#obectification

Fitz couldn’t help but notice Mack’s hands. He was a mechanic. His hands were his livelihood. And being in the Garage, his hands were constantly in Fitz’s peripheral vision. And his fantasies. 

When he cupped his cock, he imagined his hands were Mack’s. Big and rough and calloused, they covered his cock easily but were oh so gentle when they touched him. Like he was something to be worshiped. 

When he fingered himself, he imagined they were Mack’s fingers buried inside his hot hole. They weren’t thin and shaky like his own. No, they were thick and steady and filled him up so good. They instantly hit his sweet spot in a way that made him gasp and arch up, but Mack’s other hand were there to catch him, caress his back sweetly. 

Mack’s fingers always reduced him to tears, making him beg for more. He never felt ashamed to be so greedy because Mack would always gave him what he wanted. 

Swallowing me up, Turbo. “Y-yes.” Want more? “Yes, yes, p-please!”  I got you, Turbo. There you go.

Mack’s hand smelled faintly of car grease, a smell that he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried, it was practically ingrained into his skin. Fitz’s tongue curled around two of his thick fingers, tightening his hold on his cock. 

Those hands would massage him gently as he came, soothing him as he floated back down from his high. Those hands would gripped his hips tight enough to bruise as Mack fucked him into the mattress.