A/N: Alright Botbot, I wrote your damn dirtygaragesex; now where the fuck is my bardsmut?


^_^ loves


"Hey Strife, I need you to—holy shit! I thought I fucking told you two not to do that kinda nasty shit in my garage! Yer fired!"

"No! Wait…Cid…!" Cloud anxiously called after the quickly retreating mechanic.

"Relax Cloud," Leon muttered against his sweat soaked skin, just a little more than distracted, "He's not serious. This is like what…the fourth time you've been 'fired' for this?"


Slick fingers roam his body, tracing invisible lines; the air thick with heavy pants and the suffocating fumes of gasoline and car wax (which creates the most painfully wonderful friction that it's almost frustrating and he could just scream himself hoarse). Dear Shiva he couldn't fucking breath, not with all the chemicals floating in the too warm air, but there's this subtle under hint that is so glaringly sweat and sex and ohgodLeonthere that he finds he doesn't care so much. Not as slippery fingers press into his skin roughly and his head feels all stuffed up, hazy and humming with pleasure and the tang of motor oil.


There's a run down car behind him. The engine won't turn over, the back window is cracked, and the oil may very well be leaking. The car is broken –has been for four days- and Leon doesn't give a fuck, because he honestly would like to see if anyone could focus while there is a sweaty blond bent over a motorcycle. He's been watching him for Shiva knows how long, and it just gets better and better -as he found that he could subtly control Cloud's actions. Like how by turning off the air vent, Cloud had no other choice than to strip off his shirt so as to not overheat. It was villainous really, the way he manipulated the other, the way he watched him lecherously, eyes bright and heart a tad on the erratic side. But Cloud bends over that precious motorcycle of his again, muscles tensing and perfect ass in the air just taunting him dammit! and Leon feels that his actions thus far are flawlessly justifiable. It would be a crime not to exploit such a situation!

And so he wets his lips and takes a step forward.


A loud metallic crash and the following sounds of halfhearted struggle; Cloud's fingers rake aggressively through Leon's hair, as the latter pushes him down roughly on his back against the hood of a car. It's a nice car really, one that he would normally cringe at the thought of screwing up (pun expressively intended), but it belongs to Cloud's friend and so he's hoping something irreversible does happen to it. Something that'll clue Zack into the fact that No, Cloud is not for the taking and therefore you should stop your blatant flirting before I beat the living shit out of you.

Cloud has no idea of any of this, of course, but is too incoherent in his consuming lust to notice that they're about to fuck on his best friend's car.

They've discarded their shirts long ago and, as Cloud grips Leon's hair painfully tight, the brunet nips his way down the other's chest, leaving marks that the summer heat will allow Zack to see. He dips his tongue into Cloud's navel before slivering down to his waistband, internally gloating at how the blond's already erratic breath hitches with a low moan. Only I can do this to you, no one else. He pops open the first button on the jeans, oil and dirt and other substances ground into the rough fabric permanently. Good, Leon thinks with a audible growl, one that makes Cloud's eyes flutter closed in anticipation, let Zack see the stains and be reminded of all the times we've rolled on the ground like carnal animals.


"Sora!" Cid barks as soon as said spiky haired youth enters 'Highwind Auto Repairs'.

"Wha?" the brunet asks around one of Aerith's sinful cookies.

"Have ya seen Leon 'round here?"

"Mhm, he's in the back, but he's a little…'tied up' at the moment." and Cid questions on, totally missing how color floods Sora's face,

"What's he doin'?"

"Uh, well…I assume he was washing a car, but it seems Cloud needed him for something…" his eyes drift to the floor awkwardly, lips quirking in something close to embarrassment and amusement.

Cid misses these suspicious signs as well, merely scratches the scruff on his chin and 'hmphs' in mild annoyance, "Guess I better go get 'im myself then. You go on home Sora, I don't need any help today."

"Alright, see you later Uncle Cid," and does as the older man says, muttering to himself, "And people say I'm oblivious."