Work Text:
The evening chill had begun to bite. The kind of smooth, gentle rolling dusk that swept in with the dense fog. Turning headlights into beacons, roads into rivers of reflection, trees into smudges of graphite against a grey canvas. Cicada had begun chirping in the distance, singing softly into the incoming night.
It was a soft evening. A quiet one. A comforting one.
Grace leaned back, hands momentarily leaving the handlebars of his bike as his face upturned against the sky. Crimson bled into blue and purple. The bruise left behind by sunsets blazing grasp slowly forming.
He could see the stars.
The small plastic bag in his bikes basket rustled in the wind. Twizzlers for him, and a fancy kind of bitter sea-salt dark chocolate for Driver alongside his tea tree oil toothpicks. He’d thrown in a new whiteboard marker as well, current ones growing dry. Corner stores had the strangest selection of everything.
Driver hadn’t asked for anything, but Grace wanted to bring him a treat. It lit that small flame of possessiveness in his chest, that *he* was the one bringing something home for Driver. It felt domestic. It felt good. He’d searched the aisles with clinical concentration, comparing products before statistically narrowing the search to a simple but palatable choice. One that wouldn’t spoil, be too sweet or too textured. A taste that had a spike of kick similar to what he already enjoyed. He felt rather pleased with himself.
The small trip to the corner store had taken a half hour tops. Plenty of time to be back home for his evening with Driver. Grace had taken biking back up as a hobby recently. Sometimes spending weekends and early mornings out in the coiling back roads, surrounded by the breathtakingly beautiful forests and peaceful silence. Smile lighting up like the sun when birdsong reached his ears. It was something just for him, something he did to take space and put the noise of the day at ease.
“Besides,” he’d said. “I should get some exercise.”
The stare Driver gave him told him there were more ways to do that.
Grace shivered. It had nothing to do with the cold.
The fog lit up around him, yellow splotches like water color upon a canvas, color bleeding into sound as they passed with low rumbles and the slick rush of water under tires. The constant, steady drizzle of Washington had let up before his ride, leaving the world in a layer of raindrops and dew. The scent of pine and salt bloomed thick and heavy, renewed after the light rain. It stung his senses, overpowering in an invigorating rush, enveloping you like the first scent of your lover after too long apart.
Grace pedaled on the side of the road, his bright yellow raincoat reflective enough that he didn’t worry about being seen. He slowed as a car sped up, engine revving with a snarl that broke the silence like thunder.
The vehicle swerved. Grace shouted in alarm, the noise ripped from his throat, carried along with his hat by a gust of wind.
The asphalt screeched.
The car ran him off the road. Grace jerked the handlebars, bike sliding and tumbling with him.
Red light glowed in the fog, rear lights fading into the distance as the man shuddered, shook and lay still.
Driver answered on the first ring.
He wasn’t met with silence but the small, gasping, fluctuating hum as RPM dropped and surged in a struggle to stay idle.
Phone clutched to a mouth that clicked and rattled like failing valve lifters.
The wet, terrified voice on the other end crackled, name barely choked out.
Driver moved fast.
The next hour was a blur. All that mattered was Grace tucked against his side, safe in the passenger seat of his car. The warped bike was stuffed in the trunk, its seat scratched and missing it’s little bell.
Now Grace sat on the countertop after a shower to wash out the graze on his side, a medical kit sprawled beside him. Freshly dried mess of hair rested against the cabinet behind him, watching Driver through half closed eyes. He was obsessively attentive, moving with a clinical, confident certainty that made him melt against the counter.
“Thanks, by the way.” He said, unable to keep quiet.
Driver pinned him with a long, intense look. A butterfly on the wall.
“You’re mine to fix.” It wasn’t reassurance. It was fact. Grace ducked his head against his open shirt collar, hiding a giddy smile.
The work was steady.
Driver crowded him against the counter, sensory and tactile, enveloping him with touch and red-hot focus.
His assessed the injury, mind running calculations, judging parameters. Grace wasn’t a patient to be coddled. He was a machine to be fixed. Slotted back together, piece by piece. Bolt by bolt. Until the dents were smoothed and his engine hummed.
His fingers reach out, pressing against the wound. Wanting to touch, understand the dimensions, the friction point. He needed the specs to understand its feedback loop. He studies the shape of the largest wound, thumb trailing along it’s edge and calibrating the fray. His finger dipped in, testing the electrical connection, watching as bright red gathers at the point of contact. Grace jolts, hisses through clenched teeth and Drivers eyes flick up in surprise. He’d forgotten to account for pain.
His torso is flush with scratches, bruises and grazes. Majority gathered on the right side. Purple marks have begun to blossom along the curve of his chest, a larger, open gash curled below his ribs. Surface level, no more than 2 inches long, slicing the upper layer of epidermis open. It blushed an angry red. Grace shivers as Drivers steady hands clean his side. Hips jerk back. On reflex Drivers hands grab his waist. Holding him still. The iodine-damp gauze stings with every touch, gradually fading to a numb buzz.
Drivers breathing becomes laboured. A stop-start through his nose. Pupils blown wide.
His handler smiles. Grace shifts and presses a knee between his mechanics legs. The contact heated. Burning. Driver chokes back a whine. Hand slamming down on the countertop, clenching the gauze until it squeezes liquid onto the marble.
“Getting a little worked up, mm?”
Eyes wrenched close. A ragged exhale. A pathetic, helpless tilt of his hips against the pressure.
“Take me to bed?” Grace softly asked, tilting his head so his glasses fell down his nose, eyes looking up in a way that caught the clutch of Drivers throat. Stalled the engine.
“I’m dirty.” Driver murmurs. Eyes flicking downwards. Mopping up the spill with a dry cloth.
“You’re not.” Grace doesn’t argue. He says it quietly, calmly, like it’s an inevitable truth. “You’re good. You’re mine.”
“My hands are-“
“Perfect.”
His jaw worked. Processsed. Pressed down on the gas and eased off the clutch.
He nodded.
Looping his arm around his shoulder Driver helped Grace to bed, seating him on the edge and clicking the bedside lamp on. Heart thudded against it’s chassis. Eyes flicking over the teachers posture for any sign of discomfort.
His elbows were raw and grazed, knee in no better shape, but the mess multiplied at his side. His shirt was gone, skin warm under the faint, dim light. Hair softly glowing like sunset, eyes deep blue with small flecks that danced like dust in the afternoon haze of his workshop.
Drivers stare was unwavering, intently focused, movements precise. Like the gravity of a dancing black hole Grace couldn’t help but fall into it. Spread his legs and tilt forward. Driver held his face and kissed him. Graces fingers clawed fingers through his hair, halting, shuddering. Holding the back of drivers skull in the palm of his hand, wrapping his fingers around the soft curls of his hair and pulling.
The sound Driver made wasn’t a whine. It was a prayer.
He looked at his lover like he was his saving Grace.
“Go on then,” Grace breathes out. Chapped lips circling raw syllables, hardly audible to anyone but Driver. The man who listened like a dog, who could hear the near silent whistle, who fell to his knees like a man in church.
He nosed at Graces stomach, his waist, kissing the trail of dirt from warm skin. A sharp intake of breath as he kissed the faint tang of sweat and the whisper of blood. Grace made a small, wanting sound in his throat and Driver wraps his arms underneath his thighs.
In one smooth motion he lifted the taller man and threw him back against the pillows. Hands immediatly touching, adjusting the torque. His open shirt exposed the wound on his chest, the skid marks that began to freshly weep from the movement.
Drivers pupils dilated.
He crawled forward across the dark green sheets until he leaned over the sunspot. Slowly. Deliberately. A predator locked onto its prey.
Grace felt like the air was punched out of him, hands gripping the sheets. Driver’s wide eyes claim the expanse of Graces throat, drinking him in like a man lost in the desert. He follows his gaze with kisses. Pressing, searing, like the shape of his lips were a brand he could never escape.
Grace tilted his head back, exposing his neck with a small, breathless smile. Crooked. The kind he shared when it was only them. Only their breath colliding and mixing in intimately small spaces. When they could practically taste the need radiating off each other in waves.
His knees bracketed Graces, settling in his lap, sparks of heat flicking between them. Temperature gauge rising up. Battery sparking through electrical relays, pumping the starter motor, flywheel rotating crank-shafts. Fuel pumps deliver their loads, cylinders fire, spark plugs ignite. Combustion strokes turn into independent power. Ignition key set to run.
Grace reached out, the movement feeling inevitable. Like two magnets drawn to each other. A line in the stars. His fingers curled around Drivers wrist, eyes locked onto his, a sign that he’s allowed. A single, soft squeeze. His grip travels upwards, along his forearms, his shoulders, resting on his back. Strong and firm from years of working under the hood, shoulder blades defined under his touch, shuddering as he digs his nails in. Driver pauses, pulse hitching, static humming underneath his skin like a livewire, slowly discharging as he unlocks each muscle with a deep, halting breath.
“Please.” Grace begs.
He doesn’t hesitate. The electricity jolting in his frame. Starter motor at full throttle.
The doctor is pushed back. Head bouncing on the pillows. Anchored with a kiss to his collarbone.
Driver looks one last time at Grace, eyes full of trust.
And bows his head for prayer.
He noses at the wound, breath coming in jagged, metallic rasps, eyelashes snapping shut against the warm expanse of broken skin, heart catching in his chest as he anchors himself. Hands clamped tight around Graces waist. His tongue flicks out, soft, quick. He groans and laps deeper. Tongue blissfully rough against the edge of the incision. Diagnostics running, circuit board processing live feedback, amped with a million volts. Analysing the break point, the dimensions, the depth.
He breaths a wet, shuddering gasp against the doctors side. Body curls over him, framing him like a shadow, fingers bruising with the strength of a dying man finally tasting heaven.
The taste of iron dances behind his teeth, deep and rich and biting. Drivers eyes roll back. The smell of it has him melting against Grace, rolling his hips downwards into his lap, inhaling the metallic scent like a pathetic slut. A breathless, keening whine tumbles from his throat.
“Good boy,” Grace whispers.
He kisses the drips of blood, fingers digging into Graces waist, a helpless attempt to ground. To claim. To crawl inside of his lover and taste more more more. Crescent shaped bruises bloomed in soft skin.
He laps at the wound. Tongue circling the edge, dipping past the rim to test the depth of his hole before pulling out. Blood rolling along his tongue, dripping down the corner of his mouth, burning like a brand down his throat. Thumb presses at the flap of it, along the bruised seam where flesh was split and the epidermis punctured. He watches as blood pools around his thumb. Throat constricting. Breathing shallower. The machine firing on livewires close to overload. Now clean of grit and dirt he swept his thumb down his sunspots fragile, punctured surface, nail pressing into the mess. Thighs tight around Grace as he bucked and shuddered beneath him, pinning him with his weight. Grace writhed, hand twisting into the sheets, pleading “no more” into the pillow.
Driver pauses, head tilted to listen, but Grace doesn’t say their safeword or tap him. Doesn’t pull the break. The signal to continue.
His grease-stained hands travel, pressing against his ribs, scratching into his chest. Mapping every inch like a promise. Cataloging and filing away every bump, scrape and divot like he was a project in his garage.
He splays a large palm over Graces chest and pins him to the bed.
The space was intimate, close, like a cabin pressurised. The sharp tang of industrial oil collided with the warm, floral scent of Graces cologne. Every moment felt heated, every breath a surge of kinetic energy, bodies moving together like the pistons in an engine. Driver handled the friction with firm, confident hands.
Small, breathless sounds fell from Grace like the purr of an engine as it idled. Strong hands caressed Drivers shoulders, gently pressing into the muscles there, grounding him with soothing touch. He doesn’t take it as threat; but reassurance. Driver tilted his head up, head knocking against the teachers arm and giving him a rare, warm smile. Unguarded, open, the belly of a beast exposed for its master. Pupils dilated, a deep and endless hunger within them. Grace shuddered, hips rocking upwards, feeling the tide wrap around his ankles. The dark abyss of ocean pulling him in, coaxing him towards the depths it held, sand quickly escaping underfoot and leaving him unmoored. wanting wanting wanting.
Driver laps away the new beads of red. Grinding his hips down as it danced upon his tongue, rich, heavy, metallic. Everything he’s ever needed. He relished the ambrosia clinging to the roof of his mouth, holy and divine. Lips pleaded at Graces neck, marking, claiming. Smudging red across the column of his throat. A silent, unyielding, *mine*.
Graces back arched off the mattress, pressing his body against the mechanics. He could feel every inch of his weeping cock, searing against his own like heated exhaust valves. Small, twitching explosions flaring to keep the engine running. Momentum in motion. A flicker of fire ran up the doctors throat in the form of a blissed out whine, head tilted back, eyes rolled in their sockets, nails biting into Drivers back. Small, stuttering pleases fell from his open mouth like the jumpstart of a motor.
Praise clung behind his teeth. Spilled from his lips like sunlight onto earth. Good, more, yes.
Gentle fingers mapped across Drivers back and scratched.
Deep. Red. Marks of absolution.
Heat pooled in his stomach, exhaust valves firing, he was claimed, he was his, he was good. Driver surges forward and captures his lips in a kiss. Grace clings to his anchor. Heart pounding like they were speeding down the highway but Driver held them steady. His hand wrapped around Graces throat like a shifter, knowing how to manouver him, how to be good for him. Dark eyes focused on him with the intensity of a burning sun. He could feel the wetness between them, soaking through layers, staining each other with need.
“Off.” Grace ordered, desperate, commanding hands tugging at his belt. Driver was eager to please.
The denim fell to the floor with a rustle of heavy breathes and need. The mechanic hissed as his weeping shaft pressed against the warm flush of Graces stomach. Precum leaked across the man’s happy trail, white on dusty blonde curls, leaking mess with every twitch. He rocked his hips and smeared it more, claiming his sunspot with a guttural, animalistic growl.
Driver dismantled him with a clinical, reverent precision, stripping away defenses until Grace was nothing but exposed wiring and raw, vibrating potential. He pressed precise, experienced hands against him, fine tuning every jolting muscle like a component that required calibration. Undoing knots of tension until the man unravelled completely beneath his steady, grease-stained palms. Once the resistance bled dry, oozing out of him like sunrise upon a horizon, and the system was recalibrated to his exact specifications he began the meticulous preocess of recalibration. Slotting limbs back into place and smoothing over seams until Grace functioned entire to his rhythm, every gasp and tremor a perfectly timed firing of the pistons he’d tuned.
“Casey,” The word dripped from Graces throat like drool from the corner of his mouth. More whimper than word. Driver answered with the flex of his grease stained fingers and Graces mess spilled between his fingertips, drenching them in a flood of white slick, cock twitching as the movements didn’t cease.
His chest stuttered. Stalled. Driver pressed his thumb against his slit, pushing a bit on the gas, and the engine rumbled back to life.
Graces scream was rough, feral, tapering into a broken, wet whine that shook from fingers to sternum. Scratches bled down his back. Driver didn’t care who heard. Let them listen. Let them hear how good he was for Grace, how good he made him feel, how he could unravel him like no one else could. It sent a primal, predatory thrill through him. Heat pooled in the pit of his core. *Mine mine mine* rattled inside him as exhaust system surged.
Drivers eyes roamed him like the final check after a test run, cataloguing every system and function, admiring the thrum of his beloved purring beneath his hands. He pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Praise for being so good for him. Taking it so well. Exactly as he calibrated.
His hips twitched upwards, finally letting go of Grace to wrap his messy hand around his member. He stroked himself, mixing his lovers cum with his own, encasing him in Grace. Spreading the slick around his head, fucking it over his slit, sliding the dripping mess down his pulsing shaft in a sloppy, wet motion. Their combined mess poured onto his lovers chest, precum, grease amd Graces finish staining his skin. A raw, animalistic growl tore from his throat. The monster on the hunt. Claiming his prey. Marking him like the pathetic, needy slut he was.
His cock nudged at the bruised plane of Graces side. Smearing mess along the grazed flesh, fucking up next to the line of his injuries. Driver growled, his hand hard against the shuddering mass of Grace. Thumb pressing into his wound like the slit of a cock, his own shaft trapped under his palm, rolling his hips into the wet heat. Hips slapped against his wrist, breathing grunted out in ragged, rabid gasps. He fucked the sensitive, bruised flesh beside his wound, teeth clashing with teeth as he kissed Grace with the hungry fevour of a monster at the end of his chain.
Eyelashes wet with tears, beading at the corner of Drivers eyes and dripping down the doctors cheek.
Grace buried his hands in the sheets, tugging, writhing. Accepting all of him. Craving all he could give.
Hips thrusted without precision, only a feral, needy rhythm rocking into him. Driver growled, tilting his face into Graces neck, thighs shaking as he came. Ropes of finish sputtered over his ribs, mixing with blood and covering him with mess. Fresh tears collected on Drivers lashes, watery eyes staring down with raw, powerful devotion. Grace felt a divine fear strike through him, like he was looking directly at the visage of a god. His. His lethal promise, brought to heel at his side through loyalty and love alone. Casey was *his* to command, to guide, to ——-.
Graces thoughts burned into white noise as he finished again. Eyes locked on Drivers tears, feeling the warmth of hands around his face holding him through it. His mouth fell open as Driver pressed their cocks together, steadily drawing out every last drop from him.
Their hearts thundered in the aftermath.
Driver taps their foreheads together.
”Good boy.” Grace pants. “Good, so good.”
Arms bracketing his sunspots head while hips moved in small, jittery motions. Easing from cooldown lap to idle, radiator dissipating heat through the cooling system and pushing oil from hot bearings. Their breaths danced together, heavy, shuddering exhales. Exhaust spilling from rattling pipes. A hand cupped Graces jaw, thumb caressing his cheek and staining it red, holding the throttle steady as they eased into park.
His throat clicks. A thermal contraction. Exhaust system, turbocharger housing and engine components contracted at different rates, slowly cooling from the extreme heat.
He eases himself off Grace, resting on his side and pulling the man into a warm, tight embrace. Fingers tracing down his back, making shapes on his shoulders, flattening palms against him and re-routing power. Calloused, firm fingertips adjusting the idle, mapping every bump of his ribs, every knob of his spine, softly gliding along muscles. Guiding Grace through the heat soak. Anchoring him in devoted, adoring love.
Eventually Grace surfaced from the fog, face nuzzling closer into his dearhearts neck, a pleased whimper purring out at the touch. He absentmindedly logged the warm areas as Casey worked on him. Trapezious. Deltoid. Rhomboid minor. Rhomboid major. Palm flat and sliding down latissimus dorsi. Thumbs digging into thoracolumbar fascia. Settling on his obliques, knuckled brushing the iliac crest. He snaked a hand past Caseys shoulder and the bed, cupping the back of his neck and holding him close. Holding the levator scapulae secure. Scruffing him.
Grace felt his love fall slack, hands stilling into a hug, melting into the embrace like he’d been craving this. The beating of Casey’s heart echoed into his own. Chassis reverberating together.
Safe. Secure. Mine.
Time drifted in and out, melting like syrup upon the tongue, swirling into something forgotten. Something that didn’t exist here, only the intimate share of breath and the pounding, steady sound of shared heartbeats. They hold each other close. Suspension and steering interlocked and impossibly, irrevocably intertwined.