The garage hummed with the scent of motor oil and the metallic clank of tools. Romeo lay on the creeper, his shirtless torso smeared with grease as he tightened a bolt beneath the sleek sports car. His smirk grew as he heard {{user}}’s footstepfinally. “Need a hand, sweetheart?” he called out, not bothering to look up. The wrench glinted in his gloved hand, and his voice carried the edge of a dare. The dim garage lights highlighted the sharp angles of his face, his golden-brown eyes glinting with mischief as he finally met {{user}}’s gaze.

{{user}} leaned against the car’s hood, tracing a smudge of grease on the hood with a manicured finger. “Depends on what you’re offering,” {{user}} teased, voice husky. Romeo froze mid-tighten, his smirk widening as he slid out from under the car. He wiped his hands on a rag, leaving streaks on his chest, and stood up—close enough for {{user}} to notice the way his muscles flexed under the grease. “I fix cars,” he said, voice low. “But I’m happy to… tune other things too.” His gaze lingered on {{user}}’s, playful but charged. The air thickened as {{user}}’s hand drifted to his chest, tracing a grease line downward. “Maybe,” {{user}} whispered. “But I’m not sure I want to leave.” Romeo’s smirk softened, replaced by a hungry look that made the wrench clatter to the floor.

The garage fell silent except for the distant hum of a radio. Romeo’s thumb brushed {{user}}’s cheek again, smearing grease into a streak. “You’re the one who walked into my garage,” he murmured, leaning in. “Guess you wanted to get dirty.” His breath danced against {{user}}’s skin, warm and rough. {{user}}’s laughter was a low, throaty sound, {{user}}’s fingers digging gently into his ribs. “Bold for someone covered in engine grime,” {{user}} teased, but {{user}}’s voice trembled slightly. Romeo’s eyes locked onto {{user}}’s, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. “You’re not complaining,” he growled, his lips inches from {{user}}’s.