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bury me low

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It was just his luck to break down in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, on his way to a presentation in California. Shiro glanced at his watch impatiently, waiting for the tow truck to drag car and driver alike, to the nearest mechanic in this desert wasteland.

Shiro felt out of place in his dress slacks and white button up shirt which was already patchy with sweat spots. The lack of cool air-conditioned car already making its mark. Shiro had shed his suit jacket and tie, his favorite one, with little astronauts suspended in space, a while ago. When the tow truck finally pulled up, half past in the afternoon, Shiro’s damp shirt was beginning to stick.

The man that jumped out was huge. Shiro wouldn’t consider himself small by any means, but the driver that hooked his car up and took his insurance information, towered over Shiro and wore his hair in a braid long enough to reach his lower back.

It must have been something in the water, because when they reached the shop, Kolivan, the driver hadn’t introduced himself, Shiro had to read it from a half-smeared name-tape, wasn’t the only giant there. Several of the mechanics milling around seemed to loom larger than life.

Shiro was taken to the front desk by a serious, but soft-spoken man, just as tower-tall as the rest, named Ulaz. “We’ll take a look at what the damage is, shouldn’t take longer than an hour or two, where are you headed?” He asked.

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck in tempered frustration, “California, I was hoping to be there some time tonight, but that’s starting to look unlikely, just my luck,” he grinned, but Ulaz showed no sign of joining Shiro in his deprecating mirth at his terrible bad luck.

“Well, most likely no, you probably won’t be in California tonight, perhaps tomorrow, if we have all the parts on hand.” Ulaz stated, and then left, leaving Shiro in the waiting area, at a loss for where things had gone so wrong.

Things had not gone all wrong, not when a boy with a heart-break face comes into Shiro’s line of sight. Shiro might have been staring, might have been eating his heart out, when he caught sight of one of the mechanics, or what he assumed was a mechanic. He was probably half the age, and half the height, of all the others in the shop.

He had raven dark hair, brushing his shoulders and walked into the waiting area like all of Shiro’s worst-best dreams. He was as equally dirty and smudged with grease as the others, but he was the kind of alluring that lured men to death willingly, more attractive than anything else Shiro had ever laid august-eyes on.



Keith was the kind of boy that begged to be taken apart. Shiro dug his fingers into firm thighs, leaving behind finger-shaped bruises and little pieces of his heart.

Keith moaned, head tilted to the side so cheek and back were pressed up against the side of the car. Shiro dug blunt teeth into slender neck. His hands, one flesh, one mechanical, ran up to grip sweet hips. Keith ground down, panting. It was easy to take a finger and push thin cloth to the side, exposing Keith’s slit and making him shiver.

Arms tightened around his neck, nails scratching across his shoulders and leaving Shiro marked in a way that said he’d been claimed. He groaned and lined up his cock up only for Keith to wriggle and sink down hard and fast, once he felt the tip against his folds, leaving them both winded and gasping, breathing heavy. Shiro caught Keith’s lips in a deep, bruising kiss, helpless to run a reverent hand around and up Keith’s sweat damp, supine body and up to pink nipples and a soft chest. Keith rolled his hips, thighs squeezing tight on either side of Shiro’s hips and locking his legs tight around Shiro. It was an ecstasy Shiro would die with clutched in his hand, Keith’s eyes hooded low, with each little thrust Shiro was powerless to make deep into Keith’s cunt.

Keith was soaked where Shiro’s dick met the slick slide of Keith’s pussy, high whines caught in his throat. Shiro punched out little soft sounds from Keith with every thrust up and dug fingers into soft flesh. Keith begun breathing heavier, signaling his rising pleasure and Shiro pulled out, moved to lay Keith across a sun warmed hood and trailed nips and kisses down between Keith’s thighs. He drove his tongue deep and enjoyed the feeling of Keith’s legs tightening around his head. It felt a deep, heady taste in his mouth and Shiro sucked hard on Keith’s clit, eliciting lovely cries and tremors from Keith.

Shiro had already been hard before they started tearing off clothing, his cock strained the more Keith moaned in pleasure.

Keith reached down to grip Shiro’s hair tight in a vice-like grip, thighs squeezing impossibly tighter, before they abruptly fell open and Keith had to push Shiro’s mouth away from his oversensitive pussy with his foot, nose scrunched and brows drawn close, breathes coming out labored, but satisfied.

Shiro rose back up above Keith, eyes glued to Keith’s lax form underneath him. He pumped his cock one, two, three times before releasing over Keith’s stomach and resting his forehead on one of Keith’s shoulders.  

Keith gave a small noise of protest when Shiro ran his fingers through the mess, but sucked on the fingers Shiro brought to his mouth anyways. Shiro was a dead man, bought Keith was kind enough to bring him back each time.



Maybe it was a tad excessive to make the two hour drive to some mechanic located out in the hot and dry southwest of the desert, but when Keith bent at the waist, dirty coveralls tied off by the arms, to take a look at the pristine perfect interior, or when he stooped low, toned arms stretched and wife-beater rucked up to expose baby-soft skin on his stomach, Shiro felt no regrets what-so-ever.

Keith was an anomaly. Half the height and weight of nearly all the other rag-tag mechanics at Marmora’s, he always had smears of grease or dirt smudged on his face, arms, and clothing. He barely said a word, fine red mouth always creased the same way hips brows were when Shiro came traipsing in, the way he did for every check-up, oil change, scheduled and non-scheduled maintenance, just to catch glimpse, to let his eyes wander over and over.

Keith came back to the front, the ever-present pout and furrowed brow look that swept the rug from right under Shiro’s feet every time. His hair was coming loose from the short ponytail he’d had it in when Shiro came in that morning.

“Did you need anything else, Mr. Shirogane? I found some damage in the carburetor, this is the third time, you may want to keep a better eye on your car,” Keith perked an eyebrow, Shiro blushed.

Perhaps Shiro should have switched it up a little more, but Keith was the kind of boy that made it hard to think straight. Not that Shiro was ever straight. He was definitely hard though.

“Yeah,” Shiro trailed, Keith gave a look that said a multitude of things, of which one was probably that he knew Shiro’s game and wasn’t playing it. Except, Shiro was the only one being played here, and Keith had no idea he was the one pulling the strings.

“Anyway, I assume you want the bill to the card you have on file?”

Shiro nodded dumbly. Keith’s lashes were so long, stood out stark against the deep tan on his cheeks when lowered. His lips spit slick and bright red where he’s chewed on them.

Shiro swallowed hard.

Keith glanced up through his eyelashes at Shiro, “Would you like to take it for a test run, Mr. Shirogane?”

It felt like all the moisture in Shiro mouth decided to leave at that exact moment, his voice scratchy and dry when he said yes.

Looking back, it was easy to see where everything came to a head. Keith slide into the passenger seat, grease scrubbed clean and a new pair of coveralls pulled on, not nearly as grimy as the previous pair.

“Don’t want to stain the seats,” Keith said, and Shiro only nodded as he pulled out of the driveway.

Shiro drove aimlessly, taking direction whenever Keith told him to turn here or there. Eventually he turned to look at Keith questioningly when he came to the end of an isolated dirt road. Something about serial killers and dying abandoned out in the middle of the desert crossed his mind, until he saw the look Keith gave him.

Shiro’s car was pretty spacious, Shiro was a large man, but when Keith leaned over to turn off the ignition, looking at Shiro with a heat that made Shiro’s slacks feel just the wrong side of too tight, suddenly the inside of the car felt suffocating.

“Come outside and enjoy the view,” Keith slide out and Shiro followed helplessly. The sky was more black than blue at this hour, the stars visible in a way they could never be in the middle of the city. The breeze felt foreign, and Keith looked at home, perched on the hood, booted feet crossed at the ankles, leaning back on his hands lazily, Keith looked like home.

He glanced over where Shiro was still staring, eyes softening, lips quirked in a small, private smile. Keith could bring men stronger than Shiro to their knees, but Shiro would go willingly, would always go willingly.