“Let me take a wild guess – my car’s not done.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, bracing himself for the one customer of the day that he had expected to start shit. Sometimes he hates being right. “Well, hello to you, too. Nice day we’re having, don’t you think? Fine weather for an Ohio December …”

“Cut the crap, Hummel. Where’s my new part?”

“You dropped off your car an hour ago, before I even took the closed sign off the front door. I just got confirmation on the order fifteen minutes ago. That’s why I called you. As a courtesy. It’s going to take a while to get here.”

Kurt doesn’t turn around to look, but he feels the man stop behind him, at a distance that Kurt would normally consider too close for comfort. But today, it’s fine by Kurt. If Mr. Thing wants to assert his dominance by getting up in Kurt’s business, that’s all right. Kurt’s in his coveralls, covered in grease, so he’s fine to get his hands dirty with this asshole.

Besides, Kurt hasn’t had sex in three whole days. He has so much tension built up in his body, he’s fully prepared to rip this man to shreds with his teeth.

“I don’t have a while. I have things to do, places I need to be.”

“Well, then, today’s going to suck for you, isn’t it?” And Kurt laughs, because he’s sick and tired of being nice, turning on the charm for douchewads that don’t deserve a minute of his time. Not when he had to come to work at six in the morning during his vacation, a whole hour earlier than normal to help his dad catch up.

Not when this guy’s determined to be a prick for no reason.

It’s not fair. Kurt is doing his dad a favor. What did he do to deserve being harassed by Captain Asshat of the Universe?

“Well how about this - since you’re holding my car hostage, I’ll take something hostage, too.” The man grabs Kurt from behind, one arm around his waist, another sneaking lower, grabbing hold of the source of most of Kurt’s stress.

Kurt’s lips quirk into a sly grin. “I’m sorry, sir, but that part’s a bit too big to fit your vehicle.”

“I don’t think you understand” - The man tightens his grip on Kurt’s cock, but, at this point, he’s doing Kurt a favor, every inch of frustration dripping from his mouth music to Kurt’s ears - “I happen to be a very busy and important person. Don’t you know who my father is?”

Kurt freezes, pauses as those words make the journey from his ears to his brain, their impact on his attitude swift and effective. Kurt opens his mouth to clap back, but ends up giggling instead. He feels the man behind him sigh in exasperation, and that makes Kurt snort. “I’m sorry,” Kurt says. “I’m really sorry. I just …”

“Kurt!” Blaine whines, dropping his head to his boyfriend’s shoulder. He loosens his grip on Kurt’s crotch, but doesn’t let go. They’ve been back in Ohio for three days, and this is the first opportunity he’s had to manhandle his boyfriend like this – aggressive, unrestrained. “This is the second time! You’re really awful at this.”

“I’m so sorry, Blaine! I can’t help it!” Kurt turns, looping his arms around Blaine’s neck and giving him an apologetic kiss on the chin. “It’s just … you sound like Sebastian!”

“Oh God!” Blaine falls forward, pressing Kurt into the Honda behind him. “Way to slay my boner, Kurt!”

“How do you think I feel considering he spent the better part of last year with his hands all over me?”

“I thought we promised not to talk about that anymore,” Blaine says sadly. Of all of the things they’ve overcome, the way Dalton’s Crew treated Kurt is one thing Blaine still has a hard time getting over. He’d never felt so useless to help someone he cared for in his life.

“You’re right. We did. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Blaine smiles. “Darling, there’s nothing to forgive.” Blaine gives Kurt a squeeze, a nibble on his lower lip, and a pat on the tush. “Okay. Let’s start over. Who goes first?”

“You both do!”

“Dad!” Kurt pops up, pushing Blaine off him so quick, his chortling boyfriend nearly flips over the hood of a Toyota.

“Seriously, guys!” Burt groans, shedding his jacket and shaking off the rain. “I appreciate you helping me out over Christmas break, but can you keep the kinky roleplaying out of my shop?”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Yeah, Burt. Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, sorry’s not gonna rotate the tires on Mr. Dudley’s Ford, so can you keep your hands off each other long enough to get some work done? Kurt, this is the longest you’ve ever spent doing an oil change before. What’s going on? You lost your touch?”

“Ah! Dad! You insult me,” Kurt gasps, watching his father retreat into his office, rescuing himself from having to play audience to any more of Kurt and Blaine’s X-rated shenanigans. In the years since those two have been dating, Burt has learned more about his son’s sex life than he’d ever hoped to find out. Last vacation, it was in the car, in the shop, in the kitchen, on that tacky 1960s couch in the garage … don’t those two just screw in a bed like everybody else?

“Lost my touch. As if,” Kurt gripes when his father shuts the door. “I can do this oil change in my sleep.”

“Don’t sweat it, darling,” Blaine says with a snicker. “You know, I could save face for you, go in there and explain that you haven’t gotten the oil change finished because you were too busy blowing me in the bathroom.”

Kurt picks up a rag and flings it at Blaine’s head. “Yeah? Well, if you ever expect another bathroom blowjob, don’t you dare!”