where's your head

There is a folded piece of paper that she retrieves from the gap between her clothes and her shoulder. She hands it over like it's necessary for the explanation. He can get it messy, for one. "Oil it up, all you like." Maybe not requiring an engineer, but certainly a good mechanic.

"I'm working on a little project myself," she confesses, eyes slipping away to the shack of a place. She waits for him to unfurl the paper before catching his gaze again. "— I have two in storage, in Seattle. Identical almost." Chevy Corvette's, that is. 1969. "I remember that it was a year, but they haven't run since '84. One took some damage in a street race, never worked since. The other's engine makes a sound and spits water." She laughs like it's funny she's left them to rot. Unintentionally, but she hadn't needed them til she might do something fun with them this year. "I'll get them here to your little shop and you get them up and going, by Hallow's Eve, I'll try to make it worth your while. Whatever your price." a beat, "Think you can do it, sweet wolf?"

He licks his lips as he thinks - two weeks to get it done? Maybe, depending on the extent of the damage but he thinks he could get it done - especially if he took a bit of time off from the shop and didn't head over towards the hotel every fuckin' night.

Shit.

"You can do shop price, that's cool by me." It's also his way of saying he'll take the job. "I gotta check it all out, and if there's a lotta shit wrong with 'em, it might take me some doin'. But I'll give it a shot."

"That sounds like a fine time," he says as he stands back up, wiping his brow on his forearm. "I'll text Theo, let her know I might be a bit later." He enters a few things in the computer and waits for the invoice to print. "You go to that old place a lot? Cliffsides I mean."

The chime of the door catches his attention, and he turns away to take care of it -

And a few hours later, they're in stepping out of Vic's beat up old truck and making their way into the Heron Club. Relatively safe for the two of them, considering Raf's connect to Cerberus. He gestures for the bartender to slide over when they get a chance and orders himself something local and strong.

But in this moment, maybe he can be a bit selfish, and drink in Vic's presence and the way he smiles and holds the taller man's waist. Maybe he can delight in the way he makes it hard for Vic to breathe and talk. It's something just for him - and Ash's hands have stayed at his bowed jaw, thumbs tracing skin.

"B-Best... not t-talk then... maybe. For... a bit." A rare try at teasing too, followed by a slower and deeper kiss.

A mumble against his mouth, with a little smile: "...E-Está bien?"

He swallows, and takes the kiss and returns it in kind. A little hungry, a little trying to reassure himself and Ash that he's all in. The teasing warms his chest, nestling there and making itself a home - something to think about and come back to when he knows he's going to doubt it later.

The question, soft against his lips, allows him another moment to catch his breath. "Good. Bueno."

Then there's cursing, she stops herself from chuckling — pendejo, por favor, but she doesn't say a word about it because he appears already sweaty and worn on emergence. Apparently, he's been freshly climbing out from within a volcano, as appearances go. He might be perfect, for what she wants.

Grease monkeys, that is.

Smiling, she offers, "Perhaps you need a hand first," nudging her head at his streaks of oil that only spread with each new movement he makes. She steps forward, "And then we can chat about how I need an engineer or two for a private contract — don't worry, there's an engine involved."

A few, even.

"Lady, I ain't no engineer." He can't design shit. Nor can he figure out complicated stuff. Cars are easy. "You want help puttin' somethin' together, I can give it a shot. Or you want somethin' fixed, that's more my speed."

He is curious, though.

"Whatcha need me for?" Doesn't she run that casino?

Working on screwing it on and tightening it into place, he tests it and casts a glance to Vic. "Uhh, I think they're showing me how to close tonight so like... I think six?"

"Six today, eight the rest of the week." He teases, nudging at him with the tip of his boot. What he wouldn't give for a cigarette right now - just for at least something to do with his hands.

Instead, he grabs a wrench and starts fiddling with it, twirling it around a finger. "Yeah, man, I was just wonderin' if you wanted to head out after and grab a beer and a burger at the drive-in. I'm gonna head out to the Cliffsides after, so I can just give ya a ride."

But they're meeting eyes, even briefly. As Ash's thumb moves, he can see that Adam's apple bob on a strong neck.

I just want to spend time with you.

Ash beams at that. Sees that frantic nodding and both hands move up to cradle Vic's face, to calm him a bit. His warm brown eyes are alight with an excitement and joy, and he leans gingerly down.

He's almost too shocked to kiss back, despite all signs pointing to the obvious, and when it ends - his eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, and he follows after Ash, as if trying for more.

When he realizes that the kiss is over, he blinks his eyes open and the ruddy color of his cheeks and ears deepen even further - too warm. His breath comes out shaky, almost laughing - embarrassed at himself, at how he seems so..

Well, wanting. Like a teenager again with his first crush, kissing behind the bleachers during a basketball game.

Their eyes meet for a long moment. He stays quiet and just listens. As Vic keeps tripping over his words, Ash's smile only grows. But that look of confusion is still there. Eyebrows knit together, trying to just figure out if this man is...

The best this time is Ash noticing. And he has. Maybe. Because he's touching him, lifting his chin up - crooked jaw and all - and looking at him like..

Fuck it, Vic's not a poet, he doesn't know what sort of flowery shit this might be. But it's nice. It's good. And despite being afraid, he wants to try. He'd like to go over. He'd like to spend time with him, but he's afraid that it'll go too far, too fast and it'll ruin it.

There's only ever been one person he'd allowed himself to get close to. And that man's standing right here in front of him, thumb brushing along the five o'clock shadow gracing his skin. Vic swallows hard, and nods.

"A-Any... time?" That gets a chuckle, and he sees Vic chew on his finger. Nasty little habit. And maybe a good excuse. The older man sets the hamper down and walks to him, and takes that hand with his own, pulling it gently away from Vic's mouth. A warm and calloused grip, as brown eyes regard him. "You... may f-find me sh-showing up a bit... t-too often."

His tongue feels a little too thick in his throat, and he's not sure if he even remembers how to speak. Eventually, when Ash lets go, he feels like he can breath again. The breath he takes is shaky, and he brushes his hand back through his hair. "Ah. Uh."

Even with his stutter and stop-starting, somehow Ash has said and done the smoothest thing possible here. And Vic's still not sure if the man is messing with him or if he's imagining things or some sort of combination of the two.

Nsilo has rarely any business in wolf territory. The last time she concerned herself over the pups, had been when a man had tried to get the better of blackjack — and proceeded to run circles around her clients. She'd taken it upon herself to serve him a Castillon brand of justice. The family is suffering still.

But she's here again, in the dusty streets of a mechanic's yard.

Looking for a guy — gal — whoever to help fix a problem.

She's heard the reputation of the werewolves and their ability to put together scrap from nothing, to something. Helpful, when applied to an upgrade she wants for Anemoia. Her guys aren't sharp enough for this, another point of view never hurts.

Her knuckles rap on the open garage door of the shop. It's soft even — echoing on the corrugated metal plenty without force. She's probably overdressed, in a deep indigo suede suit, fingernails painted an even deeper shade of violet.

Maybe they can't hear her over the sound of power tools going off in the garage.

So, to make a point — she scratches her nails down the length of the door until it makes an unpleasant squeal for attention.

He's trying to get something unhooked so they can lift the damn thing out of the car body, but it's proving to be a difficult one person job - which means he doesn't exactly hear the first knock.

The screeching sound makes him jump, knocking his head on the top hood of the car and curses a long string of Spanish, at himself, at the car, at the visitor - and then catches himself. "So - sorry, fuck." He rubs his head - getting more grease in his hair - and then wipes the sweat from his brow - another slick of oil smeared across his forehead.

"What can I help ya with, ma'am?" He can smell the stench of blood and death on her, and with the way she's dressed - maybe he's in for a rough one.

And Vic's picking up things and Ashwin shakes his head, holding out a hand to take it from him. "H-Hey, hey... no n-need, st...stop. I don't... pay ya." He teases, slipping his hands around the bundle of laundry to take it back from Vic, getting close to transfer the heap of dirty sheets back to his own arms.

Unsure of what to do now that he doesn't have the laundry to occupy his hands, he shoves them in his pockets and finds the doorframe to lean against. "I can come by yours anytime, you know that. Or you could stop by my dinky little apartment." He shrugs, and ducks his head at the nudge to his shoulder.

He knows that Vic’s bound to stop by at some point today- and it shouldn’t be distracting him as much as it has been from his work day. The pack leader has been carrying a laundry hamper to each empty room, grabbing up sheets and pillowcases and towels. It should be easy work… when he’s not forgetting what the hell he’s doing, wondering if he has any booze or something he and Vic can enjoy in the office. Or if he'd like to come back to his. Or maybe they could go out? 

He’s tugging a stained fitted sheet off an old mattress in one of the rooms when he sees Vic’s truck through the open door- losing all of his focus and balance, and slipping right onto his ass with a deep, rumbling laugh as he hits the floor. “H….Hola, guapo!” He calls, still chuckling as he gets himself up with a groan. His old denim shirt is tossed over a chair and he’s wearing his usual work pants and a dirty undershirt, hair back and out of his face in a bun. "You s...surprised me."

'Cept that masquerade shit proved that all wrong.

He'd been doing as he'd been instructed to, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious or - literally anything that stood out. Most of the time it was a whole lot of fat nothing, but the regular visits out to the Cliffsides were worth an empty notepad.

Pulling up in his truck, he noticed the doors to the rooms opened and the large figure of Ash tumbling to the ground. Jumping out of the seat, he approached slowly - with a bit of a laugh on his lips. The compliment made his ears turn a little ruddy, but the flop of his curls hid most of it.