The finality of the "SOLD" sign slapped over the "Jerry's Lube and Tune" logo felt like a personal insult. Austin stood across the street, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn-out jeans, watching the new owner, a slick-faced man in a suit too clean for the environment, unlock the bay doors. For ten years, that place had been Austin’s world. The smell of oil and hot rubber, the familiar rattle of the air wrench, the gruff but fond camaraderie with Jerry, it was all gone. Jerry had retired to Florida, leaving Austin adrift at twenty-eight with a set of skills that were suddenly homeless.
The job at the local Chevy dealership was a lifeline, but it felt like a downgrade. "Greeter." The title was a joke. He stood at the front entrance of the sprawling, glass-and-chrome showroom, a human directional sign. "Service is to the left, sir." "New and used are straight ahead, ma'am." He pointed, he smiled, he felt the grime of real work under his fingernails and ached for the sound of an engine turning over. He was waiting for a spot to open up in the training program for the service department, but for now, he was a pretty, useless fixture in a pristine world he didn't belong to.
That’s when Tyler Valdez walked in.
He didn't so much walk as he did swagger. Thirty years old, built like he spent his days lifting things far heavier than car parts, and carrying an aura of unshakable confidence. His Spanish heritage was stamped on his features: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, dark eyes that seemed to take in everything and dismiss most of it. His hair was black and thick, styled with a casual precision that probably cost more than Austin's weekly paycheck. He wore a tailored polo that stretched across his broad chest and designer jeans that looked like they’d never seen a speck of dust. He was, in a word, hot. And he knew it.
Austin watched him approach, a predator surveying his territory. Tyler’s gaze swept past the other salesmen, who were already circling like sharks, and landed squarely on Austin. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
"You," Tyler said, his voice a low, smooth rumble. "You're the man I'm looking for."
Austin raised an eyebrow. Tyler had been to Jerry’s a few times, but Austin had never dealt with him; although, he’d heard some of the conversations and knew this man needed to be put in his place. "I'm the greeter. I just point you in the right direction."
"I know exactly where I want to go," Tyler purred, his eyes doing a slow, deliberate sweep of Austin's body. "But first, a truck. Or a Camaro. My father thinks an SUV. What do you think?"
"I think I'm not a salesman," Austin said, his tone flat. He wasn't impressed by the act; he'd seen cocky guys a thousand times before, usually when they were trying to talk down a repair bill.
The head salesman, a portly man named Frank, shuffled over. "Mr. Valdez, welcome back! Your father just called. I've got the keys to the new Tahoes right here for you."
Tyler didn't even look at him. His eyes were locked on Austin. "I don't want an SUV. I want him to show me the Camaro." He hooked a thumb in Austin's direction.
Frank chuckled nervously, wiping sweat from his brow with a silk handkerchief. "Sir, Austin isn't authorized to sell vehicles. He's our new service trainee. I'd be happy to, "
"I don't want you to be happy," Tyler interrupted, his voice losing its silky quality and hardening. "I want him. The Valdez family has bought three fleet trucks and two personal vehicles from this dealership in the last two years. I think that earns me a small favor. Austin is going to take me on a test drive."
Frank looked from Tyler's determined face to Austin's impassive one. The math was simple. The Valdez account was too valuable to risk over a little test drive. He sighed, deflating like a punctured tire. "Fine. Austin, get the keys to the ZL1. Black on black. And for God's sake, don't scratch it."
The ZL1 was a beast. A 650-horsepower monster that growled even at idle. Austin slid into the driver's seat, the new-car smell a sterile perfume compared to the rich, organic scent of Jerry's garage. Tyler climbed into the passenger seat, his long legs folded into the confined space, his gaze never leaving Austin.
"Drive," Tyler commanded.
Austin didn't need to be told twice. He eased the car out of the lot and onto the open road, feeding the engine just enough gas to feel it wake up. The Camaro responded like a coiled spring, the power thrumming through the chassis and up his spine.
"So, what's your story, Greeter?" Tyler asked, his hand resting casually on the center console, his pinky finger just brushing Austin's thigh.
"Name's Austin. Used to be a mechanic. Now I point at things," Austin replied, keeping his eyes on the road.
"A mechanic? That's hot. A man who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty." Tyler's hand moved, his palm now flat and warm against Austin's leg. "I like a man who knows how to handle a tool."
Austin snorted. "Is that your best line?"
"It's working, isn't it?" Tyler's hand slid higher, his fingers tracing the seam of Austin's jeans. "This car has a lot of power. And enough room in the back seat, too. We could find a quiet spot. I could show you what else I like to handle."
The invitation hung in the air, thick and heavy. Austin could feel the heat from Tyler's hand, could see the raw, undisguised lust in his eyes. He was tempted, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't. Tyler was exactly his type: confident, handsome, and packing an obvious bulge in those expensive jeans. But Austin had his rules. He wasn't a back-seat quickie, not anymore.
He downshifted, the engine roaring as he took a sharp turn onto a deserted country lane. He pulled the Camaro over onto the gravel shoulder, cutting the engine. The sudden silence was deafening.
Tyler's grin was triumphant. "Knew it. So, back seat or right here?"
"Neither," Austin said, turning in his seat to face him. He didn't pull away from Tyler's hand, but he didn't encourage it either. "Look, you're hot. I'm flattered. But I'm not a test drive."
Tyler's confidence faltered for a fraction of a second. "What?"
"You heard me," Austin said, his voice firm. "You want to get to know me? You want to see what I can do with my hands? You take me on a date. You buy me a nice steak dinner. You treat me like a person, not a conquest. Then, maybe, we'll talk about intimacy. Until then, you can test drive the car, but you don't get to test drive me."
He held Tyler's gaze, watching the shock, the disbelief, and finally, a flicker of something else, respect, play across his handsome face. Tyler slowly withdrew his hand, a slow smile replacing the cocky grin.
"A steak dinner," he mused. "Alright, Austin the Mechanic. You've got a deal. Friday. Eight o'clock. Be ready."
The following Friday, at 7:58 PM precisely, a brand-new Silverado pickup, gleaming under the streetlights, pulled up in front of Austin's small apartment building. It was the high-trim model, all black with tinted windows and a throaty V8 rumble. Tyler was behind the wheel, looking even better than he had in the showroom. He'd traded the polo for a black button-down that was open at the collar, revealing a hint of dark chest hair.
The steakhouse was exactly what Austin had expected: dim lighting, white tablecloths, and prices that made his wallet ache. Tyler, it turned out, was an excellent date. He was charming, attentive, and asked surprisingly insightful questions about Austin's life, his passion for engines, and his frustration with his current job. The innuendo was still there, a constant, electric current running beneath the surface of their conversation.
"So," Tyler said, swirling the last of the wine in his glass, his eyes dark and intense across the table. "Dinner was nice. The steak was excellent. I believe I've fulfilled my part of the bargain."
Austin leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I believe you have."
The drive back was thick with anticipation. Tyler didn't head toward Austin's apartment. Instead, he took a winding road up to a lookout point that overlooked the city lights. He killed the engine, and the truck's cab was bathed in the soft glow of the dashboard.
"Back seat's bigger than the Camaro's," Tyler murmured, his voice husky.
"I'll be the judge of that," Austin replied.
They climbed into the expansive back seat of the crew cab. The space was luxurious, the leather cool and supple beneath them. Tyler was on him immediately, his mouth crashing down on Austin's, all the pent-up energy from the past week exploding in a hungry, demanding kiss. He was a total top, his every move screaming dominance. He pushed Austin back against the seat, his body a heavy, solid weight, his hands roaming possessively over Austin's chest and stomach.
"I'm gonna fuck you so good," Tyler growled against his neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. "Gonna make you scream."
Austin let him have his moment, letting Tyler's dominant energy wash over him. He let the other man manhandle him, let him bite and suck at his neck, let him grind their denim-clad cocks together with a desperate, primal need. Tyler was all fire and urgency, a man used to taking what he wanted, and Austin was content to be the object of that desire for now. But he had his own plans.
With a swift, surprising move, Austin hooked a leg around Tyler's and rolled them, reversing their positions in one fluid motion. He straddled Tyler's lap, pinning his shoulders to the leather seat with his hands. Tyler's eyes flew open, wide with shock and a flicker of anger.
"What the fuck?" he snarled.
"Relax, big guy," Austin purred, his voice a low, soothing counterpoint to Tyler's aggression. "You said you were gonna fuck me. You didn't say I couldn't have a little fun first." He leaned down, his lips brushing Tyler's ear. "I'm gonna make you feel things you've never felt."
He began a slow, torturous descent, kissing his way down Tyler's body. He unbuttoned the expensive shirt, his tongue tracing the lines of his well-defined pectorals, swirling around the hard nubs of his nipples. Tyler's breath hitched, his hands coming up to grip Austin's hair, but his grip was more about holding on than controlling. Austin continued his downward journey, his lips and tongue mapping the ridges of Tyler's abs, tasting the salt of his skin. He could feel the tension coiling in the other man's body, a battle between his ingrained need to dominate and the overwhelming pleasure Austin was inflicting.
When Austin reached the waistband of his jeans, he didn't hesitate. He made quick work of the button and zipper, tugging the fabric down to reveal the thick, hard cock straining against the fabric of his designer briefs. It was an impressive piece, long and thick, with a heavy, veined shaft. Austin mouthed it through the cotton, earning a guttural groan from Tyler.
He finally freed Tyler's cock, taking a moment to appreciate it in the dim light. He wrapped his hand around the base, feeling the heat of it, the way it pulsed in his grip. He leaned in and took the head into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge. Tyler's hips bucked involuntarily, a choked sound escaping his throat.
Austin took him deeper, his mouth a hot, wet vortex of pleasure. He wasn't just sucking; he was worshiping. He used his tongue, his lips, the slight scrape of his teeth, building a rhythm that had Tyler writhing beneath him. The cocky, dominant top was gone, replaced by a man lost in a sea of sensation. He was panting, his head thrown back against the seat, his hands tangled in Austin's hair, guiding him, urging him on.
But Austin was just getting started.
He pulled off, leaving Tyler's cock glistening and throbbing in the cool air. Tyler let out a frustrated whine.
"Shhh," Austin soothed, pushing Tyler's legs up and back, exposing him completely. "Trust me."
Tyler's eyes were wide, a mixture of confusion and anticipation in their depths. "What are you…"
His question was cut off by a sharp gasp as Austin's tongue found his hole. Austin didn't tease. He went straight for it, his tongue a firm, insistent pressure against the tight ring of muscle. He licked and probed, his hands gripping Tyler's ass cheeks, spreading him wide. He alternated between broad, flat strokes and pointed, stabbing motions, his tongue breaching the tight entrance again and again.
Tyler was making sounds Austin had never heard from a man before. High, desperate whimpers. Incoherent pleas. The tough exterior was melting away, revealing a core of pure, unadulterated need. Austin added a finger, sliding it in alongside his tongue, crooking it to find that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside.
"Fuck! Austin! Fuck!" Tyler cried out, his entire body arching off the seat.
Austin smiled against his skin. He had him. He worked another finger in, scissoring them, stretching him, preparing him. All the while, his tongue continued its relentless assault. He was a masterclass in rimming, and Tyler was his willing, overwhelmed student. The dominant top was now a pliant, begging mess.
"Please," Tyler sobbed, his voice cracking. "Please, Austin. I need it. I need you to fuck me."
Austin lifted his head, a triumphant smirk on his face. "What was that? I couldn't hear you."
"Fuck me!" Tyler yelled, his voice raw with need. "Dammit, Austin, fuck me now!"
Austin didn't need to be told twice. He quickly shed his own clothes, his own cock rock hard and leaking. He grabbed a condom and a small bottle of lube from his jeans pocket, slicking himself up. He positioned himself at Tyler's entrance, the head of his cock nudging the stretched, puckered hole.
"Look at me," Austin commanded.
Tyler's eyes, dark and dilated with lust, met his. The cockiness was gone, replaced by a desperate, pleading vulnerability. It was the most beautiful thing Austin had ever seen.
He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, giving Tyler time to adjust to the intrusion. He was tight, so incredibly tight, and the heat was intoxicating. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he paused, letting them both savor the moment.
"Move," Tyler whispered, his voice hoarse. "Please, move."
Austin began to thrust, his movements slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder. He set a punishing rhythm, driving into Tyler with a force that stole his breath. The sounds of their bodies slapping together filled the truck, mingling with their grunts and moans. Tyler was no longer silent; he was vocal, his cries of pleasure echoing in the confined space.
Austin angled his hips, hitting Tyler's prostate with every thrust. The effect was instantaneous. Tyler's body convulsed, his back arching, his hands fisting in the leather seats. He was completely undone, a slave to the pleasure Austin was giving him. He reached down to stroke his own cock, but Austin slapped his hand away.
"Mine," Austin growled, taking Tyler's cock in his own hand, stroking it in time with his thrusts.
It was too much. With a final, guttural cry, Tyler came, his cock erupting in a fountain of hot, white cum, painting his own chest and abs. The sight of it, the feel of his ass clamping down around him, sent Austin over the edge. He buried himself deep, his own orgasm ripping through him, filling the condom with his seed.
He collapsed onto Tyler's chest, both of them panting, their bodies slick with sweat. For a long time, they just lay there, the only sound the thunder of their own heartbeats.
Finally, Austin pushed himself up, looking down at the man beneath him. Tyler's eyes were closed, a look of blissful exhaustion on his face. He looked different. Softer. More vulnerable.
"Fuck," Tyler breathed, opening his eyes. A slow, dazed smile spread across his face. "I... I think I might be versatile."
Austin laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh that filled the truck. "I had a feeling," he said, but he thought, ‘you’re a fucking bottom, pussy-boy.”
The drive back to Austin's apartment was quiet, but not uncomfortable. It was a comfortable, post-coital silence, punctuated by the occasional soft chuckle from Tyler. When he pulled up to the curb, he put the vehicle in park and turned to Austin. He watched as Austin got out and walked around to the driver’s side window.
"So," he said, his voice softer than Austin had ever heard it. "That was... unexpected."
"In a good way, I hope," Austin replied, a playful smile on his lips.
"The best way," Tyler said, his gaze serious. "I want to see you again. Are you free next Wednesday?"
Austin's smile widened. "I might be. Will your fiancée be joining us?"
The change was instantaneous. The softness in Tyler's eyes vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. His jaw tightened, and his hands gripped the steering wheel. Austin knew about her; he had done his research.
"Fuck you," Tyler snarled, his voice cold and hard.
He slammed the truck into gear, the engine roaring to life. He peeled away from the curb, the tires squealing in protest, leaving Austin standing on the sidewalk, watching the taillights disappear into the night. Austin just shook his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, and fuck you, too,” he said quietly. "Oh, wait. I already did." Austin grinned and wondered whether he should start a scorecard. Austin 1, Mike 0.
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