Grease Monkey

In the mood to imagine Dean doing something inexplicably sexy? Well then, let The Objectifying Dean Team help you out with these series of one shots!

These are a series of One Shots written and posted separately by the individuals of The Objectifying Dean Team as doesn't allow joint posts. Check out entries from lostatc, DeansBabyBird, Bird2K and our mysterious 4th author... well, you can't check hers out yet as she hasn't posted. Watch this space!

Grease Monkey

The sound of the cicadas hangs in the heavy air, the heat making breathing an effort, as if sucking on sweet, soft syrup. Their rhythmic hum augments the occasional soft squeal of metal on metal as bolts are coaxed from their ancient beds by strong, experienced hands. Your eyes are transfixed by the image of long, long legs bent casually at the knee, as he lies on the low buggy beneath the old Chevrolet.

He is whispering to her. Words of love and encouragement that you have heard so many times before, and you glory, and blush, that those same words are sometimes for you. You feel the fire they generate as a ripple of pleasure through your prickling skin and you shudder remembering his touch like gentle lightning on your willing flesh.

He shifts his position on the dolly and you watch his thigh muscles tighten beneath hopelessly tattered jeans. His grease stained hands appear on the sill at the bottom of the open door and he pulls himself slightly further into your view. You want to gasp with pleasure as more perfection is revealed, but you bite your tongue so as not to give away your shamefully, voyeuristic presence.

His T shirt is filthy with dirt and oil and sweat making its once crisp white into something much less pure. You sigh slightly as it rides up when he straddles the dolly and drags it forward by back-heeling his boots into the soft dirt. Puffs of dust rise around his sweetly bowed legs and his flat abs glisten with a sheen of sweat that draws the fine grit to it, just as it draws your itching fingers.

He presses his heels further into the dirt and his hips thrust forward as he appears, inch by beautiful inch, from beneath the scuffed metal. You giggle and he smiles, knowing all the time that you were there.

His eyes are still dilated from the darkness beneath the car and you watch as his pupils react to the torrid sunlight and their darkness becomes the mischievous, soul-stealing emerald green that stills the breath in your chest.

He licks his lips. Full, soft lips that you have felt bruise with passion and ghost with tenderness and you know despite your best efforts you are pouting in return.

"Pass me a beer?"

He stretches his arm towards the box by your finely trembling leg and you dip into its welcome coolness and retrieve two bottles before replacing the lid on the oasis of tiny, melting icebergs. You step to his side.

He reaches up, squinting in the fierce, noonday sunlight, his skin burnished by the shimmering glow as he takes both the bottle and your hand pulling you down beside him into the soft, silken dust.

And the cicadas hum in the heat of the day.

Ends

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