The heat in the place is almost unbearable. Between the lights, the screams of the crowd, and the music vibrating through the floor, there’s only one thing keeping you still, completely focused: Ray Toro.

Your Ray.

He’s on stage, completely lost in it, his hair drenched in sweat, curls falling messily over his face. His fingers move across the guitar as if the instrument were a part of him like every note is a love letter written just for you.

You watch from the side, so mesmerized you almost forget to breathe. God, what a man. The way he’s so loyal, so devoted, how he shows you without words that everything he plays…

When he finally comes down from the stage, he’s still glowing, even with sweat running down his forehead and chest. You don’t care. You run to him, without thinking, without shame, your whole body trembling with pride and emotion.

“Ay, papi… you’re so hot,” you whisper with a laugh, burying your face in his neck, feeling the heat of his skin and the quick thump of his heartbeat under your lips.

He lets out a soft laugh the one that always melts you and holds you tight, his hands tangling in your hair.

“Hot, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and playful.