"Ash."
"The exhaust system. What's it called? I'll order it."
"You don't have to do that."
He looks up at me, patient. Unruffled. Like this is the most obvious thing in the world. "I know I don't have to. I want to. What's it called?"
I hesitate. I don't need anyone to provide for me. I don't need—
But he's looking at me with those steady dark eyes, and I remember what he said about taking care of people. About how his brain works. About how loving someone, for him, means making sure they have what they need.
"Akrapovic full titanium system," I say finally. "The slip-on, not the full system. Fits the Street Glide."
He types it in, taps a few times, and sets his phone down. "Done. Overnight shipping."
"That was fast."
"I'm efficient." He stands, crosses to where I'm working, and pulls me in by the hips. His hands are warm through myjeans, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my hipbones. "You need something, I get it for you. That's how this works."
"Is that how this works?"
"It's how it works with me." He kisses me, soft and brief, just a brush of lips. "Get used to being spoiled."
"I'm not good at being spoiled."
"Then learn." Another kiss, longer this time, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open for him. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. "Let me take care of you for once. You take care of everyone else—you cook for the whole pack, you fix their bikes, you're always the one making sure everyone's fed and comfortable. Let someone do that for you."
My throat feels tight. "Ash..."
"It's an exhaust system, Jason. It's not a big deal."
But it is a big deal. It's a big deal because no one's ever just bought me something because I mentioned wanting it. No one's ever looked at me and said what do you need and then just... provided it. Without strings, without expectations, without keeping score.
"Thank you," I manage.
"You're welcome." He traces his thumb over the mark on my neck, pressing just enough to make it ache, and I shiver. "Mine."
"I'm a person, not a possession."
"I know." His mouth curves, just slightly. "But you're still mine. And I take care of what's mine."
I should probably object to being talked about like property. Instead, I pull him down for another kiss and let myself be taken care of.
---
The part arrives the next morning, delivered by a very confused UPS driver who clearly wasn't expecting to find a motorcycle garage behind a bar.
I install it that afternoon while Ash watches from his stool, handing me tools when I ask for them, asking questions about each step. The old exhaust comes off in pieces, carefully labeled so I could reinstall it if needed. The new one goes on smooth, the titanium gleaming under the garage lights, so much lighter than the old steel that I almost overbalance the first time I lift it.
When I finally fire up the engine, the sound that comes out is—
"Holy shit," Ash breathes.
It's deep and rich and clean, a purr that builds into a growl when I give it gas. The whole garage seems to vibrate with it, the sound rolling through me, and my lion rumbles in response, pleased.
"That's incredible," Ash says, coming to stand beside me. "That sounds like a completely different bike."
"It sounds like what she was always meant to sound like." I kill the engine, smiling so hard my face hurts. "Ash, this is—thank you. Seriously. This is amazing."
