Michael Guerin Week Day 1
Michael was just about nearing the end of his rope. He’d been bent over an engine that he was sure he’d fixed just last week, but somehow, Mrs. Bayson kept managing to break it down. She was a lean woman who always dressed like she was going to a fancy dinner party, but she seemed to have no other plans than to spend the day watching Michael slave away over her car in the scorching heat.
Michael had just barely managed to keep his shirt on because of the eyes that he always felt raking his body, but it was so drenched in sweat now that he might as well have not been wearing a shirt at all.
“Do you need a drink, cowboy?” Mrs. Bayson crooned from where she sat in the shade of the trailer, long legs stretched out in front of her. She held up her icy drink. “You can have a sip of my lemonade.”
No, thanks, Michael almost said, his jaw clenched. I think I’d rather drink lava.
“I’m good,” was all he said, not bothering to turn around or face the woman who’d been openly ogling him for the past several hours. Or minutes. He never knew. With her, time seemed to stretch on forever.
Then he heard a car drive into the junkyard, and he shut his eyes, exasperated. Every so often, Mrs. Bayson would invite her friends over so that they could watch Michael together, and he’d hoped today would be an exception. He was already exhausted, sweating, and he’d woken up to his bed empty because his husband had already gone off for work before dawn. He was not in the mood for anyone else stripping him with their eyes.
He kept working, hoping that whoever it was would ignore him. Then Mrs. Bayson breathed, “Wow.”
Michael raised a brow and looked up, wondering what could give the rich housewife such a reaction. As soon as he saw who it was, he understood, and a smile came to his lips.
Alex glanced with a raised brow at Mrs. Bayson as he approached Michael, hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”
Michael felt like a window had opened to his chest and cool, fresh air blew in. The tension in his stomach loosened at once, and he felt like he could breathe.
“What’re you doing here?”
Alex shrugged. “I finished work early and I missed you.” He said it so casually that Michael had to stop and marvel at whether or not this truly was his life. He found he’d been doing that a lot since marrying Alex. He saw Alex cast another glance at Mrs. Bayson, who was openly ogling them both now like they were some kind of buffet, and he shook his head slightly as if to ask, How long’s she been here?
Michael told Alex everything, so it only stood to reason that he would see Mrs. Bayson and quickly put together who she was. He wanted to weep with relief. He didn’t care who else was there, so long as Alex stood close by to protect him.
“Stay with me, will ya?” he murmured, glancing darkly at the woman himself.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Alex said, though his eyes had turned to Mrs. Bayson, this time narrowed in thought. He was watching her like she was a particularly annoying recruit that he was trying to figure out how to teach who was boss.
Mrs. Bayson must’ve mistaken his look, however, for admiration because she lifted a shoulder, her sleeve slipping down, and held up her lemonade.
“My drink is open to either one of you boys,” she smiled.
Alex chuckled darkly, in a way that he did not often do and which had Michael both turned on and fearing for whoever was on the other side of it.
“I don’t think so,” he said quietly enough that only Michael could hear, and then he turned to Michael, pulled him in by his neck, and crashed their mouths together.
“Mmh!” Michael moaned, startled, but let the wrench drop from his hand as Alex wrapped an arm around his waist and slid his other up Michael’s shirt. Michael gasped, and Alex took the chance to push his tongue in, tasting Michael everywhere. He pushed him against the car, their hips grinding, and Michael groaned, all the tension he’d had throughout the day burning down to lust and want and need in his gut.
Alex didn’t seem to care he was covered in sweat, kissing him like he wanted to lick every inch of him clean. Michael wanted to let him, lie down here and spread his legs and let Alex do whatever he wanted to him.
But Alex was already pulling away too soon, a line of spit connecting their mouths, and he looked over his shoulder.
Mrs. Bayson was no longer smiling, her scowl stretching wide and Michael could’ve sworn he saw her say, What a waste.
Alex stepped back casually, but not too far away, returning his hands to his pockets. Mrs. Bayson no longer seemed in the mood to watch her car get fixed, and she had someone pick her up with a demand that the engine be ready by tomorrow.
Michael turned to Alex, grinning, and Alex gave him a wink. “All that to save me?”
“That,” Alex shrugged, and stepped closer, running his finger over Michael’s lips, “and I don’t like anyone else staring at my husband’s ass.”
Michael bit his lower lip, eager. “You jealous, baby?”
“Jealous of what?” Alex scoffed, pulling Michael in again and dragging a hand up his shirt, bunching it up to his chest. “Nobody else gets you but me.”
Michael nodded, hazed and in love. “Nobody else,” he repeated almost dreamily.
Alex grinned. “Good boy.”
I forgot about this, so I will be attempting to post three fics today to catch up.
