✔️The Greaser and the Skirtchaser [18+]

2. First Time Fooling Around (M)

TW: Mild Dubious Consent

He walked into the mousetrap, but he was starting to feel like a jerk for taking the cash. The poor guy couldn't even haggle. "Why are you shelling out that much dough for a tip like that? The paint would eventually go away even if you don't wash it."

"Not just a little paint. And my ma would raise hell about it if she found out." Vance rummaged in his cupboards for a bottle of olive oil while also making a cup of coffee for him. When landed in front of him, Blake could smell that it wasn't the cheap, gritty crap.

Looking around, they had quite the cozy place here. The place smelled like fresh bread and whatever tea someone was brewing in here. There were happy family photos, embroidered pillows, and not a beer bottle in sight. Must be a dream here, Blake thought. "Thinks her precious little boy is getting up to trouble?"

He could spot the red ears from here. "Watch it."

The taste of black coffee was a familiar thing to Blake, but it tasted a little different sitting in this wooden chair on top of a handmade cushion and drinking out of a faded red mug that was lighter on the handle. He ventured, "You got sugar?"

Vance placed a ceramic jar of sugar in front of him.

Blake grinned. "Thanks."

He only hummed in acknowledgment as he finally placed a half-empty bottle of olive oil next to a bottle of dish soap on the dining table. "Are these fine?"

"Yep. Two or three rounds should—"

His front door creaked open.

He dropped his voice and dragged Blake out of his chair. "Shit! My ma's home."

Vance pulled him into a hallway like he weighed nothing. As he got stuffed into a tiny bathroom, Blake snapped, "What's that got to do with me?"

"How am I gonna explain why a punk like you is in the house?"

Blake looked down like he'd find anything other than the only slightly paint-splattered bomber jacket and white t-shirt he was wearing. "This is hardly punk-like."

When he looked up, Vance had stripped off his shirt. There was a mess of blue paint scribbled all over his chest and even the neck, and the skin around it was all raw and pink from scrubbing. Blake forgot all about everything while he openly ogled Vance. It clearly showed that this boy did nothing but work on cars all day; he was more stacked than some of the girls Blake had been with. Now, he didn't really care all that much about size, but this was... a plus.

"Stop staring!" he said hushed and embarrassed, and if Blake was being honest, in a really hot way.

"Vance?" his mom called from the kitchen. "Are you home?"

"Yes, I'm taking a shower!" he called back with noticeable affection.

"Mama's boy, huh?"

"Shut up."

A clatter of bags hit the counter. "You left your coffee out! And look at the state of this kitchen! Dai, there's been a topolino in here!"

She laughed at whatever she'd said, but it didn't stop her from scolding Vance for the state of the kitchen. It was awfully funny listening to a greaser get laid out by his mom while rubbing himself down with olive oil. Judging by the red creeping up his face, Vance didn't agree.

"You gotta rub harder than that," Blake pointed out once Vance got to the dish soap.

"I'm going as hard as I can," he retorted quietly.