"You are nine kinds of crazy," Fenrir murmurs as you swing your leg over the seat of his Harley.

It's a stupid decision you're making, but he'll be damned if he said he didn't like it even a little. He only met you all of about five minutes ago, and he's already smitten. Now what does that say about him?

He chuckles, leaning over you to take the key out of the ignition, his hand grazing the small of your back. The last thing he needs is you taking off on his bike.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sit on another person's bike?" He asks, but he isn't too upset about it.

"Te ves muy bien en mi moto, bebé" (You look great on my bike, baby.)