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[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Loyalty Rewards Program

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 9204 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, top Hob, bottom Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, Hob matches his freak, Bossy Dream, Agreeable Hob, Service Top Hob Gadling, Enthusiatic Bottom Dream, Dream is Not Quiet in bed, there is a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet at one point, blatant disregard for typical human refractory periods, rimming, anal sex, felching-adjacent, inconsequential ingestion of lube, effusive endearments, dirty talk, overstimulation, anal fingering, help my hookup is growing feelings

Notes: Third in the Turbo Lover series (Customer Service and Every Nerve Alive on Tumblr, if AO3 is down). This one happened because Dream was insistent on getting properly fucked in the garage and I refuse to be the author who uses engine grease or motor oil for lube. This fills the free space (B2) on my @dreamlingbingo card, and is also the longest Sandman fic I've written to date.

Summary: Dream comes back to Matthew's Motor Repairs the next day and Hob gives him everything he asks for

On AO3 Hob re-locks the door as soon as he's ducked inside the shop the next morning; he's not opening for people today.

He has other obligations, after all.

He first makes a thorough job of cleaning and sweeping the floor around the Porsche. Whatever the plan today entails, he doesn't want to wind up kneeling on a bit of gravel or taking a stray hex nut to the arse cheek while he's fucking his rich admirer. Granted he may need to do a quick spot-sweep when Dream shows up—if Dream shows up—since he'll be working on the car in the meantime, but doing it now will make that faster.

…Of course Dream's going to show up, Hob's not worried. Guy was thirsty as fuck yesterday, he'll be back. He's got a car to pick up, after all, and speaking of, Hob had best make sure it's ready.

He strips out of his clothes and dons his coveralls nude, leaves them unzipped to the waist, not even bothering to keep his underwear today. It's cooler than yesterday but still plenty warm, and this will make things faster once Dream shows up. He's pretty sure Dream will appreciate the aesthetic, also.

Hob whistles to himself working under Dream's Porsche, finishing up the clutch replacement that he hadn't quite been able to focus on after Dream left yesterday. It's quick work to wrap it up and he makes sure to let grease smears accumulate on his arms and maybe he deliberately puts a couple of artistically-placed smudges on his chest, for fun.

With the clutch done, he moves on to changing the oil, flushing and refilling the other fluids, and giving the car a general tuneup. The Porsche is a beautiful machine and Hob's thrilled to have the chance to work on her.

He's thrilled to have the chance to work on her owner, too.

When the shop bell rings, Hob's heart leaps. He's just got the car all closed up and down from the ramps and done another quick sweep so assuming that's Dream, and it should be, his timing is perfect. He winds his way to the front, zipping up his coveralls just in case and opening the door.

Dream is there on the other side, as breathtakingly gorgeous as Hob remembers. "Am I the 'special circumstances'?" he asks, coy and smouldering as he taps the handwritten sign Hob had pasted in the window—Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances; ring if you have an appointment.

"The specialist of circumstances," Hob agrees, effervescent joy and lust bubbling up inside him, spilling into his smile. "Closed up so I'm all yours. Entirely at your service."

"Wonderful," Dream purrs, stepping through the door. "For I am desperately in need of the services of a good mechanic."

Hob pulls the door closed after him, ensures it's latched in and that it's still locked, then turns with a grin. "You've come to the right place then, love. I'm at your disposal, one hundred percent, and I will personally see to your complete satisfaction. Guaranteed." He winks.

Dream steps in closer, tilts his head just enough to gaze up heatedly from beneath his lashes, toys with the tab of the zipper at Hob's collarbone. "Do you offer such comprehensive personal service to all your customers?" He's slowly drawing the zip down as he speaks.

Hob's heartrate picks up and his breath goes a bit short. "Oh no, this comes special with our uh, our loyalty rewards program," he manages, with his best charm-the-customer smile. The dainty fingertips unzipping his coveralls are very distracting.

Dream stops once he's exposed Hob's chest hair, rakes his nails through it lightly, skirting the grease smeared above it. "But this is the first time I have brought my patronage to your shop," he counters, with the prettiest little pout.

Hob shakes his head. "See I count twice; you tried out my services yesterday and found them satisfactory enough to come back today. And I'm very sure, if I meet your exacting standards, I can earn your repeat business. So I'll opt you in, because I have that much confidence in the quality of my work."

He's mixing his references clumsily, the car repairs and the sex getting muddled together, but Dream is smiling all the same. "Let us hope your confidence is not misplaced, then," he says, voice dipping lower in that way that makes Hob's stomach tighten delightfully. "I should hate to be granted such privilege unduly."

With that, Dream draws the zipper down more, then turns and steps away, casting a come-hither glance over his shoulder as he sashays toward the door into the garage. Hob, unzipped to the waist and hard already, is hot to follow, but first—

He tears the sign from the window, hangs the normal 'Closed' sign in its place, double-checks the lock and throws the deadbolt for good measure. He rounds the reception desk and logs into the phone system, makes sure the auto-answer is set to the 'closed unexpectedly' option, and sets the ringer to after-hours so it'll go straight to messages instead of ringing through. Not that he'd be stopping in the middle of whatever they're about to be doing to answer the phone, but this way they're guaranteed no distractions, no interruptions. Then he hurries after Dream.

Dream is completely naked when he gets back to the garage, leaning pale and pretty and barefoot against the side of his Porsche with his arms loosely folded and his cock hanging ready, half-hard, beautiful.

"Well hello, gorgeous," Hob says, unabashedly enthusiastic as he approaches, wondering if he's meant to just dive in or wait for a cue, if he's allowed to pull Dream into his arms and start with a kiss. His gaze falls to the delicate arches of Dream's feet, the soft pale curves of his toes (with black-painted nails!), and he's really glad he swept up first.

"You occupy my thoughts incessantly, Hob Gadling," Dream says, pushing off the car and stepping close to Hob again, hands reaching to toy with the open edges of his coveralls.

"Do I, now?" Hob decides on a caution-to-the-wind approach and snakes an arm around Dream's waist, raises a dirt-stained thumb to brush over his cheek. Dream hadn't hesitated yesterday to say what he did and didn't want; Hob will trust him to do the same today. "They're good thoughts, I hope?"

"Very," Dream breathes, gripping the coveralls, tugging marginally; his eyes are dark, his pale cheeks faintly flushed with excitement, his pretty pink lips slightly parted, and Hob sees no reason to resist the temptation presented.

The noise Dream makes when Hob kisses him is soft, eager, encouraging, and Hob presses closer, lets both hands play over Dream's bare skin, up and down his spine. Dream is kissing back, heated and insistent; he slips both hands inside Hob's coveralls, around his waist and down to grasp his arse cheeks, squeeze appreciatively, pull him closer.

Hob breaks away with a gasp, delighted and impossibly turned on; Dream squeezes again, nips at the scruff on his chin. "You are not wearing any underwear today, Hob," he murmurs, in a tone of pleased discovery, and Hob can't help grinning.

"Thought you might appreciate it," he says, breathless, hands stroking up and down Dream's biceps, leaving faint smudges behind. "Makes things a bit faster, easier—"

"And are you easy, Hob Gadling?"

"Only for you," he answers, which is truer than it would have been two weeks ago. "God, you smell good today—" He really does, floral-herbal freshness wafting from his hair, faint notes of soap and a light cologne lingering on his skin; Hob lets instinct shape his words. "So clean and pretty, too; come down to the garage to get properly dirty, have we?"

The way Dream shivers against him tells him that was indeed the right thing to say.

"Perhaps," Dream replies, and squeezes Hob's arse again. "I very much appreciate your wardrobe choices, in that regard." He brings his hands around front, one dipping to cup Hob's dick while the other draws the zipper all the way down underneath.

"Thought you might," Hob manages, while Dream's slender fingertips touch his balls, stroke with gentle pressure, and then Dream is moving, grasping at the shoulders of Hob's coveralls and pushing them off.

"I would feel you, bare, against me," is what he says, which sounds like a fine idea to Hob. He struggles briefly with the rolled-up sleeves but as soon as his arms are free Dream is in them, pressing up against him, kissing him fiercely and completely derailing any attempt at getting the coveralls all the way off.

Fuck it, Hob decides, letting them just fall around his legs as he wraps Dream close and kisses him back, hungry and insistent to match Dream's fervor. He backs him up a step, two, until Dream's narrow arse hits the Porsche again and he squirms prettily, his cock nudging up against Hob's as they break the kiss, panting.

"Over the bonnet then, love?"

Dream shakes his head, an effortlessly imperious little gesture. "I wish to ride you, first." He gestures to the creeper. "Please."

Clearly, clearly Dream's got some very specific fantasies about cars and mechanics and Hob is delighted that he gets to help make them happen. "Absolutely," he grins, shuffling down into position on the board.

Dream grabs a condom and a bottle of lube from where he'd stashed them between the windscreen and the bonnet and drops next to Hob. Which is just as well since Hob's supplies are with his clothes in the locker on the other side of the garage; he leans back on his elbows as Dream tears open the condom and rolls it onto him.

"You've got such pretty hands," he breathes, shivering at the glide of Dream's touch along his shaft, and doesn't miss the breath Dream sucks in at the compliment. "Gonna show me how you use those fingers to open yourself up? Or do I get to do that for you, hm?"

"Neither," Dream answers, rising and turning to lean over the side of the bonnet, which confuses Hob for half a second until he speaks again.

"Spread me open," he directs, and Hob is only to happy to sit up and comply, to see the greasy smudge of his fingerprints smeared on Dream's lily-white arse—

Dream is wearing a plug.

Hob's libido, already cranked to eleven, ratchets up another notch. "Oh, fuck," he breathes reverently, wide-eyed. Dream had put that in at home, had come here sitting on it, walking with it inside him, just to be ready for Hob's cock?

Christ, but that's hot.

He watches raptly as Dream's slender fingers grip the wide base and start pulling; he takes his time and Hob gets to just hold him open and watch as Dream's hole slowly stretches around the flare of the thing, bigger and bigger until it finally passes the widest point and slides the rest of the way free, and the hungry little sound of relief Dream makes as it comes out makes Hob's dick ache.

He desperately wants to slip his tongue in there, wriggle it into the shrinking gape and let Dream's body close to grip snugly around him, but Dream is a man on a mission, and that mission is getting Hob's prick inside him. He straightens up, turns and straddles Hob, fingertips to Hob's chest pressing him down as Dream squats over his lap. He drops the plug aside, reaches behind to take Hob's slicked-up rubber-wrapped cock and guide it into his body as he comes down, and the sound he makes plus the tight warm sheath of his arse have Hob absolutely riveted.

Dream lifts himself, thighs straining and hand firmly on Hob's chest now, fucks himself up and down on Hob's prick while hovering over it, letting out the most decadent moans each time he sinks onto it. He'd said he wanted to ride Hob but he's only made it as far as squatting, like he's so desperate for Hob's cock he can't even wait to get all the way into proper position for it and Hob (and his dick) definitely feel some kind of way about it. Dream's own prick bobs stiff and eager in front of him, a little drop of fluid glistening at the tip already, and Hob almost wishes he was enough of a contortionist to get it in his mouth. Later, perhaps. Right now he's got this gorgeous creature pistoning eagerly on his cock and well on his way to losing his mind, from the sound of it.

Hob spreads both hands over the tops of Dream's thighs, feeling how they tremble with exertion, and finally draws them down, forward, coaxing Dream out of his squat and into a proper kneeling position. He shifts his grip to Dream's hips and pulls him onto his cock at the same time, all the way down until he's buried deep up inside and Dream is panting the breathiest little 'yes, yes, yes's as he bottoms out, eyes wide and glazed. His hand is still planted on Hob's chest and Hob takes it up carefully, draws it to his mouth and kisses Dream's fingertips; Dream whines, gaze sharpening and honing in on Hob's actions. Hob's lips brush the pads of those fingers as he speaks.

"Did you still want to ride me, darling? Or should I hold you still and start fucking up into that pretty little hole?"

Dream shivers, makes another needy little noise and draws himself up on Hob's cock, sinks back down, does it again, and again, faster, harder, until he's panting breathless moans on every pass. His hands are planted on Hob's chest, up near his shoulders next to the grease smeared beneath his collarbone, and Hob rests his hands at Dream's hips, ready to take up the slack if he's needed.

Dream rides like a pro, to be honest, finding his rhythm and moving steadily in pursuit of his pleasure. His arse is snug and hot and slick, his voice like a song as he glides so easily up and down on Hob's prick; he feels amazing, and Hob has to remind himself to breathe as it goes on and on, to keep a rein on his own pleasure until Dream's gotten everything he needs.

At last Dream's pace begins to falter, his panting moans stuttering into broken little whimpers as he flags in his feverish bouncing. "Hob," he whines, arse wriggling lower, his fingers clutching at Hob's chest hair. "You feel. So good, inside me—"

"Do I?" Hob breathes, fingertips brushing over Dream's flanks, and it's weak, so weak as far as dirty talk goes but he can't help it. He's enamoured, struck senseless by how into this Dream is, and words are failing him.

"Yes—" Dream squirms forward and back, circles his hips beneath Hob's attentive grease-stained hands, moans prettily. "Hob, please—"

He doesn't even have to specify, it's clear enough what he's after now, and Hob moves to grip him properly, to lift him just slightly. He clutches tight, fingertips digging in to what little meat there is on Dream's arse, plants his boots on the concrete floor and thrusts up into him.

Dream cries out, clenches his fists on Hob's shoulders and throws his head back, chest heaving. Hob draws out and thrusts again, full force, and again, and Dream shudders, gasping, delighted. "Hob—yes—yes—" He squeezes tight around Hob's prick and groans, drops his head to meet Hob's gaze with fever-bright eyes. "Fuck me—I want—"

"Tell me," Hob breathes, mesmerized, shifting his feet for better leverage and thrusting into him again, and Dream warbles beautifully.

"Faster. Deeper—as hard and as deep as you can, Hob—!"

"'Course, love," Hob gasps, hips moving to comply with barely a thought, and Dream's voice rises into a long keening wail as Hob gives him precisely what he's asked for.

"Yes—yes—yes—!" He tosses his head back again, the arch of his throat working beautifully as he chokes out 'yes' after 'yes', arms stiff and trembling, hands still braced tight on Hob's shoulders.

Hob grunts with exertion, pounding up into Dream with everything he's got, thighs damp and sticking slightly where they press against Dream's. He's transfixed by the rapture in Dream's face, the sheen of sweat on his neck and chest, the stream of noises coming out of his pretty mouth; he looks and sounds like having Hob's cock in him is the best thing ever, like it's everything he wanted, and Hob is fast falling in love with how expressive he is about sex.

Dangerous thoughts, those; he puts them far away, concentrates on pumping hard and fast and deep up into Dream's lovely arse to make him come. He's careful still not to come himself; Dream has clearly got plans and it's his job to stay hard as long as Dream needs his cock.

"Hob—Hob—ahh, don't stop, Hob—!"

Hob squeezes Dream's arse, spreading his cheeks just a tiny bit more, and shifts the tempo down slightly, fucks up into him long and smooth, deep, steady. Dream wails, lost in the pleasure of it, and droops suddenly to lay over Hob's chest, a graceful fall into an open kiss interspersed with Dream's panting and whimpering. Hob shifts his hips to accommodate the changed angle and Dream sobs into his mouth, needy, desperate. His prick is nestled against Hob's belly, wet at the tip, hot and hard and Dream is moving helplessly as Hob fucks him, rutting through the hair on Hob's stomach in little jerks. He's tense in Hob's arms, trembling, skin damp with sweat all over and Hob thinks he could do this forever if he had to, fucking this gorgeous creature curled atop him but he doesn't have to, he knows, he can tell, Dream is nearly there—

Dream goes rigid abruptly, breath choking in his throat as his mouth opens wider, still meshed to Hob's. A high thin sound trickles out of his throat and Hob laps it up, fucks into him once, twice, again, and then Dream convulses with a wail, wet warmth blooming on Hob's belly. He buries himself as deep into Dream as he can and holds it there, flexes against the rhythmic clutching of Dream's arse around him, kisses Dream through the tremors and pulses of orgasm until he goes limp.

He spends a moment petting up and down Dream's spine then while Dream lies boneless atop him, catching his breath. He's still warm and tight around Hob's dick, perfect and tempting and—

And heavier than he looks, honestly; Hob shifts to take him by the shoulders, lifts him off his chest just a bit. Dream takes the cue, raises himself somewhat, blinks the haze from his eyes as he meets Hob's. The smile on his lips quickly sharpens to something simmering with heat, but Hob saw. He saw that glimpse of softness, the glow of bliss on Dream's face and he feels the way his heart trips, knows he's losing his battle.

There's a faint smudge of grease on Dream's forehead that probably came from Hob's collarbone and his dick twitches to see it. Dream shivers and squeezes around him and Hob sighs, a full and happy sound.

"You're pretty when you come," he says, gathering his wits about him again. He smears his hand through the mess on his stomach, picks up a little grease from just beside it, reaches to cradle Dream's face. "So, so pretty." He strokes his fingers back through Dream's hair, leaving a faint black smudge and sticky colorless smears on his cheekbone and more than a trace of filth in his hair.

"Only when I come?" It's a tease, accompanied by a gentle squeeze around him, and Hob shivers.

"'Course not," he murmurs, flexing his dick in response, delighted by the shiver that runs through Dream in turn. "You're pretty when you're bouncing on my cock, too. And when you tell me what you want me to do to you. And yesterday." He flexes again, warming to the topic. "You looked so pretty yesterday, with grease smeared on your face and my prick in your mouth."

Dream makes a pleased sound, squeezes his arse around Hob again, and Hob is more than ready to carry on, if Dream is. He strokes his thumb over the tacky mess on Dream's cheek. "Can I dirty you up some more, beautiful? Make you come for me again?"

"I should be very disappointed if you did not, Hob Gadling," Dream purrs, and there's that imperious little smirk again, the one Hob is already too attached to.

He'll give this man whatever he wants, and love every second of it.

"What next, then, sweetheart?" He's slowly pulsing up into Dream now in unhurried rhythm, too leisurely to be called fucking but ready to pick up the pace in a heartbeat. "Keep going like this?" The creeper is getting a bit uncomfortable, truth be told, and he wouldn't mind getting up off the floor but if Dream's not done yet he'll tough it out.

"No." Thankfully Dream sits all the way up, wriggles deliciously on Hob's cock, bottomed out and heavy-eyed with the pleasure of having it so deep inside him. "Next, I would have you—ahh—" He squirms, back arching, mouth falling open as Hob gives in to the temptation of dragging the rough grease-stained pad of his thumb over one pristine petal pink nipple. "Bend—bend me over the bonnet. Fuck me until I scream—Hob—!" He's panting as Hob caresses the tender little bud of flesh, writhing as if he could take Hob any deeper.

Hob shivers. "Fuck. Alright. As you wish, you precious beautiful man—" He lifts Dream's hips, lifts Dream off his cock as he sits up, then wraps one arm under Dream's narrow arse and heaves them both up with a grunt of exertion, his other hand braced on the car for support. It's awkward as fuck with his coveralls still wadded about his ankles and he can tell already his back and thighs are going to hate him for it tomorrow, but it's entirely worth it for the arousal that flares in Dream's widened eyes, the way he clings and wraps his legs around Hob, the way he surges in to kiss Hob again.

Hob shuffles round the front of the car using his one hand for guidance while Dream devours his mouth, and carefully lowers Dream onto the bonnet. He knows it's not the position Dream was looking for but he can't help slipping his cock back into him like this, when Dream is still wrapped around him and ripe for the plowing.

Dream breaks the kiss with a reedy little whining noise as Hob nudges inside him and sinks deep; he claws at Hob's shoulders and draws his legs back, open and practically begging and alright, okay, Hob can give him a good minute like this first, fucks into him in soft smooth rhythm. Dream's pretty pink cock is stiffening up again already, laying thick and half-filled against his belly and jolting with every thrust; he's panting open-mouthed, the sweetest little sounds falling out of him each time Hob pushes in.

"You're gorgeous like this too," Hob gets out, needing the talk to divide his focus, to keep himself going without risk of finishing. "So eager, so open, so fuckable—" Dream shudders, biting off a deep whine at the word, leaned back and still hanging onto Hob's shoulders for support, feet braced on his hips, and Hob zeroes in on his advantage. "Has no one ever called you that before, sweetheart? Fuckable?"

"None I would care to hear it from," Dream moans, pulling himself up closer, disrupting Hob's rhythm. "But. From your lips. It sounds like a benediction—" He kisses Hob, tongue plunging into his mouth, arms wrapping tight behind Hob's neck. His legs shift also, wrapping back around Hob's waist and he pulls himself close, up off the car as Hob gets his arms quickly underneath to support him.

"Give a bloke an ego, talking like that," he gasps, when Dream lets him up for air.

"It's well-deserved," Dream counters, nipping at his lower lip and shifting his weight so that Hob steps back to keep them balanced. "You are exquisite, and talented with your dick, and I wish to be so deeply and thoroughly fucked over my car that I will still feel you inside me tomorrow." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's mouth and unlocks his legs from around him, lets Hob set him back on his feet.

"Do you need a refresh on your lube first?" Hob gasps, mindful of what they've already done and what Dream still wants from him and the serviceable life of water-based lube.

Dream pauses, considering. "Perhaps," he says, with the restlessness of someone eager to get back into action but recognizing the wisdom of the question regardless.

Hob leans around him and reaches, snags the lube off the bonnet. "Let me slick you up a bit more just to be safe." He glances at his hands, perpetually stained and still dirty enough to leave smudges on Dream's skin. "Or you can, since your hands are cleaner?"

"Yes," Dream agrees, taking the bottle and squirting some out. He reaches behind himself and Hob gets to watch his face flicker through half a dozen little expressions; he's clearly moving for function over pleasure but there's enjoyment to be had all the same, from the look of it.

"There." Dream straightens as he finishes, eyes Hob with new heat in his gaze. "Are you clean."

"What?"

Dream narrows his eyes, clearly conveying both horniness and impatience in equal measure. "I am clean; I test regularly. I want your come inside me. Are. You. Clean."

Hob's libido flares, wildly. "Yes. Fuck. Yes, okay." Caution to the wind, and all that.

Dream reaches down and removes Hob's condom, drops it aside and picks up the lube again. He slicks up Hob's cock, kisses him fiercely while doing so, then turns and drapes himself over the bonnet of his Porsche and lifts up on his toes, arse presented. "Fuck me," he demands over his shoulder, breathless and eager like he hadn't just come bouncing on Hob's cock not ten minutes ago. Insatiable. "Hold me down with your work-dirtied hands and fuck me—"

Hob doesn't need to be told twice. He lines up and pushes in, bare slick and easy, all the way to the hilt. Dream makes the most appreciative and desperate little moan, wriggling backwards; Hob grabs his hip with one grease-stained hand, plants his other in the middle of Dream's narrow back and fucks.

Dream cries out, high gasping breaths punched from his lungs with every thrust and Hob just revels in it, moving in sure and steady rhythm. It's easy, so easy, smooth and slick and so good, and Dream's enthusiastic response is—it's heady, to have someone react to him this way, to want him this much, and he'll do everything he can to give Dream what he wants, to make it worth it. It's no hardship, far from it.

"Your arse is so hot," Hob pants, "so tight, absolutely perfect. Can't believe you wore that glass plug here so you'd be ready to get plowed." He grinds his hips deep in emphasis, draws out a little and relishes the way Dream whimpers when he slams back in. "Sweet of you, though. Did it turn you on, sitting on it in the cab? Feeling it move inside you when you walked? Were you horny and eager the whole way here, darling, stuffed full with your toy and imagining my prick in its place?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Dream cries, as much an answer as it is interjection. He's thrusting backward as best he can in Hob's hold, eager and desperate, and Hob keeps fucking, keeps talking.

"I loved watching you take it out. Your beautiful hole stretching bigger and bigger around it, how open you were after. Wanted to stick my tongue in there, sweetheart, wanted to eat you out, make you squirm."

Dream is gasping, wailing, trembling where Hob pins him to the car, head tossing, breath heaving under Hob's steady hand. His cock is surely leaking a mess all over the bonnet; Hob'll have to clean it for him again when they're done.

"You've got the prettiest little hole I've ever seen," Hob continues, steady and unflagging in his rhythm. He leans back, drags both hands to Dream's arse cheeks and squeezes, spreads them so he can easily see himself sinking in, his naked prick pushing and pulling at the puffy pink rim of Dream's hole again and again. He slows, savoring the sight, and Dream whines, clenches around him as he presses back in. "Absolutely beautiful," Hob breathes, thumb moving to stroke over the delicate skin stretched tight around the girth of his prick. "Exquisite. I'm so lucky I get to ravish it."

He knows on one hand he sounds ridiculous as he picks up the pace again, but on the other it's doing the trick on both counts—distracting him from his own pleasure to draw it out, and driving Dream higher at the same time.

And Dream is absolutely being driven to the heights of pleasured madness, that much is clear. He's writhing on the bonnet under Hob's steady pounding, fingers clutching futilely at the glossy surface, skin flushed and sweat-damp and sticking to the car, ribs heaving. And the sounds coming out of his mouth? Good god, he's noisy, so fucking loud and it's not like Hob doesn't love it, not like there's anyone around to hear or any other reason to hold back. It does great things for his ego, the way Dream's wailing like he's never been railed this good in his life, but Hob's got an idea and his instincts say it's spot-on, so he goes for it.

He claps his hand—still grimy from the tune-up, still a little tacky with Dream's come—he claps it gently over Dream's mouth, stifling his volume, and Dream jolts, then goes wild. His head goes all the way back, giving Hob easier coverage; his breath comes short and sharp through his nose, faster and faster in time with his cries that go higher and shriller, muffled by Hob's not-exactly-clean hand. His body has gone tense, trembling, hips thrusting back against Hob's with mounting desperation and god, but Hob is in love. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me again," he murmurs breathlessly, bending close to Dream's ear and the dried mess on his cheek and squeezing his hip, flexing the hand that covers his mouth. "Take your fill of my cock, shoot your load all over your car—I'll clean it again for you, don't worry—"

Dream stills abruptly, shaking, voice a strangled muffled shriek as he comes; Hob thrusts deep into his pulsing clenching arse and holds, intending to let Dream ride out his orgasm. But Dream wriggles, wrenches his head free of Hob's hand, gasping.

"Move—don't stop—"

So Hob moves.

He straightens up and sets both hands back on Dream's hips, fucks eagerly into him, quickly re-establishing his rhythm and speeding up. "Good?" he grunts, sweat dripping down his temple, and Dream warbles out an affirmative.

"Harder—Hob—use me, claim me, fill me—!" His voice shakes; his hands are spasming against the bonnet, his arms trembling, and his arse is so tight and slick and hot, clenches so beautifully around him, Hob isn't going to last but another moment.

"Use your pretty little hole for my own pleasure?" he gets out, pounding into it now with everything he's got, spiraling up to the horizon, and Dream sobs.

"Yes, Hob, yes—!"

"Claim it for myself?" Hob gasps, grinding deep, slamming into him again and again. "Fill you up with my come—ahh—here it is—Dream!"

Dream wails, and Hob comes, gasping, grunting, the euphoria sweeping through his veins in a warm rush. His hips jerk involuntarily, shoving deep, emptying himself thoroughly into Dream's clutching arse.

"Fuck," he pants, pulse pounding in his ears, "oh, fuck—"

It's good, so damn good, feels like it goes on forever, everything in his body alight with pleasure and pouring out through his dick, until at long last it subsides and he collapses, barely catching himself before he crushes Dream. He takes a minute, just panting above him, and then pulls out carefully—still wet and messy, regardless—with a groan. Dream whimpers, a sound of abject loss, but does not move from where he has gone limp on the car.

Hob turns carefully to perch beside him, resting his arse on the bonnet, catching his breath.

"Alright there, Dream?" he asks, after a moment.

"Mmh," is the only reply, and Hob takes a moment to just look at him, gaze sweeping over the lines of his body and the grey-black smudges he himself has left on that pristine pale skin. He lingers over the curves (such as they are) of Dream's arse, leans far enough to see where there's a mess of lube and semen dribbling down Dream's perineum to his balls, a glistening runnel of it trickling down his inner thigh—Hob shivers, arousal sparking despite the remains of orgasm still simmering in his blood.

"Christ, you look beautiful like this," he can't help saying. "Fucked out across the bonnet of your Porsche with your legs spread, and my come dripping out of your arse…"

"Silver tongue." Dream does not move from where he sprawls, languid and heavy-lidded, spread-eagled on the car, even as Hob levers himself up, moves to stand behind Dream again.

"Mmyes, that's right. Said something about having a use in mind for it, didn't you?"

"Perhaps."

"'Perhaps' he says," Hob drawls, grinning, but the idea's back in his head now and oh, he would like to get his tongue in Dream's arse, lube or no lube. He saw the bottle, it's water-based, it's not going to kill him to lick a bit of it up. "Why don't you tell me if this is what you had in mind, then."

He drops into a squat and flicks the tip of his tongue around the puffy rim of Dream's messy and very-pink hole, circling it with a light touch, and the sound that Dream makes is nothing but encouraging. His own come is no particular delicacy but just like the lube, he doesn't mind that he's getting a taste in the course of eating out this beautiful man. Dream's hole is swollen with use and sensitive and Hob kisses it softly, wets his tongue and wriggles it in, gently at first with slurping licks in between but with increasing enthusiasm until Dream is squirming against his face and he's as deep as he can get, grease-stained hands gripping those milk-white cheeks and spreading them wide.

The keening noise Dream makes urges him on and he delves back in again and again, breathless and eager, feasting until his face is sticky and his jaw aches. Finally he draws back, panting, senses filled with the smell and the taste of this man and still, Dream remains insatiable.

"More. Hob, I want more, do not send me on my way so unsated—"

He has come twice, surely he is not sincere when he says 'unsated', and yet. Here he is, pleading for more, as needy and eager as he's been the whole time. And god, but Hob wants to give him everything, is itching to finger him out but he's not doing that when his hands are still dirty, he's just not. Nor is he going to make Dream wait while he scrubs down with the Swarfega. He casts about, thinking, tongue lapping soothingly around Dream's sloppy hole all the while; there's the plug Dream was wearing but it's been sitting on the shop floor so no; it's shaped for stretching more than fucking anyway. His fingers really would be best—

"Did you bring more than just the one condom?"

"Mmh?" Dream sounds keyed up and hazy, blissed out on the attentions of Hob's tongue and Hob smiles, plants a kiss over his hole.

"Condoms, love. Have you got another?"

"Yes. Trouser pocket—"

"And where did your trousers escape to?" He kisses again, flicks his fatigued tongue inside in a teasing lick.

"Front seat." Dream wriggles, needy, restless and wanting.

"Brilliant. Hang on, got an idea—" He scrambles up and around and finds the clothes rumpled in the Porsche's driver seat, rifles through the pockets for the promised condom and tears it open, slips it over his first two fingers as he shuffles round the front of the car again, coveralls still tangled in his boots. Dream is a vision sprawled face down and spread-legged on the bonnet, eyes tracking Hob's return, and Hob won't leave him waiting another instant.

"Here we are," he murmurs, condom-clad fingers sliding down the cleft of Dream's grease-smudged arse and slipping deftly into his hole still slick with lube and Hob's jizz, Hob's spit. Hob pushes deep, curves his touch down and massages, and Dream cries out, going rigid.

Grinning, Hob leans over the bonnet beside him, fingers working deep and steady, and watches Dream's prettily-dirtied face as he comes apart. He's mewling, eyes wide, mouth open and gasping; he's come twice already and his insides are swollen and sensitive, his pleasure easy to stoke to trembling heights. Hob shifts briefly to drizzle more lube in for good measure and then gives him no quarter, fingers steady and relentless in their attentions until Dream is shaking, sobbing, tears leaking from his eyes and saliva drooling from the corner of his mouth. He pushes up on trembling arms, collapses back to his elbows, head hanging low between his shoulders. "Hob—aah—Hob, please!" It's unclear if he's begging for more or begging for mercy, but the way he flexes up on his toes and pushes back on Hob's hand is telling enough.

"Shh," Hob soothes, leaning close enough to brush his mouth across Dream's bicep in an open kiss, and then, because he can't help being just a touch evil: "Do you want to come again? Or did you need me to stop?"

"Do not stop," he manages, and it is very much an order despite his gasping breathless delivery. "Your hands are exquisite, Hob—!"

"You say the sweetest things," Hob murmurs, kissing his arm again and rubbing particularly hard with both fingers.

Dream wails, head tossing, trembling, helpless, and Hob draws his fingers partway out only to drive them back in, again and again and again, curving his touch to hit that spot on every thrust. He twists his hand as he goes, employing every expert technique he's honed in his time to bring Dream up to the edge again.

God, he loves this, having another person trust him with their pleasure and being able to give them everything they want and then some. It's heady, addictive to have this beautiful man sobbing in delight because of him, shaking apart, because of him; he desperately wants for this to not be the last time. Predictably, his mouth starts running again, pleading his case.

"You can have this anytime you like, love, I'd be delighted to take care of you again. Your pretty mouth, your pretty cock, this pretty perfect eager little hole—" He twists his fingers just so, curls and presses.

Dream warbles out a wet, broken sound that may or may not be Hob's name, bends trembling knees to widen his stance just a little, letting Hob that much deeper inside him.

Beautiful. Perfect.

"Come see me anytime you just need a good hard fuck, mmh? Whenever you want a fun and filthy seeing-too from your handsome bit of rough down at the garage?" He pauses with his fingers buried deep, strokes them fast and firm over exactly the right spot again and again and Dream wails, a high thin keening noise deep in his throat that rises into a proper scream as he comes at last. His body spasms, clenches hard on Hob's fingers in pulsing rhythm and Hob doesn't let up for a long moment, milks him relentlessly through it until he collapses onto the bonnet, boneless and panting.

Hob stills his fingers at that point but doesn't yet pull them out, savoring the snug warmth they're nestled in and the beautiful picture Dream makes like this.

He did that. He made Dream come three times, worked this posh pretty thing into a limp fucked-out mess sprawled across his expensive car.

God, but he wants to do it again.

"Do you think you've got one more in you?" He can't help it; he's always been greedy.

Dream groans, a low sound that stirs something deep in Hob's stomach. "Three times, Hob. I am spent." Yet he makes no move to rise from the car or pull off from Hob's hand, which he could easily do.

Greatly daring, tempted beyond reason by this ravenous marvelous creature, Hob twitches his fingers where they're still pressed against Dream's prostate.

Dream jerks, a shudder running through him, then squeaks when Hob does it again. "Hob—!" His eyes fly open, shining beneath his wet lashes.

"I'll stop if you say so," Hob hastens to assure him. "But you did chide me to not send you home unsated and I just want to make sure I've given you everything"—he presses again—"you need."

Dream whines through his teeth, sucks in a great gasping breath as Hob lets up and cries out when Hob's fingers curl mercilessly within him again, and again, and again. He scrabbles uselessly at the bonnet and lifts his head, mouth open, muscles straining, body trembling as Hob starts taking him apart again before he's even pulled himself back together from the last orgasm.

Hob's good with his hands, in this as well as his work, and he's quite certain he can make Dream come again in fairly short order given how sensitized and overstimulated he is. Hob is also quite certain he can draw this out just a bit longer, work him up even more before pushing him over the edge again and quite frankly, that sounds like more fun.

"Stay with me sweetheart," he murmurs in between Dream's cries, shifting his hand to stave off the cramp that wants to start. He strokes Dream's insides with both fingers, together at first and then one after the other; the condom and the grip of Dream's body restrict his range of movement somewhat but not so much that he can't do his job well.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," he breathes, fingers still moving steadily, and kisses his way softly up Dream's arm. "You're beautiful, perfect, so pretty and so hungry and so eager—" He's planting kisses across Dream's shoulders and back between words, moving down his spine next. "And you let me touch you, worship your body, get you off again and again and again—" He bends over Dream's arse, draws his fingers partway free and spreads them as wide as the condom allows, stretching open Dream's swollen well-used hole. He dips close, slides his tongue into the gap he's created and Dream moans, gasping, trembling. Hob takes a good minute with his tongue before pulling back and sinking his fingers deep again. "This hole, this perfect hungry insatiable hole, you let me fill it as I please, with my cock and my come and my fingers—so lucky, I am. Would you let me fill you with toys, too, sweetheart? I'll bet you've got a drawerful at home; I'd love to try them with you one by one, learn the best ways to play with each, to make you scream and sob and shake—" He's massaging Dream's prostate again, thorough and unhurried and Dream is indeed sobbing, incoherent. He moves, suddenly, draws up one knee beneath him on the bonnet and then the other as Hob moves with him. He's up on all fours briefly and then sinks down, folded double on his knees with his arms stretched out to grip where the bonnet meets the windscreen and his arse opened wide, letting Hob's fingers sink as deep as possible.

"Finish me, Hob," he begs, gripping weakly around Hob's diligent fingers, voice hoarse and shaky, "make me—make me—fuck, I can't—I can't—" He sobs, trembling, and Hob. Well. He's neither a cruel man, nor strong in the face of temptation, and his hand is ready to give out as well. So he buries his fingers to the hilt, seeks out that spot and gives it his all, strokes it quick and steady and firm, both fingers together, then one after the other, together again and Dream's knees spread wide, his spent prick pressing soft against the bonnet. He's making one long sound now, low and thin and straining in his throat, interspersed with gasping gulps of breath. His body trembles, jolts every time Hob presses harder at his prostate, and Hob leans back over beside him, softly kisses the curve of his shoulder.

"I've got you, sweetheart, we're almost there," he breathes, fingering relentlessly. "Is it still good?"

"Yes—fuck—fuck—Hob!" Dream scrabbles one hand down in Hob's direction and Hob seizes it, laces their fingers together; Dream is sobbing, breathless, utterly wrecked and Hob's hand is giving out but he refuses to stop, to quit, not until—

Dream's body stiffens, convulses, bearing down on Hob's stuttering fingers in tremulous pulses and his voice has gone high, whistle-thin, and then he is gasping, tension falling out of him in a rush as he goes limp, breathing hard and heavy against the bonnet. Hob stills his aching hand at last, draws it out carefully and peels off the condom with his teeth, flings it aside. He'll clean up later. He stretches the cramping sensation from his hand and settles it lightly on Dream's still-heaving ribs, unable to keep from touching him even now that they're done.

"Alright, dove?" Hob asks, gently stroking up Dream's spine. "Can you move?" He gives a soft squeeze to their still-joined hands and is gratified to feel brief pressure in return. Dream turns his head, lifts it slightly; his eyes are wet, his hair sticking damply to his forehead and the grease smudge there; his mouth is open, a bit of drool still in the corner and Hob is helpless, gone, so fucking besotted and far too deeply attached for what this is. He dips in, kisses Dream with every soft emotion squirming captive in his chest and Dream just kisses him back, quiet, exhausted, willing.

"C'mere," Hob murmurs, straightening up, sitting back, leaning on the bonnet. He draws Dream after him, tucks him awkwardly up against his side and Dream allows it, nestles underneath his arm, still catching his breath.

This is the drawback to sex in the garage, Hob decides wryly; there is nowhere really suitable or comfortable for post-coital cuddles. He's seriously considering whether he can slide into the passenger seat of the Porsche with Dream in his lap when finally Dream stirs, lifts his head, shivers all over as he straightens and graces Hob with a small smile.

"I believe I will make use of your shop for all my future service needs," he says, primly, with a playful note underneath the exhaustion.

Hob laughs, hearty and full-bodied and joyous. "Glad to hear it," he says, when the laughter subsides. He's so utterly gone on this man, no matter how unlikely a pair they make, and he feels far too good right now to care about the future heartbreak he'll inevitably have to deal with.

He helps Dream down from the car then, steadies him on his feet and sees him around to the driver's seat where Dream first downs half the bottle of water he brought with him and then proceeds with re-dressing. Hob makes to get his coveralls pulled back up into place at that point but Dream stops him. "You promised to clean my spend off my car, I believe," he says, with that tone in his voice that makes Hob's insides go warm despite himself.

"Absolutely," he confirms, waiting, because there was clearly more forthcoming.

"I should like to see you with your trousers around your ankles and your arse on display while you do so." Dream blinks at him, all coquettish charm that is somehow enhanced by his disheveled and dirtied and half-dressed state. "If you are amenable, of course."

"I can do that for you," Hob agrees, delighted, even as he feels his face heat. It's not at all what he's used to but being ogled, being objectified—especially by his beautiful Dream—is no hardship, whatever his reason.

He finds a rag and the polish while Dream finishes putting himself back together and comes round the front of the Porsche again, and then Hob cleans up the bodily fluids on the bonnet, sweat and semen and lube and anything else, coveralls still around his ankles as requested. He wiggles his arse just a bit, since Dream is watching, and when that gets a pleased little sound out of Dream he does it a bit more, putting his whole body into the cleaning motions, bending at the waist and letting his hips swing in wide suggestive arcs.

"There," he says, finished, tossing the rag aside, and his arms are full of Dream as soon as he turns.

"Magnificent," Dream breathes against his mouth, and kisses him, warm and wet and thorough. Hob gives back as good as he gets, threads his hands into Dream's hair, and Dream's hands skate down his bare sides, around his hips and lower, seizing his arse cheeks and squeezing. His fingernails comb through the hair there and Hob squeaks, delighted, dick twitching with interest.

Dream breaks the kiss after only a few seconds. "There is so much more I want to do with you," he murmurs, kneading Hob's arse in slow sensual motions, "but I am spent. Well used. Sated, despite my lingering desires." He releases one cheek, moves to draw a fingertip along the slit of Hob's mostly-soft cock, where he surely encounters the tacky lube-laced remains of Hob's earlier orgasm. He brings that finger to his mouth, makes a show of licking it delicately before slipping it into his mouth to suck properly, and Hob whimpers.

"Dream, love, I meant what I said. Pop by anytime you need, I'll take care of you—"

"I believe you. After all, you have opted me into your loyalty program, yes? I must be sure to claim all of my associated benefits." He steps back, pulling out his phone and handing it to Hob with the contacts open. "Your number, please."

Hob types it in gladly, hits save, hands the phone back.

Dream cradles it close, a look on his face like he's savoring the addition of Hob's number, and glances up at Hob through his lashes. "I look forward to employing your services again, Hob Gadling. You are very much worth the trip."

"You just like me for my rugged filthiness," Hob says, a tease to keep his head in the right place—there's still no sense getting sentimental, after all, no matter the elated cartwheels his ego is doing at those words.

Dream regards him haughtily, one eyebrow lifting; the grease stains do nothing to diminish the expression. "I am quite certain I would enjoy you equally as much cleaned up and dressed up, that I might wine and dine you, take you home to my bed for an evening."

Hob almost, almost detects a hint of vulnerability threading the words and grins, a little pang of tenderness tugging helplessly behind his chest. "Think so, do you?"

"Would you like to test my theory?" There is something both hesitant and eager underneath his casual tone, and Hob's heart trips a little as that tug grows stronger.

"Why, Mr. Atelíotes, are you asking me out? On a proper date?"

"Perhaps." It's equal parts caginess and coy teasing, and Hob is forced to admit—again—that he's smitten despite himself.

"Well." He grins, dialing it up to his most charming. "Rumor has it I'm excellent company whether my dick's involved or not. And while a standard dinner date may not be as fantasy-worthy as getting plowed by the rough mechanic in his garage, I think we could still have a good time." He's showing his hand a bit, gently calling Dream on the fantasy fulfillment that has obviously been going on here, but what's life without a little risk? Especially when the potential reward is so very worth it?

"You are very confident of your own appeal," Dream replies, mouth turning up at one corner in a way that tips over from 'cautious' to 'amused'. And if Hob's not mistaken, there's a hint of pink blushing over his porcelain complexion under the filth clinging to his cheekbone.

He grins, spreads his arms, still stark naked with his coveralls around his ankles. "Am I wrong, though?"

"…No," Dream decides, after a long moment of deliberation, and Hob steps closer to him, dares to touch his face affectionately.

"Why don't you pick me up here at seven tomorrow night. Tell me exactly how posh I should dress, and we'll see where it goes?" He leans in, presses his lips softly to Dream's.

Dream hums into it, pleased, and palms his chest gently before pulling away. "Very well. Seven, tomorrow night. I will make us a reservation and text you the dress code."

Hob smiles, an effervescent sort of happiness bubbling up inside him. "Sounds perfect."

He finally puts his coveralls back in order after that, zipped just past the waist, and makes certain that the condoms are picked up and Dream gets his lube and his toy all collected before he shifts back into business mode. Dream is no more interested in cleaning his face before leaving today than he was yesterday so Hob moves on; he explains the repairs and runs Dream's credit card, then returns his keys and guides him in backing the Porsche out of the garage. Dream leans out the window once he's clear and Hob ducks down, delighted to get a final kiss.

"I'll be waiting to hear from you," he says, trying to temper the giddy anticipation he feels against the reality of their acquaintance, and Dream's soft smile turns sultry around the edges.

"I will be counting the hours until I see you again, Hob Gadling," he purrs, and drives off.

The way the Porsche jerks when he shifts after turning the corner makes Hob wince.

Maybe, if they do continue whatever this is beyond a single dinner date, maybe Hob can give him some tips on driving stick so he doesn't burn out the new clutch.

Then again, the more Dream abuses his poor car, the more excuse he'll have to invoke his 'loyalty rewards'.

And Hob doesn't think that's such a bad thing, in the end.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 9/17/24 Posted: 9/21/24

[steviewashere]

Want to Go Home With You (Bring Me a Home)

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change With Future Chapters) CW: None, at least for now Tags: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, Hurt/Comfort, Dialogue Heavy, Took Canon Out Back And Pulled an Old Yeller, Mer!Steve Harrington, Fisherman!Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington, Confused Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Wants to be Loved, Mermaids with Animal Like Instincts, Future Propositioning, Lowkey Might Involve Some Omegaverse Aspects in the Future (Not Sorry)

This is chapter one of ????. Also this takes place in Oregon because that's what I know and the idea of a merman living in an Indiana lake-beach is odd to me. So...bear with me. This is my first like actual alternate universe, completely separate from Stranger Things, so be nice.

Also, I've written Steve here as a merman who's had no contacts with humans—his English is choppy and his understanding of basic human communication is weird. If that's a turn-off for you, turn back now.

Read Part Two Here

Can also be read on AO3

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ Fishing wasn’t the ideal career to be going into after high school, but Eddie had to do something while he waited for his dreams to kickstart. Granted, going into this business was easy because his uncle owned the local bait shack. But it didn’t make the job any more appealing in the end. Not even the many beaches he had the chance to truck out to. There was Cannon Beach and Seaside’s, but he stayed close to home in Newport’s.

The beach wasn’t anything super spectacular. Sure, there were parts of it inhabited by the native seal population, some of the areas overloaded with crab shells. And it was damn near majestic during the summertime. Eddie, however, didn’t see the gist of spending time there, though. Maybe it had to do with how every single one of his work days would go, the hours spent sitting in the serene stretches of water. But nothing was intriguing or worthwhile about spending his time there.

That is, until one particular early summer day.

June isn’t a busy summer month for Eddie and his uncle. It was the right temperature, but there was still the risk of storms. Heavy duty kind of storms. Business didn’t stop, though. He woke up at 5:30am, when the sun was still acclimating to the baby blue sky, and readied himself in coveralls, thick and tall rubber boots, and a bucket hat that protected his lopsided mop of curls. His hair remained back in a bun and his skin was doused with paste-like sunscreen. In one hand he carried a red fishing rod and in the other, an old black lunchbox transformed for tackle.

He went out to the docks. To the few run down boats. And climbed aboard his uncle’s tried and true, S.S. Lenore—a tiny thing, made for up to four people, overrun with nets and crusted muddy footprints, and equipped with a singular cooler. The engine always took a few pulls to start up, jostling and crunching like food run through a garbage disposal, but it did the trick. And then he was off.

Eddie always took the chance to float out for a handful of minutes. Sometimes fifteen. Sometimes ten. Set himself up stagnant in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nobody, with no chance in hell he’ll be interrupted. Today he just needed to get a cooler full of trout. Rainbow trout, to be more exact. They’re easy fish to gut and debone, good for baking in the oven, and stuffing full of herbs for marinated fish stew. He’d gone out previously to hoist in mackerels and herrings. This was the last trip he’d need to take for a good two weeks, but he was going to do a damn great amount of work for it.

“This should be good,” he mumbles to himself, just barely breeching the edge of his boat. The ocean underneath him moves in subtle pushes, rocking him lightly against itself. Its color is bright and shining—bluer, somehow, than the last time he visited just a few days ago. He can see schools of trout idling underneath the sheen of the water. And so he rigs one of his nets, tosses it over the side of his boat, and slowly sinks it into the water.

And he waits.

It isn’t until half past when he came out that the net begins to rustle. Tugging and splashing, but it doesn’t settle the way it does when it’s some regular trout. No, this threatens to topple Eddie straight into the cold depths of the water below. To sink his boat and turn it over of all its resources.

He grips to the ropes holding the damned thing up. Pulling at it hard enough to give him the starts of burns on his soft palms. And he heaves. Groaning with it. Panting unrelenting in the face of this thing trapped inside his net. Whatever he caught is surely not some common fish for his soup, this is something more—maybe even more dangerous. And he hadn’t thought to bring anything with him to ward off danger.

There had been one time where a shark got caught. Eddie happened to have a knife on him that time. He gave in, cut the ropes on the net, and let it free—which cost him the equipment, but luckily saved his life.

This is a time where having that knife would be spectacular. But as he hefts the net, he realizes that this creature caught is no ordinary thing. It’s not a shark. Not a seal. Not a school of fish. However, through the floundering waves around him, he catches on a fish-esque glimmer. Scales of some sort shifting with the catch of light breaking through.

He wrestles with the net for a few minutes more before eventually getting a good enough grasp to tie it down. Pulling up the rest with his hands, he’s met face to…tail with this creature. It has scales—pearl white and baby pink and pastel yellows—they shine iridescent in the high rise of sunlight. The end of the tail sports two fins, both of them crescent shaped, thicker towards the base of the tail, and spindly where it faces Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he’s poking at the scales, where they taper into absence at the creature’s fins. It’s then that the creature really notices him.

In one fell motion, grand and heaving, the boat rocks. Teetering into flipping. The creature turns its head to him and…hisses. Like the guttural bubbling hiss of a harbor seal. It rocks in the net again, as it lunges towards Eddie.

Immediately, Eddie pulls his hands away and steps as far back as the boat will allow him. Granted, it’s only four feet in width, but that puts space between him and this thing. The thing that he calculates slowly with his eyes. Tail—yeah, he already knew about that. But then he rakes up to the torso of the fish like creature, where his tail is ombre with the glistening, golden skin of a nude torso.

“That—That isn’t right,” Eddie finds himself stuttering, surveying the torso once again. Sure enough, there’s skin. Dotted with moles and freckles. Dark brunette chest hair that could almost be mistaken as black. Toned arms and big, veiny hands. At the ends of this creature’s fingertips are short, curved towards the palms, white claws. Gills where its ribs are. And then Eddie goes to its head. Square-ish jaw, more freckles and moles, smile lines and baby crows feet. Thick eyebrows, triangular nose with a bridge that angles slightly to the left. Ears that threaten to point at the tops. Brunette hair that swoops to the right, falls to its collarbones, wavy and stringy with saltwater.

And its eyes.

Human eyes. Hazel, glowing honey in the sun. Long eyelashes. Drooping eyelids. Pupils that are pinpoint small, dilating with every hiss that leaves the creature’s throat.

A mermaid.

Eddie Munson is looking at a fucking mermaid.

Or…merman? It doesn’t have the seashell bra like all the mermaids he’s heard tales about, but maybe that’s just fable. He’s played all kinds of fantasy games, but he never thought what he described would be looking at him. Wild eyes and baby shark-like teeth, though without the second row. Hissing.

It struggles in the net again, lunging. Wrapping its hands on the edge of Eddie’s boat, squeezing at the metal material. The force of this merman’s grip enough to cause the edge to creak. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“Woah! Alright, okay!” He exclaims, hands up and placating. Briefly, he wonders if it has a good sense of smell and hearing. Like it can scent the excretion of his sweat even in the cold air. Or how his heart beats like the galloping of a race horse. “Easy! I ain’t—I’ve got no reason to hurt you!”

It seems to know what he’s saying, as it relaxes in the net for the first time. But it shoots him a pitiful, pleading look. Petulantly whining at him, though the sound is gargled.

Eddie wipes his sweating palms on his coveralls and takes a tentative step forward. “Easy,” he murmurs, “I’ll free you, but you have to stay calm.”

But the merman shakes its head. “No,” it croaks, “No free.”

Okay, so the guy speaks. It knows English. Even as choppy and awkward as it sounds.

“No free?” Eddie questions, “You don’t want me to free you?”

It shakes its head again. Whines, gargling again in the back of its throat. Its hands grip to the boat again, this time lugging some of its weight. As if it’s trying to…climb in.

Eddie startles back once more. “Hey, no,” he barks, “no climbing in. You can’t come onto my boat.” Though he wants to take it all back the moment he locks eyes again. If it didn’t have scales and gills, Eddie would almost think it was a sad puppy hybrid. He can almost imagine the droopy tail paired with the glistening, fearful, and pleading eyes. “Why shouldn’t I free you? My boat isn’t your home and I can’t take you back with me. You belong in the water.”

“Home,” the merman echoes, croaking. “Your home…warm?”

“Uh—“ What the fuck, he can’t help but think, exasperated. “—uh, sure. Home is warm. My, uh, home is warm. I live by the sand with my uncle, selling worms and cooking fish. The sun hits my skin every morning.” He doesn’t know why he’s answering the guy, but something in its stare, the broken words—Eddie’s allured. “Can you please answer my question? I’d like to go home. So, why shouldn’t I free you?”

The merman points a clawed finger at itself. “My home not warm. Cold.” Eddie nods along because—of course, duh, the ocean is cold. But it murmurs, “Love.” And now Eddie’s confused all over again.

“Love?”

Its voice is soft and sweet, curious. “You have love?”

Eddie shouldn’t be indulging this. He shouldn’t. But maybe the merman is a siren with how he’s drawn to answer. “I don’t have a partner, if that’s what you’re asking. But my uncle loves me. And I love him. That’s—I have love like that.”

It nods like it understands. Looks away over its shoulder, to the cold, salty water. And visibly shudders before facing Eddie again. “No love,” it says, pointing at itself again. “I no have love. No warm.” It tries to climb in again, even as Eddie’s moving to pry its hands away, but it holds tight and hisses again. “Want warm. Go with. Want to go. Go now,” it demands in a low timber.

And even as pretty as this merman is, Eddie has to refuse. He shakes his head softly. Gently, he says, “You can’t. I—I don’t know you. And…I don’t have an ocean in my house. You’ll die if you come with me.”

“Steven,” it mutters.

What? “What.”

“Know me—Steven,” it says. “Know you? Name?”

Tentatively, Eddie relaxes again. Realizes that this won’t be an end all conversation. “My name is Eddie. It’s short for Edward,” he answers, “but I like Eddie more.”

It hums, observing. “Eh-die,” it sounds out. “Eddie,” it whispers. Without warning, it trills at him. High pitched, chirping and bubbling from the back of its throat. Smiling with the sound, squinting its pretty honey eyes. Something in Eddie stirs. “Like that,” it chirps. “Short and easy. I want.”

“You want a short and easy name, too?” Eddie clarifies. It nods at him, squeaking an affirmative thing. “How about…Hm, what’s a good name for Steven?” He ponders as the merman continues to look on at him, eyes bright and curious. “How about Steve? Is that good enough for you?”

“Steve!” It crows. Trilling again, higher pitched than the last, squirming again in the net, closer and closer to heaving itself into the boat. “Easy, easy, easy,” it says at him.

Eddie can’t help but chuckle. “So…Steve, am I able to call you a he? Like…His name is Steve?”

He nods at Eddie. Wriggling again as if he can’t contain his excitement.

“Well, now I know you, huh? It’s a shame I still can’t take you to my home.”

And now Steve frowns, eyes saddening again. “But…My home is cold. You have warm,” he says solemnly.

“I know,” Eddie murmurs, “but I don’t have space for you, Steve. Your home is in the water. If I take you out of the water for too long, you’ll die. You need the water.”

“I will see you again?”

Eddie shrugs. “If you see my boat again, you can visit me. How about that? And…what’s special about that, is that I can bring you things that aren’t in the ocean.”

“Man’s stuff?”

Befuddled, Eddie asks, “What are man’s stuff?”

“Stuff I see from up here. From Eddie’s home,” Steve answers. “I find and I keep and I hide. Nobody knows. Just Eddie. Eddie is nice, though. You make me happy.”

Humming, Eddie assesses Steve again. Smiles softly. “You’re nice, too, Steve. Even though you scared me earlier. But you were scared, too, huh? Caught in my stupid net.” He takes a careful step closer, standing over where Steve rests in the net still. He places a hand on one of Steve’s, tentatively, but purposefully. “But if you see my boat again, you can come visit. Maybe next time I’ll bring some fish soup? Do you eat fish?”

“Fish are tasty,” Steve says as a response.

Eddie chuckles again. “Okay, Steve. I’ll bring you fish soup. Tomorrow, though. I have to free you and go home, okay?” He reaches down for the ropes that he tied down earlier. Tugs on one of the knots and frees one side. Steve yelps.

“Promise you come back?” Steve meekly asks.

“Promise,” Eddie murmurs intensely, unraveling the last of the rope. “Look for Lenore. She’ll bring you back to me.”

🧜‍♂️—————🧜‍♂️ If you'd like to be tagged in future updates, let me know. Taglist for this is open <3

[covetyou]

is there any Santa/Cupid Joel lore you'd be willing to share?

it's a totally normal question i'm not unhealthily obsessed with him or anything

lore you say? I have baubles and stupid cupid lore. more in egg hunt at the end of March too.

word count: 722 warnings: sex toys, brotherly shenanigans, these two things are related but very much not in an incest way don't worry. summary: What started as a simple joke from the youngest Miller brother quickly turned into a... beloved brotherly tradition.

The first time he'd gotten one of those gifts it had been his birthday. He never got anything, from anyone, so when he opened his front door to see a present lying there with his name on it, he'd been wary. When he saw it was from Tommy, he was even more apprehensive. So, he did the only logical thing and left it in the garage until he could open it in a disposable coverall later that night, just in case.

Of course, he looked like a total dick stood in his garage in a coverall at midnight holding anal beads of all fucking things, staring at a chicken scratch of a note from his dearest fuckin' baby brother:

if you won't bring someone into your bedroom, maybe you gotta bring something. hbd brother.

Tommy may have been right, but Joel didn't think anal beads were that thing he was looking for. By the next afternoon, the beads were carefully hung from Tommy's rearview mirror.

And so began the long, tiring, tradition of gift giving and gift returning between the Miller brothers.

On Thanksgiving, Joel slipped Tommy a baggy of finger cots, giving him a heavy slap on the back and telling him he found his size. The next week, the tiny white condoms were neatly pulled over the ends of every single one of Joel's tools.

That Christmas Joel was the not-so-happy recipient of an edible chocolate Clone-a-Willy kit. He was almost tempted to try it out - to cast his cock in the tube just so he could take it out and look at it properly from every angle. He cast his middle finger instead, handing it to a gleeful Tommy on New Years Eve.

For Valentine's day, Joel damn near gave Tommy a heart attack, and ruined the end of what was, until that point, a very good date. He knew he should've kept it to the couch, but damn if his date didn't deserve the full Tommy Miller Experience. Apparently, that also included seeing the blow up sex doll tucked neatly into his bed. He never did hear back from her after that night.

Of course, what Joel didn't know is Tommy had stashed a pink heart shaped butt plug on his dresser, only noticing the thing weeks later when Sarah pointed it out before Joel could sweep it into a drawer and tell her to get going or she'd be late for school. Tommy groveled until Joel didn't quite want to kill him any more, and the butt plug lay forgotten in the bottom of his sock drawer.

Tommy's birthday brought him some vibrating nipple clamps - clamps that Joel never saw or heard about again, save for a thank you and a thumbs up from his brother one day on a job.

For his birthday that year, a full 365 days since this whole thing started, Joel received maybe the most baffling gift of all. A dildo for his balls. Apparently. Now, Joel wasn't a church going man - hadn't been since their parents had given up with it all when they were kids - but he couldn't help but think that maybe his brother needed Jesus.

This one, he was almost tempted to keep. Not that he had anyone to use it with, and it most definitely was not a solo use gift. He opened it, tried to figure it out, even watched the instructional video, before settling on sticking it on top of Tommy's Christmas tree at the end of the year.

But, when he pulled up outside Tommy's place on Christmas Eve it looked, and sounded, like he had company. Not one to cockblock his brother again (at least one of them was gettin' laid) Joel headed back home, toy hidden away in his Santa sack. It was still the right side of midnight when he drove down his street, noticing once again that house with the sparkling Christmas tree, totally bare of any decorations. One look to the back of his truck, ornaments from a house clearance still stashed in a box that he had yet to find a home for, and he made up his mind. Parking up and walking down the street, draped in red velvet with a bag filled with jangling plastic ornaments, he stepped up to your door...

[soullessdianthus]

Could you make something with a reader having a stupid habit of flirting without noticing that they did and one day they moaned into bo's ear as a joke and could it have end up in smut

Author's note: Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you like it! ^u^ I'm sorry for the short length, to be honest I struggled lately to do literally anything, so haha

Warnings: smutty smut (praising, dirty talk?, sprinkles of mommy kink, save a horse, ride a cowboy yeehaw)

Word count: 1.7k

Summer heat was getting unbearable in the southern towns like Ambrose. Steamy air bouncing off the asphalt, burning wanderer’s feet through the layer of soles. Nonetheless, you valiantly made your way down the main road with a plastic package in your hands. 

You took a walk in a pastel sundress Bo had bought you some time ago. But only now was the right weather to wear it. 

The garage doors were elevated and his truck stood halfway in the workshop. Dark haired man was leaning above the opened mask of the vehicle as he wiped out oiled hands in a rug, hanging from his pocket. 

━ What on Earth are you doin’ outside during heat like that, doll? ━ He said surprised by your appearance at the gas station. You rarely visited him here. 

━ Lester told me, you’re staying in town today, so I’ve brought you some lunch.

━ Ain’tcha the cutest, huh? 

You placed the package with food on the metal counter and came closer to the mechanic, who looked at you from head to toe. His eyes often revealed many of his secrets, this time was no different. But somehow his specific, steamy thoughts slid past you.

In a delicate manner, almost briefly, your fingertips brushed the exposed flesh  of his biceps, as he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt that day.

Your hand shot up to touch him instinctively, didn’t think much about it - just a sign of affection. Almost like you forgot what a slightest touch does to him. This man was always horny.

━ Don’t overwork yourself, handsome. See you at the house.

And with a simple kiss on his clean shaven cheek you said your goodbyes, turned around on your heels and started to walk away. But for the rest of the sunny day his thoughts were occupied by the beautiful sighting of a woman in a skimpy dress he bought.

When the evening had finally come, bringing some solace from the scorching heat, so did Bo Sinclair returned home. You two ate dinner together and he even helped you clean the plates afterwards. 

The house on the hill was fully at your disposal, as Vincent preferred to stay at his workshop and the youngest brother went on a road trip. Whatever that meant. 

Bo sat down with a loud huff on a couch, a glass bottle of beer in his right hand. He was still wearing his coveralls he worked in, but the upper part was unbuttoned and tied up around his waist.

When you were done in the kitchen, you slowly walked up to the sofa and sat beside your boyfriend. One of Bo’s arms was lying on the backrest of the furniture, so you leaned into his shoulder searching for some affection. 

━ Could ya pass the remote, darlin’? ━ He asked kindly, before you settled in his arms. 

Quickly, but nicely you stood up from the cushions. Then while bending over to reach the pilot from the coffee table, the loud smack on your ass interrupted and made you whimper. You quickly straightened up and pulled the hem of the dress down.

━ Bo! 

━ What? Didn’t you do that on purpose? ━ He laughed in a flirty manner, after taking a sip from the bottle. Your face was flushed with blush, just like the place where he spanked you. 

━ What on Earth are you talking about? ━ You formed a question, sitting back at the spot you left a moment ago. He took the remote out of your hand and turned on the TV. 

━ Teasin’ me in that lil dress of yours, no? I could see your panties. Fuck, I could see everything. 

━ Then don’t look.

━ Don’t look? You fuckin’ wanted me to ━ with his free hand, Bo harshly grabbed the side of your exposed thigh. ━ After you showed up at gas station, barely wearing anything, I couldn’t focus on my truck anymore. And the noise you just made? Fuck, you’re a nasty thing. 

You leaned as close as you could to his ear and with a cheeky smirk on your lips, you whispered.

━ What sound? Like this?

A sensational, short and almost quiet moan escaped your parted lips, as you slightly grinded against his side. The first one was intentional, the second was just an accident. 

━ Oh, eager ain’tcha? ━ Bo very swiftly peeled off the couch and put the beer on the coffee table in front of him. Then he sat comfortably, spreading his legs apart. ━ Come, sit on my lap, darlin’. 

━ I was just joking.

━ I’m serious. Sit ━ he ordered strongly, patting on his toned thigh ━ sit and find out how worked up you made me. And take off your underwear, honey. 

Bo’s demanding tone made you weak in the knees. For a moment you were thinking about the situation you got yourself into - either Vincent or Lester could be back anytime, technically. But from the autopsy you knew, it’s not likely to happen. They all liked to spend some time alone.

Slowly you slid the panties down your legs, letting them fall onto the carpet. Bo’s trousers already formed a shape of tent near his crotch. Clumsily you straddled his lap, while his hands guided your hips down. 

━ See? Told ya, doll. 

He said, while you tried to ignore his member pressing into your thigh. 

━ Bo, I was only joking, really. Didn’t mean to-

━ No? Well, now ya have to take care of it, huh? You did this. 

Biting slightly on your lower lip you grinded against him a few painfully slow times. He let out a few muffled groans, digging his fingers into your skin through the material of the dress.

Bo pressed his lips against yours, stealing your breath. He was greedy and eager to taste you. The scent of yours mixed with the flavor of strawberry sorbet, sparkling champagne on his tongue. Oh, his sweet girl. 

The man unzipped his coveralls further and yanked them down to the half of his thigh. Beauregard’s actions became careless, mind focusing on one thing in particular - you. 

You lifted your hips from his body and helped him with lowering the boxers. Your fingers entangled around his shaft and began the sensational, gentle movements up and down the length. You leaned in the way that his hard cock was pressed against your stomach and your breasts almost spilled out of the dress’ cups - right into his face. 

━ I’m not sure if it’s gonna fit, sweet boy. You’re so- so big. ━ You whined into his face, thumb smearing the glossy liquid on his flushed tip. Bo tried with all of his strength to stay patient, but just couldn’t. He placed a soft kiss on your neck, before he spoke again. 

━ C’mon, mama, take it. 

You obediently guided his shaft between your wet folds, covered in arousal. And when it was positioned at your entrance, Bo’s hands found themselves in a strong grip again on your hips, making you take him entirely in a pace he wanted to. 

And that day he wasn’t patient especially, because he believed you teased him intentionally. Bo made you take him at once, forcing your mouth open and a set of pitch, short noises left your swollen lips.  

He pressed your hips all the way down until you sank on his plush thighs. You breathed heavily for a moment, before you got accustomed to his pulsating cock stretching your aching pussy.

━ That’s a good girl ━ blue eyed man lowered the cups of the sundress that they dug into the ribs, forcing each breasts out. Bo placed wet, sucking kisses on each one of them, leaving a trail of hickeys behind. 

And when you finally got comfortable, you climbed onto the heels of yours and began to roll your hips in a slow rhythm. At first, the movements were a long type of sway, well-thought-out all the way. 

But when Bo took a fist full of your loose hair and forced your neck into an angle that your spine arched - you couldn’t think straight anymore. 

Your tits bounced in a clumsy rhythm, while you were riding your lover boy. Sinclair lowered himself on the couch, comfortably resting his head on the backrest of the sofa. 

━ Bo, you must be so tired after work, huh? Oh, darling, let me help you. 

Your hands were propped against his chest, helping you to stay in division. As your mind was to cock-drunk to be thinking straight. 

Bo began to pump his hips upwards, when he began chasing his own release. Your mouth watered with a fresh portion of saliva, when the pornographic sounds of yours became louder. You were close too. 

Then he came back to the sitting position and entangled both of his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to him. Blue eyed mechanic kept his face buried into your neck. You could feel his heavy breath on your skin and the smell of his, which you adored so deeply. 

━ My sweet girl, takin’ such a good care of me. ━ Bo praised you between his groans, while his fingers began to circle your lower back. ━ Christ ━ he hissed through his teeth ━ I love you so much. 

━ I love too, Bo. 

With a couple more rolls of your hips, Bo reached his high and filled your needy cunt with his cum. You didn’t need much more invitations from him to climax too. You sank deeper on top of him and swayed a few, rough times. The pleasant warmth filled your body, a tickling sensation spreading through the lower abdomen. Sinclair trembled beneath you, still holding you secure in his grasp. 

Your hand slipped between your bodies and fixed the cups of the dress. Its hem sank over your thighs, covering all the private parts of you both.

When your lover rested his head upon your chest, your hands began to stroke his messy, dark hair in a comforting manner. His curls, you loved them. 

━ No more teasin’, alright? ━ Bo said after a moment of silence, collecting himself from his high. ━ I seriously couldn’t focus on that damn car.

[randomquadballpun]

DAY 40 (attempt no 7)

When John entered the flat after an afternoon out with Greg and a few of his other mates, he returned to a crime scene ... or well, not quite a crime scene *yet* but it looked like the kitchen was about to turn into one very soon. On a positive note, underneath the plastic sheets that covered all surfaces including the kitchen counters and the floor, the room looked tidier than it had in years. The only loose and uncovered objects in sight were a trash can, a new, bigger container of merrily steaming liquid nitrogen and a wide selection of tools, hammers, pliers and other utensils that had been neatly arranged on the plastic covered table.

"Ready Watson?"

Sherlock came down the stairs with a grim grin only to freeze in his steps when he spotted John in the kitchen, his eyes wide. He let out an oomph when something small barrelled into him from further up the stairs while he was blocking the steps down but otherwise, he remained mute. The pure look of 'deer caught in the headlights' told John that they probably had not expected him to be back home quite so soon. Maybe it would have been better - for plausible deniabilitys sake - if he had stayed for another beer or two. Well, too bad now.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tried to give his partner a stern look - which was slightly hindered by the fact that the other man looked frankly ridiculous. Sherlock was wearing one of his good shirts, a blue-grey one that did marvellous things for his eyes. It lost some of its charm though, if it was worn underneath a blue disposable crime-scene coverall. His boyfriend had also donned safety goggles and a plastic face shield, as well as a pair of heavy duty thermal gloves. And from the small glimpses that John could catch of his daughter just behind Sherlocks shoulders, she had been equally equipped.

"Planning to practice your dissection skills while I was out with friends?", John asked with raised eyebrows. He threw another glance at the steaming container in the kitchen. "Or just more highly educational experiments that will magically empty our vegetable drawer of all the food that Rosie does not like?"

Sherlock finally descended the stairs all the way to the bottom and allowed Rosie to join them in the living room as well. "We bought our own vegetables this time around", he declared with a sheepish expression and indicated a plastic bag from Tesco that was standing somewhat hidden beside the covered-up fridge. "And this round is not meant to be educational, this is purely about letting out some frustration."

Ah, so another failed experiment then. John probably should have seen that coming. And really, what was the difference between a fully equipped vegetable torture chamber, several rounds of bacterial cloning in their kitchen or the occasional human body part in the fridge? Just another part of everyday 221B madness after all.

"You are welcome to join, if you'd like?", Sherlock offered with a hesitant grin.

John rolled his eyes but only took another moment before he began shrugging out of his jacket. "I am sure I will be able to find some frustration that needs to be expelled", he agreed lightheartedly - not yet knowing, that he would go on to find small bits of cucumber, carrot and spring onions in the most impossible nooks and corners of the living room and kitchen for months to come.

--------------------

Troubleshooting, part 20/?

-> I did not plan for this scene, but Sherlock and Rosie decided that it was meant to be. And who am I to deny them.

-> Next part can be found here.

-> Until then you can start reading this series at DAY 0 (tumblr/ao3) or read the previous snippet here.

[off-brand-likes]

Alley?

I did not expect this to be the one my brain got into, but here we are.

Gonna just stick today's Whumptober entry in here real quick:

Somebody in this associated with this parts supplier almost a hundred levels down on Coruscant had sold Hera a part with a beacon that almost got her and Jacen caught by Imperial loyalists, Kallus was sure of it. He, Zeb, and Sabine had come here to find out who had sold Hera the part, and who had paid them to do it. They didn't trust the New Republic to assign enough resources to the task to do it right.

While Zeb and Sabine talked to the people in the parts shop, Kallus watched from an alley between it and the next building over. Maybe someone interesting would come out of it, or...

Movement across the narrow street in front of the parts shop caught Kallus's eye. He shifted slowly to get a better look. A human with light hair, dark clothes, and a slight build was also watching the shop. Which probably meant she'd seen him, he'd never been great at hiding. The cigarra in his hand and the stolen shop coveralls would make him look like an employee for at least ten minutes, and maybe a bad employee for another ten. After that, he'd look as suspicious as that slip of a human across the street did.

He turned his head as far away from her as he could while keeping her in his peripheral vision. "Someone's watching out here," he murmured. The mic on his collar should pick it up and transmit that to Sabine's helmet. "Not sure what--"

And all of a sudden, the woman was standing next to him. She was as small as he'd thought she was at a distance, but there was no way she should've been able to cross the street that fast. She reached for something on her belt. Kallus stumbled away from her and fell over  disposable crates piled near the parts shop door.

As he landed on his back, a red light swept over his head. Not a blaster bolt, a lightsaber. Kriff.

No way to defend himself against that. Kallus stayed on his back where he fell and shouted, "Zeb, Sabine, run!"

He barely got the last syllable out before the... Inquisitor? Sith? dropped a knee on his chest and held her lightsaber so close to his eyes the blade singed his eyebrows. Dark makeup around her eyes made them look wider than her anger made them. "Who are you?" She demanded.

"Alexsandr Kallus." Giving his real name might keep him alive long enough to escape. It still carried a bounty in some corners of the outer rim.

She didn't react to the name. It didn't sound like a promise of credits to her, then. Or his voice was too choked to say it. With her whole weight on his chest, he couldn't take a full breath.

She dipped her wrist to brush the blade over Kallus's face. The burning pain tore a strangled cry out of him that was still bouncing off the alley's walls when she said, "What are you to Sabine Wren?"

Kallus's lips twitched into a painful, brief smile. So this was the stalker Sabine had mentioned. Too bad he couldn't help her with this one. Lightsaber fights were beyond his pay grade, even back when he was getting paid.

Before he could think of a good answer to her question, the door beside him crashed open. The stalker leapt off Kallus toward the street and raised her lightsaber just in time to reflect a bo-rifle bolt into the wall beside the door. Snarling, Zeb jumped over Kallus to stand between him and the lightsaber.

And just as Kallus was thinking of standing up to join him, Sabine jumped over him too, followed by the shouts of confused and alarmed parts shop employees. Kallus sighed and pulled his blaster from its holster. He could shoot from the ground well enough.

Not that he had the chance to. The stalker looked between the three of them, gaze hanging longer on Sabine than the rest with her big eyes wider than ever, and then took off running.

Zeb and Sabine chased her to the mouth of the alley and looked up and down the street outside, but didn't follow any farther. "Where the hells did she go?" Zeb demanded.

Sabine sighed. "She does that."

A shop employee in the same coveralls Kallus wore peered out the shop's alley door, then down at Kallus and his burned face. "Just stay there, I'll call an ambulance." The employee turned and ran into the shop.

Now that the danger was past, the burn on Kallus's face hurt worse than when he got it. He holstered his blaster carefully so as not to move his head much. Zeb knelt down beside him, ears drooping with horror.

Kallus tried to smile, but it wouldn't have been convincing. Moving his mouth hurt too much. "Have you ever been to a lower level hospital? It's not as interesting during the day, but--"

"I'm pretty sure the veterans' hospital on Level 10 will take you." Sabine grabbed one of Kallus's arms and Zeb took the other to help him stand. "They don't make you leave your weapons at the door."

"Perfect." Bacta spray would've regrown the skin with some risks of infection, but as Zeb reminded him often enough, they weren't at war and there wasn't anybody who'd kill Kallus if he didn't keep up an invulnerable reputation. He might as well let a professional put his face back together. "So, where did your Sith stalker come from, exactly?" Sabine rolled her eyes. "She's not a Sith. It's a long story." Zeb helped Kallus sit carefully on the ground out in front of the parts shop, where the ambulance would find him easily. "Well, get to telling it, then," Zeb said. "We've got time."

[primesolutionsnewzealand]

Disposable Shoe Coveralls: Protects Surface From Contaminations

Introduction

In various industries and sites, cleanliness and hygiene are the upmost priority. One small but significant accessory that plays a vital role in maintaining these standards is disposable shoe coveralls. These simple cost-effective items protect the environment from contamination & dirt, ensuring that floors and sterile environments remain clean. In this blog post, we'll explore the benefits, uses, and features of disposable shoe coveralls. Let's Continue

 What are Disposable Shoe Coveralls? 

Disposable Shoe Coveralls are lightweight, waterproof, and water-resistant covers made to wear overshoes to protect the surface from contaminants like dirt, dust, and germs. They are typically made from plastic polythene or non-woven material, they are designed for single use and are quickly disposed of after use.

These coveralls are available in various sizes, thickness, and material. Disposable shoe coveralls are used in a wide range of environments, from hospitals to construction sites and food preparation. Their primary work is to prevent the entry of unwanted substances into the particular area, contributing to overall hygiene and cleanliness.

 Key Industries That Use Disposable Shoe Covers 

Healthcare Sector: The most effective use of disposable shoe covers is in hospitals, clinics, and other medical facilities. These areas require the highest level of hygiene and cleanliness to avoid the spreading of germs and diseases. For healthcare workers and visitors alike, disposable shoe coveralls are the best way to maintain hygiene, especially when moving sterile & non-sterile areas.

Food Processing & Preparation: In the food industry, ensuring cleanliness is a top priority. Any contamination can lead to foodborne illness damage the reputation of a brand and also lead to severe health issues. Disposable shoe coveralls are used in food processing plants, and another food-related environments to prevent cross-contamination across outside areas and food preparation spaces.

Clean rooms & Laboratories: In industries such as pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, and electronics, clean rooms are essential environments where the smallest particles can compromise the quality of the product being developed. Disposable shoe coveralls are an integral part of PPE worn in highly controlled environments.

Construction & Renovation: Construction & Renovation projects can generate a large amount of dust and dirt. When workers need to move between clean and dirty areas, disposable shoe coveralls are a must. They allow workers to maintain cleanliness in homes, offices, and buildings to ensure that no dirt or dust is tracked into clean spaces.

Hospitality & Event Spaces: In the hospitality industry, cleanliness is essential. Whether it's in a hotel, a convention center, or a banquet hall, maintaining a pristine environment is essential for guest satisfaction. Disposable shoe covers can be used by staff or contractors, such as cleaners, florists, or decorators, to keep floors and carpets clean when preparing for events.

 Benefits of Using Disposable Shoe Covers 

Preventing Cross-Contamination: One of the primary reasons for using disposable shoe covers is their ability to prevent cross-contamination. Whether you're moving between rooms in a hospital or between outdoor and indoor environments at a construction site, disposable shoe covers act as a barrier that stops dirt, dust, and bacteria from transferring from one place to another.

Cost Effective & Convenient: Disposable shoe covers are incredibly cost-effective. Since they are designed for single-use, there's no need for maintenance or cleaning, unlike reusable shoe covers. They are typically sold in bulk, making them an affordable solution for industries and facilities that require high volumes of shoe covers.

Time-Saving: In industries where time is a valuable resource, disposable shoe covers save time. Workers can quickly put them on and take them off as needed without wasting time on cleaning or laundering reusable covers. This is especially beneficial in fast-paced environments like hospitals or manufacturing plants where efficiency is crucial.

Ensuring Safety & Hygiene: In addition to preventing dirt and debris from entering clean environments, some disposable shoe covers are designed with non-slip surfaces to improve safety. For instance, hospitals, clean rooms, and wet environments often require non-skid shoe covers to prevent slips and falls.

Environmental Consideration: Many manufacturers of disposable shoe covers are taking steps toward sustainability by producing eco-friendly versions. These covers are made from biodegradable or recyclable materials, reducing the environmental impact of their use. While they are disposable, the push for greener solutions means that industries can balance hygiene and environmental responsibility.

 Choosing The Right Disposable Shoe Covers 

Material: Different materials offer varying levels of protection. Polyethylene shoe covers are lightweight and waterproof, ideal for environments where spills or liquids may be present. Non-woven fabric shoe covers, on the other hand, are breathable and suitable for dry, clean environments.

Size & Fit: Shoe covers come in various sizes, so it's essential to choose ones that fit comfortably over the footwear worn by staff or visitors. Elastic edges help keep the covers securely in place, while some designs offer more room for larger shoes or boots.

Durability: Depending on the environment, you may need disposable shoe covers with enhanced durability. Thicker, reinforced covers are better suited for rough surfaces or areas with heavy foot traffic.

Slip Resistance: For environments where floors may be wet or slippery, look for shoe covers with anti-slip treads to ensure safety.

 Conclusion 

Disposable shoe covers may seem like a small and simple item, but they play a significant role in maintaining cleanliness, hygiene, and safety across various industries. From healthcare and food preparation to construction and hospitality, these cost-effective accessories protect both the environment and the people working within them. By investing in high-quality disposable shoe covers, businesses can ensure they meet safety regulations, prevent cross-contamination, and maintain the highest standards of cleanliness. Whether you’re running a hospital, a lab, or even managing an event space, the value of disposable shoe covers cannot be overstated.

[samssolutions]

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗡𝗢𝗡-𝗪𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗡 𝗕𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗬𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗣𝗬𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗘

Excellent Quality, Durable and Long-Lasting Protection, Soft and Light Weight, Full Body Coverage with Protection from Dust, Grinding Paint, Liquid, Light Chemical. Elasticated Cuff, Ankles, waist design, Zipper with Front Closure Flap, Serge seams and attached hood. Disposable Coverall With Hood and elastic Wrist. 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Spray Painting, Manufacturing, Food Services, Industrial and Pharmaceutical Processing, Medical, Clean Room, Asbestos Inspection, Insulation Laying, Vehicle and Machine Maintenance.

[renee-writer]

The Contractor Chapter 10 Meeting Fergus

AO3

She doesn’t argue. Her mind is a whirlwind, going over all that can be causing her son to be running a fever. For all newborns, fevers are dangerous. For Fergus, they can be life threatening. She gasps, her hands tightening on the seat she is grasping.

 

“He is a bawl lad. He will be alright.” Jamie states. They are almost there and he slows down to make the turn.

 

“How do you know?” Her breathing is becoming labored. He pulls into the car park and shuts the car off. “This isn’t  the best place to park.”

 

“I know it isn’t but,” he places his hand over her, nothing the clamminess of it, “he borrows from your strength. If you are scared…”

 

“He will be.” He nods.  She pulls in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then another. For the next few minutes, she breaths this way, until she is calmer. “Thank you, Jamie. The NICU parking is around the back.”

 

He lets go of her, now dry, hand and restarts the car before following her directions.

 

The lift requires a code, that she enters.

 

“Smart.” Jamie follows her in.

 

“Yes. A way to keep them safe.” She regulates her breathing again as the lift moves to the fifth floor. It opens to a world Jamie has never seen.

 

There is no central nursing station, as on most hospital floors. Planes of glass guard the tiny bairns behind them from germs. Sinks, with strong soap, are in front of them. A bin full of disposable coveralls are next.

 

“We wash all the way up to our elbows.” She instructs. It is then he realizes that he is joining her. His own nerves kick in then and his wame twists. She sees. “Don’t worry. I will be right beside you. You don’t have to come in, there is a waiting room to the left, but I would appreciate if you would.”

 

He steps up to the sink.

 

Soon after, with the coveralls, booties and, hair covers on, they enter Fergus ‘ world.

 

“Dr. Beauchamp.” The doctor approaches. Jamie is distracted by the sheer amount of equipment keeping this tiny ones alive.

 

“Dr. Grant. How is he? What cultures have been taken?”

 

“Breath.” Jamie focuses on the exchange. “Fergus has a simple ear infection. Now, as you know, nothing is fully simple here but, as infections go, this is a minor one.”

 

“My niece and nephew both had multiple ear infections. It is naught to worry about.”

 

“Oh, sorry Dr. Grant. This is Jamie Fraser, my date. Jamie, Fergus main neonatologist, Dr. Susan Grant.”

 

“It is nice to meet you.” She turns back to Claire, “We have added antibiotics to his IV. So far, there have been no side effects. His temperature is lowering. Come see him.”

 

They follow her through the maze of tiny cots holding some seriously tiny babies. Jamie tries not to stare.

 

“Fergus, mum is here.” She sing-songs. Jamie looks down at the baby. He seems almost normal sized compared to the others. He mentions this. “Yes, he is getting to be a big boy, is our Fergus. Little man, meet Jamie. He is mum’s mate.”

 

“Hi Fergus. You really are a bawl lad.”

 

“Come Jamie, have a seat beside him. See here, the openings, they allow us to touch him.” She places her own hand in. Fergus turns his head when he feels his mum’s touch.  “It is alright Jamie. It is good for him, human touch, helps him grow.”

 

He reaches in as Claire coos to her son about his ‘ poor little ears’ The baby gabs his pinkie in his fist. Quick tears fill his eyes. Just like that, he is in love.

[takeyourrubbishbrisbane]

"Unmasking Asbestos: The Hidden Dangers and Essential Safety Measures"

Asbestos, once celebrated for its strength and heat resistance, is now known as a major health danger. Tiny fibers from asbestos can lead to serious lung problems, like cancer and asbestosis, if they're breathed in. Lately, there's been more focus on safely removing asbestos waste to protect our health and the environment.

This article digs into why proper asbestos waste removal is crucial, providing key points and simple tips to make sure it's done safely.

Key Points:

Knowing Asbestos: It's vital to understand asbestos' traits and risks to start safe removal and disposal.

Hire Experts: Get certified professionals to check your place for asbestos. This is the first step.

Follow Rules: Stick to local and national rules to handle, move, and toss asbestos waste properly.

Containment is Key: Keep asbestos fibers from spreading during removal with careful containment methods.

Protect Workers: Give workers the right safety gear (PPE) to stay safe during removal.

Dispose Correctly: Asbestos waste must be packaged, labeled, and taken to approved sites.

Check the Air: After removal, make sure the air is clean by doing air quality tests and check-ups.

Recognizing the Danger:

Asbestos fibers in materials are a big threat to health and the environment. When these tiny fibers get disturbed, they can float in the air and get into our lungs, causing severe respiratory diseases.

Get Help from Pros:

Start by getting licensed asbestos inspectors. They have the tools and knowledge to find asbestos. Through detailed checks and lab tests, they'll tell you how bad the contamination is and help you decide what to do.

Follow the Rules:

To safely remove asbestos waste, it's crucial to understand and follow all the rules, from how to pack it to where to take it. This keeps everyone safe and avoids legal trouble.

Contain the Hazard:

When removing asbestos, it's essential to contain it properly. Techniques like using plastic sheets and special air systems make sure the dangerous fibers don't escape. Isolating work areas also stops the spread of asbestos.

Safety Gear for All:

Protect workers with the right gear, like special masks, gloves, coveralls, and eye protection. This gear creates a strong shield against breathing in asbestos or skin contact.

Dispose with Care:

After removing asbestos, carefully package and label the waste. Make sure it's taken to approved places. This prevents it from causing harm during transport and stops pollution.

Check the Air:

Even after asbestos removal, it's crucial to keep checking the air quality to make sure it's safe. Getting a certificate saying the area is hazard-free is essential.

Conclusion:

Safe asbestos waste removal isn't just about health; it's about the environment too. By understanding risks, hiring pros, and following rules, we make the future cleaner and healthier. Remember, asbestos removal is everyone's job, and through proper steps, we can reduce its risks and ensure a safer tomorrow.

If you need waste removal services, remember that TakeYourrubbishBrisbane is here to help!