Throw out your cares and fly
Title: Throw out your cares and fly
Pairing: Koyama/Yamapi
Rating: Hard R
Words: 2,805
Warnings: AU, outdoors frottage?
Summary: Yamashita is just your typical salaryman, same thing, day in, day out. A little accident throws off his routine.
Notes: I have been dying to write (read) KoyaPi and finally this. Much thanks to Amy and Misa for letting me spam them with this. <3 Title and cut text from Smashing Pumpkin's "Zero."
---
After two years of monthly trips across this lonely stretch of highway, Yamashita was fairly well numb to whatever charm it may have possessed at some point. Sure it was beautiful in an ascetic sort of way, all browns and drab greens encroaching on faded grey asphalt and not a soul in sight for miles and miles between tiny towns. It was sort of relaxing, he guessed, with the way he could lower the top on his convertible and turn his music up so loud that the bass blended with the dips in the old asphalt and it made its own music, but he wasn't really paying attention to the road, just the feeling. When his car sort of stuttered over the road, though, he was brought right out of his reverie, and when he watched the speedometer drop all on its own - 85, 80, 75, 70 - muted fear took over as he pulled to the side of the road and shut her down, trying vainly to remember how far back the last town had been, how close the nearest one was. No cell signal and Yamashita couldn't recall the last town but he always preferred going forward rather than falling back, so he grabbed his bag out of the car, locked it up, and started walking. He'd call the office when he got to wherever it was he was going right now. Hoped it wasn't far.
Two hours later and he was cursing himself for choosing fashion over function - he could feel the blisters forming and wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry like a five-year-old, wait for someone to pick him up and carry him, but that had never been his style, and, besides, cars on this road were few and far between and when they did come, they were moving too fast to worry about picking up some guy. Lack of regular traffic and his need for speed was the whole reason he always went this way.
Three more hours and he was almost too frustrated and tired and hungry to be excited about the small cluster of buildings in the distance. By the time he got to it, it almost seemed like a miracle he'd made it. Dirty, grumpy, hot, and stomach loudly trying to eat itself, he poked his head into the open bay of the mechanic's garage that was the second building. Impossibly long legs bent at the knees extended from under a beat-up Ford, feet planted securely against the floor to keep the mechanic's creeper from moving.
"Excuse me?" he asked, then again, louder when there was no reply, licking dry lips while he waited.
Rolling out from under the car and standing, the man was as tall as his legs had implied, and even the loose blue coveralls did little to detract from the lean lines they covered. "Hi!" he said brightly, rubbing at his cheek with the back of a gloved hand and striding toward Yamashita with a smile. Dark bangs clipped up out of his face and he would have looked a little silly if he hadn't been so damned gorgeous with his high cheekbones, narrow eyes, and full lips. The slight sheen of sweat and random smudges across his features couldn't hide that.
But now was no time to be ogling, and Yamashita stepped forward. "My car," he said, gesturing back the way he'd come then the world just sort of tipped over on its side and then he was down on his knees and the mechanic was kneeling beside him, pulling off his gloves and touching Yamashita's face.
"You okay?" he asked, worried eyes and wrinkled brow.
"Yeah. No. I mean. Could I have some water, please?"
"Of course!"
Staying where he was felt like a good idea, and he waited until the man came back with a glass, draining the whole thing while the man watched attentively.
"My car," he tried again. "Broke down. I don't know how far back. Maybe twenty miles?"
"You walked that whole way?"
Yamashita nodded and then the mechanic was pulling him gently to his feet and walking him through the garage, up some stairs and into his house.
"I'm Koyama. Keiichiro," he said as he helped Yamashita take his shoes off, grimacing at the tortured noises Yamashita made as he slid the designer shoes off his feet.
"Tomohisa Yamashita." Walking carefully on sore feet to Koyama's kitchen table, he took a seat.
"I'll make you something to eat and then we'll go get your car, all right?"
Protesting was the last thing on his mind.
After another couple glasses of water and a thick sandwich, Yamashita was feeling more like himself and less like the world was ending. Koyama kindly allowed him to call work from his home phone and they didn't complain too much when he told them what was going on, only told him to hurry and to call as soon as he was leaving. He was much more disgruntled twenty minutes later as Koyama 'tsk'ed over his engine, poking long, pretty fingers at it then rubbing them absently against his coveralls.
"Well, the good news is, there isn't any major damage and there really could have been. The bad news is that your timing belt went and I don't have one for this car in the shop. Would take probably two days to get it."
Kicking the car tire was childish, but it was all Yamashita could think to do, and Koyama laughed, light and airy. "I'm sorry. Just… your face," he coughed and looked away from Yamashita's glare. "You can borrow a car to get to work. You said it was just another couple hours north, right? And then you can come back for yours."
Yamashita stared morosely at his baby. They'd had four years together and he still loved her. He just didn't like her very much right now. After all his love and affection and she had betrayed him. Sighing, he scuffed his foot against the asphalt and then winced. "Isn't there any other way?"
Koyama looked dubiously in either direction and raised an eyebrow. "Of course. You could have it towed to wherever it is that you're going."
An exorbitant fee and probably slower than molasses. "Sorry. Just… do it." Watching Koyama bend and flex in the late afternoon sun as he hooked up Yamashita's car to his truck did calm him a little. Though the funny look Koyama gave him when he caught him staring at his ass turned his smile a little nervous.
Once his convertible was safely ensconced in the garage's second bay, Koyama walked him out back to a row of covered cars. He trailed his fingers over the hoods thoughtfully before stopping in the middle and looking around. Finally, when Yamashita was just about to ask if anything was wrong, Koyama glanced at him then strode to one and started peeling back the cover.
"I haven't done any body work on her yet, but she runs beautifully. '68 Chevy Chevelle SS396. Manual 4-speed, original 396 big-block engine… V8. Zero to sixty in seven seconds. Did all the retooling myself. The steering is a bit tight, but it's easy to adjust to." Stepping back as though he had unveiled a long-lost VanGogh, he watched Yamashita's face as he blinked at the ancient Chevy that looked like it had been to hell and back. Koyama scratched his neck, awkward. "I know she doesn't look like much…"
She really didn't. It had probably been fire-engine red once but the paint had faded and Koyama had clearly sanded out the rust spots and covered them temporarily with a coat of primer until he could get it ready for a new paintjob. Dents littered its generous frame, but it still had its streamlined shape, and if he squinted he could certainly appreciate its proportions. Grinning, he turned to Koyama and said, "Seven seconds?"
Koyama tossed his head back and laughed. "I knew you'd get along well."
Ten minutes of instruction later, Yamashita pulled out of the lot onto the road and gunned it. Windows down and wind whipping his hair around his face, it wasn't zero to sixty but it was close enough. He cruised at 90 the whole way, enjoying the new ride even if it wasn't quite as smooth as his Honda.
Parting with the car on the way back was bittersweet. On the one hand, he was glad to get his S2000 back. He couldn't wait to feel the way she caught extra hard going into fourth as he worked up to full-speed, the slight hum she picked up at 75 that dropped once he hit 80, his upgraded speaker system vibrating through his body, and, of course, the extra air flow. But he didn't hesitate to accept when Koyama invited him in for a drink.
Being interrogated had probably never been so pleasant - endless glasses of iced tea and a plate of fresh fruit, cheese, and crackers, Koyama's lean body in jeans and a t-shirt just this side of tight alternating between pacing and gazing piercingly at him as he answered as thoroughly as he could. Despite the third degree, he couldn't keep from smiling at Koyama's intense interest in what Yamashita thought of the Chevelle.
Finally, Koyama gave him a sheepish smile and threw himself into his chair, sprawling almost and allowing Yamashita to admire that feline grace before Koyama leaned forward, took a bite of melon, and turned the talk to more mundane things. Why Koyama had a shop in the middle of nowhere, why Yamashita traveled 400 miles once a month for work, their favorite noodle dish, etc. Real chummy and all sorts of relaxing.
"Stop by anytime," Koyama said softly as he walked Yamashita out.
Yamashita, while definitely interested, thought it unlikely that he would. It wouldn't be practical.
That didn't stop him from subconsciously watching for the shop the next month and rubbernecking past it both ways.
One more month and he was driving past again, thinking about long legs and blue coveralls and mentally kicking himself. So the guy was hot. And into cars. And with all that frenetic energy he was probably an enthusiastic lay. But that was no reason to get so worked up about someone he barely knew. And yet, on the return trip, he found himself slamming on the brakes, frantically shifting gears as he fishtailed into the garage's lot.
He caught his breath a moment, a little stunned, and Koyama's head poked around the corner, curiosity written across his face.
"Ahhh," he heard Koyama say as he half-jogged up to the Honda. "It's you! Is everything okay?"
Other than the fact that his body was operating of its own free will, "Yes. I just. Thought I would stop in and say hello."
The excited grin that spread across Koyama's face sent a flutter up Yamashita's spine and he smiled shyly back.
"Excellent," Koyama said slyly. "You're just in time."
Eyes closed, waiting outside the garage, he felt a thrill run through at the sound of a car starting, deep purr rumbling and echoing in the bay then flattening as it pulled out and Yamashita wanted to open his eyes, but Koyama had made him promise. He bounced on the balls of his feet and waited. A door opening then closing, and Koyama's body heat next to him.
"Go ahead," he said, voice tinged with excitement.
Opening his eyes he held his breath. "It isn't…"
Koyama nodded, smile wide enough to hurt. "'73 Trans Am. Super Duty 455, 4-speed. Almost all original. I had to replace warped pistons and a couple other things but other than that…"
It was beautiful. Recent paint job a pearly black and he wanted to run his hands over the hood and feel the rumble thrumming through his body.
Leaning over the hood to rest his elbows on the hood and his chin in his hands, Koyama grinned playfully. "Wanna go for a ride?"
He didn't have to ask twice.
The black leather bucket seat hugged him, its soft leather rubbing gently against the backs of his arms as Koyama accelerated smoothly and pushed him back into it. Windows down and Koyama's dark hair whipping around in the orange glow of dusk, white toothy grin in place as they pushed past 90, 95, 100, and Koyama flashed him an exultant smile and let out a whoop of joy. He couldn't help joining in.
105, 110, and then flashing blue and red lights, a dark car coming off the side of the road and rushing to catch up. Koyama's smile turned wicked and he tossed his head and glanced at Yamashita. "Watch this."
120, 125, 130 and the dark car just a speck and getting smaller. They couldn't help laughing, a weird fizzy feeling bubbling up from Yamashita's belly to his throat and coming out as laughter that just wouldn't stop.
Koyama took a left down a dirt road, followed an intricate web of back roads until they came to a lake tucked away amidst more greenery than he'd expected in this area. The sudden quiet when Koyama cut the engine was unnerving, and he could still feel the phantom vibrations through his body as they climbed out of the car. Koyama's catlike stretching drew Yamashita's eyes across his long lines, to the strip of tan skin showing where his shirt had ridden up under the unzipped coveralls. When Yamashita dragged his gaze back up to Koyama's face, there was another playful smile and his eyes were dark.
"All that adrenaline," Koyama said, dragging fingertips over the hood as he stepped closer to Yamashita, not looking away, "makes you want more, right? You want the rush to just keep coming."
"Yes," he whispered, suddenly unable to move, his swallow uncommonly loud amidst the muted cicadas and blood rushing past his ears.
Then Koyama was pressing himself against Yamashita and kissing him, threading long fingers through Yamashita's hair as he nipped at his lower lip. Groaning, Yamashita brought his hands up to grip at the back of Koyama's coveralls and opened up to him. The slick slide of tongues and slight suction of Koyama drawing Yamashita's tongue into his mouth had his interest more than stirring, and when the taller man nudged his cheek up to work lips and teeth down the side of his neck, Yamashita slid his hands down Koyama's lean back to cup his ass as he bucked against him. Moaning shamelessly at the feeling of Koyama's lips all over his neck, the pleasure-pain as he left little marks in his wake, Yamashita let Koyama turn them to press him against the front grille, wrapped his arms around Koyama's neck and captured his lips, let himself be lifted, gentle hands under his ass, onto the hood of the car.
"You're gonna dent the hood," he breathed, too preoccupied with the way Koyama was circling against his erection to protest loudly.
"Don't care," Koyama grunted.
The hood was hot under him, radiating heat up around them that had him pulling off his shirt and helping Koyama work his arms out of the sleeves of his coveralls, yanking off the man's undershirt to run his hands over Koyama's chest, rolling a hard nipple between his fingers and crying out with him when he bucked hard against him.
He could feel it building, feel the sparking starting in his toes and he wanted to lay back, too lost in the feeling to try and hold himself up, and Koyama hooked the younger man's knees around his waist and let him lay down, keeping his back off the hood by resting his arms under Yamashita's back, ignoring the stinging heat as he pulled him closer and thrust frantically against him.
Yamashita came first, back arching, light catching on the glossy sweat over his chest as he stutter-moaned out his pleasure. The sparks cracked across his vision and then disappeared as he took deep, gulping breaths. Then Koyama was pulling back and fumbling with his own jeans, unzipping them and pulling his cock out, wrapping a hand around Yamashita's neck and sitting him up as he stroked himself two, three times and then came over his hand and Yamashita's chest, rubbing the sensitive head against the mess slowly and shuddering as he came down.
An awkward stoop and he was pressing their lips together in a tired, sloppy kiss before drawing away to grab his shirt and clean them both up.
Back at the shop, Yamashita regretfully turned his key in the ignition and depressed the clutch, shifted to reverse, and Koyama was suddenly leaning over the door and kissing him again.
"Next time," he said when he pulled back, eyes dancing and full of promise, "I'll let you drive."
Pairing: Koyama/Yamapi
Rating: Hard R
Words: 2,805
Warnings: AU, outdoors frottage?
Summary: Yamashita is just your typical salaryman, same thing, day in, day out. A little accident throws off his routine.
Notes: I have been dying to write (read) KoyaPi and finally this. Much thanks to Amy and Misa for letting me spam them with this. <3 Title and cut text from Smashing Pumpkin's "Zero."
---
After two years of monthly trips across this lonely stretch of highway, Yamashita was fairly well numb to whatever charm it may have possessed at some point. Sure it was beautiful in an ascetic sort of way, all browns and drab greens encroaching on faded grey asphalt and not a soul in sight for miles and miles between tiny towns. It was sort of relaxing, he guessed, with the way he could lower the top on his convertible and turn his music up so loud that the bass blended with the dips in the old asphalt and it made its own music, but he wasn't really paying attention to the road, just the feeling. When his car sort of stuttered over the road, though, he was brought right out of his reverie, and when he watched the speedometer drop all on its own - 85, 80, 75, 70 - muted fear took over as he pulled to the side of the road and shut her down, trying vainly to remember how far back the last town had been, how close the nearest one was. No cell signal and Yamashita couldn't recall the last town but he always preferred going forward rather than falling back, so he grabbed his bag out of the car, locked it up, and started walking. He'd call the office when he got to wherever it was he was going right now. Hoped it wasn't far.
Two hours later and he was cursing himself for choosing fashion over function - he could feel the blisters forming and wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry like a five-year-old, wait for someone to pick him up and carry him, but that had never been his style, and, besides, cars on this road were few and far between and when they did come, they were moving too fast to worry about picking up some guy. Lack of regular traffic and his need for speed was the whole reason he always went this way.
Three more hours and he was almost too frustrated and tired and hungry to be excited about the small cluster of buildings in the distance. By the time he got to it, it almost seemed like a miracle he'd made it. Dirty, grumpy, hot, and stomach loudly trying to eat itself, he poked his head into the open bay of the mechanic's garage that was the second building. Impossibly long legs bent at the knees extended from under a beat-up Ford, feet planted securely against the floor to keep the mechanic's creeper from moving.
"Excuse me?" he asked, then again, louder when there was no reply, licking dry lips while he waited.
Rolling out from under the car and standing, the man was as tall as his legs had implied, and even the loose blue coveralls did little to detract from the lean lines they covered. "Hi!" he said brightly, rubbing at his cheek with the back of a gloved hand and striding toward Yamashita with a smile. Dark bangs clipped up out of his face and he would have looked a little silly if he hadn't been so damned gorgeous with his high cheekbones, narrow eyes, and full lips. The slight sheen of sweat and random smudges across his features couldn't hide that.
But now was no time to be ogling, and Yamashita stepped forward. "My car," he said, gesturing back the way he'd come then the world just sort of tipped over on its side and then he was down on his knees and the mechanic was kneeling beside him, pulling off his gloves and touching Yamashita's face.
"You okay?" he asked, worried eyes and wrinkled brow.
"Yeah. No. I mean. Could I have some water, please?"
"Of course!"
Staying where he was felt like a good idea, and he waited until the man came back with a glass, draining the whole thing while the man watched attentively.
"My car," he tried again. "Broke down. I don't know how far back. Maybe twenty miles?"
"You walked that whole way?"
Yamashita nodded and then the mechanic was pulling him gently to his feet and walking him through the garage, up some stairs and into his house.
"I'm Koyama. Keiichiro," he said as he helped Yamashita take his shoes off, grimacing at the tortured noises Yamashita made as he slid the designer shoes off his feet.
"Tomohisa Yamashita." Walking carefully on sore feet to Koyama's kitchen table, he took a seat.
"I'll make you something to eat and then we'll go get your car, all right?"
Protesting was the last thing on his mind.
After another couple glasses of water and a thick sandwich, Yamashita was feeling more like himself and less like the world was ending. Koyama kindly allowed him to call work from his home phone and they didn't complain too much when he told them what was going on, only told him to hurry and to call as soon as he was leaving. He was much more disgruntled twenty minutes later as Koyama 'tsk'ed over his engine, poking long, pretty fingers at it then rubbing them absently against his coveralls.
"Well, the good news is, there isn't any major damage and there really could have been. The bad news is that your timing belt went and I don't have one for this car in the shop. Would take probably two days to get it."
Kicking the car tire was childish, but it was all Yamashita could think to do, and Koyama laughed, light and airy. "I'm sorry. Just… your face," he coughed and looked away from Yamashita's glare. "You can borrow a car to get to work. You said it was just another couple hours north, right? And then you can come back for yours."
Yamashita stared morosely at his baby. They'd had four years together and he still loved her. He just didn't like her very much right now. After all his love and affection and she had betrayed him. Sighing, he scuffed his foot against the asphalt and then winced. "Isn't there any other way?"
Koyama looked dubiously in either direction and raised an eyebrow. "Of course. You could have it towed to wherever it is that you're going."
An exorbitant fee and probably slower than molasses. "Sorry. Just… do it." Watching Koyama bend and flex in the late afternoon sun as he hooked up Yamashita's car to his truck did calm him a little. Though the funny look Koyama gave him when he caught him staring at his ass turned his smile a little nervous.
Once his convertible was safely ensconced in the garage's second bay, Koyama walked him out back to a row of covered cars. He trailed his fingers over the hoods thoughtfully before stopping in the middle and looking around. Finally, when Yamashita was just about to ask if anything was wrong, Koyama glanced at him then strode to one and started peeling back the cover.
"I haven't done any body work on her yet, but she runs beautifully. '68 Chevy Chevelle SS396. Manual 4-speed, original 396 big-block engine… V8. Zero to sixty in seven seconds. Did all the retooling myself. The steering is a bit tight, but it's easy to adjust to." Stepping back as though he had unveiled a long-lost VanGogh, he watched Yamashita's face as he blinked at the ancient Chevy that looked like it had been to hell and back. Koyama scratched his neck, awkward. "I know she doesn't look like much…"
She really didn't. It had probably been fire-engine red once but the paint had faded and Koyama had clearly sanded out the rust spots and covered them temporarily with a coat of primer until he could get it ready for a new paintjob. Dents littered its generous frame, but it still had its streamlined shape, and if he squinted he could certainly appreciate its proportions. Grinning, he turned to Koyama and said, "Seven seconds?"
Koyama tossed his head back and laughed. "I knew you'd get along well."
Ten minutes of instruction later, Yamashita pulled out of the lot onto the road and gunned it. Windows down and wind whipping his hair around his face, it wasn't zero to sixty but it was close enough. He cruised at 90 the whole way, enjoying the new ride even if it wasn't quite as smooth as his Honda.
Parting with the car on the way back was bittersweet. On the one hand, he was glad to get his S2000 back. He couldn't wait to feel the way she caught extra hard going into fourth as he worked up to full-speed, the slight hum she picked up at 75 that dropped once he hit 80, his upgraded speaker system vibrating through his body, and, of course, the extra air flow. But he didn't hesitate to accept when Koyama invited him in for a drink.
Being interrogated had probably never been so pleasant - endless glasses of iced tea and a plate of fresh fruit, cheese, and crackers, Koyama's lean body in jeans and a t-shirt just this side of tight alternating between pacing and gazing piercingly at him as he answered as thoroughly as he could. Despite the third degree, he couldn't keep from smiling at Koyama's intense interest in what Yamashita thought of the Chevelle.
Finally, Koyama gave him a sheepish smile and threw himself into his chair, sprawling almost and allowing Yamashita to admire that feline grace before Koyama leaned forward, took a bite of melon, and turned the talk to more mundane things. Why Koyama had a shop in the middle of nowhere, why Yamashita traveled 400 miles once a month for work, their favorite noodle dish, etc. Real chummy and all sorts of relaxing.
"Stop by anytime," Koyama said softly as he walked Yamashita out.
Yamashita, while definitely interested, thought it unlikely that he would. It wouldn't be practical.
That didn't stop him from subconsciously watching for the shop the next month and rubbernecking past it both ways.
One more month and he was driving past again, thinking about long legs and blue coveralls and mentally kicking himself. So the guy was hot. And into cars. And with all that frenetic energy he was probably an enthusiastic lay. But that was no reason to get so worked up about someone he barely knew. And yet, on the return trip, he found himself slamming on the brakes, frantically shifting gears as he fishtailed into the garage's lot.
He caught his breath a moment, a little stunned, and Koyama's head poked around the corner, curiosity written across his face.
"Ahhh," he heard Koyama say as he half-jogged up to the Honda. "It's you! Is everything okay?"
Other than the fact that his body was operating of its own free will, "Yes. I just. Thought I would stop in and say hello."
The excited grin that spread across Koyama's face sent a flutter up Yamashita's spine and he smiled shyly back.
"Excellent," Koyama said slyly. "You're just in time."
Eyes closed, waiting outside the garage, he felt a thrill run through at the sound of a car starting, deep purr rumbling and echoing in the bay then flattening as it pulled out and Yamashita wanted to open his eyes, but Koyama had made him promise. He bounced on the balls of his feet and waited. A door opening then closing, and Koyama's body heat next to him.
"Go ahead," he said, voice tinged with excitement.
Opening his eyes he held his breath. "It isn't…"
Koyama nodded, smile wide enough to hurt. "'73 Trans Am. Super Duty 455, 4-speed. Almost all original. I had to replace warped pistons and a couple other things but other than that…"
It was beautiful. Recent paint job a pearly black and he wanted to run his hands over the hood and feel the rumble thrumming through his body.
Leaning over the hood to rest his elbows on the hood and his chin in his hands, Koyama grinned playfully. "Wanna go for a ride?"
He didn't have to ask twice.
The black leather bucket seat hugged him, its soft leather rubbing gently against the backs of his arms as Koyama accelerated smoothly and pushed him back into it. Windows down and Koyama's dark hair whipping around in the orange glow of dusk, white toothy grin in place as they pushed past 90, 95, 100, and Koyama flashed him an exultant smile and let out a whoop of joy. He couldn't help joining in.
105, 110, and then flashing blue and red lights, a dark car coming off the side of the road and rushing to catch up. Koyama's smile turned wicked and he tossed his head and glanced at Yamashita. "Watch this."
120, 125, 130 and the dark car just a speck and getting smaller. They couldn't help laughing, a weird fizzy feeling bubbling up from Yamashita's belly to his throat and coming out as laughter that just wouldn't stop.
Koyama took a left down a dirt road, followed an intricate web of back roads until they came to a lake tucked away amidst more greenery than he'd expected in this area. The sudden quiet when Koyama cut the engine was unnerving, and he could still feel the phantom vibrations through his body as they climbed out of the car. Koyama's catlike stretching drew Yamashita's eyes across his long lines, to the strip of tan skin showing where his shirt had ridden up under the unzipped coveralls. When Yamashita dragged his gaze back up to Koyama's face, there was another playful smile and his eyes were dark.
"All that adrenaline," Koyama said, dragging fingertips over the hood as he stepped closer to Yamashita, not looking away, "makes you want more, right? You want the rush to just keep coming."
"Yes," he whispered, suddenly unable to move, his swallow uncommonly loud amidst the muted cicadas and blood rushing past his ears.
Then Koyama was pressing himself against Yamashita and kissing him, threading long fingers through Yamashita's hair as he nipped at his lower lip. Groaning, Yamashita brought his hands up to grip at the back of Koyama's coveralls and opened up to him. The slick slide of tongues and slight suction of Koyama drawing Yamashita's tongue into his mouth had his interest more than stirring, and when the taller man nudged his cheek up to work lips and teeth down the side of his neck, Yamashita slid his hands down Koyama's lean back to cup his ass as he bucked against him. Moaning shamelessly at the feeling of Koyama's lips all over his neck, the pleasure-pain as he left little marks in his wake, Yamashita let Koyama turn them to press him against the front grille, wrapped his arms around Koyama's neck and captured his lips, let himself be lifted, gentle hands under his ass, onto the hood of the car.
"You're gonna dent the hood," he breathed, too preoccupied with the way Koyama was circling against his erection to protest loudly.
"Don't care," Koyama grunted.
The hood was hot under him, radiating heat up around them that had him pulling off his shirt and helping Koyama work his arms out of the sleeves of his coveralls, yanking off the man's undershirt to run his hands over Koyama's chest, rolling a hard nipple between his fingers and crying out with him when he bucked hard against him.
He could feel it building, feel the sparking starting in his toes and he wanted to lay back, too lost in the feeling to try and hold himself up, and Koyama hooked the younger man's knees around his waist and let him lay down, keeping his back off the hood by resting his arms under Yamashita's back, ignoring the stinging heat as he pulled him closer and thrust frantically against him.
Yamashita came first, back arching, light catching on the glossy sweat over his chest as he stutter-moaned out his pleasure. The sparks cracked across his vision and then disappeared as he took deep, gulping breaths. Then Koyama was pulling back and fumbling with his own jeans, unzipping them and pulling his cock out, wrapping a hand around Yamashita's neck and sitting him up as he stroked himself two, three times and then came over his hand and Yamashita's chest, rubbing the sensitive head against the mess slowly and shuddering as he came down.
An awkward stoop and he was pressing their lips together in a tired, sloppy kiss before drawing away to grab his shirt and clean them both up.
Back at the shop, Yamashita regretfully turned his key in the ignition and depressed the clutch, shifted to reverse, and Koyama was suddenly leaning over the door and kissing him again.
"Next time," he said when he pulled back, eyes dancing and full of promise, "I'll let you drive."