Work Text:
ROADTRIP THROUGH THE SONORAN
By Luminioux
© August 2022.
"I know I already said it, but...that was a really good thing you did back there."
Krohnen briefly turns his head behind him to look at Ángel before going back to focusing on the road, sweating profusely.
The heat of the Sonoran desert is making his heavy leather jacket stick to his skin, and since Ángel's motorcycle got destroyed in a ditch (because of a drag race gone wrong despite him warning her not to partake in it), rather than riding alongside him in her own vehicle, the blue-eyed woman now has her arms wrapped around his waist, sitting at the end of his bike's leather seat.
"Well...the brat clearly needed it more than a bunch of escapees like us, and we can probably make up some money on our way to Hermosillo," Krohnen admits.
"Aww, K9999"—the Mexicana takes his sunglasses off his face and places it on her own—"if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you've grown into a buenazo, mi hijo!"
Krohnen stops the motorcycle and turns around to reprimand Ángel both for stealing his shades and calling him a softie in her native language—and also mentally gives himself a thumbs up for picking up some Spanish back when he was briefly hiding in Tijuana a while back—but, ultimately, he just rolls his eyes and goes back to paying attention to his driving.
(They already lost one motorcycle due to someone choosing to look at what was behind them instead of what was in front of them, and he isn't planning on walking the rest of the way in 104°F weather.)
Shaking some of his hair out of his eyes, Krohnen smirks, telling the luchadora, "You wish—Kula was just a kid who got lucky that we won on one of my good days. By the way...don't call me K9999 in public like that, you never know who's listening."
"In the middle of a barren desert like this? Heh…whatever you say, K9999," Ángel immediately responds before she rests her head against his back.
This time, Krohnen ignores her calling him by his original name to reach for the water bottle in his left pouch that isn't there, and then remembers that Ángel decided to drink all of his bottle of water right after finishing her own.
I guess I'll have to get us a canteen of water next time, the nineteen-year-old thinks to himself before starting his motorcycle again and speeding away, wondering whether they should go through Sinaloa or Chihuahua when the two of them were done traveling through the depths of Sonora.
[FIN.]
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