the V of his hips disappearing beneath dark gym shorts that hung just low enough to make Vic’s heart stop.

Jesus Christ.

Vic buried his face in his pillow for a moment, groaning into the fabric before forcing himself to type something that didn’t sound like a full-on meltdown.

you’re insane for sending this at 5 a.m.

Tony replied within seconds.

Had to share the view. You like it?

Vic’s thumbs hovered, then he typed back, You look good, and immediately turned red, staring at the message like he could take it back.

Me? I was talking about the city, lol

Guess I’ll take that. See you at 7 tonight, sweetheart.

Vic set the phone down, heartbeat thudding against his ribs, and flopped back onto the bed with a groan. There was no way he was going back to sleep after that. So he got up, at 5:07 a.m., and decided he wanted to die before begrudgingly wandering into his kitchen, popping a Keurig coffee pod thing into his coffee machine and starting to brew himself a cup. He didn't drink drip coffee often because he prefers actual coffee, he's a coffee fanatic but he'd never admit that anywhere but Tumblr. His tired eyes shifted over to the counter where he left his laptop rendering a video he had edited the night before overnight like he normally does, and he decided to do his favorite time killer when he knew he couldn't sleep.

Doom scrolling.

Speaking of Tumblr, it had been a few days since he had checked it. Steam curled up from his mug, fogging his glasses when he leaned too close. He leaned against the counter, scrolling through his notifications with one hand, sipping with the other. The latte was too hot, too sugary, but comforting. His dashboard was a time capsule: looping gifs, old fandom memes, and late-night thoughts from strangers he’d never met in real life but somehow trusted more than most people in his real life. The blue-gray interface felt like a ghost of his early twenties and teenage years. It was quiet, unjudging, and a little melancholy.

He scrolled aimlessly through posts: it was your average photoset of abandoned buildings, deep-cut lyrics, a black-and-white gif of someone lighting a cigarette in slow motion. 

A text from Tony blinked again at the top of his screen.

Don’t tell me you’re gone back to sleep 😏

Vic rolled his eyes, typing back before he could think too much.

Just staring at the ceiling like a normal, functioning adult.

Tony’s reply came almost instantly.

Lol

Vic’s heart gave a traitorous lurch, and he quickly locked his phone, shoving it screen-down on the counter. After a few minutes of half-hearted scrolling on his laptop, he opened a new Tumblr post and dumped it all out with no careful formatting. Just… venting into the void.

been quiet here lately, my bad guys. life’s been weird. took on a few freelance shoots and met some new people. one of them’s kinda messing with my sleep schedule (in a good way?). idk. i’ve been trying to be better about existing and touching grass, i guess.

anyways. if anyone’s still reading this hellsite, hope you’re okay too.

(attached: some pictures of miscellaneous shots he's taken the past two weeks of his inactivity)

He stared at the draft for a while, Tumblr wasn’t really for updates anymore, not the way it used to be. It used to feel like a diary left open on the kitchen table, now it was more like a group chat in a haunted house chatting to other ghosts. Still, he hit “Post.” It didn’t even take ten minutes for the first notification to roll in, a dm.

[ure-a-haunted-house-now]: You still alive?

Vic’s mouth twitched into a smile. The username was his friend Gerard. They’d met three years ago in the most Tumblr way possible: through a thread about photography equipment. Gerard had reblogged one of Vic’s posts about lens flares, added a sarcastic slightly rude comment, and somehow that turned into an hours long DM conversation about aperture, light leaks, and the art of shooting in abandoned spaces. Back then, Vic had been living out of his car chasing band tours. Gerard was on the other side of the country, writing comics and music in the dark corners of his studio. They’d bonded almost immediately, it wasn’t romantic, but it was intimate in the way certain online friendships could be. He tapped the message open.

been a while since you've posted something, i was abt to call a welfare check

I know. Been busy. And tired. Mostly tired.

tired of what? existing or physically tired?

both tbh. insomnia’s back. it’s fine though. coffee’s my new god.

ah, the holy trinity: exhaustion, caffeine, and questionable decisions

That's my autobiography title right there lol

you said someone’s messing with your sleep schedule “in a good way.” very cryptic. explain.

Vic smiled faintly, leaning against the counter again. The kitchen light buzzed above him, flickering slightly, and he could see his reflection in the microwave door. He looked tired, and needed to shave.

it’s this guy. Tony. he’s… i don’t know. a lot.

a lot good or a lot bad? How’d u meet?

He’s a lot louder than im used to. a lot of confidence. He has a bunch of cool ass cars, bumped into him at walmart one day and he was driving this and i had to man

(attached: a picture of Tony’s Z06)

WOOOOOAH fancy, wtf maybe u could use someone like that in ur life 

yeah, well. easier said than done.

There was a long pause. Vic took another sip of latte and stared out the kitchen window. The sky was pale gray now, the first signs of morning starting to push through.

Are u into him?

yeah. 

then he’s probably worth keeping around.

Vic set the phone down, a small, unwilling smile tugging at his mouth. Maybe Gerard was right.

By early evening, the sun had already started dipping low, bleeding warm amber light through the blinds of Vic’s small apartment. He’d spent the entire day half-working, half-staring at the photo Tony had sent him that morning, trying to edit pictures while his brain insisted on replaying that image like a broken record. Clementine watched him from the windowsill, tail flicking lazily as he stood in front of his open closet, torn between outfits for the tenth time.

“I know, Clem,” Vic sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that deep. It’s just a car race.”

She meowed once, unimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah. He’s just… ” He frowned, then bit his lip. “Okay, maybe it’s kind of a date.”

The cat blinked slowly, staring at him as he walked into the bathroom. Vic looked down at the outfit he’d thrown on, and decided on the next best thing, snap a picture and ask for outfit advice from one of his only friends.

[boyonthebluemoon]: does this look ok? (attached: a picture of his outfit, he’s wearing a soft charcoal hoodie layered under his favorite denim jacket, paired with black jeans and his doodled-up Converse.)

It was simple, safe, he’d already tried on two other shirts, hated how they clung to him, and changed back into this. He was stumped, so he was happy Gerard replied almost immediately.

What type of date was this again?

Car race

Um ok, u need something more flashy

Thats not my style?

Didnt he buy u stuff from ht? 

Yea, some bracelets, a fishnet and nirvana shirt

Here’s what ur gonna do, keep the jeans and converse. Drop the hoodie and the denim, swap it for his jacket IF u get cold. Add both those

go get that eyeliner in ur cabinet i gave u when i flew out there for warped and line your lashline to make your eyes pop

Seriously???

I will sell your Rock On The Range ticket if you dont

Vic feared Gerard was serious, and he really didn’t want to pay for his own ticket. So he did exactly as he said. Vic sighed, setting his phone on the bathroom counter and staring at his reflection in the mirror. His cat had followed him in, tail flicking idly as if silently judging his life choices from the edge of the sink.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Vic muttered, rummaging through the small basket of random toiletries and half-used makeup at the back of his cabinet. There it was, the black eyeliner Gerard had given him two years ago when he came out for Warped Tour weekend. It was still in the same battered tube, the logo half-faded from being tossed around in drawers and backpacks. He unscrewed it carefully, blinking at the tiny felt tip like it was an alien artifact.

“Okay,” he mumbled to himself. “How hard can it be? It’s just drawing… on your face.”

The cat blinked.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

Vic propped his phone up against his toothbrush holder and opened Google. His search history already looked like a nervous breakdown as he typed.

how to do dude emo eyeliner

He clicked the first YouTube tutorial that didn’t start with an influencer intro and studied the screen like he was about to perform surgery. The guy on the video had a strong jawline, perfect lashes, and a level of confidence Vic didn’t think he’d ever achieve in this lifetime.

“Step one,” the guy said cheerfully, “start with your lashline and smudge it out for a smoky effect.”

Vic squinted. “Smudge it out with what?”

He leaned in close to the mirror, tongue peeking out slightly in concentration as he dragged the eyeliner along his lash line. The first attempt left a wobbly black streak across his lid that looked like a tiny highway accident.

“Shit-” He grabbed a tissue, wiping it off before it set.

The cat meowed once, unimpressed.

“Don’t judge me, Clem. Some of us didn’t come out of the womb with perfect eyeliner, okay?”

The second attempt went marginally better. Still uneven, but at least it didn’t look like he’d lost a fight with a Sharpie. He smudged it a little with his pinky, blinking hard to even it out. His reflection stared back, still him, but a little edgier. 

He tilted his head one way, then the other. Not bad. Kind of hot, actually.

The realization made him laugh nervously. “Oh god, what is happening to me?”

He snapped a quick photo in the mirror and sent it to Gerard.

[boyonthebluemoon]: happy now??

(attached: a slightly blurry mirror pic, Vic looking soft but trying very hard to look punk)

The reply came instantly.

holy shit u actually did it

you’re terrifying

no i’m a genius. u look amazing. eyeliner was ur missing ingredient.

I look like I’m about to start a MySpace band.

and that’s SEXY?

Vic groaned, tossing his phone onto the counter but smiling despite himself. He leaned closer to the mirror again, studying the faint shimmer of the liner catching the bathroom light. It did make his brown eyes pop, they looked richer and more alive. He could almost hear Gerard’s voice from that Warped Tour summer, teasing him for being “too soft-spoken for someone with eyes like that.”

Maybe Tony would notice.

The thought hit him out of nowhere, and Vic froze, heat blooming in his cheeks. Shaking his head, he reached for the ring Tony bought him (as well as his own), and slid them onto his fingers. His hoodie and denim jacket abandoned in the corner, he tugged at the fishnet under the Nirvana tee as his phone buzzed again.

u better take a pic of his face when he sees u. i want details.

You are way too invested in my love life

someone has to be, babe.

Vic rolled his eyes, but he was grinning when he pocketed his phone.

“Okay,” he told Clementine, taking a deep breath. “Eyeliner done. No going back now.”

He grabbed his camera bag, just in case, somehow Tony always found a way to make Vic use it, and checked his reflection in the hallway mirror. His hair was a little messy in that intentional, probably-overthought way, his glasses slightly crooked from pushing them up too often.

“Do I look like someone who knows things about cars?” he asked Clementine.

She jumped down and trotted toward her food bowl, which Vic took as a no.

“Cool. Thanks for the confidence boost,” he muttered, picking up his phone. It was almost seven, just as he was about to text Tony to ask if they were still on, the sound of a car engine purred through the quiet neighborhood, familiar enough now that Vic didn’t even need to look out the window to know it was Tony.

Outside, cariño

Vic’s stomach did that thing again, it was tight and fluttery all at once. He glanced out the window and spotted the black Corvette idling at the curb, the setting sun reflecting off its hood like molten glass. Tony leaned casually against the driver’s side door, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He was in a black fitted tee this time, sleeves hugging his arms, a gold chain peeking out from his collar.

“Jesus Christ,” Vic whispered under his breath. “Of course he looks like that.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder, gave Clementine one last pat. “Don’t wait up. I’ll try not to fall in love or whatever.”

The cat meowed, completely unhelpful. By the time he got downstairs, Tony straightened when he saw him, eyes dragging from Vic’s Converse up to the eyeliner-lined eyes that blinked uncertainly under the streetlight. “Well,” Tony said, his voice low and warm, “hello gorgeous.”

Vic smiled and blushed, hoping it didn’t look as nervous as it felt. “Hey.”

Tony’s eyes flicked over his face, landing on the glasses. “Still rocking the frames, huh?”

Vic reached up self-consciously. “Yeah. I, uh… still haven’t refilled my contacts prescription.”

Tony hummed, pushing off the car. “I’ll cover it next time. But honestly? The glasses are cute.”

Vic blinked, caught completely off-guard. “C-Cute?”

“Yeah,” Tony said easily, stepping closer. “You pull off the whole ‘artist who hasn’t slept in a week’ look better than anyone I know.”

Vic let out a small laugh, his cheeks pink. “Thanks, I think?”

Tony’s grin softened. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Tony’s gaze sharpened as he leaned in, speaking with a teasing edge. “Is that eyeliner?”

Vic froze. “Uh- maybe?”

Tony stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until Vic had to tilt his chin up slightly to meet his eyes. “You look… dangerous,” he murmured, a grin curling around the word.

Dangerous. The word hung between them like smoke, and Vic’s heart was a drumline. “It’s.. it’s Gerard’s fault,” Vic said quickly, his voice tripping over itself. “He made me- well, not made me, but- they said I should try it.”

Tony hummed, eyes flicking down to Vic’s lips for half a second before returning to his eyes. “Tell Gerard he’s a genius.”

If Vic’s blush wasn’t visible before, it definitely was now.

“Anyway,” Tony continued, finally stepping back with that signature smirk, “before I forget, you wore the fishnet!”

Vic blinked. “You noticed that?”

Tony’s grin widened. “Hard not to.” He reached past him to open the passenger door, murmuring near his ear, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Vic made an embarrassed sound that might’ve been a laugh and a plea for divine intervention at the same time. Tony chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious. I like seeing you out of your comfort zone.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Tony opened the passenger door for him, and Vic climbed in, immediately surrounded by that familiar scent of Tony’s clean cologne, and the leather of the seats. Tony slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and the Corvette purred to life beneath them. They pulled away from the curb, the low hum of the car filling the space between them. Streetlights passed in a lazy rhythm as the city began to fade into the open road.

“So…” Vic finally said, glancing at him. “You’re really taking me to a race?”

Tony smirked. “That’s the plan.”

“I feel like this is something I should’ve mentally prepared for.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tony assured, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. “You already survived me hitting 80 on the back road last week. That’s basically a warm-up.”

Vic let out a nervous laugh. “You’re kidding.”

Tony gave him a side glance, grin growing. “Mostly.”

“Mostly?!”

“Relax, sweetheart. You’re safe with me.”

That shouldn’t have made Vic’s pulse jump the way it did, but it did anyway. He tried to focus on the world outside, looking at the fading orange sky, the rows of cars trailing headlights, but his gaze kept drifting back to Tony. He looked unfairly good driving. The way his forearms flexed when he shifted gears, the glint of his rings against the steering wheel, the quiet concentration in his eyes, it all made Vic’s chest feel tight in a way that had nothing to do with speed.

“So,” Vic said, desperate to fill the silence before his thoughts betrayed him. “You really do this every weekend?”

“Not every weekend,” Tony said. “Sometimes I’m busy. But yeah, when I can.”

“Doesn’t that get… dangerous?”

Tony shrugged. “It's a calculated risk. You learn your car, your limits. Push them a little, not too much. It’s like…” He paused, glancing at Vic. “It’s like taking a photo, right? You’ve got your settings, your light, your shot. You push until it’s perfect. Anything past that, you ruin it.”

Vic blinked. “That’s… actually a pretty solid metaphor.”

Tony chuckled. “I’m full of surprises.”

Vic smiled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll give you that.”

They drove for a while, the city melting away into long, quiet stretches of open road. Music played low through the speakers, something ambient, a little moody, matching the hush between them. Tony broke it first. “You nervous?”

Vic hesitated. “A little. I’ve never been to anything like this.”

“It’s not like the movies,” Tony said with a grin. “Just a bunch of idiots who love going too fast.”

“And you’re one of them.”

“Absolutely.”

Vic laughed. “At least you’re self-aware.”

Tony’s grin softened again, and for a moment, the teasing faded. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re coming tonight.”

That warmth in Tony’s voice hit Vic somewhere deep. He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Yeah. Me too.”

They fell into another comfortable silence after that, punctuated only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional soft comment from Tony about traffic or the road ahead. Vic found himself stealing glances again, at the curve of Tony’s jaw, and the way the passing light painted gold across his profile. Tony caught him once, smirking without looking away from the road. “You’re staring.”

Vic flushed instantly. “No, I’m.. just zoning out.”

“Sure you are.”

Vic rolled his eyes, hiding his smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep hanging out with me.”

“Unfortunately,” Vic muttered, and Tony laughed, it filled the car and made Vic’s chest ache. Ahead, faintly, the sound of engines revving began to carry through the air.

Vic leaned forward, peering out the windshield. “That’s…?”

Tony nodded. “That’s the race.”

The roar grew louder as they turned down a side road, headlights cutting through the night. Vic’s heart was already racing, and he was in way too deep to back out now. The streets were already humming when Tony’s Corvette Z06 prowled off the main drag and down toward the industrial district. Midnight clung to the city like smoke, and the air carried the metallic tang of hot engines and the faint sweetness of someone’s vape pen drifting through the open windows. From the passenger seat, Vic pressed his palms against his knees, eyes wide as the world outside blurred past in streaks of amber streetlight and neon.

He hadn’t realized Tony meant it literally when he’d said “underground races.” But as they turned past a stretch of shuttered warehouses, the glow appeared with a sudden explosion of life at the end of the road. Dozens of cars flanked the cracked asphalt with their engines rumbling low, neon under glow painted the puddles from the rain, all pinks and electric blues shimmering beneath shifting clouds of exhaust. Music thudded from somewhere, extremely bass-heavy, and Vic swore he could feel it vibrating in his ribs.

Tony pulled the Corvette into a spot near the fringe of the crowd, and the car idled with a low, predatory growl that made heads turn. Every muscle in Tony’s arm flexed as he shifted into park, the gold glint of his watch catching the streetlight. The confidence he carried wasn’t loud, but it filled the air. Vic climbed out slowly, tugging the strap of his camera bag higher. “Stay close,” Tony said, leaning in so his voice was a low murmur against the rumble of engines. “You’ll want to see everything, but don’t drift too far. It gets chaotic fast.”

Vic nodded, his heart jumping at how close Tony’s breath brushed his ear.

They moved through the maze of gleaming machines: Tony stopped near another cluster of cars, where two men stood beside a crimson Corvette that glowed under the streetlight like a cut gemstone. One was short and broad-shouldered, his round glasses glinting in the light and a cigarette caught between his fingers. The other was tall, wiry, and tattooed up to his throat, his grin bright even in the dark.

“Patrick, Justin,” Tony greeted, his voice carrying easily. “Glad to see you two still kicking around.”

Patrick Stump flicked ash from his cigarette and grinned back. “Wouldn’t miss it. Word is you’re finally running the Z06 again, I thought the legend retired.”

Tony smirked, resting a hand on the Corvette’s sleek roof. “She’s quieter now.”

Vic lingered beside the car, half hidden behind Tony, absorbing the easy banter. Patrick’s gaze flicked toward him, curious. “And this is…?”

“Photographer,” Tony said without missing a beat. “Vic’s documenting tonight for me. Try not to crash near him.”

Justin stepped forward, extending a hand heavy covered with rings. “Brave man bringing a camera here. Blink wrong, and someone’ll think you’re press.”

Vic managed a smile as he shook his hand. “Just here for the experience.”

Patrick exhaled smoke, tilting his head. “First race?”

Vic nodded.

“Good, no one forgets their first. ” Patrick said, grinning. Patrick leaned against the hood of the Corvette, one hand holding a pack of cigarettes. He glanced at Vic with an eyebrow raised, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“You smoke?” Patrick asked, tilting the pack toward him as Tony and Justin wandered towards Justin’s car.

Vic blinked. He hadn’t planned on it. His lungs screamed no, but a small part of him that wanted to match the effortless cool vibe radiating off everyone he blurted out a yes before he even thought it through. “Uh… yeah, sure,” he said, fumbling slightly as Patrick plucked a cigarette and handed it over. He wasn’t sure why he accepted it but he brought it to his lips and mimicked Patrick’s easy inhale. The smoke was harsh. Vic coughed once, waving it off, and Patrick chuckled.

“First time?” Patrick asked, flicking ash into the street. His tone wasn’t mocking, just amused and easy.

Vic nodded, trying to appear casual despite the flutter of nerves in his chest. “I… uh, don’t usually. I have in the past.”

Patrick exhaled slowly, smoke curling like wisps of cloud in the neon glow. “Well. You’re here to take it all in, right? Might as well look the part while you’re at it.”

Vic laughed softly, a little embarrassed, and took another tentative drag. He coughed again but Patrick just waved him off, encouraging without being overbearing. 

“So… you’re a photographer,” Patrick said, leaning closer. “What’s your work like?”

Vic shifted the cigarette between his fingers, feeling suddenly very aware of how clumsy he must look. “Um… I shoot music stuff, mostly. Concerts, promo photos, that kind of thing. Sometimes weddings. Kind of… whatever I can get, honestly.”

Patrick nodded, eyes scanning him with interest. “Sounds cool. You get to see all the behind-the-scenes stuff?”

Vic smiled, warmth spreading in his chest. “Yeah. That’s the best part.”

Patrick exhaled another stream of smoke, clinking his cigarette against the hood of the car. “You’ll do fine tonight. Just keep that camera ready.”

Vic nodded, feeling the heat creeping back into his ears, but he found himself enjoying Patrick’s easy confidence and the way he treated Vic like he was part of the scene. They smoked together for a few more minutes, talking lightly about music. Vic found himself relaxing by the minute, the earlier tension from being surrounded by racers and revving engines easing a little. He even took a few tentative glances at Tony, who was across the lot chatting with Justin, the grin on his face reminding Vic why he’d been counting down the hours until this night. By the time the cigarette was almost finished, Vic realized he’d actually enjoyed it, not the nicotine, exactly, but the camaraderie. Patrick gave him a nod, acknowledging the small, silent bond. 

“Alright,” Patrick said, flicking the butt into a puddle and crushing it with the heel of his boot. “Time to see what this night’s really about. You ready?”

Vic nodded. “Yeah… yeah, I’m ready.”

Patrick grinned as the two walked back towards Justin’s car. “Good. Keep your eyes open.”

Tony’s phone buzzed in his pocket just as another round of engines roared across the lot. He glanced down at the screen, smirked faintly, and slipped it back into his jeans.

“What?” Vic asked, catching the look as they walked up.

Tony’s grin was sharp this time, mischievous in a way that made Vic’s stomach tighten. “That was my cue.”

“Cue for what?”

Tony tilted his head toward the Corvette, the faintest gleam in his eyes. “My turn.”

Vic blinked. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Tony was already moving, weaving through the crowd with that easy confidence that made people step aside for him. Vic followed, nerves buzzing under his skin.

“Tony-”

“Relax,” Tony said over his shoulder, voice almost swallowed by the engines. “You already survived one of my drives. This’ll be fine.”

Vic laughed shakily. “You said your Z06 could go one-ninety-five. That’s suicidal.”

“Only if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Tony just grinned, sliding into the driver’s seat as if the car recognized him. The door clicked closed with a low hiss, the black paint catching every stray reflection from the lot lights. Vic hovered beside it, clutching his camera strap like a lifeline. “You’re really gonna do this, huh?”

“Yeah.” Tony buckled in and looked up at him. “You trust me, right?”

Vic hesitated, pulse tripping over itself. The rational part of his brain screamed no! But the part that had been leaning into living more, screamed yes! He exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

Tony’s smile softened. “Then watch me fly, sweetheart.”

Before he could even respond, Tony turned the key. The Corvette came alive with a deep, guttural growl that vibrated through the pavement. People nearby turned toward the sound, some nodding in recognition, Tony revved the engine once, the low thunder rolling through the air like a warning.

“Showtime,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. Tony joined the short line of cars waiting near the stretch of empty road the racers used. It was marked by nothing more than two cones and the shimmer of oil-slick pavement under the streetlights. Someone shouted his name, and Tony raised a hand out the window in acknowledgment. He looked completely in his element. The crowd responded like they always did for him: with loud whistles and cheers that made Vic realize just how many people knew who Tony Perry was here. Vic adjusted his camera settings automatically, catching moments in bursts, like the flash of Tony’s grin behind the windshield, and the slight steam of exhaust curling up like smoke from a dragon’s breath. Another car pulled up beside him, a matte black Mustang with red racing stripes. The driver leaned out his window, grinning, and Vic snapped another picture.

“You sure you still got it, Perry?” He asked.

Tony’s laugh was low and confident. “Wanna find out?”

“Always.”

Patrick and Justin had taken their positions at the starting line, engines growling, the taillights casting streaks of red across the asphalt. Vic crouched low, his camera ready, trying to steady his racing heartbeat. Vic’s perspective sharpened as he raised the camera. The grip of Justin’s hand on his steering wheel, Patrick’s slight lean forward in anticipation was captured frame by frame, frozen even as the real world held its breath. Tony shifted in the driver’s seat, and Vic could feel the energy vibrating through the car. He knelt by the starting line, snapping a few quick shots, catching the light bouncing off the Z06’s sleek curves. The camera clicked rapidly, each shot like a heartbeat. The signal lights blinked from red to yellow, and finally green. Tires screeched, engines roared, and the world became a blur of motion. Vic’s breath caught in his throat as Tony gapped the other cars almost immediately, his Corvette’s acceleration like a jet tearing through the night. Vic pivoted, following the movement with the camera, shutter clicking, eyes wide with the thrill and terror.

Patrick and Justin fell back slightly, but the competitiveness radiating off them didn’t waver. Vic could hear the faint echoes of their engines even through the slight wind, and he zoomed in, capturing the expressions of focus, determination, and exhilaration. Every turn, every burst of speed was magnetic. Terrifying, but impossible to look away from. In that instant, Vic realized he wasn’t just photographing the race, he was part of it, living it secondhand.

At one straightaway, Tony’s Corvette shot past a rival’s car, gapping him effortlessly. Vic’s stomach dropped, a shiver of admiration and something else rushing through him. The way Tony handled the car, calm yet dominant, made his chest burn with a mix of awe and desire. He snapped multiple shots in succession, Patrick had managed a gap on one of the straights, and Tony’s grin was sharp as he adjusted, hugging the line, closing the distance effortlessly. Vic’s hands were steady now, and at the final stretch, Tony’s Corvette surged ahead. He clicked the shutter repeatedly, capturing the victory in microseconds. And as Tony’s car crossed the imaginary finish line first, Vic lowered his camera slightly, breathless, overwhelmed by both the spectacle of the race and the electrifying presence of Tony in it. 

Tony stepped out of the car, his grin wide, chest heaving slightly, and Vic’s camera immediately lifted again. But this time, he didn’t just capture the car or the motion. He captured Tony, standing there, flushed from adrenaline. Vic’s heart stuttered, and he realized that no photograph could fully capture the attraction he felt right now. Patrick and Justin arrived shortly after, clapping and laughing, and Vic lowered the camera, feeling a warmth in his chest. Tony’s eyes met his, a silent acknowledgment of the shared experience, a private thrill that only they had. As Tony laughed and shook hands with the others, Vic reviewed a few shots on his camera. Each one was crisp, and in every single one, Tony stood out.

“You okay?” Tony asked, his voice still slightly rough from the adrenaline after exchanging his pleasantries.

“I.. yeah,” Vic said, still breathless. “That was… Jesus, Tony.”

“Did you get good shots?” Tony asked, eyes flicking down to the camera.

Vic nodded mutely, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “Yeah. I, um, I think so. You looked… insane out there.”

“In a good way?”

Vic swallowed. “In a.. really good way.”

Tony chuckled softly, his hand still on Vic’s shoulder. “You should show me the shots later.”

Vic met his gaze, and for a second, the sound of the chaos, it all just faded. All he could see was Tony. “Sure,” Vic managed to say. “Yeah. I’ll send them to you.”

Tony smirked. “Good.”

They stood there for a moment, just long enough for the night air to settle around them again. Then Tony turned toward the car, opening the passenger door. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get out of here before someone ropes me into another run.”

Vic blinked, caught off guard by the pet name again, but followed. Tony extended a hand, brushing it lightly against Vic’s shoulder as he guided him to the passenger side. The warmth of his touch lingered, and Vic’s fingers grazed the door handle, almost trembling. He climbed in, adjusting the camera bag on his lap, and Tony slid into the driver’s seat. The engine purred to life, smooth and powerful, and Vic could feel the car vibrating beneath him. Tony glanced at him, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You okay there? Heart racing?”

Vic’s cheeks burned. “A little,” he admitted, trying to keep his voice steady.

Tony chuckled, reaching over to start the GPS. “It’s okay. You did amazing tonight. I’ll admit, though, it’s kinda sexy watching you get into it like that with your camera.”

Vic squeaked, nearly dropping the camera. “I…”

“Relax,” Tony said, voice warm and teasing. “I mean it as a compliment.” He leaned back, taking a deep breath, and Vic caught the faint smell of cologne mixed with sweat and gasoline. The combination made his stomach tighten in a way that was hard to ignore. They drove in comfortable silence for a moment, the car gliding along the city streets. Vic kept stealing glances at Tony, noting the way his jawline caught the light, the small smirk he wore when he thought Vic wasn’t looking, and the slight flex of his hands on the wheel. Every detail made Vic’s stomach knot and unravel all at once.

Finally, they pulled up outside Vic’s apartment. Tony killed the engine and turned toward him, leaning slightly forward. Tony reached for Vic’s camera bag, holding it lightly as he walked him to the door. When they reached the door, Tony hesitated, a blush dusting his cheeks. “I… uh… I’d like to see you again soon,” he admitted quietly. His hand brushed against Vic’s as he handed back the camera bag, and Vic’s pulse hammered in his ears.

Vic opened his mouth to reply, words stumbling, but Tony leaned in slightly, enough for Vic to feel his warmth. “Wait… before you go,” Tony murmured.

Vic froze, breath catching. He looked up, meeting Tony’s gaze, and the faint blush deepened on both their faces. Tony tilted his head slowly, lips brushing Vic’s in a careful, teasing kiss. The kiss deepened, soft yet urgent, and Vic felt every inch of tension. When they finally pulled back, Tony’s dark eyes shone with mischief.

“See you later, photographer,” he said with a grin, handing back the camera bag once more and heading off into the night.