© 2012 ChicosTodos. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
If you are a minor, or if it is illegal for you to read material containing sexual activity between male adults, please refrain from reading any further.
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Danny Giroux-Yeung wasn't looking forward to going to the mechanic's. His mom was the one who was on top of the seemingly endless appointments for both of the family's cars: rotating the tires, changing the oil, replacing the timing belt, or whatever else cars needed in order keep running. But today, she had to stay late at work, so she asked Danny to take the Civic to the shop. When her 22 year-old gay son protested, his mom reminded him that, since Danny drove the Civic more than anyone else at home (how else could he see his friends downtown after school?), he should accept the responsibilities that come with the privilege.
The professional writing undergraduate grumbled as he got into the sedan, his green eyes rolling. He hated going to the auto shop, because he knew nothing about car repairs. In any given situation, he hated feeling incompetent and useless. Also, the few times he did go to the shop with his mom, he found the mechanics a bit rude and rough around the edges. Deep down, though, what he hated most was the fear that they thought he was a sissy.
The winter sun was setting as Danny drove into the empty auto shop parking lot. No cars were in the garage. Aside from Danny's Civic, there was only one other car in the parking lot, in front of the entrance; it was red and customized with shiny wheels and a spoiler. Danny recognized the car from his visits before. Locking his Civic, he walked to the entrance and pulled open the shop door, a sharp buzz signalling his presence.
There was no one at the counter. This was unusual; usually Fred, one of the owners, was there on the phone, on the computer, or shooting the shit with a customer. Danny looked around. The place was cluttered: car parts, accessories, product bottles and metallic cans were everywhere. Walls were filled with posters, some of them glossy images of Italian sports cars, others sectional diagrams of engines and chassis. The boy also noticed that, despite the myriad of stuff all around, everything was organized by type and size, all items categorized and placed in specific sections of the shop. Somewhere, probably from the computer, Top 40 music softly played on tinny speakers.
"Ms. Yeung?" someone called out, as the door that led to the garage opened. Danny met his eyes.
The boy totally forgot about Roberto, the other owner. Roberto the mechanic stud! Danny was sure Roberto, who looked to be in his early thirties, had many female customers drooling all over him. How could they not? The guy was the living embodiment of the garage mechanic fantasy: tall, muscular, closely cropped hair, permanent five o'clock shadow, and square jaw. If Danny wasn't so turned on, he'd find the whole package ridiculous, almost a parody. It was about as ridiculous as the tent that was beginning to form in his jeans.
Roberto Silva had on a white sleeveless undershirt, slightly streaked with black grease and stretched tight around the pecs, and a pair of old, faded jeans. His beefy arms rippled as he lifted the cardboard box he was carrying up onto a nearby shelf, briefly looking away from Danny. The boy looked away too, or his eyes might have bugged out from staring at the thick, bushy pits under the mechanic's arms. As Roberto turned back to the boy, he recognized him as Ms. Yeung's son.
Danny's lips stayed ajar as he watched Roberto wipe his hands on a faded blue rag. The mechanic flashed a grin.
"You're the son. Danny?" They had never exchanged words before. "I'm Roberto. What's up, buddy?"
"Ye..." Danny's throat was dry like the Sahara. He cleared it and started again. "Yes. My mom has to work late tonight, so she sent me to get the car fixed."
"Get the oil changed," Roberto corrected, looking Danny over. The boy was skinny, around 5'5", with fair skin, captivating green eyes and, the mechanic hoped, a tight, perky ass. He wore his dark brown hair with long side-swept bangs and buzzed sides. Roberto knew Ms. Yeung was Chinese, but her son was clearly mixed; the mechanic guessed French, or Italian, or maybe Portuguese, his own kind.
"Yeah, right, that..." Danny nodded, his voice trailing off as Roberto circled the counter and walked right up to him, slowly, with a light swagger. The boy couldn't stifle a shudder. He could smell the cold, toxic grease that clung onto Roberto's stretched undershirt, and the virile musk of dried sweat underneath. The young man crossed his hands in front of his crotch.
"You in school, Danny?" Roberto asked, crossing his arms. If it were anywhere else--the club, the bar, on the street in the gay village--he would've pounced on the shy, delicious little guy already.
"Yes. I'm graduating this year." Danny's eyes moved from the floor, up Roberto's jeans, to the bulging crotch. The mechanic made no effort to hide his.
"Whatcha studying?"
"Writing. Professional writing."
"Oh, like manuals? Maybe you can help me out with some paperwork," Roberto half-jokingly said, pointing to a stack of old binders on a shelf. Danny was impressed that the mechanic knew what he studied.
"Umm...I could try," Danny replied, looking at the mechanic earnestly.
"I'm just messing with you, Danny. I'm sure you have big important projects to do." Roberto grinned. Danny was sure the mechanic could see how badly he was blushing. "Want me to check out your car?" Roberto asked, though it was clear he'd rather be checking out Danny.
The rest of the auto shop visit went quietly. Danny was rapidly developing an intense crush on Roberto, the most intense crush he'd ever had, and that made him clamp his mouth shut for most of the 15 minutes it took for the oil change, for fear of saying something completely embarrassing. He preferred to watch Roberto work, observing light and shadow play on his hairy forearms, his thick neck, and his wide, rippled back.
