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It's hot. Though the sun is not yet at its zenith, it's already hot and the humidity is bordering on oppressive. Harry is trying to avoid going riding with Severus on Severus's new motorcycle, which is why he started working on Mrs. Figg's car in the first place. He loves the bike (and loves holding onto Severus even more, not that he'd admit it), but is constantly scared spitless about the idea of falling off. Or looking like they're having too good a time together.

Harry is a good man, polite to his elders and kind to everyone. He's the only child of two loving parents and his Granddad and Grandma Evans are pillars in the community of Edenton, North Carolina. Although his Aunt Petunia has made it clear that there have been gossip and rumors surrounding his unnatural association with Severus Snape, he'd like to hold onto the belief that if people think about them at all, they assume he and Severus are just very good, if unlikely, friends. It's safer that way for both of them. He and Severus have been together since Harry was twenty years old. In the early years of their relationship he believed that someday they wouldn't need to hide what they are to each other. But now that he's older, he understands how right Severus was all those years ago when he said, "Harry, there is no moving forward for us. This is all we have." In his heart, Harry hopes that perhaps someday he and Severus can live together like Old Horace Slughorn and Elphias Doge and the community will think of them as ‘bachelor farmers,’ too.

Severus is sitting on a rickety stool nearby, dressed in his customary black trousers and long-sleeved black button-down despite the heat, new leather riding gloves on slim, elegant fingers, studying Harry... or the bits he can see of him, anyway. One long leg pushes at the wheeled plank Harry's lying on, legs sprawled out, soiled white t-shirt riding up a little to show a sliver of stomach and the soft smattering of hair under his navel that leads down into the waistband of his boxer shorts (which are peeking above the jeans just a bit because of the angle he's lying at).

Severus is bored and getting restless and Harry can tell he just wants to go riding. Severus's work as the chief embalmer for Evans Funerals and Cremations requires a certain level of desensitization, and he told Harry when he bought the bike that he needed to feel the full measure of the wind and the weather against his body to feel alive again. Harry knows that Severus considers the various odors that cling to his hair and clothes the worst element of the job, but also knows Severus is grateful for the opportunity for such a position. Harry has always suspected it was his mother's influence that afforded Severus the chance to rise from gravedigger to embalmer. But it's Severus's own talent and hard work that allowed him to replace his employer as chief embalmer this past spring when Harry's aging Granddad Evans decided it was time for him to spend fewer hours at the parlor and more time fishing.

The kitchen window is open and Harry's mother is washing dishes. Harry can hear her humming sweetly to herself along with something low and mellow on the radio. He finds it soothing, but it seems to be having a different effect on Severus. Sweaty and clearly irritated by the heat and nicotine withdrawal (Severus recently quit smoking, telling Harry he'd seen too many people on the embalming table already), he snaps, "If you're going to take this long, the least you can do is get your guest a god damn beer."

Harry's boots scuff the concrete as he fights to his feet, dropping his wrench on the workbench. He uses the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his forehead and ends up smearing grease over his glasses. Equally irritated and just a little bit hurt, he tugs open the back door and steps inside the house, air from the fan blessedly cool on his overheated skin. His mother is still standing at the sink scrubbing at a bit of leftover ketchup dried to a lunch plate. There is sweet corn and collard greens (he makes a face when he spies those) on the drain board ready to be cleaned for tonight's supper. He opens the fridge, bypasses the pitchers of sweet tea and homemade lemonade, and pulls out two beers. Lily Potter smiles and admonishes him with a, "Just one, Harry James." When he leans in to kiss her cheek, she waves him away, not wanting his soiled clothing to spoil her clean and newly ironed dress.

He returns to the garage and Severus, the bottles clinking in one hand as he shuts the door behind him. His mama would be mighty angry if he left it open - "allowing the cold air to escape," she'd say.

He reaches Severus, drops one of the cold bottles beside him on the workbench where Severus has been impatiently drumming his fingers, and pops the cap off the other for himself. Severus, however, reaches inside his pocket, pulls out a bottle labeled 'sandalwood oil' in bold spiky script, opens it - requested beer apparently forgotten - and makes a show of taking a huge whiff. Harry just shakes his head and closes his eyes as he swallows the flavorful, thirst-quenching liquid that burns so wonderfully going down. Few things are as satisfying as the taste of an ice cold beer on a hot summer day. From experience, he knows Severus is staring, watching the muscles in Harry's throat work. After a beat, Severus shoves the bottle of oil under Harry's nose.

Harry opens an eye and sniffs the oil. "What is that? It smells nice." He knows Severus is sensitive about the strong smells at work and has taken to wearing various colognes to mask the offensive odors. Severus shrugs, although there's a mischievous glint in his eye that Harry doesn't like at all.

Severus gives him something of a sidelong look, but doesn't say anything more about it, just corks the bottle and leaves it there on the workbench. Then Severus grabs up his beer and pops the top. He doesn't appear to have any further interest in the oil, so Harry uses his wrist to wipe sweat from his brow before flipping a page almost irritably in a car manual, trying to see where he might have gone wrong. It took Harry years of sanding and detailing cars before he was finally able to convince his father that he was actually as skilled a mechanic as James is, and it chafes his pride that he has to resort to reading a manual to fix one now. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Severus, leather-gloved fingers loose around the neck of his beer bottle, hip against the workbench, watching him lean over. Severus slants the thick part of his bottle toward him and brushes it teasingly along the bare slice of his skin, exposed where his t-shirt has ridden up near his hip.

Harry jerks, a thin line of condensation from the bottle cooling on his back. After glaring at Severus, he wordlessly turns back to the manual, flipping a page. Severus smirks, lifts the hem of Harry's shirt a little more, and runs the bottle against his back again. Harry lets out a soft curse but doesn't move, the cold glass nice against his hot, sweaty skin. Severus runs the bottle along his waist, a slight splash of beer escaping from it and dribbling down his stomach.

"Severus! What's got into you?" Staring pointedly at the door where his mother is in the kitchen, Harry tries not to react to the amber liquid running down the waist of his pants and through his boxers. Clenching his teeth, he resolutely returns his gaze to the book, reading over the sentences but not making head or tail of them.

Severus snickers in his ear, gloved fingers dancing over his skin. "After all this time, you still look so fetching when you blush."

They never mess around when Harry's mama or dad is home. They just don't. Not since that very first time when James and Lily came so close to catching them together. It's an unspoken rule. A line in the sand that Severus is toying with, not because he's going to cross it, but because he's just being a teasing bastard and the heat and lack of nicotine are all going to his head. At least Harry thinks so. He blinks twice, brow furrowed, a spike of irritation shooting through him - dampness on his jeans, Severus still standing close behind him, and that bottle again, pushing against his skin. Severus cups it there at his side, gloved fingers edging up his shirt - and Harry just hunches over a bit, refusing to be baited, grasping the edge of the workbench and trying to focus.

Severus hates to be ignored. Harry knows that. He's probably just trying to get a rise out of Harry, eager to see that fire in his eyes and provoke that temper he inherited from his mama that Harry can usually hide from everyone except Severus. The man can rile him like no one else. But Harry can't deny he likes the attention, and if he's not careful, Severus will get a rise of a different sort out of him.

He's right. Severus unbuttons the top of Harry's jeans, loosening them. Slowly he slips the bottle in, and Harry gasps.

Severus runs a gloved hand down his ass, between his legs. Harry has to catch himself against the workbench, hand sliding around the neck of the bottle in his pants as goosebumps erupt all across his skin and his head begins to swim. There's the smell of grease, of leather, of fresh, clean sweat, heady and intoxicating. He hears the sound of his mama's humming in snatches because his brain trips up when Severus's gloved hand squeezes him through his jeans, under his soiled, bunched-up shirt, cold glass pressing against his cock. His brain supplies images of the two of them together - the first time Severus ever kissed him, slipping that sharp, wicked tongue into his mouth. The first time Harry got on his knees, inept and clumsy but so eager he was sure it must have hurt Severus when he sucked. The first time Severus entered him, full and stretched to the limit, the pain sharp and exquisite. He has to bite down (hard) on his lip to stifle any sounds.

Harry's face is flushed and sweaty, head flopped back against Severus's shoulder, and Severus kisses him, tasting the sweat on his jaw, his neck. Harry lets out a sound resembling a whimper. It's too hot, too muggy to be doing this, but that's not what bothers him as Severus pulls the beer bottle out of his boxers, places it on the workbench and shoves Harry's jeans down around his ankles. It's his mama. His mama is in the kitchen. What if she were to just walk through the door to tell him to wash up for supper and ask if she should set another place for Severus? She'd see him hard and sweaty and in a state no mother ever wants to think about in terms of her son. Severus's fingers trace around his cock, the leather making him gasp against Severus's skin, a gloved finger brushing, probing. He can hear Severus chuckle as he reaches to pick up the bottle of oil, waving it under Harry's nose.

Dark, cool, secretive: that's what they are. Not this. Not this... bright, hot, near-open sexuality. Surely they aren't going to do this. Not here. Severus has a perfectly good apartment above Uncle Vernon's hardware store where they can be together without fear of Harry's mama walking in on them. Severus must be feeling a little crazy from too much heat and too little nicotine. His brain's fried, that has to be it. But that doesn't stop Harry's hips from rolling forward smoothly into the warm, snug feel of leather-wrapped fingers. Dear Jesus in heaven, has anything else ever felt this good? Severus is humming, his mama is humming, the sounds tangling around and mixing into each other to make a quiet murmur of meaningless white noise.

Severus rucks Harry's dirty, too-tight t-shirt up, exposing Harry from the middle of his back to his ankles. He smooths one leather-covered hand over the curve of Harry's ass, and there is a brief moment of hesitation (Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, fuck!) before a stream of fragrant, thick-ish liquid dribbles down onto Harry's skin and Severus works his gloved thumb and forefinger snugly into his cleft, pulling him open.

Harry shivers and bends forward. Head lowered, gasping as he tries to draw in another lung-scorching breath of air, he slowly parts his legs, welcoming the feeling of the warm oil slipping between his cheeks. Biting his tongue, he tries not to moan as Severus slips a gloved finger into him. Severus is still humming that damn tune - he can hear the smile in his voice, the teasing lilt. The arm around his waist draws him onto his toes, his hands slapping down hard on the workbench. Severus slicks more oil onto his hands, the warm, earthy smell mixing in the air, wafting over them, his humming stopping for a second as he slips a second finger inside Harry.

Over his shoulder, Harry watches Severus pick up his beer bottle with his free hand and take a quick swig, eyes locked on his.

He can hear the rattle of tools against the pegboard, the soft sound of a throat working near his ear as Severus swallows the alcohol. The leather around Severus's fingers makes them thick, soft, slick inside him. His lungs bind up, muscles tightening around his bones with tension and desire, and fear, too. His mama is right there in the kitchen, less than twenty feet away. It doesn't matter that she almost never comes outside when Severus visits. And he is so hard and so ready and he wants this so much. Harry feels the sweat trickling down his back, under his arms, the air stifling him, but he likes the heat. Wants it. Wants the uncomfortable edge of it with Severus buried hilt-deep in his body, fucking him in his garage as his mama toils away in the kitchen. Sweat runs, the oil glistens, and Severus stretches him open with two scissoring fingers before he grips Harry's hip and peels one of his gloves off with his teeth, the spicy scent of leather thick in the heated air. Harry arches his back, slips a hand from the workbench, and gropes blindly for Severus's free wrist, pulling it around to his front to curl Severus's fingers around his cock.

Severus puts his lips to Harry's ear and breathes a hot puff of sound that Harry can feel rumbling through his own chest. "Shhhh, we don't want to get caught. This is just asking for trouble, but I'm no stranger to trouble and I want you anyway. Want you always." He grasps Harry's hip and begins to push slowly inside, watching the way Harry's hips roll back into the motion, his back tensing with a pent-up breath.

Groaning as quietly as he is able, tongue sticking out between his teeth, Harry pushes back, basking in the oh-so-familiar feeling of being filled, the pressure building, his cock hard against his stomach. Keeping his hand around Severus's, he squeezes slightly, letting out a gasp in the process. "If we get caught, I'll just say you talked me into it. Mama warned me about men like you. How they only want one thi--aah...." His whispered voice is thick with lust, lips parted, and he's spreading his legs further, trying to get more of Severus in, greedy for this. He throws his head back and fights to keep his eyes open to see Severus’s face so close to his own. Because Severus is never more beautiful than now, when his hair is soaked with sweat, matted to the hard angles of his face.

Severus bares his teeth and bites down in pleasure and Harry watches the working of his throat when he groans Harry’s name and fucks inside, the hot slide of his cock spreading Harry wide. Caressing fingers, grit and sweat, a hand splayed at the small of his back, fingers tracing his spine, petting downward, brushing where their bodies join, smoothing over the curve of his ass, digging strong slender fingers into his thigh. So much sweat, the earthy smell of arousal, the spice of leather and sandalwood and Severus pulls back, rolls his hips inward again, breathes out slowly as Harry's body accepts him again, slippery and smooth. His voice is husky against the nape of Harry's neck, low, sounding broken but so pleased, "Tight. Always so tight for me...love the way you feel around me."

Harry presses into Severus's touch. His body is begging for more, desperate, pleading for the feeling of Severus moving inside him. Rocking his hips, he bends his head, concentrating on thrusting back and forth in time with Severus, slowly, building up the fire inside him. Building up the heat and the need. He needs this to be fast (but not too fast, not too...oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck) and he needs them to be quiet because (Oh, god!) his mama is so close, she could walk in on them at any moment, but he needs this. He rocks hard into Severus's hips, trying for more friction. The nice, slow thrusts grow a little more heated, a little harder and a little more demanding. Deep, thorough strokes follow with force now, pushing him against the workbench, nearly pinning him there.

Harry can't help but let out a long-drawn moan as he feels himself shoved hard into the workbench, stuck between the wood and Severus. His legs are starting to ache, spread wide, the insides of his thighs hurting. Leaning his head back, he takes his hand off Severus's and wraps it around the side of Severus's face, trying to kiss him, taste him, anything, but unable to tilt his head far enough. Instead, he settles for resting his head on his shoulder. He starts to cry out as Severus covers his mouth with one hand and pushes him into the workbench, thrusting deep and hard, forcing Harry up onto his tiptoes again, shoving him further onto the wooden surface, voice breathless as he whispers, "Mine…"

Severus's free hand is on Harry's hip, fingernails digging in. He alternates between strokes so long he all but pulls out before going back in as deep as he can and staying there until Harry squirms and whines, and then hitting him with a series of short thrusts that send his balls slapping against Harry's ass, the wet, sharp sound reverberating off the garage walls. He's slamming, shoving, fucking, forcing Harry up onto the fronts of his feet as he starts fiercely banging away. Mindless now, heated words, babbling, harsh whispers between ragged breaths, "That’s it… so fucking… God…tight. Come on, Harry. Come with me, Harry, come with… uh, uh, uuuh…" And Severus is coming, pistoning his hips into Harry's so hard, the tools clatter alarmingly in their holders against the walls.

Moaning loudly into Severus's cupped palm, suddenly not caring whether or not his mama can hear them, Harry slams one hand on the workbench. He can feel Severus coming inside him, while his own cock spurts hot white jets over their joined hands. He's babbling, unable to stop, his hips still rocking. Love you, love you, love you.

Panting hot and hard, Severus collapses over Harry's shuddering body, cheek to his shoulder blade. His heart is doing a fine impression of a jackhammer against the muscles of Harry's back, his weight catching the grit of the day between them. Harry's shirt is sticking to him, sweat trickling down his sides, his chest, his back. His tongue is thick in his mouth, his throat dry. Miraculously the beer is still standing, and he reaches out with unsteady fingers and pours half the contents of the bottle down his throat before offering the remaining lukewarm beer to Severus.

He's rumpled and dirty and disheveled, and anyone seeing either of them would know instantly what they were up to. But, just this once, Harry doesn't care. He wants to have this today and tomorrow and all the days after that.

"Relax..." he hears Severus mutter as he puts a hand on Harry's back and withdraws slowly, hissing a bit and shuffling back a careful step.

Harry mumbles something unintelligible, barely able to move. His ass is still in the air, his arms lowering him carefully down on top of the workbench. He puts a sticky finger in his mouth, sucking slowly, savoring the taste that Severus doesn't like for a reason Harry will never get his head around, and finally sinks to his knees.

Harry could have taken a good ten minutes to revel in the afterglow of Severus slumped against the workbench panting, but the bright lights and sudden absence of his mother's humming remind him they were lucky to have been left in peace this long. He pushes himself up, shaking slightly on rubbery legs, and grabs a paper towel for himself and offers one to Severus, who declines. Harry quickly swipes at the mess on his belly and between his thighs, then dumps it into the garbage can. With a frown, he crumples up two or three more clean towels and drops them on top. Curling his hands around his jeans, he starts pulling them up, tucking himself into his boxers.

"Well, that was a surprise."

There's a brief pause, both of them still wrangling with their breathing. Harry swipes at his brow with the back of his hand. He smiles as Severus (face flushed, sweat-damp hair curling at the edges, and clearly in a better mood than he was before) takes a moment to pointedly admire Harry's well-fucked, but sadly now-clothed ass, brushing bare fingers across it affectionately before hoisting his own pants up. He takes a cool breath as he zips and buttons up his flies. "I did say I was waiting for you to finish so I could take you for a ride. This was a much better ride than the one I had planned."

Harry can only laugh, loud and joyous. And he doesn't care who hears him.