The Garage

"Oh for...!"  Metal clattered as tools hit the concrete floor. The muttering and swearing had grown steadily louder over the past twenty minutes. Too immersed in my book, I had quietly been ignored it. Besides, I was getting used to his infrequent outbursts of curses and rants, it was just a part of the ritual of fixing bikes. But he did seem unusually frustrated about something. Serenely I turned over a page of my book.

"Emily, could you come here for a second?"

"Hmm?" I hadn't really heard him, just vaguely registered that he'd said something directed at me.

"Could you come over here?"

"Nu-uh," I said childishly, not even looking at him. "I'm too comfy." I was under a blanket on the worn down sofa, the garage was chilly and I had finally warmed up.

"Emily, please." He tried to ask calmly, but I could hear his frustration, his impatience. He was evidently not in a mood for my games. I got up and padded softly over to him. He was on his knees by one of his motorbike amidst a few scattered tools. His hands were dirty with grease, so was his t-shirt. His hair was dishevelled.

"You do know I'm only the daughter of a mechanic? Not an actual mechanic?" I said lightly.

"Yes, but you're small," he muttered, not looking at me as I kneeled beside him on the painted concrete floor.

" Oh thank you!" I huffed, pretending to be hurt.

"No, I meant--" He looked up at me, realising I had misunderstood. "You have small hands. Tiny fingers." He waggled his in front of my face. "I've been trying to fish this washer out of that hole for fifteen minutes now, and I am about to tear this whole bike apart to get them out." He looked so desperately unhappy and miserable I couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

"Don't you have a pair of pliers or something?"

"Only pliers I have is half an inch too short."

"Use a magnet to fish it out?"

"It's rubber," he growled.

"Oh," I mumbled weakly, realising I should stop suggesting things he had most certainly already thought of.

"I am not dismantling an entire bike and taking its engine out just because of a washer. Not unless I absolutely have to." I looked to where he was pointing, and stuck a finger in there. I could feel something, the washer probably, but it was greasy and narrow. For a while I fiddled, trying to figure out the best approach.

"Why did you stuff  a washer down there anyway?" I asked without thinking.

"I thought it were supposed to go in there!" His voice dripped with sarcasm. I shot him a warning look, his expression softened a bit and he muttered: "I.. dropped it in there, ok?" His frustration made more sense now, not only was he struggling to fix something, but he had caused it himself, and by accident. I screwed up my face, finally feeling that I had a grip on the tiny rubber disc, and pulled it out with a little flurry.

"Ta-daa!" I held them up triumphantly, my fingertips blackened by grease.

"Thank god." James let out a sincere breath of relief. Obviously he had pictured having to dismantle a bike he had spent many hours just putting back together, all for one little rubber disc.

"Please don't drop any more tiny pieces into the inlet manifold?" I had been about to get up, but James shot me such a piercing look I froze. I tried to make sense of it, was he angry? Annoyed? Had I said something wrong, something he misunderstood? Then he moved so quickly I barely registered what had happened until I felt his hands on my face and his lips on mine. My first instinct was to push him away, and I tried feebly, but just once. His hands, covered in grease and smelling of exhaust and burnt motor oil, held my face in a firm grip.

His kisses were passionate, intense, almost angry, as if he was trying to find an outlet for his mounting frustration. Forcefully his pulled me towards him and into his lap, making me straddle him as he was still kneeling on the floor. He was still kissing me, somewhat more composed now, but still passionately, determined. His tongue forced its way into my mouth and his hands were on my bum, kneading, pressing me against him. Without warning his kisses stopped for a second and I felt my shirt being hoisted upwards and disappear over my head. The sudden chill I felt from having my shirt removed was drowned by James' warm, sensual kisses on my neck and shoulders, as well as his warm hands running over my bare skin. Beneath me I could feel his erection, straining against his denim jeans, warm and hard. It caused that glowing sense of want somewhere deep in my pelvis to smoulder and erupt into a fire. I wanted him, I needed him inside me, right here and now. Burying my hands in his hair I pressed my hips against him, grinding against his erection. He huffed and moaned against my skin. I increased the distance between us slightly, just enough so I could access the front of his jeans. Frantically I undid his belt and the buttons, wanting more huffs and moans from James, and was rewarded when I closed my hand around his throbbing cock. His mouth kissed and licked its way downward in search for my breast, and he pulled my bra to expose one erect nipple. I started to move my hand, gently pumping him. Warmth and wetness encompassed my nipple, he ran his tongue around it in fast circles and then sucked on it gently, only making me increase the speed with which I was moving my hand. Releasing my nipple he kissed his way up to my neck again. Then he shifted, held me as he gently forced me backwards, down onto the bare, hard garage floor.

"Cold..!" I exclaimed as my skin met the painted concrete, but it wasn't a complaint, just an instinctive reaction. I was far beyond caring. James didn't take notice either. I looked down and saw his manly, greasy hands stroking my pale, clean skin, travelling down my breasts and my stomach before taking hold of my trousers and panties, tugging them off. As soon as they were gone he leaned over me, supporting himself on one hand. Then he pushed himself inside me, urgently, and I threw open my eyes and my moan echoed loudly through the open, bare garage. He was still mostly clothed, and wanting to feel his skin I slipped my arms under his t-shirt and wrapped my arms around him. I panted and moaned against his skin, digging fingers into his back. I was vaguely aware of the cold metal of a tool, maybe a spanner, digging into my back, but I didn't care. All I cared about was James and how he was fucking me on his garage floor. The smell of burnt motor oil, of James and of sex was filling my head. The sensation of his warmth between my legs, on my neck as he kissed it was in stark contrast to the cold floor and the cool temperature of the garage. His floor was hard, but James skin was so soft. The floor made for an unyielding surface which was uncomfortable to lie on, but it didn't give way which made James' movements against me more forceful, more intense. Changing position he leaned on his arms, increasing the force of his thrusts even more, wanting more friction. Looking up at him as he was leaning over me, all I could see was his hair falling across his face. I raised my hips up against him, digging my fingers into his arse, also wanting more. James groaned something inaudible, an instinctive sound of pleasure, warning me he was close. The hard floor was digging into my shoulder blades as I arched my back up against him, chasing after my own orgasm. We both held our breaths, barely able to moan as we focused entirely on our pleasure, intensifying with every thrust. Suddenly I knew with absolute certainty that his next thrust would push me over the edge, and I hurriedly clapped my hands around his neck, pulled him toward me and smothered him with kisses. I switched between moaning against his mouth and kissing him desperately as my orgasm peaked and then washed through me like a giant wave of unbearable pleasure. James had apparently just been hanging on for my sake, and feeling how I cramped and twitched underneath him he also let go, seizing up and groaning, unusually loudly even for him. When he had regained his breath somewhat I raised his head and looked at me, leaning on his arms again. His hair was a bird's nest and his cheek had a few faint, sooty fingerprints.

"You have something.. here.." I smiled, trying to rub away the dirt.

"You should see yourself!" He chuckled. "I've really made a mess of... you!" Pointedly he looked down my body, which had black handprints here and there. I shivered, nearly naked on a cement floor in a big garage. James saw and reached out a hand to help me sit up. His blue, striped hoodie was hanging over the seat of another bike, he had taken it off while he had been working. Quickly he grabbed it and threaded it over my head, and I slipped my arms into the sleeves. It was too big, but soft and smelled of him. Still sitting on the floor he pulled up his trousers hurriedly, then wrapped his arms around me and hoisted me into his lap, up off the cold floor. He hugged me tightly, cocooning me in his jumper and his warm arms, and I buried my face in his hair for a moment.

"I think we need to get you into a shower," he smirked as he looked at my face. Gently he tried to rub some of the smut off my face with the hood on his jumper.

"Will you come with me? Help me get clean?" I asked, smiling innocently at him. "I help you, you help me, right..?"

"I guess I owe you that."