The Elite House buzzed with the electric hum of multiple screens and the faint whir of high-end cooling fans, lights from the sprawling living room setup casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the dark wooden floors. Axl lounged in his favorite oversized leather chair, his muscled arms—sleeved in intricate tattoos that twisted like shadows under the glow—draped casually over the sides, a spiced vanilla scent clinging to him like an invisible aura. He flashed a grin at the camera, his grillz glinting as he bantered with the chat, his deep voice laced with that smooth AAVE drawl that had fans eating out of his hand. Beside him, Lazar sat stoically on the edge of the couch, his broad frame clad in a worn wifebeater that stretched over his tattooed torso, Russian patterns snaking up his neck like ancient runes; he barely spoke, his thick accent rumbling only when necessary, his observant eyes scanning the monitor with quiet intensity. Knox, ever the steady presence, leaned against the wall in his fitted denim and pearl-snap shirt, his massive, calloused hands folded across his chest, the faint scent of pine and leather wafting from him as he adjusted his cowboy hat with a slow, flirty nod to the audience.

Requests flooded the chat like a tidal wave, pinging faster than they could read: "React to that Rory clip, guys! The one where he's simping hard!" Axl chuckled, his obsidian eyes lighting up with mischief as he scrolled through the messages, his possessive nature already kicking in at the thought of digging into someone who’d publicly claimed them. "Y'all hear that? Rory's been talkin' about us, huh?" he said, his voice dropping to that flirtatious purr that made hearts race online. Lazar grunted in agreement, his cold exterior cracking just a fraction as curiosity flickered in his gaze, while Knox tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his stubbled jaw, his deep Texan drawl murmuring, "Let's see what this boy's got." They pulled up the clip on the shared screen, the video starting with Rory's vibrant, unhinged energy—his feminine features adorned with glittering piercings and a cascade of tattoos, his south British accent cutting through the audio like a sharp blade. As the footage played, showing Rory gushing about how "the elites are just my type, innit," Axl's hand drifted to his lap, a subtle shift that betrayed his growing interest, his fingers brushing the growing bulge in his tailored jeans with deliberate nonchalance. The room thickened with unspoken tension, the three of them exchanging heated glances, their obsessions stirring as they watched Rory's expressive style and chaotic charm unfold, the chat exploding with excitement.

Without hesitation, they decided to dive deeper, pulling up Rory's channel mid-stream, the decision fueled by a mix of professional curiosity and raw, possessive desire. Lazar's voice broke the silence, low and gravelly, "He's got that fire. We should hit him up," his words carrying a weight that made Knox nod in agreement, his veiny hands flexing as if already imagining the touch. Axl, ever the charismatic one, leaned forward, his breath quickening as he typed out a message inviting Rory to their world, the air in the room charged with the promise of something more intimate, their bodies subtly reacting to the screen's allure—pulses racing, skin prickling with anticipation. The stream continued, but in that moment, the lines between content and connection blurred, setting the stage for a collision of chaos and chemistry that none of them could ignore.

The stream continued, but in that moment, the lines between content and connection blurred, setting the stage for a collision of chaos and chemistry that none of them could ignore, as the message notification pinged softly on Rory's phone halfway across the city, in the cluttered chaos of his Las Vegas loft. Rory was sprawled on his velvet couch, surrounded by the haze of vape smoke that curled like lazy serpents from his lips, his friends Kit and Jayden egging him on in their usual whirlwind of unhinged energy—Kit bouncing on the armrest with a half-eaten bag of chips in hand, her wild laughter echoing off the walls, while Jayden lounged nearby, fiddling with a lighter and muttering about some absurd bet they'd just lost. The phone buzzed again, the screen lighting up with Axl's username, and Rory's heart slammed against his ribcage like a drumbeat, his fingers fumbling as he snatched it up, reading the invite aloud in his sharp Peckham drawl: "Yo, Rory, we saw your clips—think it's time we link up for that celebrity spot. What's good?" His eyes widened, the gold in his septum piercing catching the dim light, and suddenly he was on his feet, pacing like a caged animal, his slim frame trembling with a mix of thrill and raw nerves that made his skin flush hot.

Kit snatched the phone from his hand, her eyes bugging out as she read it over, letting out a screech that could shatter glass, "Oh my days, that's the Elites! The actual Elites! Rory, you slag, you've been simping for them forever—now they're sliding into your DMs like it's nothing!" Jayden, ever the instigator, doubled over laughing, his voice booming in that chaotic rhythm they shared, "Mate, that's peak! We're talking about getting them on the show? This is mad, innit? Imagine the views—oh, and the absolute filth we'd pull." Rory's breath hitched, his mind racing with images of Axl's tattooed arms wrapping around him, Lazar's intense gaze pinning him

AU 1