Sexy Car Mechanic Kirishima~

krbk NSFW
filth kink, smell kink, sweat kink
blowjobs, bottom bakugou, rough sex
Idk /that much/ about cars or mechanics this is entirely self indulgent

Katsuki has a pretty good understanding of his car, how it’s built, how it works.

He’s proud of the fact that unlike others who have to bring their vehicles into repair shops when something’s damaged or needs fixing, Katsuki has the tools and knowledge to repair it himself. He knows the fucking mechanics and what to do. Hell, he’s working on an old beater in+

+ in his garage now. Sure, it’s old and rusty and pretty much everything on the inside of the vehicle needs replacing, but with the right adjustments he’ll have it looking like it’s brand new.

He’s willing to put his pride on the line though if it means getting to see the sexy car mechanic that works at the repair shop right around the corner of his neighborhood.

God that man was a piece of /meat/.

The first time he’d gone in was because some asshole ran their car along his bumper and fucking shreded the metal. He couldn’t fix that himself, unfortunately, so he’d driven his car in.

He didn’t want to be there, that was very apparent in the way he’d gripe and complain about the damage on his car and said asshole who did it, but the second the tall beefy redhead had walked in covered with soot, brake dust and sweat and had kindly introduced himself as well+

+ as asking about his situation, Katsuki couldn’t remember what he’d been bitching about in the first place let alone his own goddamn name.

The mechanic’s name is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijirou. He’d told him with one of the brightest fucking smiles, he had to suppress the urge to squint as he nodded in acknowledgement.

And /holy fuck/ Kirishima’s an entire fucking pleasure to the eye. He’s built like a tank with a wide torso, a thick chest and strong legs. Katsuki could stare at him all day if he could; it was like looking at a chiseled man of art.

His bright red hair had been gelled messily behind an old cloth(that probably needed to be either washed or thrown out based on how much oil and dirt Katsuki saw smeared across it), even tho the color was outgoing it only peaked his curiosity as to what his natural hair color is.

What color his happy trail is behind his tank top. If the color of his eyebrows, or the dark hair along his arms is a tell sign.

Kirishima’s grey jumpsuit was unzipped down to his hips where he had the sleeves tied around his waist. All of it was dirty from work. Even though the tank top was black, it hung against the man’s chest like a second skin due to how soaked it was with sweat.

Katsuki could practically see the outline of the Kirishima’s nipples through the damp fabric.

It took everything in his power not to bust a nut after watching the mechanic manhandle his car. Sure, it was a basic checkup before they’d have to send it back for the real repair, but he’d had a full view to a broad, glistening back. The wide span of shoulders that curve +

+ deliciously onto thick bulging biceps and large, calloused, /filthy/ hands that Katsuki wanted /all/ over him.

/Fuck he wanted those hands on every crevice of his body/.

He wanted the black that’d been smeared across the mechanic’s arms and face and clothes to be pressed onto his own skin; sticky and grimy and smelly and so /so good/ in the way he’d feel those very two hands run down towards his aching cock.

He wanted there to be physical marks showing where he’d been touched. Wanted to be left smelling like burnt rubber, dirt, dust, cum, spit and the sweet stench of sweat from his and Kirishima’s pulsating bodies.

Katsuki honestly hadn't been listening to anything the redhead had said during their first encounter. He’d been too engrossed in the jiggle of his pecs after every jerk and sway of an arm. How he’d wipe his hand on his pant leg, or cross his forehead to remove sweat since+

+ the shop’s fans didn nothing to counter the summer heat.

He was so fucking partched leaving the building simply because of how many times he’d licked his lips.

It takes him a full week before he finds an excuse to bring his car back into the shop. A week of drifting thoughts about the sweat that’d beaded and trailed down each crest of muscle, tanned work-worn skin that’d looked soft to the touch +

+ but Katsuki knew it could crush him beneath its weight and feel rough against his hot skin.

He’d jerked off so many times within those six days, overheated and panting above a pair of shorts he may or may not have deliberately rubbed along the side of his tires, pressing up against his face and weeping cock just to pretend it was the same grey jumpsuit that Kirishima’d+

+ been wearing. Just to remember the smell that’d radiated off of the man as he’d walk past. He’s half convinced the rational section of his brain left with the sheer amount of cum he’d released onto trembling hands.

The first excuse is that he needs his break pads replaced. Of course, he can easily do it at home, but oh fuck was it worth watching the man arch his back and flex his arms as he worked at his tires.

When screws and bolts came undone, and he’d grab them with his open palms, so much residue painted itself over his already dirtied hands Katsuki had to bite his tongue in order to suppress the urge of asking him to wipe his hands on him rather than the rag over his shoulder.

Kirishima did everything as if it were weightless. He’d taken off and put back on Katsuki’s car tires so effortlessly the blonde almost had to excuse himself to fix the raging hardon in his pants. Kirishima was sweating, but not from any exterion that's for sure.

It’s hot and humid in the shop, the fans along the ceilings blow warm air throughout the work space and even /he/ had a solid sheen of sweat piling along his hairline by the time he left.

How easily could Kirishima move him around?

To grab his hips and lift him as if he were the lightest fucking thing. Just the thought had his heart rate picking up.

Katsuki feigns ignorance everytime he comes back to the repair shop. He shoves down the cries from his bruising dignity and pride, pretends not to know jack shit about his car just to watch with desperate, horny eyes as the hottest man alive works around his car.

One time he’d shown up in hopes of seeing Kirishima but was instead greeted with another mechanic,blonde like him but too annoying for his taste, Katsuki almost up and left the shop if it wasn’t for the luck that the redhead had been occupied w/ another customer one station over

The entire time, Katsuki had kept his hungry eyes attached to Kirishima’s back, his plump ass beneath the bagginess of his jumpsuit, and the curve of his shoulder blades against the grime and stick of collecting dust after hours working over and under vehicles.

His self esteem had been so wounded he didn’t even care the amount of times his mechanic had to catch his attention, to call out his name or to click his tongue. It gets Kirishima to sneak glances their way, and the deep red of his eyes on his own is payment enough.

It starts to become a problem when Katsuki can’t think of an excuse as to why he needs his car repaired. He’s practically pulled every trick out of the book. Any little hands on project that “needed” done to his car’s been done.

There was a period of time where a little over two weeks had passed and Katsuki was growing so frustratingly pent up that he’d straight up threw a crowbar into one of his headlights. It was worth it, he’d told himself.

He kept telling himself that even as Kirishima gave him wide eyes after driving in. Katsuki’d simply shrugged and gave some lame ass story about how it was a tree, or another car- by that point he was just spewing shit.

Kirishima had laughed, wiped a sweaty brow with a soot stained forearm and began talking over what he was going to do for his light.

Katsuki knew exactly what Kirhsima had to do, but for the sake of his sanity /and/ his dick, he’d nodded along amicably.

Kirishima was looking especially battered tonight.

It’s late, the shop’s pretty much closed since Kaminari (Katsuki’s come to learn is one of the other Mechanic’s names) left half an hour ago. The sun’s far past the horizon, but Kirshima doesn’t keep all the lights on, just their section of the building.

Before leaving though, Kaminari had rolled down the overhead doors to prevent any further customers as well as keeping the cooling night air out.

Katsuki’s /elated/.

It’s just the two of them tonight, the first time by themselves, and Katsuki’s going to milk every second he has.

Kirsihima’s wearing the same jumpsuit uniform, same skin tight black tank, same white bandana wrapped over disheveled spiked hair. But he’s more flush today, more drawn as the blonde drags his gaze over his body.

He’s extra coated in soots and oils and dust, hands almost black. Katsuki can already feel the saliva pooling beneath his tongue.

/Fuck, he wants this man to wreck his body so bad./

He leans back against his car after it’s parked and ready for maintenance. Kirishima’s shuffling around the shop like normal, running his hands through a rag despite the fact they never truly clean just to immediately dig through tools again, and drops his gorgeous ass+

+ down onto the spinning stool at the hood of Katsuki’s car.

Where today’s issue is being taken care of.

It’s half a lie, he’ll admit. Nasty ass rodents are getting into his car and they’re damaging wires that connect his fuel sensors. He felt it the other day driving home from work when his gas unnaturally fluctuated against his press on the pedal.

Katsuki’s feeling good. The subtle build up of heat that swirls in his chest and spreads across his cheeks is familiar and comforting as he admires the redhead at work. The repair shop smells like cars, rubber, metal, sweat, everything he’s come to associate the redhead with.

They’re thick and musky wafting off of Kirishima whenever he maneuvers close. It clogs his senses and Katsuki wants to run his nose where the scent’s most prominent. He lets his mind wonder, lets his breathing get ragged from the smell before quickly adjusting.

Bites his lip when Kirishima bends at particular angles. Digs his nails into his arms when the mechanic lets out an airy breath, +

+ and Katsuki’s mind immediately pictures himself beneath the massive man with the same breaths being exhaled upon his nape and past his ear as he’s railed senselessly.

He tunes back, wills himself to, and watches as Kirshima’s hands grasp onto a set of wires.

His brows knit. He’s not supposed to be messing with those.

Katsuki knows which wires go where; which ones are connected to the battery, the fuel line, the engine. Kirishima’s not operating on the right wires and Katsuki’s opening his mouth before he has a chance to register his actions.

“You’re not supposed to be fucking touching those.” he says, leaning over the open hood to get a better view of the inside of his car.

Kirishima’s hands stop, but instead of a fumbling, modest reaction and maybe an apology, he slowly straightens his back and raises a brow.

“/And how would you know that?/” Kirishima asks.

tbc!