Chapter Text
The sun sits on the horizon, painting the sky a radiant orange and crimson. The heat comes in harsh waves, making metal hot and making those subjected to its heat sweat more than a sinner in church. It also, somehow, makes the stench of oil in the garage smell more potent.
Jimmy could feel the sweat pooling in the divot of his spine, his tank top clinging to his back like a second skin. The tools in his hands felt like they’d been left in an oven as well. He wipes his arm along his forehead, careful of the very little space he has between the car and himself–all he ends up doing is smearing grease along his brows.
Jimmy is under Stanley’s Cadillac. His back rests hard on a creeper, his tailbone pressing against the rim of the frame. He shifts uncomfortably, craning his neck as he continues his maintenance on Stan’s car. He hasn't had a good crack at Stan’s car in ages, mostly because he is just that good of a mechanic, but also because Stan takes the utmost care of it. He likes working on the Stanmobile because it’s familiar, one of his favorite models.
The crimson cherry red coat glistening under the sun is enough to blind a man, and the way she purrs could easily be confused with a real panther's purr. She runs like a dream, and carries cargo real good. Even the engine smelled expensive… a mix of polished leather and high-octane fuel that clung to Jimmy’s nostrils long after he’d closed the hood.
In simpler words, Stan’s car was sexy as fuck.
There’s a creak that comes from the garage door’s hinges, and following are the soft steps of Stan’s shoes. Jimmy can almost notice the busted sneakers at the corner of his vision, but he's too damn busy with his nose buried into the metal of the stanmobile to even quirk a brow at him.
Stan carries a sweating lemonade in one hand and a wrapped sandwich that smells of deli meat in the other. The glass drips condensation onto the dusty concrete\ floor. He pauses at the nearest workbench, leaning his hips on it, ignoring the painful edge digging into his hips. His eyes lock onto Jimmy’s parted thighs, spread slightly for leverage, wrangler pants tight on the right curves, thigh muscles flexing strongly. Stan presses his mouth together, trailing his eyes down to the buckle on Jimmy’s belt.
He clears his throat, “Brought you lunch.”
No response, just the clanking and clinking of whatever Jimmy was doing under the car.
“You hear me?” Stan sets down the food on the workbench, careful not to set them close to any of the tools–he wouldn't want Jimmy to eat a sandwich with a metallic tang to it. He inches closer, nudging Jimmy’s foot with his own.
“Mhmm,” Jimmy hums absentmindedly.
He did not hear him.
Stan stares down at Jimmy’s bottom half. Watches the way the fabric of his denim jeans stretches taut along his thighs. He pressed the tip of his shoe against Jimmy’s inner thigh without much thought. Jimmy twitches.
“I heard you.” Jimmy pipes up, muffled from under the car. Stan drags his gaze along Jimmy’s belt, down to his groin with dry interest. But it’s the weight of the sneaker that was a question, and damn if Jimmy wasn’t already answering with the way his hips twitched upward, begging for more
The fabric is bunched up just above the buttons of Jimmy’s jeans, leaving a nice, noticeable print beneath the fabric. Stan presses the tip of his shoe harder into Jimmy’s thigh, and Jimmy shifts his hips. “Stan, I ain’t… that hungry, right now.”
He lifts his shoe off Jimmy’s thigh, but rather than setting it back on the concrete of the garage, Stan presses his sole against Jimmy’s groin. It’s a steady pressure, but it's enough to make Jimmy’s stomach twitch, and shifts jerk up with a startled noise. Jimmy doesn’t say anything else.
The steady pressure slowly becomes more noticeable, pressing hard on Jimmy’s crotch with a pressure that is too uncomfortable to ignore. He shifts consistently against Stan’s shoe despite this, like he’s either at a loss for words or wants this.
“You like that?” Stan murmurs, leaning down, pressing harder on Jimmy’s groin. He jerks upwards, his tailbone hitting the frame in the rebound.
Jimmy doesn’t respond, but his left hand does the talking for him. It reaches low, peeking out from under the car, settling on the top of Stan’s sneaker, forcing it harder on his crotch. A deep huff escapes him…Stan moves his shoe off.
He turns his head to the open garage door, watching the sun inch lower below the horizon. Without a second thought, he drops to his knees, hands tugging at Jimmy’s belt as soon as his knees hit the ground.
His fingers move with a kind of dexterity you only see in people who work with typewriters. He unbuckles Jimmy’s belt fast, letting it hit the side as he leans down.
Nosing through Jimmy’s crotch, there’s a faint smell of musk and sweat. He hums, rubbing his nose along Jimmy’s scrotum area. His mouth parts, swallowing the clothed groin between plump lips. He mouths at Jimmy’s crotch for a moment, smiling when Jimmy lets out his little groans disguised as “not-groans”.
“Good boy, stay still, will ya?” Stan croons, mouth leaving its position on Jimmy’s crotch.
Tugging down Jimmy’s pants, Stan doesn’t waste his time pulling Jimmy’s semi-hard cock out of his underwear. It’s flushed at the shaft, red at the head, and already throbbing hard in his hold. Stan bites his lip with a grin he can't hold back. “This worked up already?”
“Hush.” Jimmy bites out, raising his hips to press the mushroom tip of his cock into Stan’s cupid's bow. His pre cum leaves a glistening drop on Stan’s top lip, and Stan titters. Pumping his hand around Jimmy’s thick cock, Stan’s other hand slips down to cup the larger man’s balls.
Turning his attention down to Jimmy’s balls, Stan ducks below the twitching shaft, licking a stripe up Jimmy’s ballsack. He buries his nose between the sack and Jimmy’s shaft, inhaling the stinging musk, engine grease, and day-old sweat.. Groaning, he returns his attention to Jimmy’s cock, still begging for attention.
“Fuck, you smell disgusting,” Stan smiles against the length of the cock. He sticks his tongue out, dragging the flat of it along the side of Jimmy’s cock like he’s savoring the weight of Jimmy’s cock on his tongue. It earns a long, appreciative groan from Jimmy’s end. His lips eventually catch on the tip of his cock, and Stan slowly takes the tip into his mouth.
He stares at Jimmy’s flat, twitching stomach through his lashes. He hollows his cheeks out, sinking down on Jimmy’s needy cock with a pace that is almost torturous.
His teeth drag along the ridge of Jimmy’s dick, but it isn't painful or distracting; it’s just a slight, blunt pressure that, if anything, adds to the experience. Eventually, his nose meets Jimmy’s pubes. He makes sure his throat is stretched around the appendage well enough before taking him in deeper, the blunt head tickling his uvula overfamiliarly.
Jimmy breathes out deeply. “S–stan…” He hisses.
Stan sucks deep, head beginning to bob as he swallows Jimmy’s dick. Jimmy’s cockhead notches against his esophagus. His throat betrays him with a wet, reflexive click. Stan continuously sucks on Jimmy’s cock like it’s some sort of lollipop, gentle but persistent, lips sealed around Jimmy like he’s trying to coax flavor out of candy.
His uvula grazes Jimmy’s slit on the upstroke, and the vibration of his stifled moan travels straight to Jimmy’s balls. Spit pools under his tongue, spills over in rivulets down the shaft, and Stan leans into it, letting it drool down to soak Jimmy’s pubes. When he opens his eyes, he notices how Jimmy’s pubes glisten with spit.
Jimmy’s hand reaches down, fingers tangling in Stan’s dark curls. The curls kink around his fingers, like they’re attempting to root the hand to its spot. His fingers clench into a fist, hips jerking upwards in a desperate fervor. “Stanley,” his voice comes out hushed, between clenched teeth.
Stan lifts off Jimmy’s cock, a trail, no, multiple webs of saliva connecting his bottom lip to the crimson head of Jimmy’s dick. He runs his tongue along his lip, eyes soft and glossy, while his throat aches from the overuse. Still, he coughs through it, “See–? Wasn’t that– great?” He hisses out.
He pulls away, hands moving down to untie his sweatpants string. He kneels closer, slowly inching his sweatpants off. With just a small bit of struggle, he eventually settles on Jimmy’s strong hips.
His thighs straddle Jimmy’s sides, plush against the sharp angles of Jimmy’s body. Stan pulls his underwear to the side, exposing his, frankly, drenched folds. He presses close, his labia meeting Jimmy’s shaft in a soft kiss of skin on skin.
Jimmy must’ve bit his lip, as there’s no groan of satisfaction leaving him this time. Stan is almost offended, almost.
Stan rests a hand on the car door, using it to keep his balance as he lowers himself on Jimmy’s twitching cock. When Stan finally sank onto him, Jimmy’s hands flew to his hips, not to guide(yet), but to halt him. For one breathless second, they froze: Stan hovering above him, thighs trembling.
Jimmy is a weak man. He crumples fast, jerking upwards in one brutal thrust.
“Good boy,” Stan pants out, grinding his hips deep on Jimmy’s tummy. His cunt flutters around Jimmy’s cock, the hot squelch of Stan’s cunt dripping along Jimmy’s balls. His sweatpants are bunched at his knees, risking lack of mobility, but Stan powers through despite it.
Jimmy’s hands scramble to grasp at Stan’s hips, allowing him to stay steady as he slowly begins to work his way up and down Jimmy’s shaft. Jimmy bites his lip, forehead pressing against the warm metal above him, groaning with feeling.
Their bodies collide in swift jerks, the sound of flesh hitting flesh a constant noise within the garage. Stan is moaning, gasping, and clawing at Jimmy’s tummy, then at Jimmy’s large hands. Stan ducks his head, a drop of sweat slipping down his crown as Jimmy begins to thrust upwards with violent jerks. The blunt head of Jimmy’s cock scrapes against the soft, spongy spot inside him, dragging a long moan from his quivering lips.
The creeper creaks with every sharp thrust, inching deeper under the car, then outwards, then inwards.
Stan arches his back, biting his lip. One of his hands slips down to rub at his small cock, thumb swiping over the head as Jimmy relentlessly bucks up into him. Stan lets out a choked gasp, feeling the way Jimmy fills him with his hot seed.
Jimmy presses Stan close, still against his hips, as his cock pumps Stan’s cunt full of thick come. His balls are drawn tight as he rolls his hips earnestly. With his thumbs digging into Stan’s soft hips, he bottoms out completely, one of his hands eventually slipping back to squeeze Stan’s ass cheek.
Stan lets out a breathy chuckle, swatting at Jimmy’s wrist weakly. “You ‘kay?” He asks softly, knees pressing into the concrete but not leaving just yet.
“Peachy… you had yer fun, Darlin’-- now get off me” Jimmy pants out, kicking his heels and slowly pushing himself out from under the car. Stan kisses away his pink cheeks the second he sees Jimmy's handsome face again.