Work Text:
Aiden pulls his car into the garage, paying close attention to the black-gloved hand beckoning him forward. The circling wrist gets increasingly aggressive when Aiden eases off the gas entirely, slowing his car to a crawl. He smiles sweetly at the glare of utter contempt leveled on him through the windshield.
The mechanic—Lambert, he had said when answering the phone—drops his arm and stomps to the desk wedged in a tiny adjoining room, leaning over it to flip through a ragged notebook. Aiden gets out of the car and admires the strong lines of his body, angled almost entirely away. The baggy coveralls do nothing for the shape of his ass but the top is bunched around his waist, tied with the sleeves, and he's wearing a black tank-top that compliments the work gloves well. His arms are heavily muscled and covered in simple geometric tattoos.
“Key,” Lambert demands, holding his hand out.
Aiden passes the spare key over and Lambert drops a clipboard on the desk as Aiden squeezes in beside him, getting closer than he normally would. Lambert twirls his pen between his fingertips while he talks, undeterred by the gloves and Aiden’s proximity. "This says you're giving me the car to inspect. If it's not fucked up, I'll give it back. If it is fucked up and you don't want me fix it, you gotta pay me a hundred bucks to get your key back. If I fix it, I'll only charge you for the repairs."
Aiden nods, watching the man's face instead of reviewing the paperwork. Lambert scribbles on a label then jams the pen between his teeth before attaching the label to Aiden's key ring. He hangs the key from a nail on the wall behind him.
“Fill it out,” Lambert orders, speaking around the pen in his mouth. He gestures at the clipboard as if Aiden doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be filling.
"I need a pen," Aiden says. He stares at Lambert’s lip curving around the plastic barrel.
"You don't have one?" Lambert glances between Aiden's empty hands. "Women always have one."
"I'm not a woman." Aiden enjoys how Lambert’s eyes jump to his chest and groin as if to confirm.
"I don't like to assume," Lambert says defensively, cheeks splotchy red.
"Either way, do you see a purse? Where would I keep a pen?" Aiden asks. He gestures to his tight jeans, cut off at the knees, and his loose v-neck shirt, inviting Lambert to check him out again.
Lambert sheepishly offers the well-chewed pen to Aiden.
"That was in your mouth." It’s wet with saliva.
"If it's in my mouth nobody will steal it," Lambert says, rolling the pen down his leg to dry it.
"Fair assumption," Aiden acknowledges. He accepts the pen and starts writing his information at the top of the form.
"Exit's that way." Lambert points at the exterior door, then snatches Aiden's key back off the wall and heads to the garage, saying, "I'll call you when I'm done."
Aiden had intended to walk home but there's a grimy loveseat behind the desk rather than a chair, and he’s got nothing better to do than push his luck with the hot mechanic. Instead of leaving, Aiden flops onto the couch and digs his phone out of his pocket, settling in for the long haul. He tucks Lambert’s pen behind his ear.
***
A year later, Lambert is sprawled on their couch at home, grinding on Aiden’s leg. He’s trapped between the warring desires to keep going so he can finish, or to hold back so he can prove Aiden wrong.
Aiden runs a hand through Lambert’s hair. “It’s not your fault. Would you blame a pack of wolves for hunting? You can’t help it that you never outgrew the youthful need to fuck anything with a pulse.”
Lambert presses closer, kissing marks up Aiden’s throat. If only he were allowed to use his fucking hands he could have come quick and been done with it, but Aiden likes to tease about Lambert’s stamina—or lack thereof—and Lambert for some ungodly reason loves to hear it. As if it isn’t embarrassing enough that Lambert’s so fucking horny all the time, he gets hot for Aiden cooing and simpering about his libido.
“You’re doing pretty well,” Aiden says, checking his watch— his fucking watch. Who times someone when they’re trying to get off? Aiden, that’s who. “Better than usual.”
A sick sense of pride curls up in Lambert’s gut and he buries his face under Aiden’s jaw.
“Don’t hide,” Aiden says. He pushes Lambert away, nearly rolling him off the couch, and sits up with his feet on the floor. Aiden pats his thighs. “C’mere. You can rub on my belly.”
Lambert climbs into Aiden’s lap while Aiden pulls his shirt off, baring his amber skin and the wispy line of hair that runs down from his navel. The feel of skin is an insane relief compared to the jeans Aiden’s wearing; even though it’s soft and well-worn, the denim has Lambert’s dick burning from the friction.
Aiden grabs the bottle of lube off the coffee table and squeezes a cold dollop onto his stomach. Lambert had been appalled the first time he visited Aiden’s place but now he appreciates the pragmatism.
The glide is suddenly a million times better, and Lambert hunches his spine like a dog, using the back of the couch for leverage. He thrusts against the lean plane of Aiden’s belly, up over the tattoo Lambert etched on his solar plexus. The repeating patterns in concentric rings—which Aiden pretentiously calls a mandala but Lambert argues is just a fucking doodle—nestles perfectly under the wings of Aiden’s ribs. It shines slick and dark from the lube.
“I love to watch you,” Aiden says. He knots his hand in the hair at Lambert’s nape and uses it to lift his head. “It’s… cute, really. How you can’t control yourself.” His eyes are darkest brown, so dark Lambert can hardly see the pupils. He feels like he could drown in those eyes, which is such a stupid, sappy thought that it snaps him out of chasing his orgasm.
“I’m not cute,” Lambert argues, craning his neck in an attempt to break out of the hold. “I’m a grown man, for fuck’s sake. I have a beard.”
“And that makes it worse, don’t you see?” Aiden releases his hair and strokes his long-fingered hands down Lambert’s body, pressing one palm flat in the sweat of his lower back to draw him closer. “You look like a lumberjack, like gay-baby-Aiden’s butch fantasy man, but you have the hormones of a teenager. You get hard at the grocery store. It’s so silly.”
A smile puts dimples in Aiden’s cheeks, and if Lambert had a few more brain cells he’d turn the insult around on Aiden—everyone knows dimples are the definition of the word cute—but instead all he comes up with is, “You were fondling the produce!”
“Checking avocados for ripeness isn’t foreplay.” Aiden shakes his head, looking up at Lambert fondly. “It’s like you were built to breed every available bitch in a five-block radius. Such an alpha male,” he says. He raises thick brows, one broken by a scar from where a piercing had been ripped out years ago. “You can come now. I know you’re dying to.”
Lambert’s thrusts falter and his pleasure takes on a sharp edge. He moans desperately, wanting to deny himself despite Aiden telling him it’s alright to give in. Aiden’s pity shouldn’t be such a turn on. It’s sick, it’s so fucked up, but it’s like a drug— someone discovering the crooked, blackened parts of him and cupping them in both hands like they’re precious.
“I don’t mind. It’s what makes you who you are.” Aiden checks his watch again. “Ooh, a new record for you.” It’s Aiden’s delight that wrenches Lambert over the brink. He’s pleased, sporting a proud grin as he says, “You’ve exceeded my expectations.”
The backhanded compliment grabs hold of Lambert’s balls and clenches. His hips stutter and his legs tense, locking him in place as his cock leaps and pulses come over Aiden’s skin.
“There you go,” Aiden says, petting Lambert with long, slow strokes. “Such a good boy. Someday I’ll be able to ride you for hours, and you’ll thank me for this torment.”
“Sounds like a recipe for chafing,” Lambert replies. He surfaces as best he can from his floaty haze and blinks down at the streaks of jizz on Aiden’s belly. The marathon training has had the unfortunate side effect of a significant increase in Lambert’s production. His lip curls in distaste.
“Oh! Quick-quick-quick, don’t let it get on my jeans,” Aiden says in a rush, shaking Lambert by the shoulder.
“It’ll wash out.”
“I don’t have anything else clean to wear and we’re heading out in a minute,” Aiden says. He tries fruitlessly to wiggle out from under Lambert’s bulk, straining to reach the tissue box on the far side of the coffee table. Lambert does his best impression of a tree stump until Aiden growls, “Get me something so I can clean up. Now, Lambert.”
He’s on his knees licking upward from Aiden’s waistband before he consciously processes the words. He laps up the renegade droplets until Aiden’s pants are no longer at risk, then he fetches tissues to deal with rest. Lambert takes special care of the tattoo, wiping it clean before crudely spitting on it and wiping it again.
“Spit shine service,” Lambert says. “Most places make you pay extra for that.”
“I’ll be sure to burn incense in thanks next time I bother to pray.”
“Burn incense?” Lambert asks, standing up and kicking his sore leg until his knee pops. “For who? It’s me you should be thanking.”
Aiden wraps his arms around Lambert’s back. “You’re right. Thank you, generous benefactor, for polishing me with your saliva.” He nuzzles his face into Lambert’s pubes for a moment then pulls away sharply when Lambert’s softening cock twitches against his cheek. “A little optimistic, don’t you think?” Aiden asks, his eyes sparkling.
Lambert doesn’t have the decency to look away; he just shrugs and says, “Your face is right there.”
It seems like Aiden’s going to say something sweet, but he checks his watch first and Lambert represses the familiar urge to throw it out the window. “Shit. Why are you still naked? We have to hurry or we’re going to be late.”
“Late for what?” Lambert’s the one with good time-sense, so if they’re late it’s Aiden’s fault for not telling Lambert about their plans.
Aiden trails his finger up the three rings pierced in a ladder down the front of Lambert’s sac. “You’re due for another one of these.” He tugs the newest one and it doesn’t hurt, only twists some heat back into Lambert’s gut.
“Today?” Lambert asks. His dick throbs and he palms it absently while looking for his scattered clothes. “Right now?” The idea of Aiden scheduling a piercing appointment without consulting him feels like a warm blanket; Aiden acts like he owns Lambert sometimes, like he has been putting up with Lambert out of genuine appreciation rather than boredom.
“Don’t,” Aiden says, tugging Lambert’s wrist. “You’ll get all worked up and I’ll have no choice but to laugh at you for getting an erection during your appointment. Again.” He cups Lambert’s balls in his hand unhelpfully.
“You know I usually get off more than once! You’ve doomed me to failure.”
“Poor Lambert… Too much accelerator, not enough brakes.” Aiden pushes Lambert against the wall and sinks to his knees. “Something-something, run you ‘til you’re out of gas,” he mumbles, losing interest in the metaphor. He swirls his pierced tongue around Lambert’s cockhead, the ball a rippling pinpoint of sensation.
Lambert curses and clutches Aiden’s shoulders for balance. He’s too overstimulated to tolerate a rough handjob but Aiden’s hot, wet mouth is sweet enough to get him fully hard in a flash.
Aiden fumbles his phone out of his pocket and passes it to Lambert.
“What?” Lambert asks in confusion.
Aiden pulls off with an unnecessarily loud slurp that weakens Lambert’s legs. “Text the nice lady and tell her we’re running behind.” He sucks one of Lambert’s balls into his mouth which makes it about three times as hard to enter the passcode.
He manages to find the texts between Aiden and their piercer but loses track of reality for a minute while Aiden swallows around his dick and pumps his fist at the base.
After too long a delay, Aiden scratches Lambert’s thigh and growls, “Focus.” He sinks back down, rolling a knuckle in circles over Lambert’s taint.
[Gonna be late sorry]
“Whoever invented autocorrect deserves a raise,” Lambert says. He drops Aiden’s phone to the carpet and almost immediately it vibrates. Aiden gropes around sightlessly and holds it up for him.
[How late?]
Lambert groans. He can’t think while Aiden is sucking his brain out through his cock. “How long?” Lambert asks.
Aiden blinks up at him, mouth stuffed full, and hums thoughtfully. Pleasure spirals farther into Lambert’s belly. Lambert grabs the phone and shakily types a response.
[5 min]
He hits send and chucks the phone toward the couch, groaning low in his chest.