Alpha Dog Syndrome. || AU Mikyle vs. AU Shantor
Summer was coming to a close. The heat of August made Michael’s clothes cling to him, but by now he was all too used to pulling his track jacket off and tossing it aside, far too content in a wife beater than he’d ever been in his life. His jeans were still too tight, hugging his thighs and calves, but he could ignore it and he’d let himself take his sneakers off to curl his toes in the grass. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see Michael sitting in a white lawn chair, beer shoved between his thighs as his arms hung beside him comfortably. In fact, it was a very likely sight to see him with Kyle on the front lawn of the mans garage. He wasn’t sure if it was becoming tradition but if he wasn’t with the girls or Doug White, Michael was picking up two six packs and taking them to Kyle’s to sit and enjoy drinks with the man as the day bled to night and he had to stumble back to his motel, not drunk but definitely feeling good.
Michael was used to this by now, but even then, it was comfortable, but nice. Not worn out. Like he could do it a hundred times over and it’d be just as nice as it was now. His legs were thrown in front of him, the barbeque still smoking slightly from just being put out, steaks already devoured by either men. Michael’s hair wasn’t done and his jeans were unbuttoned and for the first time in a long time he was in front of someone he didn’t feel the need to impress—which was why the friendship that seemed to happen between them felt so nice. Michael’s eyes flickered over to Kyle and he watched beads of sweat slide down his neck and quickly took a sip of his beer. Even if he couldn’t deny the ultimate attraction to the man, which was really fucking hard to ignore, it wasn’t Kyle’s looks that attracted him to sit and drown beers and bullshit all night. It was just that the little slumbering lonely beast inside his chest didn’t wail so loudly when he was in the Southerners company. And that was nice.
Michael finished his beer and quickly yanked another one out of his six pack. He’d gotten two so each of them could get properly buzzed with six beers to themselves. But he wasn’t too far in, and he was pacing himself—making it last longer before he had to go home and possibly masturbate to the idea of being strangled. That was just dull and pathetic compared to trying to tell bad joke after bad joke to get Kyle to laugh or even see a smile twitch to his face. “School’s going to be starting soon,” Michael said as he cracked the tab of the beer and quickly sipped it to get the foam that appeared at the top. He smacked his lips appreciatively, something uncharacteristic of a man who tried so hard to keep appearances in front of other people. “And then my training is going to drop a bit and the girls will be focusing on school more,” Michael scratched the back of his head and wondered if Kyle even cared about what he was talking about. He decided he didn’t care and just wanted to speak and hear his own voice anyway.
“You still going to take my to my first ever real high school foot ball game?” Michael asked, laughing as he took another sip of his beer and sighing when he found it had lost it’s chill. Should have brought ice. Michael had asked Kyle to at the beginning of summer. Christ, that was three months ago and he couldn’t believe he actually knew the other man that long. Or that he’d stayed in the small town for three whole months without trying to seduce someone back to his motel room and fucking them, but that might lead to things he didn’t want and for once in his life, he was trying really hard not to fuck all of this up. “School starts September Eighth. I only know because the girls are, like really excited about senior year, Coach Check.” Michael imitated one of their voices, high pitched and girlish and then shrugged. He was home schooled and never saw the appeal of high school in the first place. “And then I think the first match is a couple months after. I even watched a few of their old games with Doug White just because he somehow managed to get me into his house to watch one.” Granted, Doug was drunk and afterward he cried until Michael managed to drag the giant into bed and sooth him to sleep by rubbing his back up and down. And Michael was really thankful that the man either didn’t remember it or just didn’t mention it.
“Anyway,” Michael cleared his throat. “You still owe me that game. Just one, I promise I wont make you come out to another one,” Michael said, who, by now, could figure out that Kyle didn’t seem to much enjoy company unless they were at a bar. “Hey, why was the baby strawberry crying?” Michael asked, listening to the rumble of something broken in the background, but ignoring it because he was drinking and nothing could interrupt that, right? “His parents were in a jam,” he snickered, throwing his head back to look at the sky, that was slowly turning to night.
Kicked up dirt and a soft rumbling in the distance distracted Kyle from Michael’s jibes. The noise was too familiar to him, an engine that hadn’t been treated well, ready to break and show it’s owners the consequences of their ill maintenance. Picking up the beer he had dropped, he sat it on the ground, ready to come back to it when the new strangers went on their way. Eyes shaded with his greasy left hand, the mechanic stood to get a better look at the tourists, their position evident by the car they drove and the pale white of their skin. A man, bigger than him, but most likely the same build had Kyle expended his energy for more than his job.
From the moment he saw the tall blond in front of him, Kyle could feel dislike growing. As if he had bile entering his veins, poisoning him. Something about the way he stood, a youthful arrogance that the man who had once stolen a car out of hate, knew far too well. Resentment for someone who probably didn’t have to reign himself in. With that haircut and clothes, the boy asking for his assistance would never be handcuffed and thrown in jail for speeding. He could ruin his engine doing two hundred per hour and just get a warning. It was a different kind of dislike to the one he first had with Michael. Even though his friend was probably far more privileged than the frat boy in front of him.
“That’s me,” he called out across the dust. Regardless of how much he already hated this guy and the gangly looking kid that hopped out of the passenger side of the car, they were still going to be customers. Customers he desperately needed if he was going to have any chance of paying the bank that month. “Only mechanic in town that knows how to do shit,” he said, standing next to Michael. “Problem though,” he walked forward, hand still shading his eyes, stopping when he found the height of the taller man over shadowing him. “I’ve had one too many to work on your engine, and from the sound of that rattle we heard when you were half a mile away, i’m going to have to order some parts from Santa Fe,” he explained.
Waving his right hand, he indicated they should follow him into the garage, before giving a little wink to Michael. “You coming?” he asked the gymnast, patting him on the shoulder as he made his way behind the desk. Dust had covered the blue melamine, falling into the crevasses and ruining the pages of his notebook. “So,” he stated, blowing as much of the dust off as he could. “Standard fee is $150 for me to look at it, then once i’ve assessed, we’ll see where it goes from there,” he wrote the figures down in his book, eyes darting up to see whether they had even bothered to follow him. “Need your details too, if you want my help,” he stared them down. Kyle never was a fan of the small town, small talk mentality.