Hello! For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, there's been quite an absence of my fics on here, and for that, I'm very sorry! I have been writing, quite a lot actually, but I've been posting all my fics on my Tumblr account and neglecting this one a little! I'm very sorry! If you would like to read more of my fics when I post them, rather than me forgetting to re-upload them here, definitely go check out my Tumblr which is on my profile for you! If you like this fic, Like and Reblog it on Tumblr as well~! All my fics are organised by pairing in the 'Fic Master Collection' link on my blog! Big smooches, and sorry for the delay in fics!

This fic was a prompt from Tumblr when I was taking requests. If you would like to submit a prompt for me to fill, I do open requests at random times on my Tumblr, so go check them out there, as not all prompts will be uploaded to my Fanfiction account!

Fresh faced American boyfriends in the 1950's—good golden boy Alfred with a bad boy Greaser Tommy. I tend to use that name and Al interchangeably, but I lean towards Tommy as my personal favourite! I do hope you enjoy the fic! Smooch smooch!

Lazily hooded eyes watched the way his boyfriend handed out flyers, all bright smiles and kind words, voice light and friendly to the passerby. Tommy was slouched against the hood of his car, old and rusted around the fender, skinny and long and coloured a faded black, desperately in need of a paint job.

"Hey there, stud muffin!" he called out once the flow of people had trickled to a halt, leaving the crossing empty, Alfred jumping in surprise at the cat call that followed, "What a babe! Bring them thunder thighs over here and spread 'em over my hood won't ya?"

A dark blush erupted along the American's cheeks, spreading quickly across his whole face, along his ears and down his neck. Despite his crush on his now boyfriend, he still couldn't handle the blatant and lewd talk.

"T-Tommy, stop that!" he gasped out, glancing back and forward to make sure no one had overheard, that no one would approach with hateful slurs on their tongue, "We're in public."

Pulling a black fine toothed comb from his black leather jacket pocket, the darker skinned American slid it through his curved fringe, smoothing it back with the grease already slicked through it, making sure not a strand was out of place. He flashed a grin, the gap where his missing tooth should be instead a dark shadow from the lazy and lopsided curve of his lips. Everything he did was slow and lazy, as though he were half asleep doing it.

"Ain't nobody watchin' or listenin', and if they are, I'll kick their asses if they say anythin' mean that'd make ya cry," he crooned, pushing himself up and shoving his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, shoulders slack, walking with his hips first and he could just see Alfred go weak in the knees.

"I wouldn't cry," Alfred rebutted, standing straighter, pushing his shoulders back, spine straightening which caused his white polo to tug, tucked in neatly to his tan slacks held up by a belt at the waistline, "I'm a man. I'm tough. I just don't want…"

"Baby, I wouldn't let nobody take them stars from your eyes, or weigh down your smile to frown, or hide your pretty face in shame," Tommy breathed, leaning in closer to Alfred's face, standing a bit on his toes as Alfred leaned away, back curving as he tried to avoid the insistent lean of his boyfriend, "You're too damn special to be blue."

Blinking rapidly to compose himself, Alfred rubbed at his cheeks with his spare hand to urge the colour from golden cheeks, looking away with a disgruntled look, making Tommy grin wider, hooded brown-red eyes drinking in every twitch of lips and the way that white teeth chewed on the bottom one to keep it in place from curling in flustered delight.

"Heh… Look at ya. Ya can't stay mad at me—you're tryin' not to smile, pork chop," he said with a snigger, straightening up again, amused as Alfred spluttered in shock.

"I-I am not! You're cursing in public, being loud and lewd, and you're making us obvious," he complained in a hiss, taking a good large step back to distance them by a good metre.

"I ain't cursin' or bein' lewd."

"You gosh darn are, Tommy!" Alfred objected, making the northern born American grin in amusement at his boyfriend's sweetness. Like a church boy, all straight laces and golden sunshine behaviour.

"Ass ain't a curse word, and neither is askin' for that sweet ass to come for a ride," Tommy said simply.

Alfred simply clutched at his chest, eyes wide in horror at the words, pressing himself against the nearby wall and stared at the Greaser in utter disbelief that anyone could speak in such a manner at all.

"Tommy," he gasped out, though his heart pounded in his chest, staring in delight as the other leant in, hands pressing to either side of his head, making him grasp hard to the flyers in his hands, crinkling them and squeezing himself against the wall to flatten himself as best as possible.

"Ya think this is bad? Wait until later when I fuck ya in the back seat."

In the end, Alfred ended up waking up in the back seat of the tanned man's car, wrapped in a blanket with his head pillowed in Tommy's lap, having lost consciousness, much to his dismay and humiliation. His bad boy did always make him weak in the knees, and he only hoped—silently of course—that he would later have the same impact on the cool attitude of the slick haired heartthrob.