Smarty

Baby, if you love me, take me to the gas station

a/n : hi lovies, this chapter contains swearing and implications of smut, please don't read if that triggers any of you, i want you to stay safe in ur own headspace <3

Vance works as a mechanic in the local gas station. The pay is good and the people are alright, but Vance doesn't talk much to his coworkers. They don't crowd him and they don't keep conversation with him, they just leave him to do his own thing. So, Vance doesn't ahve many friends, at work or outside work.

He has you, which makes things better. He makes you come along to the gas station and sit around, waiting for him to finish the shift. He's not allowed to invite friends or even his girlfriend into the garage, but that doesn't stop him. He doesn't care enough, can't be bothered with the hassle of hiding you. So, you just kinda lounge around in plain sight. Sometimes his coworkers will try to talk to you. Sometimes they ignore you altogether. Mostly, if the guys aren't working, they'll take a look at the tacky porn pictures on the wall; stick-thin women with blonde hair and big, fake boobs.

Vance doesn't bother looking at the pictures, ever. He has something better to occupy himself with. Sometimes, if the other guys leave to go grab lunch at the local diner where you really should be working, he'll take you into the back and have his way with you. It's relief for him. It takes the edge off his day, gets rid of the stress. He's always stressed, always wound tight like a torn kite, ready to burst at the worst moment. you can see the stress on his face, the frustration and irritation as he fusses over a customer's car. He wipes his hands down his work jeans, taints the denim with the tar-black mess.

"Cunt brings his car in, wants it fixed tonight." He spits, shakes his head at the car. "Dunno what that dumb bastard was doing. Engines near caramelized."

you glance at the car, arms folded over your chest, nose twitching. It reeks of gasoline and chemical produce, burning rubber and petrol. you wish Vance worked somewhere else at times, some place clean and pristine, a place that didn't reek of chemical waste. you wish Vance wouldn't insist on bringing you to his work when you have other things to be doing, but you would never tell him.

"What's wrong with it?" you ask, fidget over the short skirt you wore to combat the heat.

Vance ignores the question, and scratches his head instead. The rings on his fingers glint. He pulled a packet of fags out from his pocket and lit one. you stared at the cherry-red end of the cigarette as he smoked it, blew a ring from pink lips. You grow irked with him ignoring you in favour of the cigarette and stand up, no longer content to sit on the flat of an unused tire.

"Where you goin'?" Vance grumbles, stubs the cigarette underneath his heel.

"I need a drink." You say, sweating through the thin dress.

Vance is flushed, his face stained with soot. He swallows dryly and says, "grab me one too."

You roll your eyes and disappear into the back-room, door swinging behind you. you bend down to snatch two cokes from the mini-fridge and pop the cap against the counter. When you return, Vance is buried deep inside the front of the car, cussing. You leave the coke on the floor beside his feet and head back into the back-room, where the fan continues to flutter cool air around the room.

Vance's voice echoes throughout the silent garage. "Y/n? where are ya?"

you don't respond. you just let him find you. you let him walk into the back-room, slugging from his glass bottle, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. you press the cold glass of your own bottle against the side of your head and listen to the soft, panting sounds that escape his mouth. you lean against the counter, watch him with weak-lidded eyes, completely worn out with the heat.

Vance corners you, comes close but leaves enough distance between bodies. you arch your back into the counter and wait for him to say something, because you're so bored. you are skull-fucking bored, and Vance isn't helping. He's dragged you into his work for what reason? Company? Casual sex behind the counter?

you want casual sex, you want it so badly you burn with it. he hasn't touched you in two weeks. He's been busy, working all the time, working long hours. He can't climb in through your window anymore, your parents installed locks, and he can't come over. He's barred from the house, barred because someone pointed out the dark mark on your neck; the mark that has long since faded, because it's been too fucking long.

Vance swallows the last dregs of his drink, then tosses it into the little black bin. You feel his gaze on you, heavy as white-hot lead.

you glance up at him through your lashes, brush the curly blonde hair from his eyes. He leans into your touch, kisses the palm of your hand and forgets his rule, the rule that he won't kiss you anywhere except your mouth. Vance has grown softer since last time. He is sweeter now. Instead of sinking his teeth into your flesh, he leans down and licks at your lips with the tip of his tongue. you kiss him back, kiss him with chaste timidity, kiss him in a desperate bid to stoke the fire inside you.

Vance rests his mucky hands on your hips and lifts you onto the counter. He pulls you forward, flush against his chest, to let your feet dangle down. He licks his lower lip and kisses you, pushing his tongue into your mouth, as he wedges his thigh between your knees. you unbuckle his belt, let it fall slack to the floor with a clang. you reach inside his jeans and grasp him in your warm hand, smiling as you tighten your grip on his dick. Vance cups your chin between his thumb and forefinger, kisses you again. He spits on his dick and lines it up with your pussy, runs it along your slit.

You dig your nails into his skin as he pushes inside, breathing heavily like he is the one taking it deep. you tuck your arms over his shoulders, hip rolling clumsily towards him. His hips snap back, toned torso tightening. you tug at the cloth of his t-shirt, wanting him closer, needing him pressed up against you. Warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as little tendrils of pleasure permeate the air.

Vance grips you by the hips, keeps you in place with his bulk alone. He thrusts into you brusquely but his stubble doesn't scratch your cheek. He's clean-shaven and curly haired, big blue eyes and soft pink lips, tanned and toned and long-legged. He's beautiful for a boy. He's beautiful, and for that, you love and loathe him all at once.

Vance kisses you again, real sloppy, still sweet, always bitter-sweet when with him, as his hand circles your waist, dragging you closer. you press a kiss to the side of his face, kiss all over his face as he fills you to the brim. His other hand is under your chin, making you look at him, always wanting you to look at him. His fingers are dirty, and his hands leave bruises. Barring him from your house won't stop this, any of this.