The scent of oil and exhaust was thick in the air when Hank heard the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle tear into the garage. And not just any motorcycle. A very specific one, one that wasn’t even remotely close to being street legal, and one carrying a rider that Hank knew would turn his day on its side. He pretended not to hear, scooting even further under the chassis of the car just a few inches above his head.
He really didn’t have time to deal with that brat or his motorcycle today.
The engine cut out and clicked as it cooled. If Hank turned his head he could just see the wheels of the thing off by the big open entrance to the garage. A pair of scuffed leather boots were posed beside it, attached to a pair of slender calves wrapped in even more black leather. Hank swallowed hard and turned his eyes upwards, forcing himself to finish tightening the oil pan he’d been fussing with for the past twenty minutes. The owner would be back in four or so hours expecting it to be fixed. Paying customers took precedence in this shop. Not some angel-faced underground street racer who could definitely afford a better mechanic than--
Ah, fuck. The boots were moving, wandering further into the shop now that he’d put down his kickstand. How long could Hank pretend he wasn’t here? Probably not long, he figured, letting out a low sigh. The android was damn persistent when he got it in his head to come calling.
“Yeah?” Hank called out, hoping the muffled sound and loud clunks of his wrench against the underbody of the car would be enough to dissuade further conversation.
He really should’ve known better.
“Ah, there you are,” that peppy voice said. The boots came closer, clicking against the cement floor. “Are you busy? I could use some work done on my motorcycle.”
Yeah, Hank muttered to himself, twisting a lug nut a little tighter than he probably should. He bet he did. “Shop’s full up. Call in an appointment Monday.” It was a Friday which meant a race day. Those punks always had shit going on, new modifications coming in to soup up their rides. Too bad for Connor that he always came here instead of one of the shops near the track. This old chevy was gonna eat up the rest of Hank’s day.
“That’s no good.”
Hank snorted. “Well, sucks to be you. Sumo!” he called out, hearing the sleepy dog give an answering wuff off from his side of the workshop. “Escort the brat out.”
“That’s alright,” the boots said, coming even closer. “I don’t plan on leaving, so there’s no need for that.”
The hand holding the wrench paused. “I already told you,” Hank shot. “I don’t have time--”
Hank had just enough time to see a shiny black boot fall to the roller board between his legs before he found himself dragged out from under the chassis and into the bright light of the garage proper. He threw a hand over his eyes, shielding himself from the piercing fluorescents. It wasn’t enough to block out the leather clad man hovering over him, though. Great. Just fucking great.
Connor stood over him with his foot still on the board, a goofy ass grin on his face and his motorcycle helmet propped on his hip. “Hello there, Hank,” he greeted, bending over to look at him properly. “I’d like to ask you to reconsider. I really need the work done today.”
“Yeah,” Hank grunted, shoving himself upright. Connor was wearing his leather riding suit still, so that probably meant he’d come straight here from the tracks. Wonderful, that. It meant he wasn’t likely to have much going on for the rest of the afternoon, and therefore would be even harder to kick out. Hank sighed. “I just bet you do.”
That earned him a slow blink. Connor cocked his head. He moved his foot off the roller board when Hank grunted his way into standing up. “I have a race later tonight,” he said, following Hank around the chassis and over to the workbench. Just like a fucking poodle, making himself at home. Hank didn’t miss how he set his helmet on the bench as if he owned the place. “I’ve noticed an oddity with the throttle as I take turns, and I thought it best to have it looked at before I take it on another ride.”
Hank snatched up an oil-stained rag and began wiping down his hands. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The throttle again, huh. “Sounds like you didn’t listen to me last time I told you to take it easy on those turns,” he muttered, turning around just enough to give Connor an annoyed look. “You can’t keep taking shit at full speed. Just ‘cause your processors can keep up with it doesn’t mean your ride can too.”
Connor kept following him as Hank walked over to the motorcycle in question. Wouldn’t hurt to take a look at it, especially if Connor intended to drive the thing home. The bike was massive and sleek, state of the art despite its less than savory origins. Hank knelt beside it and began checking it over. Despite the fact that he wasn’t a motorcycle specialist, he still couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at how beautiful the ride was. All shiny black cut through with electric blue. Reminded him too much of Connor, in a sense.
“I do try to keep your advice in mind, Hank.” The android crossed his arms. Hank could tell ‘cause the sound of squeaking leather got a little louder. “But sometimes it’s not practical given the race...”
“You mean you just ignore it since if you listened it’d mean slowing down,” Hank muttered, using his grease cloth as a shield between his hand and a hot pipe hiding the throttle. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days, and if they try to lug you into my garage in a box of scrap bits, you can bet your ass I’m not gonna drop everything to put you back together.”
The sound of Connor’s eyes rolling was nearly audible. “As highly as I think of your skills, I don’t think you would be my first choice in repairmen if it came to that,” Connor said quietly.
“Nice to know you’ve got some sense in you,” Hank said, tongue between his teeth as he peered into the bike’s innards. He could see the problem already. Connor was thumbing the throttle too hard and it was fraying the response cables. Probably flooding the engine too. Damn idiot, he’d told him before to watch out for that. Hank fiddled with the cables and loosened them with his fingers as much as he could. He’d need replacements if he expected to use this in a race tonight.
“Doesn’t that partner of yours...?” Hank asked, jumping a little when he turned his head and found Connor hovering just over his shoulder. With a shove and a glare, Hank pushed him away and off towards the side. “Hey, what did I say about that? Go away or I’ll throw you out.”
Connor blinked at him cutely, raising his hands in surrender. He sauntered off towards Sumo’s pet bed. Hank couldn’t help but stare at his ass framed so beautifully in the leather suit as he went. How could he not? It was practically pornographic what Connor’s team wore. “Sorry,” the android called out, looking over his shoulder once he reached an acceptable distance away. “What were you saying?”
Turning back towards the motorcycle felt safer. For Hank’s blood pressure and this conversation alike. He busied himself with checking over the rest of the bike. He knew it about as well by now as he knew his own truck. “That partner you’ve got. The tall, scowly one. He races with you too. Why is it I never see him in here too if you like my work so much?” Not that Hank wanted another android’s illegal racing bike in here on top of Connor’s. He was an upstanding citizen, for God’s sake. One illegal enterprise was enough.
“Nines has his own mechanic he uses,” Connor said chirpily. “One of the underground ones near the track.”
Hank let out a huff, pushing himself off his knees. Fuck, they were sore. He was getting too old to be doing this for much longer. “What, is he not up to your snuff?” Didn’t make much sense driving all the way out here to have this nightmare of a bike worked on by someone who made a living working on cars owned by middle aged soccer moms and teenagers with rust buckets. “I can write up a summary for this and you can just have him change out the parts for you. If your partner uses him, why can’t you?”
“Because I don’t like Gavin.”
Hank looked over his shoulder, unable to keep from smiling a bit when he saw Connor on his knees by Sumo’s shop bed. He was petting the big dog’s ears and rubbing his exposed belly, Sumo panting happily from the attention. The big dope. Most of his customers didn’t bother hanging around while he worked; they just dropped off their car and walked across the street to the cafe or strip mall until he called them back to pick it up. Sumo was starved for attention. Connor… Well, he never wasted a moment in giving the old dog some love.
“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
“He’s rude.” Well, so was Hank. That didn’t really seem to deter Connor, so… Hank blinked when Connor looked up and gave him a smile. “And he doesn’t have a dog.”
Ah. That made more sense. Hank rolled his eyes, wiping off his hands. Ugh. The grease they always used on the bikes was somehow worse than the kind Hank usually got covered in. It never seemed to want to leave his skin until he took to it with a bottle of Dawn and a scrub brush. Just another reason why he didn’t want to deal with Connor’s shit today.
“Yeah, well, too bad. You’re going to have to this time,” Hank said, keeping his eyes on his hands. He knew from experience just how powerful Connor’s puppy dog eyes could be when coupled with Sumo’s. “I’m not shitting you; I really have to finish that car first, and it’s a job that’s going to take me the rest of the day to do if I don’t want to come in during the weekend. If you’ve got your partner’s mechanic as an option, you should take it there instead.”
Connor just kept on petting Sumo. He tipped himself forward to use both hands on the dog’s belly, and it gave Hank the perfect view of his ass arched-- Fucking shit. Hank rubbed at his eyes with his grease-stained fingers, tearing his head away to look at the tires lining the far wall instead. The brat definitely planned this to the letter. Dressed like that… He knew how weak Hank was. He knew it and he seemed damn intent on exploiting it.
Warm brown eyes peered at him over Connor’s shoulder when Hank bothered to chance another look at the android. Sumo whined pitifully for the attention he was no longer getting.
“I thought I was your favorite client,” Connor said, batting his eyes winsomely. “Can’t you make an exception for me?”
“When have I ever said something like that to you?” Hank laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. Connor slowly rose, sinuously and smooth like melted butter. “I don’t know what you expected, Connor. You didn’t even call ahead to check what my workload looked like.”
Connor moved a little closer, a pout on his lips and mischief in his eyes. His LED was cycling yellow. Hank immediately went on alert. “Our prior interactions led me to believe as much,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he neared where Hank stood. “I thought you always found our business dealings to be… pleasurable.”
Ah. Fuck. Hank’s cheeks heated up. He crossed his arms defensively. It was at times like these that he really began to regret sleeping with clients. Well, namely this client. He didn’t have any other ones with the stones to try working out the kind of deals Connor was always so willing to offer in exchange for this or that. A bad idea then and a bad idea now. Hank was going to put his foot down, he decided. He didn’t want to have to call that prick of an owner and tell him his car wouldn’t be done until Monday.
While he deliberated with himself, it seemed Connor had gotten even closer. Clearing his throat, Hank forced his expression into something mean. “Don’t be a brat about this, Connor. If I don’t have the time, I don’t have the time. I’ll write up a diagnostic sheet for the other guy. Take it to him. He’ll do the work and get it done.”
Connor curled his hand into a loose fist, looking up at Hank through his lashes. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “But I don’t want to go to someone else,” he whispered, staring into Hank’s eyes. “I like you, Hank.”
“I’m not one of your underground chop shops,” Hank muttered, hating how he was beginning to sweat around the temples. Connor was never fair when he got like this. All… sexy and flirty. How was he supposed to hold up against something like that? “You’re going to get me in trouble one of these days.”
And Connor smiled at that, going up on his toes to kiss Hank’s cheek. “Does that mean you’ll do the work?” he wondered softly, looping his arms around Hank’s neck. The warm weight of his chest bled through the thin fabric of his shop shirt. God, Connor smelled like leather and wind.
Hank stiffened when soft lips met his ear. “For the usual pay, of course. I wouldn’t dream of having you do this for free...”
It was pointless to resist. He knew he was going to say yes, and Connor did too. Hank’s hands reached for Connor’s waist, his greasy fingers slipping a little on the smooth leather. “You’re going to put me out of business if you keep this up,” he muttered, closing his eyes as Connor began kissing at his neck. The usual pay, naturally. Cash for parts and sex for labor. If the latter wasn’t always so good, Hank might be a bit offended that his years of experience were only worth that to Connor.
But he knew better than that. Connor liked the work he did. He certainly liked Hank too for whatever reason.
“I still have another client to see to,” Hank whispered, voice dry and brittle as Connor kept up his teasing little kisses. The android’s lithe, tight body was plastered against his front, guiding him back, back, back until his shoulders met the chassis of what should have been his complete focus. “So…”
“I’m willing to pay more if you’ll let me skip ahead,” Connor said, pulling back just enough to lick his soft lips.
“It’s… It’s not just about the money,” Hank stuttered, feeling all too much like a sleazy old man.
Connor cocked his head, his little LED on his temple cycling yellow as he thought up a solution. “I’ll let you fuck me,” he decided once it turned blue, sending Hank’s heart pounding. “Will that cover the work?”
Hank nearly choked on his spit. Connor reached past him, opening up the door to the chevy at his back. “We could do it in here,” he offered, expression so innocent despite the base smut he was suggesting. “That is, if you feel something like that is worth the price of your labor.”
It wasn’t always like this. Hell, it rarely was, come to think of it. Usually Connor managed to talk Hank into a tune up or an oil change for just a blow job. Just some quick, sordid oral in the parts room off the garage where there was no chance of a client accidentally seeing. Fucking tended to take too long. Too much fuss for an old man like Hank who just wanted to do his job and get home at the end of the day.
“Let me ride you, Hank,” the android pleaded, voice ever so polite as he dragged the zipper down his chest. He pushed past Hank and crawled across the back seat of the chevy’s leather seats, looking back at him with a beckoning expression. His pale skin was a tease in itself, a few freckles and moles scattered about in a constellation begging to be mapped. “That way you don’t have to do any work.”
Hank snorted, the sound a little weak as the top portion of that suit slipped off Connor’s shoulders. He found himself crawling in after the android, helpless to resist something like this. The door of the car closed with a loud click behind him. “Damn straight you’re doing the work. You’re gonna make me go into overtime fixing up that bike of yours,” he muttered, running a grease stained hand down Connor’s side. It left a mark behind, but he knew from experience that Connor didn’t really care.
The car was way too cramped for this kinda thing, Hank realized quickly enough. Connor, flexible as he was, didn’t seem to have much trouble peeling himself out of his skin tight suit. Hank, on the other hand, jostled the door and bumped his head, wrestling with his belt to no avail. Connor’s suit disappeared, clinging to one ankle and boot. Hank looked up when elegant, perfect hands wrapped around his wrists. He let Connor tug him away from his belt. He settled against the interior door and watched Connor unbuckle his belt for him instead.
Hank took one look at Connor while he worked. A low whistle filled the air as he sighed. “You’re way too pretty to be messing around with an old guy like me,” he muttered, just as he always did when Connor got it in his head to offer this sort of payment. And how could he not? It was true. Connor was perfect just as every android was, maybe doubly so because it was Connor. Doe-eyed and long legged, with those pale pink lips and the hand that was… Fuck, his hand was dipping into Hank’s jeans now, palming his cock through his boxers.
“Please don’t start that negative line of thinking again, Hank,” Connor said, eyes locked on Hank’s crotch as he guided his dick through the opening of his oil-splattered jeans. The way he licked his lips deserved to be illegal. “You say that every time I’m with you. My mind isn’t going to change.”
He leaned in before Hank could argue, delivering a sweet kiss to his lips. It dried up any protests Hank had at the ready. Hank closed his eyes and let out a low groan. His cock twitched and Connor teased the head with the tips of his fingers. It was probably too late to try talking sense into someone like Connor. God knew well enough that if common sense were a download patch, Connor had forgotten to hit begin.
Still didn’t make him want to try regardless. His cross to bear. Connor made it easier, though. His little kitten kisses were almost as distracting as the teasing little pumps of his hand.
Hank had to try once or twice to find his voice. He shifted against the uncomfortable door, crooking his knee as he struggled to fit all of him and Connor on the narrow back seat. “Have you ever done this before?” he croaked. God, his mouth was so dry.
Connor cocked his head. “I’m adept at riding more than just my motorcycle, Hank,” he said with a sweet little smile that belied what they were about to do. “You don’t need to worry.”
Hank let out a weak groan. “Don’t just say shit like that,” he said, his thigh twitching involuntarily when Connor palmed his cock and gave it a harder stroke, spreading the beading precum along the shaft. An unnecessary thing. Connor could self-lubricate. Hank had learned that ages ago, back when he’d fingered Connor like a maniac in exchange for a tune up. Good times. Something even better was happening now. Connor’s hand was soft. Way softer than it had any right to be after handling the sorts of machines Connor was known to ride. “I’m asking if you’ve ever done it like this before.”
That gave the android pause. His brow furrowed and his lips curled into a cute little frown. “I’ve only ever had sex with you, Hank,” he said slowly. “So, as we’ve never done this before together, the answer is no.”
Hank couldn’t help but gape a bit. He quickly clenched his teeth though when Connor moved his hand, stroking him quicker. “Y-You really fucking like my work, don’t you?” He couldn’t help but buck into the ministrations. Fuck, Connor was good at this. He knew just how Hank liked it.
“I told you before,” Connor whispered, leaning in to kiss Hank’s cheek. “I like you, Hank. Just you.”
Hank didn’t know what to say to that, so he just moaned instead, wrapping his arms around Connor’s trim waist as he hid his face in the android’s neck. Fuck, he couldn’t be getting soft like this now. The brat was a client. A client who rarely paid in cash, sure, but still someone he worked with in a semi-professional capacity. He bit down on his bottom lip when the hand let go. Connor shifted higher, lining himself up...
… and dropped his weight down, taking Hank’s cock in one devastating, heart-stopping shot.
God, it felt like everything he’d dreamed it could be and knew it would be. Hot, wet, tight-- Fuck, and Connor was already moving. No need to wait when your partner could adjust at will. Hank nearly smashed the back of his head into the window trying to grapple for Connor’s twisting hips. If this was how Connor rode his damn bike, Hank could see well enough why he was always coming in here needing repairs.
“F-Fuck, Connor,” he groaned, his hips thrusting upwards to catch Connor on his downwards bounce. Hank’s hips smacked against Connor’s ass, the sound filling the car. Fuck, not just the sound. The scent of sweat and oil and hot, heady sex stuck to the inside of Hank’s nostrils, coating his tongue thickly when Connor just leaned down to kiss him. The shocks on the car squeaked loudly. Sumo was whining just outside the door. The android’s skin felt as hot as a carburator. Hank didn’t give a fuck if it burned him, though. Clearly he was well practiced in handling this sort of hardware.
Up and down, up and down. Connor built the rhythm and Hank just tried to keep up. Sweat coated his skin, soaking through his shirt to coat Connor too. Fuck, even the windows were fogging up. Every so often Connor would twist his hips, digging into the upholstery with his knees for leverage as he bore down on Hank’s dick. God, like a fucking corkscrew. Hank fought to keep his eyes open. When it felt this good, he had to think it wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t manage it.
“Hank,” Connor kept saying, his voice so low and raspy. “Hank, Hank. Harder.” He drove down and clenched, rubbing his bare chest against Hank’s shirtfront. The roof was too low for him to sit upright, but that just made it easier for Connor to get away with kissing him. With dark, dazed eyes, he pressed his forehead against Hank’s, staring straight into his soul. “I want more. I’m so… I’m so close.”
“Greedy little thing,” Hank gasped, pawing at Connor until his hand wrapped around the android’s dick. He gave it a pump, his hand so big and clumsy and rough compared to Connor’s smooth skin. But, Connor didn’t seem to care one bit. He threw back his head and let out a broken cry, fisting his hand in Hank’s hair as he came.
And that time? That time Hank kept his eyes open. He watched as Connor trembled, as he rocked back and fucked himself down on Hank’s cock, the cum spurting through Hank’s fingers to coat his hand with messy, sticky white. His expression bordered on rapturous. His cheeks burned a pale blue. He’d never looked so gorgeous, and Hank couldn’t blame himself at all for what came next.
The pressure grew behind his stomach. Connor’s ass was as tight as a vise, and his hips wouldn’t stop moving. Connor lolled against his chest, pinning him to the seat of the car. “C-Connor,” Hank wheezed, letting out a whimper when Connor began pressing kisses to his neck and cheek. “Dammit, Connor.”
“Do it,” the android whined, lapping his ear with a warm, wet tongue. “I know you want to.”
Hank wanted to die a little when he gave in and came inside Connor. It was a vague thought, cold comfort through the haze of white and pleasure, but Hank figured better inside Connor than on the goddamn upholstery of the damn car. He fucked upwards, pushing it deeper. Connor sagged weakly against his chest and moaned in his ear. The sound sent shivers down Hank’s spine, tiny little pulses of pleasure, tiny little bursts of lust he couldn’t quite quell.
“H-Hank,” Connor gasped, wrapping his arms around Hank’s neck. “Oh, Hank. That felt so good.”
It really, really did. Hank fought to catch his breath. Shit, he was so out of shape. It was never made more apparent than in these moments after the fact, when Connor was composed and Hank was fighting just to stay conscious. He ran his hands down Connor’s body, buying himself some time. It’d be nice to do this in a bed someday, he thought tiredly as he ran his fingers down the line of Connor’s spine. Hank’s back couldn’t keep taking these sorts of positions. He was far too old for it, regardless of what Connor seemed to think.
“You should get off of my dick,” Hank muttered, shifting and blinking rapidly to keep himself from falling asleep. “I don’t have much time until closing.”
Connor gripped Hank’s shoulders a little tighter, like he didn’t want to, but when Hank tapped at his hips, he whined and acquiesced. He pulled away with a pout and rose up on his knees, letting Hank’s spent cock fall wetly against his thigh.
“Don’t drip cum in here,” Hank warned, sitting upright only to bump his head on the roof of the car. Fucking small ass thing. Next time they did this, they were doing it in the bed of his truck. It’d be a harder surface but bigger in the long run. “Fuck it, nevermind. I’ll have to detail this thing anyway.” There was no way the guy would be able to ignore the smell of sex, no matter how many air fresheners Hank packed on the rear view mirror. There went his weekend.
“I could help you,” a quiet voice offered. Connor was slipping his suit back on, covering up his beautiful body bit by bit by bit.
Hank just shook his head, tucking himself back into his boxers. “Nah, it’s fine,” he muttered, shoving his hair away from his eyes. He tried to look out into the garage but couldn’t quite see through the fog still on the windows. He hoped to God no one decided to come in for a walk-in while they were occupied. Hank turned to take in Connor, not wanting to consider it. “I’ll just deal with it this weekend. Got your bike to fuck with today anyway, so this can wait.”
The sound of Connor’s zipper was loud in the silence that followed. Connor ran a hand through his hair, doing very little to fix the mess Hank had made of it. “So… I have a race tonight,” he said quietly, glancing Hank’s way with a smile on his lips that almost came off as nervous.
“You said that already.” Hank yanked his jeans back over his hips. “What about it? You have races most nights.”
“So,” Connor continued, turning to face him a little more. “Will you come watch me?”
Pulling a face, Hank let out a sigh. That question again. He asked every single time he came by, and always after they’d gotten off. Hank made as if to drag his fingers through his hair only to think better of it once he caught sight of Connor’s cum on it. He squeezed it into a fist instead.
“You’re really not gonna stop asking until I say yes, are you?”
A slow blink. A hopeful smile. “Nope.” He said it so easily. Like he’d be disappointed but not deterred.
Hank’s cheeks warmed up. Connor leaned closer, prompting Hank to open the door at his back. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he muttered, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. Damn brat.
Connor grinned brightly enough to blind. Fuck. He took that as a yes. Hank wobbled his way out of the car before Connor could crawl on top of him for the kiss Hank could tell was coming. This was getting dangerous for more reasons than one.
“Hank, I’m so excited to race for you--”
The android nearly toppled out of the car. “Hey, would you be careful?” he warned, catching Connor under the arms before he fell flat on his face trying to follow after him. He’d be up that late anyway detailing the back of this damn car. Even if Hank’s cum had managed to be contained, Connor’s sure as shit hadn’t. He didn’t need to add blue blood to the list of substances needing cleaned. “But don’t expect flowers when you win. And you damn well better win. I’m not fixing that bike of yours just for you to lose right in front of me.”
Connor laughed and took his hand by the wrist, pulling it away from his face. He wrapped his arms around Hank’s chest, hugging him with a grin too sweet to take after what they’d just done together. “Of course, Hank,” he preened. “I can’t wait to see you there.”
And Hank? Hank tried to regret it. If he failed… Well, Sumo was the only one to see it.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, patting Connor’s head. Maybe it felt nice to be someone’s favorite anything. “Me too.”