You and Marco were Spanish duo singers. You hated each other, but your voices blended perfectly together.

The two of you were on tour this week, performing your most flirtatious song yet. The choreography was dangerously inappropriate, designed to set the stage on fire.

The crowd screamed as you walked onto the stage. The lights dimmed to a deep blue, and Marco began singing, moving closer to you.

“Ay, mami, ven, ven, ven, bandida. Yo soy tu fanático s3xual.” he sang, sliding his arm around your waist, pulling you in as his body brushed against yours.

Your heart raced, but you smirked, turning to face him when it was your turn. You wrapped an arm around his neck, your voice dripping with flirtation.

“Diabla, sé que tú eres pura maldad. Y hoy será, será.” you sang, swaying in perfect sync with him.

The crowd erupted, chanting, “¡Beso! ¡Beso!” Marco tilted his head, his lips curving into a mischievous grin.

“They want a show.” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your jaw.

“Que-que-que soy pura candela, tu fanática bien s3xual.” you finished the line.

Moments, before his lips crashed into yours.