Ultraviolence

Something fun

•~

Something fun. You wonder what activities Lalo would label "fun." If it was up to you, you'd be making art, baking a cake, reading together. But you're not sure he'd like that. Maybe he would.

"Like what?" You ask. Still processing the flood of vague, but on the other hand crystal clear information. Him being involved with some sort of illegal business does explain his secrecy and .. Status, you guess.

"I'll show you." He guides you back to his garage, where he points at.. Something. It has a tarp draped over it and it's a bit hidden behind all sorts of stuff. Spare tires, other car parts. You didn't see it when you entered. Probably too focused on Lalo.

"You ever sat on a motorcycle before?" He asks with a grin. It doesn't surprise you one bit that what's under the tarp reveals itself to be a shiny, black Harley Davidson. You just know Lalo picked this out himself.
"No, never."
"Come on, then."
He pushes the motorcycle out of the garage, the sun reflecting on the smooth metal. He walks back for a minute. You hear rumbling and things falling over, but then he returns with a helmet. He walks up to you. The thing looks brand-new.

He tucks a few strands of your hair behind your ear. You look up at him. He can be surprisingly gentle, for a criminal. He lifts up the helmet and plops it down on your head. It's way too big, you think it's supposed to be his.
"Safety first for my girl, hm?" He says with a smile. You feel the butterflies in your stomach frantically flap their wings.
"Where is yours?" You say softly, genuinely concerned, though you already know what his response will be.

"Don't need it." What a surprise. He puts on a pair of sunglasses and gets on the bike. A loud rumble as he revs the engine.
"Hop on."
"Is it safe?" You ask, looking at him as he pats his hand on the space behind him, gesturing you to get on.

"Like I'd let anything happen to you." He chuckles and shakes his head. He almost seems to want to reassure you about what you don't know about him.
You nod weakly and carefully get on the bike. The slight slant of the seat is forcing you sit up against him, your torso against his back. You feel his muscles through his shirt.

You don't know where to put your hands, so you awkwardly grasp the fabric of his shirt, like a baby monkey would do to its mother's fur. You feel his body shudder in amusement as he laughs. He grabs your hands and pulls your arms around him. His grip makes your sore wrist ache. You eagerly clamp onto him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You wish you could lay your cheek against his back, but that stupid helmet won't let you.

Lalo's feet leave the ground as the motorcycle accelerates. You hold your breath and tighten your grip around him.
"Relax, muñeca." You look up without letting go of him, his dark hair slightly moving in the wind despite being slicked back with gel.
You watch Albuquerque slowly disappear as the landscape transitions to desert. The sun hot on your back.

Lalo speeds up, causing huge clouds of dust to flare up like flames behind the motorcycle. Your heart beating in your chest. But you're not scared. You like it.
The thrill of feeling the roaring motorcycle vibrate and the harsh wind on your body makes you feel on top of the world. Lalo's abs tensing as he makes the Harley go even faster just adds to it. This man just has that effect on you, that thrill-seeking effect.

You've never felt that way before. Normally you'd avoid any adrenaline spiking activities. The excitement of Lalo and anything that's a part of him intrigues you, lures you even closer to him.

The urge to let go of him gets stronger every passing second. So you do. You sit up slightly, half your body still against Lalo, and stretch out your hands, the strong air trying to push you back. The long, straight desert road makes it easy to balance.
"What the hell are you doing?" You hear Lalo say loudly, his voice muffled by the sound of the wind.