incognoscibilis | I know you're always on the night shift

"Fuck you, don't judge me," Ronan says though the only heat in his tone is decidedly nothing to do with any sort of irritation.

His lips are still curled into a smirk and he slides his hand up the plane of Adam's chest to find the top button and zip of his coveralls, dragging it down slowly as he rests his other hand on Adam's hip. "So is that a no then?" he asks, pressing in close and ducking into Adam's neck and breathing in the scent of sweat and grease and hard work.

"Did you hear me say no?" Adam says. It's an absurd thing to ask especially given how careful they are, how much a clear yes means to both of them after a lifetime of having everything out of their control.

But Ronan's also right up against Adam's neck in a way that makes him feel over-aware of his own skin.

"Might be," Ronan says, though he doesn't back away at all, instead pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the soft skin of Adam's neck as he sneaks a hand inside the parted fabric of Adam's coveralls, smoothing over the t-shirt just beneath, fingertips curling to slide the cotton up slightly though he doesn't touch bare skin at all.

It's still not a yes, not yet, but Ronan knows well enough now the ways in which Adam says no even unspoken and he takes two steps forward, backing Adam up against the wall as his drags his lips up to the curve of Adam's jaw. "We can go home if you want," he promises, but he tilts his hips then too and presses close so Adam feel the length of him against his hip.

Adam lets out a shaky breath and tilts his head backward, acquiescing to the kisses along his throat and jaw. The thing is that he knows Ronan's serious. As hard as Ronan's dick is, as warm as Adam feels under his coveralls, if Adam said they had to go, Ronan would do it.

And that makes this okay.

"I already turned off the security cameras, Ronan. You might as well follow through," he says. Leaned back against the wall, he shifts up one leg, hooking it around Ronan.

It isn't exactly an enthusiastic response; it's barely even a yes, but the slide of Adam's leg around his is nothing but inviting and it's all Ronan needs.

His hips rock down against the press of Adam's pelvis, his cock hard through his jeans as he founds Adam's mouth, growling into the warm, wet heat he's been craving for hours as he shoves his hand further down Adam's coveralls, finally getting his fingertips beneath the thin fabric of Adam's shirt, bunching it up his side to get to the skin beneath.

His skin feels too hot at every point of contact and Adam breathes in sharply but he also tugs Ronan closer with his leg. "How long have you been planning this?" he asks before cutting off Ronan's answer with another kiss, just to be difficult.

Adam doesn't actually give him opportunity to reply, sealing off his lips with a kiss. Ronan laughs into it, shifting enough to pull his hand out so he can instead shove at the fabric covering Adam's shoulders, trying to shove it down and off his arms.

He has to break the kiss when Adam's shoulders prove too broad to let the fabric off easily and he's grinning as he does. "Haven't planned shit," he admits, finally getting the damn sleeves past Adam's elbows and then wrists, the top half of those coveralls dropping at Adam's waist. "Wanting isn't the same thing as planning, Parrish," he says as he slips his hands under Adam's shirt again and leans in, holding him against the wall.

Adam shrugs out of the coveralls to help Ronan, unable to keep the grin off his own face. What they're doing is so monumentally foolhardy and absurd and Adam can't even give himself any reason to object. It's been a long day and Ronan's hands are all over him and the pure stupidity of it only makes him want it more.

"How long have you been wanting this then?" he asks, grinning at Ronan and feeling very cheeky about it.

There's no struggle in Adam's movements, his arms slipping easily from the fabric as Ronan ducks in against his neck and slips his hands up under Adam's shirt. No struggle or objection, but aside from the hook of Adam's leg around his own, Adam has yet to touch him.

Ronan backs off just a little, resting his hands on Adam's sides. "I don't know. As long as you've worked in a fucking garage?" he says, thumbs smoothing over the just of Adam's hipbones. "I've been the very fucking picture of restraint if you think about it."

The touch to his hips is a relatively small thing, all gentle caution in the midst of Ronan coming over all feral and horny. The contrast of it hums under Adam's skin and he puts a hand on top of one of Ronan's, fingertip making a similar motion over his wrists. He loves Ronan's hands and all they're capable of.

Adam sighs out and lifts Ronan's hand to his mouth, kissing the wrist and then further along his forearm.

Adam rests a hand atop one of Ronan's, fingers grazing over his skin, callused fingertips light over his wrists. It's gentle and yet still does little to calm the feverish itch in Ronan's belly. But he forces himself still, even as Adam lifts that hand to his mouth, pressing soft lips to soft skin.

Biting back a groan, the grip Ronan has on Adam's hip tightens and then relaxes just as swiftly, fingertips slipping shallowly below the waistband of Adam's boxers.

"You never thought about it?" Ronan asks then, his voice low, catching slightly as Adam's lips trailer higher and Ronan turns his wrist enough to brush the strands of Adam's hair with his fingers.

"Guess I got so used to the place, I never thought about the appeal," he says. Adam laughs and turns to kiss Ronan's mouth now, wrapping an arm around him so that it's easier to shimmy a little, let the coveralls droop further off his hips. Even if Ronan is taking his sweet time, Adam doesn't see a reason to stay in this suit when he feels fever hot, arousal obvious in his boxers.

"You never told me you had some greasy mechanic fantasy going on." It sounds both ridiculous and sordid to put it in those words and he drops his head back a little to laugh. "God, I would've come home dirty if I knew." More laughter because that also sounds stupid.

Talking dirty is not his area of expertise.

Adam's laugh is a low rumble against Ronan's mouth at first and he squirms just enough that the coveralls fall past his hip, making it easier for Ronan to slip a hand beyond the waistband of his shorts, fingers skimming over his hipbone.

He lets out a low growl when that laugh turns brighter and he leans in to the stretch of Adam's neck, hiding his own smirk there.

"Fuck you, Parrish, it's hot," he says and he slides his hand inward, cupping his palm against Adam's bare cock. "And it feels like you're pretty fucking into it."

Adam hisses softly, hips squirming him forward into Ronan's touch. He tries not to whine, to give away just how much new interest he has in the business of fucking at the garage. Ronan overwhelms all of his senses and Adam forgets anything about being embarrassed.

When Ronan curses, Adam raises his eyebrows, smiling a small challenge. Where he sounds silly speaking, Adam can convey more desires in an expression, in the faintest smirk. Ronan seems eager to have him and Adam is eager to give, especially with the news from the clinic.

Adam shifts against him, arching forward slightly against Ronan's hand. It's all the evidence Ronan needs despite all Adam's protesting and he pulls back enough to hook the fingers of both hands into the waistband of Adam's boxers and start dragging them down, pulling the fabric just enough to free the length of Adam's cock.

He flashes a grin then, just a faint quirk of his lips before he lowers himself to his knees. The coveralls and the boxers are stuck around Adam's thighs and Ronan's happy to leave them there; he has more than enough room to wrap his lips around Adam's dick, sucking just at the head, tonguing lightly at the slit. Teasing.

Adam groans and he means to protest but the words don't quite make it. Ronan's still fully dressed and Adam looks a rumpled mess already, legs spread but not wide enough with the coveralls to limit his movement. With Ronan's hands on him too. Adam makes himself look down and then has to look away again or else he'll lose it right there.

Ronan knows him too well by now, knows how to drive him wild. One of Adam's hands curls at the base of Ronan's skull, fingers tangling in the growing mohawk.

Adam's hands rest at the back of Ronan's neck for a moment then slide upward, long fingers curling tight in the strands of Ronan's mohawk. It's a new sensation, one he's still getting used to, the slight tug sending heat straight down his spine as he sinks his mouth lower onto Adam's cock, tongue pressed flat along the underside as he gives a low, appreciative hum.

The smell of motor oil and dirt and Adam fills his nostrils and he curls one hand tight around Adam's upper thigh as he starts to move, glancing up to see Adam's head tipped back.

"Ronan," he says, putting a thousand hungry, begging words into just his name. It's a sort of perfect torture to have someone who has him memorized, who knows exactly what to do to make Adam come apart and then not do it, just to make him squirm with need.

"Don't wanna...Shit...Don't make me come like this. Not yet."

Adam moans his name, a throaty aching sound that even after a year of this, after countless evenings and mornings and afternoons spent together almost just like this, it still makes Ronan ache in the best way. He answers with his own moan, stifled as it is by the girth of Adam's cock in his mouth and he pulls back a moment later, lips bruised. He replaces his mouth with his hand, stroking Adam from base to tip, the slide made easier with spit and pre-come as he grins up at Adam from his spot on the floor.

"How do you wanna come then?" he asks, his voice a low tease and lips brushing the tip of Adam's cock as he squeezes out and licks away another bead of pre-come.

He can feel the vibrations of Ronan's throat and Adam covers his face with his hand, trying to steady himself without any luck. The sight of Ronan, lips swollen and eyes glassy, only yanks further on his fraying control.

For a second, he just pants, unable to get a handle of his words, for which he gives Ronan an accusatory look. An attempt at one, anyway.

"You didn't come all the way here to tell me about the clinic results for us not to fuck," he says, trying for an ounce of Ronan's curse-laden swagger.

Ronan can't help a smirk at that, partially from the way Adam's trying to hold himself together, but mostly for his exasperation.

He presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Adam's length then, feeling the throb of that vein against his lips before licking a broad strip up to the tip once more. "Doesn't mean you can't come on me first," he points out, curling his fingers around the base of him and slowly stroking up to the tip as he rests back a bit.

Adam hisses in a breath and tries and fails to give Ronan a stern look. "You have got a lot of faith in my abilities," he says, as if Ronan doesn't have exactly the knowledge of how long and how to get him hard again after he comes.

"Sure you'll last that long?"

"Questioning my stamina, Parrish?" he asks with a low, throat laugh, his hand still working over Adam's length and lips barely kissing the tip with each upward stroke.

He quirks a grin then, his rhythm unchanging as he settles his other hand high up on Adam's waist, steadying him. "Trust me, I've been aching to get inside you for hours. Think I can hold off for a little bit longer."

It's the tease of his mouth that makes him squirm. They barely count as kisses and Adam's skin remembers the wet heat of Ronan's mouth. He aches and grinds forward against the gentle press of Ronan's hand.

"Holding you to it, Ronan," he says, tugging gently at the mohawk again.

It's rare that Adam asks for anything, a fact that holds true even in these moments. But body betrays him, hips arching forward against Ronan's hand, seeking out that little bit of friction. And Ronan gives it to him, stroking his fist over that hot, hard flesh before sinking his mouth down onto him again with a hungry groan.

In the short time Ronan's had this haircut, he's come to learn how much he loves the way Adam's fingers curl in the strands, the heat that rockets down his spine at every tug. It pulls a gasp from him this time, the sound muffled by Adam's cock in his mouth and he sinks down further, relaxing his throat as much as he's able before pulling back again, starting a quick, hungry rhythm.

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