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A Different Touch

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Steve wouldn’t exactly say he was nervous.

His skin itched in anticipation, need thrumming over him in a way that overwhelmed any nervousness. He adjusted the collar of his hand-me-down shirt and took a breath. Maybe he was nervous in an excited way? Regardless, the sun set over Brooklyn as he made his way the few blocks to the garage where the handsome mechanic worked...the mechanic whose pretty blue eyes made Steve’s skin begged to be touched.

He timed it perfectly so that the rest of the mechanics had gone home for the day by the time he approached the garage, with a single bay door open and a lone worker (just the one he was looking for, how ‘bout that?) milling around a gleaming Hudson Hornet.

Steve took a moment to just watch the man. His denim coveralls were open and the arms tied around his waist, leaving his top half covered in only a white tank top and grease smudges. And oh, how Steve loved those smudges. They were almost artistic, the way they were caught and smeared on various bits of fabric and muscle.

The mechanic faced away from Steve, whistling a merry tune as he clanked around. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his body from the cloying, late-summer heat. The haircut on the back of his neck was neatly trimmed, but Steve knew if the mechanic turned around, the front would be artfully styled in a rakishly handsome way.

The need in Steve grew from watch to touch and he couldn’t stay away any longer. He approached the open garage bay and knocked on the side of the metal frame. The mechanic turned around, brow furrowed.

“Hey, I’m real sorry, but we’re-” he cut himself off mid-sentence once he caught sight of Steve, giving a smirk that could only be described as lascivious. “Oh, hey.”

Steve loved that smirk. He got it every day he walked past the garage on the way to his shift at the news stand. It made his stomach twist with desire, which made his skin begged to be touched all the more.

“Sorry, I know you’re closed an’ all, but I was wonderin’ if you could help me?” Steve asked, walking into the garage.

The smirk faded as eyebrows raised. “Oh, yeah? Need somethin’ taken care of, pal?”

Steve blushed and his stomach twisted again. “Yeah, the hinges on my bedroom door squeak somethin’ awful. I thought ya might have some kinda oil here that would help.”

The mechanic’s eyebrows lowered and the smirk reappeared, this time accompanied by eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Well sure, we got all kinds’a oil here. But thing is, not all lubricants are the same. Hell, even some of the same kinds’a oil got different levels to ‘em.” He leaned back against the workbench, beautifully muscled arms crossed in front of his chest in a relaxed sort of confidence.

It drove Steve crazy. He stepped even closer, furrowing his brow in a show of confusion.  “So does that mean ya can’t help me?”

The mechanic hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, maybe not. Somethin’ tells me you don’t need it, though. Somethin’ tells me you got someone at home takin’ care of you, treatin’ you right. Makin’ sure you got all your needs met, squeaky hinges and all.”

Steve tried and failed to answer with a clever quip. He came here on a mission, and how he responded would determine whether he failed or succeeded. After a moment, he gathered himself and answered with, “It’s just me. And I might be good with my hands, but somethin’ tells me this requires a different touch than what I can do with my own.”

The mechanic’s smirk grew wider and he pushed himself away from the workbench and towards Steve. He stopped just a couple feet away, looking down at Steve with that smirk softened and eyes hungry, lit by the dim light bulb in the garage and the orange street lights outside.

“Somethin’ tells me you’re a crafty fella. You could deal with those hinges on your own,” the mechanic said quietly. “Why’d ya really come?”

This was it, this was the moment. Steve’s heart raced like a derby horse’s gallop, feeling entirely too big for his chest. He reached out for one of the mechanic’s strong arms, and placed the grease-smudged hand against the side of his neck.

“I told ya,” he said just as quietly. “I need a specific kind’a touch tonight.”

The mechanic drew in a shuddering breath, pulled away and strode past. Steve had a moment of confused rejection before he heard the rattle of a chain and the door to the garage bay closing and cutting them off from the outside world. He turned to see the mechanic prowling back toward him, cheeks pink and eyes full of hunger.

The mechanic stopped only when he and Steve were chest to chest, breathing heavily and staring at one another. He put a hand on the back of Steve’s neck and pulled his hair ever-so-slightly to tip Steve’s head back to look him more fully in the eye.

“Why’d you come here tonight?” the mechanic asked in a dangerous, low voice.

“I already told ya-”

No,” he growled. “No more double meanin’. Tell me exactly why ya came here tonight or I’m not doin’ a damn thing.”

Steve stared at him defiantly, an argument already on his tongue. But really, he came here on a mission, and to hell with his pride, the path of least resistance was to give the mechanic what he wanted. Steve stared a second longer before answering in the plainest possible terms. “I came to get fucked. I came for you, specifically, to fuck me and mark me up.”

The few moments of silence that came after his confession seemed to last an eternity.

“Well,” the mechanic said, tipping his head ever lower, “Turns out maybe I can help ya, after all.”

Steve rolled his eyes and huffed. “Jerk.”

The mechanic bumped his nose against Steve’s. “Punk.”

And then their lips met, ever so softly at first, and then crescendoing into a hungry, passionate thing. Steve itched to touch the mechanic, so he did. He dipped his fingertips below the hem of the grease-marked tank top, lightly tracing the abs underneath. Steve wanted more, so he pulled the hem up and they broke the kiss momentarily so the shirt could be discarded completely.

They came back together in another searing kiss, the mechanic tugging at Steve’s clothes and Steve was glad he’d worn stuff that was threadbare and old for just this purpose. The mechanic started sucking what would surely be some beautiful bruising into the base of Steve’s throat while unbuttoning his shirt and pants. Steve untied the coverall arms from around the mechanic’s waist and shimmied the coveralls and undershorts down around his knees.

As soon as Steve saw how hard the mechanic was, he dropped to his own knees, brain short-circuiting at the scene laid out for him. He looked up at the mechanic, whose kiss-swollen lips were wet and pink, whose eyes were blown wide with hungry lust, whose muscles gleamed with sweat and grease, whose dirty coveralls and work boots contrasted the smooth, clean skin recently uncovered, whose cock was rock-hard and breathtaking.

And it was all for Steve.

He just had to have a taste, so he leaned in and licked the the tip. The mechanic gasped, and Steve wrapped his lips around the head and gently bobbed until the cock was deep in his throat. He licked the underside while nosing at the base. The mechanic let out a groan and Steve repeated the process a few times until calloused hands tugged Steve off.

“That mouth feels so fuckin’ good, but ya didn’t come here for me to fuck your face, didja?”

Steve shook his head wordlessly as the mechanic helped him back to his feet and rid him of the rest of his clothes. Strong arms pulled him close and Steve took his turn sucking marks into the mechanic’s skin, any and everywhere he could reach. The mechanic, in turn, caressed the skin of Steve’s back before kneading his ass and dipping a finger between the cheeks and then let out a delighted laugh.

“You really did come here lookin’ t’get fucked! Looks like I’m not the only one who knows a thing or two ‘bout lube. All wet and open for me already, how ‘bout that.”

He gently traced two fingers over Steve’s hole and made Steve whimper and gasp as he easily dipped them in. Before Steve left the apartment he’d fingered himself open with a generous amount of Vaseline that had only gotten smoother and wetter with his body heat, and he felt wanton and desperate in the best way with how wet he was. The mechanic fingered him for a few minutes until Steve was gasping and on the verge of taking matters into his own hands, and then withdrew his fingers and swiped up some of the excess Vaseline and rubbed it over his own cock.

“God, so pretty for me. You got any idea how beautiful you are, all flushed and needy? You got any idea how bad I want to do this to you every morning when you walk by and smile at me?” The mechanic crooned lowly.

Steve moaned and reached up for a kiss, wrapping his arms around the mechanic’s shoulders. He was hoisted up, easy as you please, and wrapped his legs around the sturdy waist holding him.

The mechanic walked them the few paces to a clear spot on the wall, and pinned Steve’s waist to it, settling him just enough that Steve’s ass skimmed his cock. Steve tried to roll his hips down, but the mechanic’s strength kept him from lowering even an inch. The mechanic leaned in and kissed Steve’s face, the fine five o’clock shadow barely scratching Steve’s cheek.

“Why’d you come here?” he asked Steve in a husky whisper.

“God damnit, I done told you already, I came here for you to fuck me! If you could get to the main event, already!” Steve said impatiently.

The mechanic growled and nipped at Steve’s earlobe, holding him still as he tried to shimmy again. “Why me?

Steve looked into the mechanic’s face, whose blue eyes were still dark with desire, but also now an uncertain sort of curiosity. Steve softened, and threaded his fingers through the dark hair he so adored.

“Cuz, hand to god, I ain’t never seen nobody as beautiful as you. You’re charmin’, sure, but you’re quick as a whip, too. You make me smile, even on my worst days when it seems like the world is gonna crash down on me. And I ain’t never wanted anyone as much as I want you.”

The mechanic moved in an instant, capturing Steve’s lips while holding him against the wall momentarily with one arm so he could use the other to slide himself into Steve’s warm, welcoming heat.

They moaned simultaneously; Steve threw his head back, and the mechanic sucked another mark into the fair skin of Steve’s throat. Steve felt the pleasure of the mechanic’s intense, measured thrusts deep within his core, and it was all he could do to just hold on and feel.

The mechanic held him too tight and the wall against his back was hard and unyielding, but the roll of the mechanic’s hips was steady and it was all so, so perfect. Steve gasped at a particularly good angle and felt the mechanic grin against his skin.

“This what you wanted? Someone to give it to ya good, fuck you just right, treat you like the catch you are?”

Steve moaned, low and throaty, and his blush grew deeper. He tugged the mechanic’s face up and leaned in for a kiss, nipping at his lower lip and revelling in the gasp and hard thrusts it earned him.

Steve braced his forehead on the mechanic’s shoulder, staring down at their joined bodies and how his own cock was getting rubbed deliciously between them. He then took stock of the marks and smudges on his skin, all the little places the mechanic’s grease-laden fingerprints had claimed him, and the thought shot down his spine and made his stomach flutter in that wonderful way.

He wanted to own and claim the mechanic just as much as as the mechanic had owned and claimed him, so Steve laced his fingers through the dark hair again and pulled until the mechanic’s throat was laid bare for him and he started sucking vicious bruises into the mechanic’s adam’s apple and surrounding skin. Steve held his grip firm, and scratched marks into the mechanic’s back with his other hand, and the mechanic’s hips stuttered for a moment.

“Shit... fuck, feels so good, so good for me, nothin’ like you, doll…” the mechanic panted.

Steve growled and rolled his hips down to meet the thrusts, and felt his orgasm pooling at the base of his spine. “That’s right. Next time you see me walkin’ to work, you’re gonna think about fuckin’ me against this wall. Hell, everytime you see this wall you’re gonna think about it.”

The mechanic nodded erratically. “Only gonna be able to think of you on my cock when I’m in the garage, but that’s nothin’ new, is it? God, what you do to me, got no idea, do ya? Got me all twisted up…”

Steve released his hold on the mechanic’s hair, who dipped to tuck his face in Steve’s neck as he gripped tighter and thrust harder. Steve thought he might be nearing the approach of heaven, was sure he was going to hear the Hallelujah Chorus any second for how good it felt.

A few more rolls of hips, a bit more sweaty friction, and there it was: Steve’s overpowering orgasm, the mechanic’s gasping moans set against the choir chords echoing in his brain, the unmistakable feeling of being used and satisfied and loved in the best possible way.

A few seconds later, the mechanic set Steve down, the muscles in his arms just as shaky as Steve’s legs. They slumped together on the floor against the wall, and Steve nestled against the mechanic’s chest as strong arms wrapped around him and tender fingers carded through his hair. He kissed the chest that held a heart racing as hard as his, and settled.

After a few minutes, Steve broke the comfortable silence.

“Hey, Buck?”


“Happy anniversary.”

Bucky gave him a squeeze, and kissed the top of his head.

“Happy anniversary, Stevie.”