The studio showers were loud, the steady rush of water filling the space as steam curled against the tiles. The st of body wash and shampoo repced the musk of sweat and pheromones from earlier.

  Evan stood beh the stream, letting the hot water pummel his muscles exhausted from the shoot. His mind was still catg up.

  He had just shot his first se.

  The reality of it hadn't fully settled yet.

  He turned off the water and stepped out, ing a towel around his waist. As he padded toward the locker area, he caught Sakda drying his hair, a towel draped over his shoulders.

  The Thai performer, now fully dressed in a loose gym shirt and joggers, looked up and smirked.

  "Well." Sakda tossed his towel onto a bench. "I gotta admit—I thought you’d be a mess today."

  Evan huffed a tired ugh. "Yeah?"

  Sakda nodded, stretg out his arms. "Yes. When álvaro said we had a first-timer joining, I figured we’d be carrying you through half the se."

  He grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip befrinning.

  "But you? You held up. Surprisingly well, actually."

  Evan wasn’t sure if that was a pliment or just a barely-passed-the-test kind of remark.

  Sakda raised an eyebrow. "Still, you had that little moment."

  Evan blinked. "What moment?"

  Sakda smirked. "You know."

  He made a vague downward gesture.

  "Halfway through the shoot, when the nerves hit, and—poof."

  Evan groaned, rubbing his temples. "Okay, yeah. That moment."

  Sakda ughed, nudging his arm.

  "Rex, hermano. It happens to everyo some point. Hell, my first shoot? I straight-up had to sit out for fifteen minutes."

  Evan exhaled. "Great. My first shoot, and I already had a teical difficulty."

  "Nothing to be ashamed of," Sakda grinned. "You bounced back. That’s what matters."

  "And also,” Sakda chuckled. “When I said, ‘thought you’d be smaller’… I didn’t just mean your height."

  Evan’s mind paused for a short moment, and then his face heated instantly. "Dude."

  From behind them, Isabel burst into ughter.

  "Dios mío, Sakda," she cackled, buttoning up her blouse. "Are you really going to analyse every guy’s dick like that?"

  Sakda grinned. "Hey, in this job, we have to pay attention to the importaails."

  Isabel smirked, sidling up o Evan.

  "Well, rookie… you definitely got noticed for more than just being cute today."

  Evan groaned, running a hand through his damp hair.

  "Right. Great. My dick is apparently worth discussing now."

  She winked befrabbing her bag and heading toward the door.

  Sakda cpped Evan on the back. "e on, bro. Food. Yonna ."

  ***

  The restaurant, El Mirador del Fènix, was a warm trast to the industrial setting of the studio.

  Cozy but refined, rustic wooden tables, soft lighting, and a terrace overlooking the city. The st of grilled meat, fresh herbs, and red wine filled the air.

  álvaro led the group inside, nodding to the owner befuiding them to their usual table.

  Evan slid into his seat, his body still drained from earlier—but now there was something else.

  Hunger.

  A deep, gnawing need for fuel after the sheer amount of energy he had burned.

  álvaro smirked at him. "Alright, rookie. You made it through your first shoot. Bien hecho."

  Evan exhaled, leaning ba his chair. "Thanks… I think?"

  álvaro chuckled. "No broken bones, no breakdowns. That’s a win in my book." He took a sip of his drink before raising a brow. "So? How do you feel?"

  Evaated.

  "Weirdly okay?"

  He traced a finger along the densation on his gss.

  "I mean… I thought I’d be more freaked out, but ohe cameras rolled, it just… happened."

  álvaro smirked. "Instinct, hermano. And experience. You’ve definitely seen enough porn to know what to do. You just he body to catch up to the mind."

  Sakda, chewing on a piece of steak, elbowed Evan. "I’ll be real with you, man. You went all in."

  Isabel smirked. "Yeah, especially toward the end."

  Evan groaned, rubbing his temples. "I feel like I’ll never live that down."

  Sakda chuckled. "You definitely won’t. But hey, ime? No time-outs."

  Evan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smirk a little.

  As the food arrived—grilled steak, roasted vegetables, fresh seafood, warm bread—Evan dug in, realising just how starved he was.

  versation drifted from uping shoots to travel pns, to casual industry gossip.

  And surprisingly—Evan didn’t feel out of pce.

  It was oddly f, the way they talked about work like it was just another day.

  At some point, álvaro leaned back, swirling his wine gss.

  "You know why I named my studio Fénix Roja, right?"

  Evan looked up, mid-bite. "No?"

  álvaro gestured around the restaurant. "Because of this pce. El Mirador del Fénix. More like El Mirador del Fènix in ."

  His gaze drifted toward the terrace.

  "Back when I was trying to get my shit together, I came here all the time."

  A small smirk pyed at his lips.

  "Felt like a fresh start, you know? Like rising from the ashes."

  By the time dinner ed up, Evan was full—but álvaro wasn’t doh him yet.

  "Alright, hermanito." álvaro stretched. "You’ve had your fun. Now, it’s time to train."

  Evan frowned. "Train?"

  álvaro smirked. "Studio gym. Let’s go."

  ***

  The gym at Fénix Roja was minimalist but fully stocked—squat racks, barbells, dumbbells, boxing bags, rowing maes.

  Evan ged into his usual gym top, joggers, and trainers.

  álvaro had gym shorts on, going shirtless. His physique acked with lean muscle, his abs rippling like the peaks of the Pyrenees. A phoenix tattoo spread across his left chest, its wings curling over his ribs.

  Evan raised an eyebrow.

  "That marking below your belly button… What is that?"

  álvaro smirked. "Incubus mark."

  Evan frowned. "Like the demon?"

  "Exactly." álvaro stretched his arms. "Our job? Not too different, hermano."

  Theossed Evan a resistance band and stretched his arms..

  "In this business, training is part of the job. Endurance, flexibility, core strength—it all matters. You wanna st o? You gotta put in the work."

  Evan exhaled. "Alright. What are we doing?"

  álvaro poi the squat rack. "Show me your form."

  Evan stepped uhe bar, positioning himself before l into a squat. He came back up smoothly.

  álvaro watched, then clicked his tongue. “I don’t like your shoes.”

  Evan frowned, looking down at his sneakers. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “They’re bad for lifting,” álvaro said ftly. “Too much cushion, bad stability. Just go barefoot.”

  Evaated for a moment, then shrugged and kicked off his shoes. He repositioned himself and dropped into another squat.

  álvaro nodded slightly. “Better. Now push through the heels, keep your chest up.”

  Evan adjusted, repeating the motion.

  “Much better,” álvaro said. “Now deadlifts. Let’s see it.”

  Evan moved to the barbell, setting up for a lift. He pulled, feeling the strain in his hamstrings as he locked out at the top.

  álvaro stepped beside him, nudging his lower back slightly. “Engage your ore. Don’t hyperextend at the top.”

  Evan exhaled, l the bar aing. He was used to going to the gym and lifting, but this was different. álvaro’s corres were precise—focused on fun rather than just brute strength.

  They cycled through movements—bench presses, pull-ups, core work. álvaro kept a close eye, small tweaks to his form.

  "Porn isn’t just about looks," álvaro said, leaning against the squat rack. "It’s a lot about trol. Your breath, your endurance, your body nguage. The better you move here—" he gestured around the gym, "—the better you move there."

  ***

  By the time they got back to álvaro’s vil, the sun had lo over the Mediterranean.

  Evan colpsed onto the couch, stretg out his sore arms.

  "I swear, I’ve never worked out this mu my life."

  álvaro tossed him a cold bottle of sparkling water. "Get used to it. Shoot, eat, trai. Simple as that."

  Evan twisted the cap off, taking a long sip. "Guess this is the life now."

  álvaro led him into a spacious library-ssh-study room, its walls lined with dark wooden bookshelves filled with a mix of novels, philosophy books, and industry-reted texts.

  A rge window overlooked the vil’s garden, and in the tre of the room sat a, minimalist desk with a high-end puter setup—dual monitors, a meical keyboard, a top-tier gaming mouse, and a -built PC glowing with red LED lights.

  Evan raised an eyebrow. “Fancy pce. You actually do work in here?”

  álvaro smirked, settling into his chair. “Depends on what you define as work.”

  He tapped the spacebar, bringing the monitors to life and then booting up War Thunder.

  “You think running a studio means I gave up on my hobbies?” He leaned ba his chair. “Nada, gaming’s been part of my life since I was a kid. I don’t pn on stopping just because I’m running a business.”

  Evan sat up slightly. “Yeah, makes sense. Just… didn’t expect you to have this serious of a setup.”

  álvaro cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders as he settled into his chair. "Alright, hermano. Let’s see if you actually fly this time, or if I have to scrape you off a mountain again."

  Evan scoffed, clig into the game. "Bold words from someone who calls every crash a ‘tactiding.’"

  álvaro smirked as the match loaded. "This time, I expeothihan excellence, rookie. Now, let’s see if you’ve got the balls to hold formation—or if you’re just going to nosedive into the dirt again."

  Evan grinned, gripping his mouse. "Let’s find out."

  And with that, the engines roared to life, and the night’s battle began.