Work Text:
Ronan is a damn good boyfriend.
This is what he tells himself when he stalks into Boyd's Automotive, food in hand. Adam doesn't ask for food when Ronan visits him at work as a rule per se, but Ronan has come to the slow realization that Adam is a lot more likely to stop working if Ronan has food. So, like offering tribute to a god, Ronan comes bearing gifts. The metaphor is not lost on Ronan who, for his own part, views Adam as an object of his worship anyways. And as far as sacrifices Adam has asked him to make goes, a couple of bucks out of his bottomless bank account is nothing compared to, say, dreaming up dismembered body parts and damning photographic evidence of a gruesome murder.
He takes his time strolling into Boyd's. One of his favorite past times (at the risk of sounding like a total stalker), is seeing Adam before Adam sees him. He likes to watch the furrow in Adam's brow as he works to unravel the puzzle of his work. He likes to look at Adam as if he were a stranger and feel the rush of his feelings all over again at a fresh angle. And what a fresh angle it is indeed when he comes into the shop to Adam bent over at the waist and elbow deep in a red '67 Mustang. Ronan takes the socially acceptable amount of time to admire his boyfriend. Jeans covered in gas, oil, and grease. A sliver of his back where his shirt is riding up. And a white tank revealing glistening biceps. And the car. Goddamn, that is one sexy car. Ronan has never been happier to be gay. Or an avid lover of cars. He has half a mind to text Sargent right then and thank her profusely for fumbling Adam. Her loss, his gain, etc., etc., etc..
Ronan gives a low whistle, finally alerting Adam to his presence. Adam doesn't even look up at him. Is it wrong of Ronan to be kind of turned on by that?
"If you were a stalker murderer, you'd be the laughingstock of your community," Adam says, nonplussed.
"The mockery of the mass murderers?" Ronan asks, dropping the sack of value menu burgers on top of an oil barrel that he had officially commandeered in past visits.
"Alliteration will get you nowhere," Adam responds. "And it would have been better if you'd found a synonym for murderer instead of reusing my word."
"Manslaughterer?" Ronan replies in a bored drawl.
"Too little, too late."
Ronan has become the resident expert on reading Adam's moods. He knows pretty much the exact trajectory needed to achieve an Adam smile at approxomately all times. And right now, it seems that Adam is a long way from smiling. Ronan knows this version of Adam. It is the overworked, overwhelmed, pessimistic Adam that continues to work towards his goal only out of some mechanical, robotic need to go through the motions. Well, Ronan can't have that. August is quickly approaching, and with it comes Adam's move to Boston. Against his will, Ronan is beginning to understand that damn Robert Frost poem more and more these days. Nothing gold can stay…
It's bullshit on top of bullshit, because Ronan hates that poem and he hates Robert Frost. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood… God, what a snooze fest.
"So you're saying I failed the written portion of the foreplay?" Ronan asks, coming up behind Adam and draping himself over his back. Adam huffs, but does not push him off, even when Ronan slides his hands onto Adam's waist.
He thinks Adam might shrug him off, but he doesn't. All he does is pull his arms out of the car and brace himself against the Mustang's frame. "I think that remains to be seen," he says.
Ronan's brain goes abuzz. Fuck. He doesn't actually know what to say to draw Adam away from his work and into his pants. An idea occurs to him, born of his Robert Frost speculation. A grin splits his face.
"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
"Shakespeare is overrated."
Ronan scoffs and settles his chin on Adam's shoulder. With his lips at Adam's ear, he says, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."
Adam sighs and straightens up only to lean back slightly into Ronan's body and mouth. He hums thoughtfully, tilting his head to give Ronan room at his neck. It's progress, however slight.
"Lame," Adam says, even as Ronan lets his eyes slip closed and starts mouthing at the stretch of Adam's neck.
"Why so pale and wan, fond lover?" He tries. He is very close to running out of poetry lines he can recall off the top of his head. He repeated Junior year English, not because he was too stupid to pass but because he was too listless to apply himself. It's the only reason he has this cache prepared.
"Sir John Suckling?" Adam asks, gasping slightly when Ronan pushes him forward into the car's frame again.
"Mhmm," Ronan hums, fittingly sucking a small spot on Adam's neck. He hadn't actually known whether or not that was the name of the poet. It was a happy accident. "See what I did there?"
"Lynch, fireworks are more subtle," Adam claims, but his voice is tightening up in an entirely different way now. Ronan thinks he's starting to ace this foreplay thing—at least he's sure he is if his own tightening pants are anything to go by. Ronan kisses a strip up to Adam's jaw, tilting his head sideways and pressing him into the Mustang's frame. When he gets to Adam's ear, he nips the lobe. Adam gasps, sending a spark of pleasure down Ronan's spine.
"I'm at work, Lynch," Adam manages, his voice little more than a whisper.
"You can keep working," Ronan mumbles, his lips brushing Adam's neck.
For a long time, Ronan had wished to be able to worship Adam like this, even if he hadn't been able to admit it to himself. Admitting it was too much like crossing a threshold. When he'd let his feelings for Adam surface to the forefront of his mind, they had predictably spilled right over. Oil. Match.
Adam sighs, tension leaking out of his shoulders. "Ronan," Adam says, like he's unaware just how much it turns Ronan on to hear his own name from those lips. "I seriously have to get this done."
Ronan nods into his neck, kissing and suckling as he goes. "Then you should seriously get to it," he hums.
Something in Adam tenses. He seems to take Ronan's needling as a challenge. Ronan doesn't mind. It makes him more than a little hot to be the distraction pulling Adam from his thoughts. All the better with Adam's hips pressing back into Ronan's groin as he leans back over the car. To Ronan's intense fascination, Adam actually does begin to work on the car again in earnest. Good: if his focus is split between that and Ronan himself then he'll have no room to fret over whatever is bugging him.
His hands are slick with oil, his fingers deft as they unscrew a bolt here and loosen a tube there. Over his shoulder, Ronan watches, hardening in his pants at the sight. It's no secret now that Ronan has a thing for Adam's hands. He wouldn't go so far as to call it a kink, because he's never cared much for hands that aren't attached to Adam, but even he can admit that his fascination with them verges on worship. It's made so much worse (better?) paired with Adam's competence as he works on the beauty of a car despite Ronan's pointed (quite literally pointed) distracting.
Ronan hums a signal of his arousal, sliding his hands down into Adam's front pockets and grabbing the material in there—pulling him by the pelvis further back into himself. It's embarrassing to admit to himself that being ignored by Adam is turning him on even more, but he doesn't try to parse what that says about him. He inhales deeply in the crook of his boyfriend's neck. It is motor oil, and sweat, and something fundamentally Adam that Ronan relishes. Adam grunts, but otherwise pays Ronan no mind. At least, that's the impression he wants to give Ronan. And if Ronan couldn't feel the hardening of Adam's cock through the thin fabric of his pockets, he'd probably believe him.
"God, you're so hot," Ronan moans, pulling his hands from Adam's pockets and sliding them to his button and zipper. He unfastens Adam's pants without even looking, his gaze locked on Adam's hands. He snakes a hand in his pants, grabbing his erection through the fabric of his underwear. He only hears the sharp intake of Adam's breath because he's listening for it. He mouths at Adam's neck, groaning lewdly against Adam's salty skin. He's been sweating in the garage for hours, but Ronan doesn't care. He doesn't know how he could care when he'd wanted Adam so badly for so long.
Outside of his boxers, Ronan firmly grips Adam's cock. It's fascinating to feel it hardening against his hand, completely independent of Adam's working hands.
"Are you finding it hard to concentrate?" Ronan asks, feeling pretty clever and self important.
"Hilarious," Adam mumbles. But Ronan can tell his derision is forced. His voice is just slightly shaky, and breathy in a way that makes Ronan want to speed things up exponentially. Adam stands up straighter, sinking into the feeling of Ronan groping him.
Ronan puts his hand inside of Adam's boxers, feeling the warm length of his erection. With an expert maneuver of his wrist, he pulls Adam out of the fabric, and looks over his boyfriend's shoulder at his pretty cock. Everything about Adam is pretty. From his sandy hair and blonde lashes, to his blue eyes and long fingers. His dick is no different. Long, hard, and elegant, just like the rest of him. Ronan leans over Adam's shoulder, lines himself up, and lets a long trail of spit coat the head of Adam's dick. He's honestly impressed by his own aim, and is gratified by Adam shivering as the cooled saliva touches his hot skin.
Adam makes his first strangled noise of arousal. His hands still where they were hardly attempting to work in the car.
"Keep working," Ronan says, right up against Adam's ear. Despite the heat in the garage, the blonde hair on Adam's arms stands up straight, goosebumps dotting his skin. Ronan uses his left hand to rub the chills on one of Adam's arm's away, keeping his right hand firmly on Adam's now slick penis. "Just ignore me."
Adam nods, humbled into silence. As soon as he readjusts slightly to continue his work, Ronan begins stroking him. He starts out slowly, reveling in the sounds of Adam's ragged breathing through his nose. With some difficulty, he tears his eyes from Adam's shaking (but busy) hands, to look at his face. Adam's eyes are lidded, his mouth set in a firm, determined line. He looks helplessly turned on, but not quite as out of his mind as Ronan wants him to be. Ronan kisses his chin and bites his earlobe, so his own ragged breathing is right in Adam's ear. Then, he begins stroking in earnest.
"Ah," Adam protests, his eyes glazing over and his hands stilling over the car's parts. "Ronan. Can't work."
His name in Adam's mouth makes Ronan remember his own erection. Unthinkingly, he pushes his hips up against Adam's ass, pinning Adam between himself in the car. The pressure to his own aching arousal is blindingly good.
"Yes, you can." Ronan pants, letting his forehead drop against Adam's shoulder. "You're so..so good," he mumbles into Adam's skin.
Adam lets loose a little noise that only encourages Ronan to stroke him faster. Then, because the pressure of pinning Adam to the car isn't enough, Ronan begins grinding on him from behind. Adam's hands lose all pretense of work as he once again braces himself on the car's frame to keep himself from going face down in the car's engine. Ronan's eyes close, blind to all else but the friction of his dick rubbing against fabric and ass, and his hand stroking Adam's wet erection.
"F..fuck, Ronan," Adam manages, his voice hitching with Ronan's grinding movements. Ronan empathizes with the sentiment. He can't believe how turned on he is without even the grace of being touched. The friction just keeps feeling better and better. The rocking motion of Adam's body against the unforgiving frame of the car is blowing Ronan's mind. He's sure he's thought about doing this to Adam before, but had written it off as a fantasy that Adam would never let play out. Work and play, according to Adam, don't mix. But right now, they're mixing so well that he thinks he only has a matter of minutes before he's coming in his pants.
Adam seems to have forgotten the car altogether as little more than an object they're rutting against like animals. Somehow, Ronan has gained his entire attention. Adam keeps one hand braced against the frame of the Mustang to keep them sturdy, but lets the other snake up and grab the back of Ronan's neck, holding him closer. Ronan doesn't care that Adam's hands are slicked in dirt and oil, the touch makes him ravenous. He moans into Adam's shoulder, tightening his grip on Adam's hip and attempting to make his grinding thrusts match up with his strokes. It works all too well. The pre-cum spilling out of the tip of Adam's head makes the movement easy and delicious.
"I-" Adam begins, and there it is. The complete blissed out tone that Ronan has been attempting to reach this entire time. "I think I'm going to—Ronan…!" Adam says, by way of warning. He thinks that Adam maybe wants him to pull off so he doesn't ejaculate into the car, but Ronan is so close to his own climax and the thought of Adam's cum spilling into his work only turns him on more.
"Yes," Ronan whispers, opening his eyes and turning his head so he can look at Adam. Adam is all but limp, his head swaying with Ronan's movements. His pale blue eyes are zeroed in on Ronan's hand, and his jaw hangs unhinged, allowing his breaths to come out as heated pants. "You're gorgeous," Ronan breathes, almost against his will.
Adam's eyebrows crease together and his eyes roll back in his head, and then he's spilling over Ronan's hand and into the open mechanical parts of the Mustang with a lewd moan that echoes off the garage's metal walls. At the sight of his bliss, Ronan's orgasm follows quickly after, rocking through him like a storm.
"God," Adam huffs, releasing Ronan's neck so he can lean back against the frame and collect himself.
"Jesus," Ronan agrees. Slowly, Ronan releases his grip on Adam's hip and pulls off of his dick, stringing along a mess of cum. He kisses Adam's neck two more times for good measure before releasing him.
"I'd apologize for interrupting your work, but that was actually my goal so…"
Adam laughs, pulling a relatively clean rag from the back pocket of his jeans and using it to wipe himself off before offering it to Ronan. And despite the fact that his own satisfaction is quickly cooling in his underwear, Ronan smiles back at him.
"You have to help me clean this," Adam says, shamelessly watching Ronan attempt to wipe the cum out of his drawers.
"Hard pass. As far as I'm concerned, your magical jizz just restored that 'Stang back to her former glory."
Miraculously, Adam laughs again. More of a chuckle this time, as he zips his jeans back up and leans over the car to inspect their mess. "I think Blue would take a lot of umbrage with the fact that you personified this car as a woman redeemed by magical male jizz."
Ronan shrugs and slumps on the floor against the barrel that holds the sack of their value menu dinner. "She can take it up with my post orgasm bliss."
He's mostly clean (or clean enough) and discards the cum rag behind him, still feeling a bit sticky. It isn't enough of a nuisance to make him leave Adam's glowing company. Hardly anything is. Regardless, he makes a mental note to dream up some magical cum rag that sanitizes as it washes, and leaves the user completely dry and squeaky clean afterwards. He thinks he'll call it The Cum Rag Shamwow!
Adam breathes another laugh, painstakingly wiping at the white streaks coating the mechanical parts of the car. Ronan tries not to think too much about his magical hand job erasing the furrowed lines he'd seen on Adam's face when he arrived, but smiles a loopy, self satisfied smile anyway.
"Take a break," Ronan says, reaching behind him for the sack of food.
"Is that not what we just did?" Adam asks, not looking up from the car. There's a small smile on his face though.
"That was for emotional health. This is for physical health." He takes a burger from the bag and waves it enticingly. He knows Adam. He knows he probably hasn't eaten since this morning before he left for work and that the sun is setting now, casting a beautiful orange glow over everything it touches, including Adam's glistening skin.
"Are you saying your hand job has emotionally healing properties?" Adam asks, all snark and confidence.
"Doesn't it?" Ronan asks back, in much the same tone.
Adam smiles, but does not deny the claim.
"Come on," Ronan goads. "You know we're going to be here for another couple of hours anyways. Will you deny me this bag o' burgers with my boyfriend?"
With a playful roll of his eyes, Adam finally turns to fully face Ronan. It's like his world has shifted to face the sun. Ronan grins up at him, still waving the food in his direction. Adam scoffs. "Fine."
Ronan whoops as Adam finds a spot on the ground next to him and takes the offered burger. They dig in, savoring the warm summer day, and the post orgasm beauty of everything.
"Thanks," Adam says, after he's halfway through his burger. "For coming over and stuff."
"Well, it was this or cleaning up the barn. The decision made itself, really."
Adam laughs. "Yeah, yeah."
Ronan smiles, and finishes off his second burger. Adam finishes his own meal without much pomp, and promptly goes back to work. But Ronan notices that the line of tension in his shoulders is mostly gone, and he's working at a much more serene pace. Ronan lies back in the dirt, his hands behind his head, and watches Adam diligently work until he wraps up for the night. Then, he takes Adam's hand and convinces him to leave the Hondayota at the shop with saccharine promises that he will drive him to work tomorrow so they can ride back to The Barns together. Too tired, and perhaps too happy, to refuse, Adam is swayed, and Ronan drags his smiling boyfriend to his BMW where he promptly falls asleep in the passenger seat.
Yes, Ronan is a damn good boyfriend.