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A wolf whistle harmonizes with the sound of a wrench turning, and the Dead playing on the radio.
“I love this show,” comes Tobin's already scheming voice.
Stanley chuckles, then spares a glance in his direction. Greeting his eyes is a conflict of interests. The shirt he wears is barely buttoned, exposing his chest, adorned with several necklaces in varying lengths. The sleeves are rolled up to expose his arms, and his jeans pull tightly across his thighs, seams most likely fighting for their lives. The outfit is so far from shop-safe, but Stanley's dick is immediately far less concerned about shop safety. He wants to drop what he's doing and pop off the last few teasing buttons, then let his hands wander further, latch themselves onto belt loops and pull. He takes a steadying breath.
“You're not wearing that,” he says instead, wiping his hands on his coveralls and sending up a silent prayer of thanks and a wish for strength. He corrects his posture as he stands up from underneath the hood of his Nova.
“Awh, no, go back to bending over, I was enjoying the view,” Tobin whines, smirk cracking into his expression.
“I thought you were supposed to be helping me out today, not just watching?” Stanley chides. He lets his eyes wander all over Tobin, unashamedly taking in every decorated inch of him. Again, the conflict of interest. He wants to tug on the necklaces and his hair, but they could catch on anything in here.
“I thought you were supposed to be working on Sherri,” Tobin cuts back, letting just the slightest hint of authority seep into his voice. “So, back to it.” He crosses his arms and cocks his head in such a way that Stanley knows he cannot challenge him.
So he does. He gets back to work, but now with eyes on him, his hands fumble and his skin heats up. A little hot under the collar, he shrugs his arms out of the sleeves of his coveralls, lets them fall to his side, and ties them around his waist. His white tank is stained with oil and sweat, but Stanley can see the moment that the fuses in Tobin's brain blow out.
“Keep working,” Tobin says and makes quick work of the space between them. In an instant, he's pressed up behind him, with hands on Stanley's hips.
Tobin's hands roam free. The skirt along the hem of Stanley's shirt, thumbs catching the thinnest sliver of bare skin. He runs his hands slowly up Stanley's aching back, taking a moment here and there to rub at a knot or two. His hands, Christ, Stanley could melt.
“Not helping me focus, sweetheart,” Stanley sighs as Tobin curls a hand around the back of his neck and squeezes. If Tobin notices the pinch in his voice, he doesn't point it out. He can picture the expression Tobin must be wearing. He's probably got his head tilted to the side, eyes lidded, and his lip caught between his teeth.
But two can play at this game.
Stanley rolls his shoulders and flexes his arms in a way that he knows flaunts the muscles there. He exaggerates his movements and presses back against the solid body behind him.
Tobin hums, low and intrigued. “I suppose it doesn't help you focus, no,” he says.
“You’re scheming,” Stanley says slyly, letting a smile creep onto his face.
“Me?” Tobin feigns ignorance. “Never!”
Both of them laugh as Tobin takes a step back, but lets his hands take their time leaving Stanley’s body.
“You really shouldn’t wear that in the shop,” Stanley says, casting a glance back at Tobin. “Not safe, the necklaces and open shirt and all.”
“But I look damn good in this! It’s your shirt, anyway.”
“I don’t disagree,” Stanley hums, then turns around, leaning his weight on Sherri’s front end.
“You just want to watch me get changed, I know your tricks,” Tobin says, smiling. “You blue-collar boys are all the same,” he laughs.
The conversation lapses in volume, but their eyes carry it on without words. Stanley maps out every inch of exposed skin that he can see on Tobin’s body. Likewise, Tobin watches as a bead of sweat trails down Stanley’s arm.
“Come here,” Stanley says.
Tobin closes the distance between them in a mere second, opting to immediately sink his teeth into Stanley’s neck. Stanley sighs a curse and latches his hands onto Tobin’s hips.
When Tobin kisses him, it’s like a switch flips in his brain. He could not care less about shop-safety, and instead his senses are just flooded with Tobin. Every slip of tongue, every playful bite adds fuel to the fire.
Stanley’s hands wander, stereotype be damned, he doesn’t care about fulfilling a ‘blue-collar’ stereotype if it means he gets to feel Tobin’s skin against his palms. He grabs a fistful of Tobin’s necklaces to draw him in closer, he threads his fingers through Tobin’s belt loops, he tugs at the fabric of his shirt so that he can skim his fingers along the skin that lies beneath it. He gets as far as fumbling with Tobin’s belt buckle before he’s stopped.
“So needy,” Tobin says against Stanley’s lips. He kisses him once more, then wrenches himself from Stanley’s desperate hold.
“Need you,” Stanley whispers, chasing his lips.
“Get on your knees,” Tobin says.
Stanley drops. He paws uselessly at Tobin's thighs and hips, just out of pure admiration.
“Want to see you,” he begs, barely sensical. “Please.”
“See, I knew this outfit would do it for you.”
Tobin takes both of Stanley’s hands in his and removes them from their hold on his body, locking them in front of Stanley with a definitive and firm shake. Stanley, obviously, tests the strength of the hold. He tries to twist his wrists, but is cut off by Tobin tightening his fingers ever so slightly.
“It did, and now I want it off, please” he begs again.
“What was that about not wanting me to wear this in the shop?” Tobin asks from above him. “Something about safety? And now you're on your knees, begging me to get naked.”
“I think I'll die if you don't let me touch you.”
“You'll survive,” Tobin says, reaching out and combing his fingers through Stanley's hair.
He leans into the touch, letting his eyes slip closed. Of their own will, his knees part just an inch or so wider and he sinks down against the feeling of Tobin working the hair tie off of his head.
“Eyes on me, pretty boy,” Tobin commands gently, using his grip in Stanley's hair to join their eyelines. Tobin’s pupils are blown wide as he takes in Stanley’s form, knelt before him. “Hands behind your back.”
“Yes, sir,” the acknowledgement slips past Stanley’s lips of its own will, but it’s genuine nonetheless. He clasps his hands together behind his back, baring his chest to Tobin.
“Fuck,” Tobin sighs. “The things you do to me.”
Stanley takes a moment to really soak in how disheveled Tobin is. His shirt is rucked up, untucked from his pants, his belt buckle is undone, his necklaces are tangled and askew, and he’s visibly, deliciously hard. Stanley’s mouth waters at the sight.
“Can I suck you off, please, sweetheart?” he asks, breathless.
“I had something a bit more challenging in mind…” Tobin trails off as he works the button of his jeans open.
Stanley’s mind chants ‘yes, yes, yes,’ over and over as he watches Tobin slowly unzip his pants. The lace that comes into view short circuits his brain, and he’s left to lick his lips so that he doesn’t actually drool.
“Think you can stay still, and keep your hands to yourself while I fuck your mouth?” Tobin asks, matter-of-fact, as if it’s just some ordinary question. He hisses as he finally takes his dick out, holding it just out of reach of Stanley, who has to swallow back spit again, as not to look like a pathetic whore.
“I’ll do my best,” Stanley says, watching the way Tobin strokes himself inches from his face. When he looks up to meet Tobin’s eyes, he’s already being watched like a hawk. Tobin hums low in his chest.
“Open up for me.” Tobin traces his sharp canine with his tongue, the same way he does every time he’s feeling drunk on the power that Stanley hands over to him.
So Stanley does. He opens his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue and keeping his eyes trained on Tobin’s the way he knows drives him fucking crazy. He’s rewarded for his obedience by Tobin rubbing the tip of his cock against his tongue, short shallow movements that make saliva pool in Stanley’s mouth.
“So needy for it,” Tobin comments before easing more of himself past Stanley’s lips.
He starts slow, savoring the way that Stanley takes him in so eagerly. Stanley lets his jaw go slack, taking as much as he can with each torturously slow thrust. He fights to keep his eyes open, when all they want to do is close. He wants to move, he wants to use his hands and his mouth to make Tobin cum, but he was told to stay still, to take what he’s given. So he kneels, clenches his hands together, and keeps his eyes trained on Tobin’s.
The tenderness, of course, doesn’t last long though, once Stanley whines after Tobin pulls out all the way after a slow thrust.
“Oh, did you have something to say?” Tobin remarks, returning to his leisurely pace, stroking himself in front of Stanley’s open and wanting mouth. He uses his free hand to press a thumb against Stanley’s tongue. “Go ahead, tell me.”
Stanley’s chest heaves with a combination of need and the thrilling type of embarrassment. The kind that very few people are able to make him feel. His mind tries to string a sentence together, tries to form words, but he’s already gone from just this.
“Tell me…” Tobin sing songs, jabbing his thumb deeper into Stanley’s mouth, harder against his tongue.
“Like you mean it,” Stanley tries to say around the intrusion. It comes out warbled and barely coherent, but Tobin understands anyway.
“Want me to fuck you like I mean it?” He asks.
Stanley can only nod, closing his lips around the thumb in his mouth, and sucking, hoping that his intentions come across without words.
Tobin graciously obliges. He uses his thumb to draw Stanley’s mouth back open, and wastes no time feeding his dock back into his mouth. Tobin wraps hands in Stanley’s hair, tugging just right, and sets a pace that makes his vision blur. Stanley floats. He loves when his partners just take what they need from him. Sure, he enjoys actively giving them pleasure too, but being told to just sit there and be a mouth for them to fuck satisfies something deep within him.
He takes it, over and over, as Tobin fucks into him. Every other thrust is complimented by some profanity broken between English and Tobin’s native tongue. Comments about how well he’s taking Tobin’s dick, about how he looks so pretty on his knees, how perfect his mouth is, all land on Stanley’s ears, spurring him on. Each thrust and comment sends a wave of arousal through his body that thrums like a living and feral thing beneath his skin. His own cock pulses with anticipation.
On a particularly rough thrust, Stanley's hands instinctively rush out from behind him to brace himself against Tobin's hips. The noise that comes from Tobin above him can only be described as a growl. The hands in Stanley's hair grip impossibly tighter and pull his face back off of his dick. Stanley unashamedly whimpers at the loss, a trail of spit keeping him connected nonetheless.
“I thought I said not to touch me,” Tobin spits.
Stanley babbles an apology, snaps his arms back behind himself and clings his hands together, the knuckles going white with effort.
“Sorry, sorry,” Stanley slurs. He coughs and swallows, then opens his mouth again, silently hoping Tobin will get right back to fucking his face.
Tobin takes his dick in hand, and Stanley watches with glazed-over eyes as he slowly strokes it, tantalizingly close to his tongue. “Beg me for it,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
“Fuck, please,” Stanley says, voice pinched and pathetic. “I need it, need you,” he mumbles.
Tobin hums, “keep going.”
Something settles in Stanley's brain, and the words just tumble out. He begs, pleads, and whines. He tells Tobin he needs it like he needs air, that he's made for it, that he wants Tobin to make his voice raw for the next week. The lack of something in his mouth makes him painfully aware of just how hard he is. It's borderline uncomfortable, still being compressed in his coveralls. His hips twitch and arousal beams through him as the head of his cock catches on the damp spot that's spreading by the minute. It shakes a moan loose from his throat that interrupts the stream of consciousness.
“I could just stand here and get myself off, make you that much more desperate,” Tobin teases, quirking his head to the side and groaning as he pumps his dick just an inch out of reach from Stanley's tongue.
“No, please,” Stanley whines again. “Please fuck my mouth, I want you to cum in my mouth, please.” There's tears perched at the corners of his eyes, and he feels like he could sob if Tobin doesn't give in.
“Gods, you were made for sucking dick,” Tobin sighs, before finally, finally, sinking back into Stanley's mouth, forcing his dick all the way to the hilt, so that Stanley's nose presses into the hairs that absolutely send him into a frenzy every time he lays eyes on them. He fights against a gag as tears finally jump from their perch.
“Such a beautiful face,” Tobin groans, wiping away the tears with his thumb.
The gentle moment is cut off by another sharp thrust, then another, and another, and before Stanley can fully come to his senses, he's being fucked within an inch of his life again. The urge to reach out and hold on to something is strong, but Tobin told him to stay, and he's nothing if not obedient. He wouldn't dare disobey again. He floats somewhere deep within himself. His own erection, though not forgotten, becomes second to Tobin's pleasure. The man above him, the man using his mouth, is his only focus right now. He meets Tobin's thrusts with gentle bobs, and moans low in his throat for him. Tobin mutters broken words, curses halfway between English and his mother tongue, that grace Stanley's ears and pulls him deeper under.
Stanley loses track of time. It could be seconds or hours that Tobin fucks his mouth for, and he wouldn't be able to tell the difference. He floating, and the only tether to reality is the cock pumping in and out of his mouth. He floats so high that it almost startles him when Tobin's hips stutter and come to a halt, slamming his dick deep into his throat and pulsing with his orgasm.
Tobin shouts above him, tightening the hold he has on Stanley's hair to an almost painful point. Stanley winces as his mouth waters again, the bitter taste of cum and the pull of his hair bringing him back down slowly.
“You take my dick so well,” Tobin grits out, giving a few shallow thrusts as he rides out his orgasm.
The praise sears through him, taking claim of his brain and buzzing limbs. Stanley catches himself leaning forward, chasing Tobin’s cock as he pulls out. Again, he whines and pouts at the loss. He feels it with his whole body. Luckily, though, Tobin graces him with two fingers, after swiping them through the drool and small bit of cum that found their way to his chin.
They stay like that for a while, Tobin playing with his fingers in Stanley’s mouth, and Stanley oh-so beautifully taking it.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Tobin says in awe, eyes caught on the way his fingers move in and out of Stanley’s mouth. The compliment lands gently on Stanley’s skin, only just settling in. He takes the praise anyway.
“Tell me ‘thank you,’” Tobin orders, taking his fingers out and tracing the spit along Stanley’s lips.
It takes a few tries and a bit of coaxing from Tobin, but eventually Stanley is able to form words. “Thank you,” he says, “for letting me suck your dick.”
“Oh, you’re so welcome.”
“I want-” Stanley starts to say, but he’s still too high up in the air to form the words.
“Tell me,” Tobin says, taking a few steps back to lean his weight against the work bench behind him. Stanley watches, enraptured, as Tobin situates himself back into his pants, and fixes his shirt back into a presentable fashion.
Tobin just stands there as Stanley gapes at him, leaning against the work bench behind him with a devious look on his face. He crosses his arms across his still heaving chest.
All Stanley can do is look at him with a watering mouth. He wants to ravage him all over again. He wants to warm Tobin's cock until he’s hard enough to fuck his mouth again. He wants to bend Tobin over the hood of his car and fuck him while Tobin calls him a good boy. He wants Tobin to touch his strained cock and make him finish right here and now. Lord knows it wouldn’t take much.
“Please can I cum,” Stanley's ears pop, and he hears just how raw his voice is. Just like he wanted. His body trembles with the question.
“Why should I let you?” He asks.
“Because I stayed still for you.”
“Oh, but did you?” Tobin remarks. “I seem to recall you touching my hips, and me having to school you back into place.”
“I'm sorry, it was just reflexes–”
“I don't want any excuses.” Tobin cuts in, shaking his head in false sympathy.
Stanley blunders for a response, but the chastising goes straight to his cock. He knows he always does his best to be good, and the rewards for doing so are always so so perfect, but sometimes the punishment for breaking can be even more tantalizing. Any remarks he could possibly formulate die on his failing tongue, drowned by drool and Tobin's cum.
“Wow, look at you,” he chides again, that false sympathy carrying the words. “Crawl to me.”
And he does. He crosses the distance on all fours, eyes still glazed and meeting Tobin's. Dust, oil, and other dirt on the cold concrete floor be damned, he crawls. When he's within reach, Tobin grabs him by the shirt collar and drags him closer, shoving a boot-clad foot between his legs.
“What was that about these boots being hot but not being shop-safe? And here you are, crawling around on the floor, all because I asked you to.”
“Wanna be good for you,” Stanley slurs.
Tobin uses his grip on Stanley's shirt to drag him into an upright kneel, and presses his foot down against his neglected cock. “You are so good for me,” he says, using his free hand to comb through Stanley's messy hair.
A high pitched yelp cuts loose from Stanley's throat as pleasure jolts through him.
Tobin releases his hold on his shirt and hair, then braces his hands back against the work bench. “Go ahead,” he says. “Get yourself off.”
“Thank you,” Stanley mumbles, over and over again as he grinds against Tobin's boot. He spares not a single thought for the mess he's already made of his coveralls, nor the obvious stain that'll be there in mere minutes
He doesn't care. Tobin stands above him with a grin, coaxing him on, calling him good, and well-behaved, praising his mouth, and telling him he did such a good job. All the while, pressing his foot against Stanley's cock, and nothing more.
It should be humiliating, really, but Stanley can't find it within himself to care. His body moves of its own accord, chasing pleasure in wave after wave. His hands stay firmly held behind his back, once again, and Tobin beams with pride at that.
He gets lost in it.
Within a few strenuous minutes, his orgasm crests violently, ripping through his gut and sparking through his arms. Any rational thought ceases to cross his mind as he ruts against Tobin's boot. His whole body shakes with it as he rides the high. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the whines he hears are coming from him.
“See, I knew you could do it without touching me,” Tobin says in genuine admiration.
“Please can I, now?” Stanley asks, head swimming and hips twitching with every over sensitive movement.
“I suppose-” Tobin starts, but he's cut off by Stanley snapping out of position to grab at the necklaces above him. He pulls Tobin down, meeting him halfway in an upright kneel.
“You're so hot,” Stanley sighs, before kissing Tobin with every ounce of energy he has left in his body. Tobin kisses back like a man on a mission, swallowing up whatever he can taste of himself that remains on Stanley's tongue.
Stanley pulls away after a minute, reluctantly. “But I'm serious about your outfit being unsafe for the shop.”
“Seems we both could use an outfit change, then,” Tobin says through a cocky grin, raising an eyebrow and letting his eyes linger on the incriminating stain left between Stanley's legs. Tobin helps him stand and school his knees back into order. They're both thankful for the lack of anyone around as they make their way to Stanley's room to change.
Neither of them stay clothed for long, and they once again lose track of what they're both supposed to be doing. They take a detour through getting changed, one that lands Tobin pressed against the mattress while telling Stanley exactly how to fuck him.