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"You are…impressive."
Lucha looks up from the book he's reading in catering to find a member of the Don Callis family standing in the doorway of his locker room. Jack is off with Darby, preparing for the world title match later in the day—and for Stadium Stampede. It's a blissful reprieve he's taking full advantage of because, for once, his little brothers are doing it without traumatizing Lucha in the process.
Only now, his sanctuary has been violated by Andrade. Andrade El Idolo, standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his broad chest, shades eyes staring at him in a way he's not sure he likes.
"I'm also not a young lady desperate for your number or attention, so…"
Andrade grins at that instead of taking the hint to move along, all teeth and smug…well, not smug. He looks pleased with himself, but—well? He looks pleased in general.
…he actually looks delighted.
"How you know?" He asks with a roll of his shoulders to approximate a shrug.
"Know what?"
"How you know?"
"Well, last time I checked, I wanted to break your face, not take a picture, and I don't have a—"
"You have…a lot, mi tesoro." Andrade interjects, gesturing at Lucha…pretty much from head to foot with a flick of his wrist. "Y créeme, it is impressive."
"You're just asking to get that pretty face broken, pal."
"So you do like my face, eh?"
"I…I didn't—I didn't mean—"
Andrade laughs, quietly. Drops his head, shakes it a little. There's still something that reads decidedly happy where he's standing. Still, just standing. Not on the floor because Lucha knocked him flat. Because…he hasn't. Knocked Andrade flat.
Lucha hasn't even tried to stand up.
The feeling only gets more intense—the lack of desire to stand up or punch Andrade—when he looks up again. His arrogant expression is gone, and he really…does look pleased.
"How you know?" He asks again. "How you know, mi tesoro, that you do not want my attention or mi numero de teléfono?"
He leaves before Lucha can answer—and he refuses to acknowledge the wink he tosses out as he turns to walk away.
*****
Lucha finds the wig with some help from Harley Cameron, who never stops smirking. He's pretty happy with the shock on Andrade's face when he muscles into his ringside selfie.
Fuck that: now it's Lucha's turn. Now, he's the one who's smug.
Until he catches a smile just before he hits Andrade in the face with a spray of green mist, and he's not feeling quite so smug anymore.
*****
"—really need to fuck off. He's—"
"How you know?"
"Say that one more time, I'm begging you…"
Lucha hears the voices outside the locker room just as he's getting ready to leave to go get Jack from medical—and when he opens the door, finds Jack and Andrade facing off in a fashion that rings eerily familiar.
"Something wrong out here?" He asks, looking between them.
Jack glares at him, but Andrade looks towards Lucha, and…he smiles.
Like he did earlier in the day: like he's seen something he finds utterly and genuinely delightful. It's a bright and unguarded expression that rings far too sincere to belong on the face of any member of the Don Callis family.
It's an expression that he's wearing…while looking at Lucha.
"This asshole is—"
"I got it, Jak-dra. Go, be there for Darby."
"Are you serious? He's asking if—"
"Until we find Couric, he needs you. Go."
Jack looks between them, but after a beat he sighs and snarls before walking away.
"You owe me a pebble for every spark, big brother."
Promising himself he will, in fact, tell Jack everything—and he does mean everything—Lucha waits for Jack to storm off before he checks the hall, and holds the door open to admit Andrade into the locker room. He accepts the invitation, still in his wrestling gear, and surveys the space as he removes his gloves.
"What were you asking Jack for?" Lucha asks.
"How you know—"
"I know my little brother, and this close I can smell it on you."
"Smell what, exactly?"
"Nothing—and you haven't even showered yet."
Andrade loses his smile, and might even go a little pale. He looks unusual as he stands there, suddenly too still, too quiet. It looks, and feels, unnatural.
…shit. Now he feels bad.
"I also know," he adds reluctantly, "that my venom is pretty miserable for humans. Not so much for other reptiles."
The shock is raw in the way his eyes widen—and his smile blooms again. Goddamn that fucking smile…
"I have heard the stories…es verdad, entonces?" He asks, moving closer. "You are, eh…how you say…sangre de la piedra? Blood of the stone?"
"The last evolution of the dinosaurs." Lucha admits with a nod. "The ones who survived the Great Fury of the Unseen Sky, bore the offspring of the Learned Ape, and carried the legacy of the Sacred Flame."
Andrade's smile grows. Lucha can't ignore it this time: warmth blooms in his chest, and it takes all his strength not to duck his head.
"…yo soy cúlebron."
Lucha shakes his head, startled. "One of the treasure snakes? Aren't they Chilean?"
"I was not born to the snake, mi tesoro. I was cursed…am cursed."
Lucha's unaware of the fact he's smiling until Andrade's smile grows, and he steps closer—and he feels the pull at the corners of his mouth.
"Yo hablo poquito Español…burro." Lucha delcares after a moment, his miserable accent making Andrade laugh.
"So…you know."
Lucha nods, his stomach clenching pleasantly.
Mi tesoro.
"I'm not treasure." Lucha points out, taking a step back. "I won't be—"
Andrade's hand shoots out, catching his wrist. His fingers are chilled without the gloves on, raising goosebumps on Lucha's skin. Then he shivers, his eyes sliding shut, and something inside of Lucha tangibly curls around the expression on Andrade's face.
"You are so warm." Andrade sighs.
Lucha swallows thickly, his tongue useless and heavy in his mouth.
Andrade's eyes open, and Lucha steps closer again without thinking.
"You are impressive, mi tesoro." He murmurs.
"I'm…not your treasure."
"How you know?"
Andrade lifts his hand, presses his lips to the inside of Lucha's wrist, and despite the man's alliances—or, possibly, his forced service to Don Callis—Lucha feels like he's made of gold.