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Dean groaned and wiped the sweat from his brow. The sun was beating down hard on the city, roasting every object and body caught outside in its burning rays. But even with the temperature that was surely reaching well past a hundred, people filed in and out of Singer Salvage like it was Church on Sunday morning.
Car engines were overheating, air conditioners needed fixing. Anything and everything that could possibly go wrong through the heat wave was happening every minute and the shop could barely keep up. It was the main reason Bobby had called Dean in.
He’d been expecting the call as soon as he’d woken up that morning to the TV blaring the weather forecast. Hot and humid, this week was determined to be the hottest the state had seen in ten years. Bobby was gonna’ need all the help he could get. Especially from his blind, semi-adopted son (through popular opinion.)
Dean may have been blind, but he was sharper than most when it came to cars and their mechanics. When his coworkers used to joke about taking an engine apart with their eyes closed, well, Dean raised that saying to another level. He could do just that, and he didn’t even have to close his eyes. He couldn’t see a thing anyway.
Bobby and his temporary coworkers were careful not to mention Dean’s condition to any of the customers after a nasty incident earlier that morning. A man had rushed in with his BMW and demanded their best mechanic to make his engine work properly again. Bobby had instantly given Dean the keys and told him to get to work. When the owner came back later, finding the car working better than new, he requested to speak to the mechanic himself. His earlier praise and joy at his working car died on his lips the moment he realized Dean couldn’t see. The resulting outburst was still ringing in everyone’s ears. Dean chose to ignore it. It wasn’t the first time his sight (or lack of it) had dampened a customer’s spirits.
But that was life. Dean had gotten used to it.
“Mornin’ fellas,” a southern drawl broke through the barely conditioned air of the garage. Dean’s head snapped up from where he was bent and felt a grin tug at the corners of his lips.
“Benny! Good ta’ see ya’!” One of his coworkers, a guy named Ash, called happily. “You got some gifts for us?”
“Only the best,” Benny replied. Dean heard the sound of something being set down—a basket of some sort, Dean was sure. Benny always made a habit of dropping off lunch when Dean was called in. Otherwise he’d cart Dean away to sit in his diner and have the best meal the house could offer. What more did he expect from his doting boyfriend?
“There better be some pastries in there,” Dean called, grabbing a rag he’d left to his right and wiping his hands down. “I’ve had some serious cravings.”
“So you keep telling me,” Benny replied as Dean drew closer to the waiting area. Dean felt a hand touch his face. He knew what to expect next and tilted his head to meet the greeting kiss. Benny’s lips were chapped from the heat, and Dean felt no guilt in wetting his boyfriend’s lips with a deeper kiss.
“Get a room,” Ash grumbled, ripping a laugh from Benny in the process.
Dean frowned at the break, but punched his boyfriend in the arm as punishment. Benny only leaned down and whispered, “Later.” It was enough to make Dean’s heat-flushed cheeks even darker.
“So, you got what I need?” Dean asked and walked to the table. He heard Ash rummaging through the basket and setting plastic covered plates down beside it.
“Boy, he brought better,” Ash exclaimed and moaned. Dean could only assume he’d taken a bite of something delicious.
“What do ya’ recommend, Benny?” Dean asked, fingering one plastic covering curiously. Benny touched his hand and pulled it away.
“You could try this one here, but I don’ know if you’ll like it too much…”
“Shut up and give it to me, big-bear.” A low growl was his only response.
“Careful what you wish for, sugar,” Benny said after a moment, and Dean felt a touch to his jaw. “Tell me what you think of this.”
Something touched Dean’s lips and he opened, letting the sweet, sugar crusted pastry onto his tongue. He grinned and chewed it, surprised when he felt a sharp fruity explosion across his taste buds.
“You experimenting with the fillings again, Benny?” Dean beamed, not hesitating to rip the pastry from Benny’s hands and stuff another bite in his face.
A low chuckle answered him, “I take it you liked this one.”
“Best freaking one yet,” Dean grumbled in reply. He felt a surprising kiss on his lips and his grin brightened. “What was that for?” He asked, swallowing.
He felt Benny smile against his cheek. Hot breath touched his ear, and then, “That pastry ain’t nearly as sweet as you.”
“Dear God,” Dean groaned, choking off a laugh when Benny’s whiskers tickled his neck. “You’re impossible.”
“Good thing you love me, darlin’,” Benny replied.
“Aren’t you the lucky one.”
“The luckiest.”