Engineered Desires

The garage door groaned as Luke rolled his Ducati inside, the scent of oil and warm rubber clinging to his skin. He kicked the stand down and peeled off his gloves, fingers stiff from the ride. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it—another work email, probably. The open-plan house beyond the garage was quiet, the leather sofas still holding the faint imprint of where he’d sprawled the night before, nursing a whiskey and pretending not to think about Becky.

He tossed his keys onto the kitchen island and grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold glass sweating in his grip. The phone buzzed again. This time, he checked.

*Luke, can you be at home. I need you.*

His thumb hovered over the screen. Becky didn’t usually text like this. Not since—well, not since the diagnosis. He’d been there for the tears, the breakdowns, the nights she’d curled into him like a child, shaking with nightmares. But this? This was different. Urgent.

He typed back, *FFS, Becky. What is it. I’m at work.*

A pause. Then his phone’s camera flashed, the screen filling with a grainy image of her sitting in her car outside his house, mascara streaked down her cheeks. His stomach dropped.

*I’m sorry,* her next message read.

Luke exhaled sharply, already grabbing his jacket. *Look, I’m sorry. What’s up?*

*I really need to talk to you.*

He didn’t have time for this. Not today. Not when the team was two days out from a critical test run and Tom was already breathing down his neck about the new suspension specs. But Becky didn’t ask for much. And she sure as hell didn’t cry in his driveway for no reason.

*Okay. Give me 10.*

---

The drive home was a blur. He pulled into the driveway to find her still in the car, hands clenched around the steering wheel, her shoulders shaking. Luke yanked the door open and crouched beside her, his height making the angle awkward. “Beck,” he said, voice rough. “What the fuck?”

She turned to him, eyes red-rimmed, and the sight of her like that—so small, so broken—made his chest ache. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He undid her seatbelt and pulled her out, her body limp against his. She was wearing one of Tom’s old hoodies, the sleeves swallowing her hands, and it was all wrong. Becky was sunshine and laughter, not this hollowed-out version of herself.

He steered her inside, her feet dragging. “Come on,” he muttered. “I’ll make tea.”

She collapsed onto the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her, and he watched as she blew on the steaming mug, her fingers trembling. He sat beside her, close enough that their thighs brushed, and waited.

“Okay, Beck,” he said. “What’s going on?”

She swallowed hard. “It’s not good, Luke. It’s not good at all.”

His pulse spiked. “Tell me.”

“I have cancer.” Her voice cracked. “The bad kind. Stage four.”

The mug slipped from his fingers, tea sloshing onto the floor. He barely noticed. Becky was crying again, great heaving sobs that wracked her body, and he pulled her into his arms, cradling her like she was something precious. Like she was his.

“Does Tom know?” he asked, his own voice thick.

She shook her head against his chest. “I don’t even know how to tell him.”

Luke’s jaw tightened. “I’ll tell him if you want.”

She nodded, her breath hitching. “Please.”

---

Tom arrived twenty minutes later, his face pale, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Luke met him at the door, and for a second, he thought Tom might hit him. But then Becky let out a choked sob from the sofa, and Tom’s shoulders sagged.

“Why the fuck did she tell you first?” Tom demanded, voice low.

Luke didn’t flinch. “Because she needed someone who wouldn’t fall apart. And right now, that’s me.”

Tom’s eyes flickered, something raw and broken in them. “She’s my wife.”

“And she’s scared,” Luke said. “She needed a test run. Someone to practice on before she told the people who actually matter.”

Tom exhaled sharply, the fight draining out of him. “Fuck.”

Becky was asleep on the sofa by the time they finished talking, her face pressed into the leather, her blonde hair fanned out around her. Tom hovered over her, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, like he was afraid to touch her.

Luke clapped him on the back. “She’ll be okay.”

Tom didn’t look convinced.

---

The weeks that followed were a blur of hospital visits and bad news. Becky moved between their house and Luke’s like a ghost, her energy ebbing and flowing with the treatments. Tom worked late, burying himself in engine specs and wind tunnel data, but Luke? Luke was there. For the nights she couldn’t keep food down. For the moments she woke up screaming from nightmares. For the times she just needed someone to hold her hair back while she puked.

She started sleeping in his bed. Not every night, but enough that it became a habit. He’d wake up to find her curled against him, her breath warm on his chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt. He never said anything. Neither did she.

One night, she woke up gasping, her body rigid with fear. Luke was already reaching for her before she even opened her eyes. “Hey,” he murmured, pulling her close. “I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his neck, her tears hot against his skin. “I’m so scared, Luke.”

He kissed her temple, his arms tightening around her. “I know.”

She didn’t leave after that.

---

The night it changed, Luke was half-asleep, his body heavy with exhaustion. Becky had been restless, her nightmares worse than usual, and he’d spent the last hour holding her, stroking her hair, murmuring nonsense until she finally settled.

Then she shifted.

Her hand slid down his chest, her fingers tracing the ridges of his stomach through his shirt. Luke froze, his breath catching. She’d never—

“Beck,” he said, his voice rough.

She didn’t stop. Her fingers dipped lower, brushing over the waistband of his boxers, and Luke’s cock twitched in response, betraying him. He should stop her. He *should*. But then her lips pressed against his neck, her breath warm and damp, and his resolve crumbled.

“Luke,” she whispered. “I need you.”

He turned his head, capturing her mouth in a kiss. She tasted like mint and salt, her lips soft and desperate. His hands found her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she let out a whimper, her body arching into his.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely a growl.

She nodded, her fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

---

Luke rolled her beneath him, his body covering hers, his hands mapping every inch of her like he’d memorized her in his dreams. She was soft where he was hard, her curves fitting against him like they were made for this. His mouth trailed down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, and she gasped, her back arching.

“Fuck, Luke,” she breathed.

He grinned against her skin. “That’s the plan.”

His hands slid beneath her shirt, pushing it up, and she helped him tug it over her head. Her bra followed, her tits spilling free, full and perfect, her nipples already hard. Luke groaned, his cock straining against his boxers. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“More,” she demanded.

He obliged, his free hand sliding down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts. She was already wet, her pussy slick and hot, and he growled, his fingers teasing her entrance.

“Luke,” she gasped. “Please.”

He didn’t make her wait. His fingers slid inside her, curling, and she moaned, her hips bucking against his hand. He worked her slowly at first, then faster, his thumb finding her clit, circling it until she was writhing beneath him.

“Oh god,” she whimpered. “I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice dark.

She did, her body shaking, her pussy clenching around his fingers. He watched her, his cock throbbing, his breath ragged. When she finally stilled, her eyes fluttered open, dazed and hungry.

“Your turn,” she said, her hand sliding down his stomach.

Luke caught her wrist before she could touch him. “Not yet.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

He grinned, rolling her onto her stomach. “I’m not done with you.”

She let out a breathless laugh as he pulled her shorts down, baring her ass. He gave one cheek a sharp slap, the sound echoing through the room, and she gasped, her body jolting.

“Luke!”

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

He did it again, harder this time, and she moaned, her fingers clutching the sheets. He spread her legs, his thumbs teasing her slick folds, and she whimpered, her hips lifting.

“Please,” she begged.

Luke didn’t make her wait. He lined himself up, his cock pressing against her entrance, and then he was inside her, filling her in one deep thrust. She cried out, her body stretching around him, and he groaned, his hands gripping her hips.

“Fuck, Beck,” he growled. “You feel so good.”

She pushed back against him, her ass pressing into his groin. “More.”

He gave her more. Harder. Faster. His hips snapped against hers, his cock driving deep, and she moaned, her body trembling. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles, and she gasped, her pussy clenching around him.

“Luke, I’m—”

“Come for me again,” he ordered, his voice rough.

She did, her body shaking, her pussy milking his cock. Luke groaned, his own release building, his balls tightening. He didn’t hold back. With a final thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, filling her.

They collapsed onto the bed, their bodies tangled, their breath ragged. Becky turned her head, her lips finding his in a slow, deep kiss.

“That was—” she started.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rough.

She smiled, her fingers tracing his jaw. “We should’ve done that a long time ago.”

Luke laughed, pulling her closer. “Better late than never.”

---

The next morning, Luke woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Becky humming in the kitchen. He stretched, his body deliciously sore, and grinned. Last night had been—well. It had been fucking incredible.

He pulled on a pair of sweats and padded into the kitchen, where Becky was standing at the counter, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. She turned, her smile bright, and Luke’s chest tightened.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. She melted against him, her lips finding his in a slow, sweet kiss.

“So,” she said, pulling back slightly. “What now?”

Luke grinned. “Now? Now we do that again.”

She laughed, swatting his chest. “I meant with us. With Tom.”

Luke’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”

Becky bit her lip. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You won’t,” Luke said. “Not if we’re honest.”

She nodded, her fingers tracing the waistband of his sweats. “I just— I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Luke kissed her forehead. “You won’t.”

---

Tom arrived an hour later, his expression unreadable. Becky was sitting on the sofa, her legs curled beneath her, and Luke stood by the window, his arms crossed.

“You wanted to see me?” Tom said, his voice tight.

Becky took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

Tom’s eyes flicked between them, his jaw tightening. “I think I know what this is about.”

Luke stepped forward. “Tom—”

“No,” Tom said, holding up a hand. “Let her talk.”

Becky swallowed hard. “I love you, Tom. I always will. But I—I need Luke too.”

Tom’s expression darkened. “You’re choosing him?”

“No,” Becky said quickly. “I’m choosing *us*. All of us.”

Tom was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he exhaled. “You’re serious about this.”

Becky nodded. “Yes.”

Tom looked at Luke, his eyes searching. Then, finally, he sighed. “Fuck. I don’t even know what to say.”

Luke grinned. “Say you’re okay with it.”

Tom rubbed his temples. “I don’t know if I am. But I know I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Becky stood, crossing the room to him. She took his hand, her fingers threading through his. “Then don’t.”

Tom looked at her, his expression softening. Then he pulled her into his arms, his lips finding hers in a slow, deep kiss.

Luke watched, his chest tight, and when Tom finally pulled back, he stepped forward, his hand resting on Becky’s waist.

“So,” he said. “What now?”

Becky smiled, her eyes bright. “Now? Now we figure it out.”

Tom groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Fuck. I need a drink.”

Luke laughed, pulling Becky against him. “That,” he said, “we can definitely arrange.”