“Oh, fuck…” Fox moaned, knees trembling, barely holding himself upright. “More…”
There was still half a bottle left. I didn’t stop, lazily kneading his distended stomach as the shadow grew heavier against my palm.
“Please,” Fox begged, though he didn’t pull away, struggling to stay perfectly still until the very last drop of oil sank into him.
“Good boy,” I whispered, dropping the empty bottle and tossing the funnel aside. “Now, don’t spill any.”
I pushed his ass down, forcing his swollen stomach against the hood of the car as I sank my cock into his desperate hole, thick drops of the heavy oil squeezing out around me. I pushed inside Fox, and he responded with a feral growl, bucking against my cock, taking all of it in.
The moment I sank into the mix of heat, pressure, and oil, my mind short-circuited. Any logic, any questions, anyreasonable thought was no more. My mind was silent, the only sounds coming from the rumble of the engine, the sound of me fucking Fox, and every one of his gasps that I forced out of him with each desperate thrust.
Oil spilled over his thighs and the hood of the car. Both of my hands were on Fox’s stomach now, applying extra pressure as he fought not to spill, his desperate squeezing around my cock only making my hunger stronger, my brutal fucking more intense. The oil that smeared across the base of my cock, my hips, and my thighs made it look like Fox and I were becoming one, melting together. I lost myself in the sensation, my mind never straying further than the next thrust, the next moan, the next loss of control, and each splash of dark oil. Tonight was no race, no desperate dash to the finish.
Tonight, the Mustang was an endurance car.
But no matter how much I wanted the ride to last, my body wasn’t all metal. I had limits, and right now, that limit was threatening to consume me. I could feel my climax build, my entire body responding to Fox’s gasps and whimpers, my breathing getting harder, my muscles tensing up in response.
“Fox–”
The moment of coldness as Fox twisted out of my arms shocked me, but the heat came back quickly; he turned, his back to the air intake and his knees hitting the grass, his mouth around my cock. His chrome fangs closed below the head, lightly, sending just enough pain to take me to my limit. I swore, my hands on his hood, barely holding on as I pumped thick, hot cum over his black tongue, my seed and his oil mixing together. Fox’s tongue cleaned away every last drop, moaning as he took me in fully; my body shook as my sensitive tip hit the back of his throat.
I couldn’t even beg for mercy. I grabbed Fox’s shoulders, forcing him back as I slumped next to him against the bumper, desperately gasping for air. He leaned against me, his shadow bleeding into my every gap, completing me.
“Still think it was a stupid idea?” He grinned, his lips darkwith oil and me.
“Never,” I mouthed, the word barely more than breath as my body slowly sank deeper into the soft, cool grass. Fox stretched out beside me on his back, his hands behind his head, his feet pressed against the bumper as if he needed that small, constant connection to his metal body.
Yeah. Yeah, it was a stupid idea. But so was almost every idea I’d ever had, and somehow, every stupid idea had led me here.
To this.
To him.
My life had always been a series of learning experiences stacked one on top of the other; one impulsive decision leading to the next, one reckless leap before I even knew where I’d land. I’d lived my entire life moving forward on instinct, guided more by feeling than logic. And somehow, against all odds, it had worked out.
I sighed softly, turning onto my side and wrapping one arm around Fox, drawing him closer, the night air brushing gently across my skin. My hand rested lightly against his stomach.
I wondered if he could get cold.
The thought crept in quietly, unexpectedly. He was still warm now, though, radiating a steady, comforting heat that seeped through his skin and into my chest. His shadow flickered, vibrating just slightly, like the idle of an engine.
“Fox,” I whispered.
He didn’t respond.
For a brief second, concern made my chest tight. I leaned forward, trying to see his face, but then I noticed the peaceful expression that softened his features, his lips parting just slightly. His breathing was slow, even, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen often from the short-tempered sports car.
He was asleep.
Actually asleep.
The realization settled over me comfortably, and I relaxed, content just to watch him doze. Fox looked different like this; softer, the sharp edges of his usual intensity rounded off into something gentle and kind. I found myself studying him, memorizing the curve of his cheek, the arch of his nose, the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
His mouth moved faintly.
“Geese,” he murmured, shifting a little, still clearly asleep.
I blinked, then smiled despite myself.
