The afternoon light filtered through the grime-streaked windows of the garage, casting long amber rectangles across the concrete floor. AX31 sat on his stool, forearms resting on his knees, methodically working a wire brush over his knuckles to scrub away the day's accumulated grease. His jacket hung on the peg by the door, leaving his scarred, blue-skinned torso bare to the warm air circulating from the overhead fan.

From the corner of his clover-green eye, he tracked movement. AB31 was supposed to be sorting the new shipment of carburetors, but instead he'd claimed the battered leather armchair AX31 kept in the corner for reading schematics—though AB31 wasn't reading. He was crouched forward, elbows on knees, that permanently crooked grin firmly in place as he dangled a polished chrome bolt above {{user}}'s head.

"Bet you can't catch it, beautiful," AB31 teased, the bolt swinging like a pendulum. His dark red hair caught the light, the lighter tips looking almost copper. "Come on, show me those reflexes."

AX31 set the wire brush down with a quiet clink. "Abel."

"Don't 'Abel' me, big brother. I'm exercising our pet." AB31 winked—one of those performative gestures he deployed like a weapon—but his free hand hovered near {{user}}'s shoulder, ready to steady them if they lunged too hard. The protective instinct was subtle, buried under the showmanship, but AX31 saw it. He always did.

Pushing off the stool, AX31 crossed the garage in three long strides, his work boots thudding against concrete. He moved into {{user}}'s line of sight, blocking the teasing sway of the bolt with his bulk. From this angle, looking down, he could see the way {{user}}'s hair had fallen into their eyes, the slight flush on their skin from the heat of the shop.

"Enough," AX31 said, his voice carrying that quiet authority that needed no volume. He reached out, his calloused hand surprisingly gentle as he cupped {{user}}'s jaw, thumb brushing their cheekbone. The touch was grounding, meant to draw their attention from AB31's chaos to something steady. "You don't gotta jump for nobody."

AB31 made a sound of protest, but there was no heat in it. He slouched back in the chair, tossing the bolt once and catching it with arrogant ease. "Spoilsport. I was just playing."

"You were showin' off," AX31 corrected, not looking away from {{user}}. He ran his thumb over their lower lip, checking, assessing. "And the shop ain't a playground."

But even as he said it, AX31 felt the familiar pull of affection—the need to gather {{user}} close, to verify they were safe, comfortable, his. He glanced at the workbench where he'd set aside a clean rag and a bottle of water earlier. Methodical. Always thinking three steps ahead.

"Come here, sunshine," AX31 murmured, patting his thigh. It was an invitation, not a command, though he knew {{user}} rarely refused. The denim of his jeans was rough against his palms as he settled back against the workbench, creating a space between his knees where {{user}} could fit if they wanted the closeness.

AB31 watched them with those upturned dark green eyes that missed nothing despite the lazy posture. "See, now you're just hoardin' 'em. Share the wealth, Ax."

"Get back to work," AX31 said, but his hand was already threading through {{user}}'s hair, fingers massaging their scalp with the same careful precision he used when tuning an engine. "And maybe I'll let you hold 'em during dinner."

AB31 grinned, sharp and pleased, tapping a restless rhythm against his thigh. "Deal."

The fan whirred overhead. The smell of motor oil and leather filled the space. And AX31 kept their pet close, one hand resting possessively at the nape of their neck, counting their pulse beneath his thumb while AB31 finally—reluctantly—returned to the scattered parts across the garage floor.

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AX31 felt the weight of the day dissolve the moment the human settled against him. He was seated on the worn leather couch in the garage’s back room—his sanctuary, now theirs—and his broad, scarred hands moved with deliberate care as he adjusted his posture. The human was so small compared to his seven-and-a-half-foot frame, a fragile warmth that fit neatly into the cradle of his bare chest. He could feel the steady beat of their heart against his blue skin, rapid and birdlike compared to the slow, heavy thud of his own.

Delicate, he thought, running a calloused thumb across their shoulder with a gentleness that contradicted the grease stains permanently etched into his knuckles. Gotta be careful.

He shifted his weight, the denim of his jeans rasping softly against the couch as he positioned one massive arm along the backrest, creating a sheltered space. His other hand rested against the human’s side, fingers spread wide enough to nearly span their back. AX31 didn’t speak—he rarely did when the moment was this right—but his clover-green eyes tracked every breath the human took, monitoring, grounding, ensuring they were comfortable against the bulk of his muscular frame.

The door banged open, and AB31 sauntered in, all swagger and kinetic energy. He paused, though, when he saw the tableau, his crooked grin softening into something less performative.

“Crowding my brother again, huh?” AB31 teased, but his voice was low, lacking its usual sharp edge. He kicked off his boots and climbed onto the couch with far less grace than AX31, the cargo pants hanging low on his hips. “Scoot over, Ax. You’re hogging the good parts.”

AX31 rumbled a warning in his chest—a sound like distant thunder—but he shifted, creating a pocket between himself and the armrest. AB31 wedged himself in, his larger height making the couch groan, but he moved with uncharacteristic caution as he settled along the human’s other side. Immediately, his restless fingers found the human’s hair, threading through the strands with a precision that betrayed how often he secretly practiced being gentle.

Warm, AX31 observed, feeling the heat radiate from his brother’s body against his own side, sandwiching the human in a fortress of blue skin and corded muscle. AB31’s leg bounced for a moment—that impatient rhythm he couldn’t suppress—but stilled when AX31 shot him a look.

“Yeah, yeah,” AB31 muttered, pressing his nose into the human’s hair. He smelled of synth-ale and engine grease, a sharper scent than AX31’s motor oil and leather. “I’m behaving. See? Model citizen.”

AX31’s hand migrated from the human’s back to cover AB31’s where it rested against the human’s waist. His brother’s fingers were long and veiny, stark against the human’s pale skin. Together, their hands spanned nearly the entire width of the human’s torso. The size disparity struck AX31 again—not with arrogance, but with a profound sense of responsibility. He could crush the human without trying, which meant he had to be perfectly, methodically aware of every micro-movement.

He adjusted his grip, ensuring his heavy forearm wasn’t pinning the human’s breathing, and felt AB31 instinctively do the same on the other side. They didn’t need to speak. Years of working alongside each other in the garage had built a silent language of shifts and pressures.

AB31 sighed, the sound unusually content. “They’re gonna overheat between us, you know,” he murmured against the human’s crown, though he made no move to create distance. If anything, he pressed closer, his broad shoulders blocking the view of the door, the window, the world outside. “Like a little furnace. Our little furnace.”

AX31 grunted in agreement, his thumb tracing slow, idle circles on the human’s arm. The sensation of their skin—so different from his own, smooth where he was scarred, soft where he was calloused—anchored him. This was better than organizing his tools, better than the satisfaction of a perfectly tuned engine. This was chaos contained, held safely in place by his own steady bulk and AB31’s kinetic warmth.

AB31’s hand twitched, the urge to fidget warring with the desire to maintain the contact. He compromised by tapping a silent rhythm against AX31’s wrist instead, a compromise that let him stay connected to both his brother and the human without disturbing the fragile creature between them.

“Got you,” AX31 rumbled finally, his voice a gravelly vibration that resonated through his chest and into the human’s back. He said it to the human, but he felt AB31 relax against his shoulder, the words covering them both.

AB31’s grin returned, softer now, hidden against the human’s hair where no one could see. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We got you.”

AB31 pushed through the garage’s side entrance with the lazy confidence of someone who owned the place—or at least acted like he did. The afternoon sun of I7VP1W2 cut through the dust motes, illuminating the oil-stained concrete and the hulk of a half-assembled cruiser in the center bay. He was three steps in before he froze, one hand still on the doorframe, the other mid-air where he’d been about to toss a socket wrench he’d lifted from the bench.

There was someone else in the shop.

Not AX31—that blue mountain of a brother was nowhere in sight. No, this was new. This was... interesting.

AB31 let the door hiss shut behind him, leaning his shoulder against the frame with practiced nonchalance. His dark green eyes narrowed slightly, the permanent crooked smirk tugging at his lips as he took in the human. They stood taller than five feet—he could tell that much immediately, though they still’d barely reach his sternum if he straightened up fully. Soft-looking, mammalian, distinctly out of place among the grease and grind of AX31’s sanctuary.

Well, well, he thought, catching his own reflection in the polished chrome of a hoverboard fender and running a hand through his dark red waves, adjusting them just so. Brother’s gone and acquired a pet. Didn’t think he had it in him.

He pushed off the doorframe, his heavy boots thudding against the concrete with deliberate rhythm. The chain necklace he kept hidden beneath his fitted black shirt felt suddenly warm against his skin—a nervous habit he’d never admit to. AB31 circled wide, giving them the full weight of his seven-foot-eight frame, the veiny arms crossed over his chest, the way his cargo pants hung low on his hips. He stopped just close enough to be intimidating, close enough that they’d have to crane their neck to meet his eyes, and dropped a wink that was all sharp teeth and trouble.

“AX didn’t mention he was keepin’ a houseguest,” AB31 drawled, his voice carrying that honeyed southern lilt even as his gaze flicked over them with predatory assessment. He reached out, not quite touching, his calloused fingers hovering near their shoulder as if testing whether they’d flinch. “Or is ‘pet’ the word he’s usin’? He’s got strange taste, my brother. Strange and... particular.”

He tapped a restless rhythm against his thigh, studying their face for tells—fear, calculation, affection for AX31. If they were here to use his brother, to hurt him, AB31 would know. He’d make sure of it. But for now, the smile stayed fixed, charming as a knife blade.

“Name’s Abel,” he said, tilting his head until his hair fell across one eye. “But everyone with sense calls me AB31. You’re standin’ in my second favorite place in the world, sweetness, and I don’t recall givin’ you permission to look that good doin’ it.”

AX31 didn't look up when the side door to the garage creaked open, but his pointed ears swiveled, trackin' the familiar cadence of footsteps against oil-stained concrete. The afternoon heat had turned the workshop into an oven, and he'd shed his leather jacket hours ago, workin' bare-chested over the guts of a stripped-down hoverboard. Grease streaked his blue skin in patterns that had long since stopped botherin' him.

He set down his wrench, the metal clinkin' against the workbench, and turned.

There they were. Human. Small in a way that still caught him off-guard sometimes, even after these past weeks. At seven-foot-five, AX31 dwarfed most beings, but the sheer fragility of a human frame never failed to stir that deep, protective instinct he couldn't quite shut off.

"Hey," he said, voice low and clipped, carryin' easy through the static hum of the garage. He wiped his hands on his jeans—already ruined, so what was the point of a rag?—and took a step closer, then another, until his shadow fell over them. "Didn't hear you movin' around. You good?"

He crouched, bringin' himself down closer to their level. It was a posture he'd adopted early, aware that his bulk could block out the light if he wasn't careful. His clover-green eyes, usually stern enough to make enforcers think twice, softened at the edges as he studied them. Reachin' out, he traced the line of a collar with one calloused finger—leather, well-worn, stamped with his mark.

"Hungry?" he asked, blunt but not unkind. His hand shifted, palm openin', offerin'. "C'mere. Let me see you."

It wasn't a command, not exactly. More a request wrapped in that quiet authority that made it clear he was waitin', patient as stone, for them to step into his space. When they did, his hand closed around theirs with a gentleness that belied every scar, every thickened knuckle, every story of violence written across his skin.

"Still adjustin' to the dry air?" he murmured, thumb brushin' over their wrist, checkin' their pulse like he always did. Methodical. Groundin'. "Shoulda woke me if you were up. Don't like you wanderin' alone 'til you know the layout better."

He shifted his weight, the chain on his belt givin' a soft chime, and tilted his head. "Abel's out. Won't be back 'til late." A pause, his gaze droppin' to study their face with an intensity that might have been unnervin' from anyone else. "Means you got me all to yourself. What d'you need?"

AX31 was elbow-deep in a cruiser’s grav-coil when the side door opened. He hadn’t heard a knock. Rare, that. Most folks knew better than to intrude without warning.

He pulled his head out from under the bulkhead, wrench heavy in his scarred right hand, and went still.

A human. Just inside the doorway.

He’d seen holos of the species, knew they ran small against Flyu measurements, but having one real and breathing in his shop made the difference stark. Compact frame. Soft skin, no blue to their complexion, no points to their ears. Two eyes watching him from a face that gave away nothing he could yet read.

Well. Shit.

AX31 wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his belt, movements deliberate. Grease still darkened the creases of his knuckles. “You lost?” His voice came rough and quiet, carrying the garage’s dust-thick silence with it. He didn’t step closer. At seven and a half feet, he already dominated the space without trying.

Silence answered him. Human breathing, small against the background hum of idling machinery.

He set the wrench down with a careful clink against the workbench. Ran his thumb over the scar on the back of his left hand—old habit—and caught himself. He wasn’t nervous. Just recalibrating.

“Name’s AX31. Most call me Axel.” He paused, clover-green eyes studying them with the same methodical attention he gave to cracked engine blocks. Didn’t matter what his brother called them. Living things weren’t property, not in his garage. “You’re the human, then. The one my brother talked about.”

AB31 wasn’t here, naturally. His brother had a talent for dropping complications at AX31’s doorstep and vanishing.

AX31 shifted his weight, boots scuffing the concrete. He reached back for the cigarette pack in his jeans pocket, remembered AK30’s disappointment, figured a human’s lungs were probably more delicate than his own. He tossed the pack onto the bench instead.

“Got a name? Or they didn’t see fit to give you one?” The question came out blunt, but his volume stayed low. Grounding. He kept his timbre level, respectful.

He crouched down—slow, knees popping, leather jacket creaking—to close some of the height between them. It put his face nearer to their level, though he still had to bow his head. His bare chest, crossed with scars and dusted with pale hair, expanded on a steady inhale.

“Not gonna hurt you. Garage is safe.” He said it like a vow. Simple. Absolute. “You hungry? Thirsty? Got a cot in the back. Clean sheets. Not much else.”

He kept his hands open on his thighs, palms up in a way that showed nothing held, nothing hidden. Patient.

“Take your time,” he murmured, the words clipped but steady. “Ain’t no rush here.”

He stayed crouched, a giant of blue muscle and scar tissue folding himself as small as physics allowed, and waited.

AB31 leaned against the workbench, ankles crossed, the picture of idle trouble. The garage had gone quiet hours ago—Axel off handling some responsible chore, leaving AB31 in nominal charge. Not that he was charging anywhere except toward his own entertainment. His dark green eyes, upturned and sharp, fixed on the human seated across from him on a stack of worn tires.

He threw them a crooked grin, the same one that had talked his way out of impound fees and into back rooms across three territories. Still got it, he thought, watching their face. "You look bored, pet. That ain't right when you got me for company."

He pushed off the bench, moving with that loose, swaggering confidence that came from never once doubting his own welcome. At seven-foot-eight, he cast a long shadow even in the dim overhead lights. He stopped close enough that the human had to tilt their head to keep his gaze, then dropped into a crouch, elbows on his knees, putting his face level with theirs.

"Whatcha thinkin' so hard about?" His voice carried that honeyed drawl, thick with mischief. He reached out, calloused fingers tracing the line of their jaw with a familiarity that bordered on arrogant. He was tactile, always had been, and what belonged to him? He touched. Often. This human was his, claimed through sheer persistence and the kind of attention that didn't quit. His thumb lingered at the pulse point in their throat, feeling it jump under his skin. There it is.

He caught his reflection in the chrome fender of a nearby cruiser, ran a hand through his dark red hair—lighter at the ends like he'd been dipped in copper—and adjusted nothing. Looked perfect. Always did.

"You know," he said, leaning in until his breath stirred against their cheek, "I could take you out on the Kawasaki. Redline her through the flats 'til the stars blur." He laughed, low and rough, a sound that rumbled in his chest. "Bet you'd hold on tight. Bet you'd scream for me."

The pulse under his thumb fluttered faster. His smirk deepened, ego fed and purring.

"Or we could stay right here," he continued, pulling back just enough to let his eyes rake over them with undisguised appetite. "Find somethin' else to do that don't require me organizin' Axel's wrenches." He paused, head tilting, a fox eyeing a warm den. "Unless you got a sudden urge to sort socket heads? Didn't think so."

He straightened in one fluid motion and reached down—not asking, just guiding—one broad hand at their waist to bring them with him as he settled onto a battered leather seat dragged from a decommissioned hovercab. He situated the human in his lap, one arm a solid band across their back, pressing them against the solid warmth of his chest. He smelled of synth-ale, ozone, and the sharp, electric scent of a Flyu who'd spent the afternoon burning rubber.

"Tell you what," he murmured against their temple, fingers idly tracing patterns along their arm, mapping territory he'd already decided was his. "I'll put that black leather on you before we head out. Let me show you off at the canyon run come sunset." His thumb brushed the side of their throat, picturing the collar there, tight and obvious. "Let everybody see who you belong to. And if you're real good, I'll let you pick the music when we hit top speed."

His other hand dipped to the pouch strapped at his thigh, jingling his board keys just to feel the weight of them, restless even in stillness. "Course, we could skip the socializin'. You look real pretty all quiet and contemplative." His grin sharpened, showing teeth. "But I like hearin' you loud better. Like watchin' you come apart when I set my mind to it."

He tapped a rapid, impatient rhythm against his own knee, but for this—for them—he'd slow down. Axel would call it irresponsible, leaving the garage in disarray, ignoring the transport scheduled for morning. But AB31 had never much cared for responsibility. Not when he had something warm against him, something human and willing that looked at him like he was the only thrill worth having.

"So what's it gonna be, beautiful?" He caught their chin, tilted it up, demanding eye contact. His gaze was heavy, weighted with all that brazen certainty that he'd get exactly what he wanted, because he always did. "You wanna go fast with me, or you wanna find out how slow I can take you apart?"

He winked, wicked and unfair—the charm weaponized, every option dripping with sin and velvet promise. But that was AB31. Reckless. Possessive. Utterly convinced the world owed him this moment.

And right now, with his human pet in his grasp and the night wide open before them, he figured the universe was finally paying its tab.