Archive of Our Own

Roy is staring at the ugliest car he’s ever seen. Why is it in his garage? And why is it so green? He didn’t even know paint could be that shade of neon. Surely it was a driving hazard and in violation of some road laws. He’d look it up if he cared but he’s much more focussed on getting it out of his garage. 

There’s a strong odour of body spray and a childish unabashed peel of laughter coming from the small enclosed room that makeshifts as an office to his auto repair shop. The sign above the door reads ‘Kent Auto Repairs’ in a slanting hand painted font, the red letters faded from time. Right below, in a smaller print, sits the words ‘Est. 1964’. The sign, like the shop itself, was inherited from Roy’s grandfather - sitting in the quaint backstreets of Richmond, bordered by the bricks of a crossing bridge and the train tracks it leads over. Few people could understand the lengths he went to keep the place running, and what he gave up to make sure it stayed as a fixture in the neighbourhood. But most people didn’t ask. They came in, he fixed up their cars, and he sent them on their way. It’s how a business should be run. No nonsense and no gimmicks, upselling fancy parts that were fucking shit anyway because big suppliers don’t care about longevity or quality anymore. 

Roy pushes through the creaky door, the jingle of the bell hanging overhead announcing his entrance. At the desk is Janice, cup of tea in one hand and the other covering her stifled giggles. Janice came on board a few years ago. Once Roy realised that paying someone to take care of invoicing and accounts would prevent the annual end of financial year shit show which usually involved a heavy amount of swearing, sticky tapped receipts, and a crying   accountant. He got sick of sending apology chocolates for all the yelling. So now Janice handles the paperwork and Roy sticks to the cars. She can’t make a decent cup of tea but there are worse things in life to live with. 

As for what was causing Janice to laugh, that responsibility must go to the bloke lounging over the front desk like it’s an arm rest. Roy can only see the back of him but the brightly coloured matching tracksuit and blonde streaked hair is enough for Roy to know that this is a grade A prick. And most likely the owner of said neon atrocity sitting on the floor of his shop.

Janice’s eyes meet his and her face lights up in greeting. “See now, I told you he’d be back from lunch any minute now.” She gestures for the customer to turn around and Roy is hit with the blinding lights reflecting off a perfectly white smile, stretched widely and earnestly across the young man’s face. “Roy, this is Jamie. He’s having a spot of trouble with his car and needs some assistance.” 

“Hey man,” Jamie steps forward, going to extend a hand to shake but hesitates at the state of Roy. Even if he hasn’t come directly from the belly of an engine, his hands still wore the leftover dirt, grease, and grime that working with cars entails. The stains on his shirt were years deep and no washing machine ever had hope of removing the smears of old oil. So Jamie doesn’t hold out his hand for long, and Roy doesn’t even attempt to reciprocate. 

“I’m guessing the highlighter with wheels is yours.” Roy doesn’t wait for Jamie’s face to morph out of the impression of a gaping fish he’s currently doing before he continues, “What’s the problem?”

“Uhh well, yeah so like when I’m trying to take off and it revs real loud and all, sometimes it just doesn’t go or it tries really hard to and is all jerky and stuff.” 

Roy looks at him blankly. So the kid knows nothing about his six figure car. Typical. What he lacks in knowledge he seems to be attempting to make up with syllables. 

“And I don’t mind the revs, it’s mint for showing off to the ladies but not when it doesn’t go very fast.”

Christ, Roy thinks. “Yeah, because I’m sure the ladies really care about how loud your fucking car is.”

Jamie’s mouth clicks shut and his face falls. Well now Roy feels like a dick. 

“Anything else?”

“It makes weird noises too. When I’m cruising and going a bit fast there’s a noise like a-” And he proceeds to make a puttering noise that sounds like a cross between a dying cat and a terrible amateur beat-boxer.

Roy sighs and tries to remember what his business manager said to him. Something about being the face of the business and representing the company in a positive and polite manner. He attempts to school his features into something neutral. It doesn’t feel natural. 

“I can take a look at it but we don’t exactly specialise in luxury sports cars,” Roy says, looking around at the mismatched waiting chairs and blinds that were older than he was. “Wouldn’t you want to take it to your dealership servicing department?”

Jamie huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he flicks a stray piece of hair out of his face in indignation. “I’ve already been there. Twice. They said it was something to do with the transmit-thingy and they replaced it and ‘fixed’ it and it still feels like shit. And the custom wrap I got done voided the warranty so they won’t do that stuff for free.” The slight slump in his shoulders showed how annoyed he actually was, hands rolling in the bottom of his jacket in anxiety. “I don’t know much about cars but I know when I’m being taken for a ride. Just cause I got the money don’t mean I wanna be throwing it at people who don’t give a shit about me.”

Typical. The dickheads who prey on women that don’t have any experience with car troubles are the same people who are always happy to take the money of anyone who doesn’t know any better. Roy looks at the kid properly, at the defeated slump of his shoulders and the tired look in his eyes that say he just doesn’t care about it anymore.

“Fine. I’ll take a look at it.”

Jamie perks right up, that smile stretched back on his stupidly sculpted face. “Cheers mate.”

“Leave your keys and number with Janice and I’ll get around to it today.” Roy turns around, heading back out to the floor, “We’ll be closing at 4 so pick it up by then or come back tomorrow.”

He doesn’t stick around to hear any more of the blokes babbling, content with keeping himself busy at the back of the garage until he leaves. Roy sees what must be an Uber pull up out the front and Jamie leaves with a wave to Janice and a request to send that scone recipe to him yelled through the closing door. 

The job isn’t that big of a fix. The dipshits at whatever service shop Jamie went to stupidly thought it was a transmission issue but one look at the fuel pump said differently. The harness connection had melted and, after he called around for the right part, switched it out in a few minutes once it arrived. Roy was still underneath the hood of his other scheduled fix for the day when Jamie came back in. He wasn’t in the mood to get cornered into another conversation with the guy so he let Janice handle the payment and report of the part replacement. He hears their conversation wrapping up and the jingle of keys as Jamie says goodbye and returns to his newly fixed car. The footsteps shuffle to a stop and the soft click of the door opening echoes through the high ceiling. But there’s no closing slam. Just the mechanical sound of Roy’s socket ratchet twisting. Roy pauses and looks across the floor to the Lamborghini, and at Jamie- frozen with the door open— looking over at him. That smile returns, albeit this time much smaller and shyer. Roy nods his head in return and focuses back on the engine in front of him, hearing the car door close and the rev of the sports car leave his garage. Just because some pretty boy wants to talk to him doesn’t mean he has time to waste. 

***

The second time Roy see’s Jamie, he hears the Lamborghini before he sees it. It slowly rolls through the open roller doors of his garage, music so loud you can feel the bass thumping through the concrete floor. 

The engine shuts off and Jamie steps out, sunglasses perched on the edge of his nose. He takes a brief look around the garage, eyes settling on Roy in recognition. Roy watches him turn the charm on, like he’d flipped a switch. The shoulders go back, the smile crooks up on one side into more a smirk, and he runs a hand through the light strands of his fringe, pushing them back off his face. Shameless. 

“You know most people book in for an appointment.” Roy calls out. 

Jamie stops short, the record scratch in his brain almost audible as he freezes in place, unsure of what he should do. “Oh, I can go if you-”

“What’s the problem,” Roy barks out. In terms of customers, Jamie was far from the worst. Even if he did have to put up with the shrekmobile in his shop for a while. 

“The little genie lamp light came on and I figured you would know what that means.”

Roy is withholding the urge to bury his face in his hands. He takes a deep breath instead. “That’s the oil light…When was the last time you changed your oil?”

Jamie opens and closes his mouth in his best impression of a gaping fish. That answers that question. 

“I can do it now but it’ll take about 30 minutes,” Roy huffs, “You can come back later if you need to g—”

“No, I can stay,” Jamie interrupts, bouncing on his heels like he’s won some sort of prize.

“Alright.” What goes through his head, Roy will never know. “Keys.” Roy walks up to the car, hand outstretched.

Jamie tosses the keys in an arch into Roy’s waiting palm and steps back out of the way. Luxury cars are an overpriced dick measuring contest in Roy’s mind. But boy do they move smoothly. He starts the engine up and rolls it onto the hoist. As he closes the door on his way out, he sees Jamie still standing to the side, hands rolled in the bottom of his jumper, head tilted to the side as his eyes wander over every part of the shop, investigating, trying to pick out every tool he might or might not know.

“There’s chairs in the office area,” Roy nods to the closed doorway, the large window next to it showing the waiting area and a shitty vending machine that Roy eats out of more often than any paying customers. 

Jamie nods and goes to turn around, hesitating for a moment as he looks back to Roy and asks, “Can I watch?” 

Usually, the answer is a flat out ‘fuck no’. But there’s a genuine curiosity in that question, and an adorable tilt in his head that’s reminding Roy of a golden retriever. So instead, he sighs and grunts in confirmation. “Fine. But don’t touch anything. And don’t get in the way. And don’t ask too many questions.”

Jamie mock salutes and mimes zipping his lips, leaning over a tool cart an acceptable distance away.

Roy gets to work. Popping the hood, removing the covers, unscrewing the support bar, replacing the oil filter. It’s methodical. It’s art. Each part has its place and function and Roy is simply the conductor, getting it to all move the way he wants. Raising the car up so he can get underneath, removing the oil plugs, draining out the oil, and putting everything back. Jamie only interjects a few times, asking what something is, or how it works. Each question gently prompted, like he doesn’t want to burst the bubble of productivity around Roy. And Roy’s answers are short and simple, to the point and without straying from his task. 

It’s a bit over half an hour by the time Roy finishes cleaning up and starts the car back up, listening to the engine purring away as normal. He turns the car off, holding the keys in his fist, and nods towards the doorway. Janice wasn’t in today so it’s just the two of them alone in the office. Roy leads Jamie to the desk and makes his way behind it, pulling out the carbon paper tax invoice. 

“Is the lack of tech in here because of Janice or because of you, granddad?” Jamie asks, nodding to the outdated bookkeeping method.

Roy huffs, writing out the details with as little effort as possible in his chicken scratch handwriting. “Just how it’s always been done.”

“Nah I like it,” Jamie replies, “It’s old-school like.”

A grunt is all Roy offers back as he rips the top sheet of paper off, handing it to Jamie and pulling out the card machine to let Jamie pay. 

“Thanks mate, you’ve saved my ass twice now,” Jamie offers up, flashing that white smile directly at Roy. 

It’s intimidating. The force of that gaze directly on him. Roy doesn’t really know where to look. 

“Just bring it back if you have any problems,” Roy deflects, holding out the keys to give back. “But you won’t.”

Jamie reaches forward to grab them and fingers brush over his own, lingering for just a fraction of a second. They’re softer than Roy was expecting, despite the obvious care Jamie has in his appearance. Roy doesn’t know why he’s surprised by it. And then Jamie’s touch disappears and he’s leaving with a soft ‘Cheers’, heading out the door. Roy hears the Lamborghini start up while he’s still behind the desk, fiddling around with the paperwork and stray pens on the counter instead of acknowledging his slightly elevated heart rate. 

***

“Roy?” Janice calls across the garage, trying to pinpoint which of the cars Roy is currently inside or underneath.

“What?” Roy calls back from underneath the hood of the blue Ford sitting in the back corner.

“I’ve got a service request for Monday that I think you can fit in.”

Roy wipes his hands on the rag attached to his coveralls and closes the hood, looking over to Janice in the office doorway. “Sure. What’s the model?”

Janice gets a little smile on her face, eyebrows raising in a playful manner. “A certain Lamborghini Urus owned by the cute blonde lad with the big arms.”

“No.”

“Roy…”

“Tell him it’s double the cost.”

“Roy.”

“Fucking fine. Book it in.”

“Jolly good.”

Why won’t this pretty boy leave him alone?

—

Roy is in the office Monday morning when he hears the rumble of the sports car pulling into his street. 

He’s got a bloke he employs part time with him today. An old fella that reminds him of his grandad in a way, with just as much swearing to match his own. He watches through the window as Jamie talks with the guy, eyes shifting around the garage like he’s looking for something. It’s not until he hands the keys over and goes to turn around that he spots Roy through the glass windows. His eyes light up in recognition and height his hand up in a casual wave. Roy acknowledges him back, if maybe a beat too late, but Jamie smiles larger either way and heads back out to the street. What a weird guy.

If Roy’s being honest, there’s something making him nervous about being around Jamie. He’s not the biggest prick in the world but he seems to be getting under his skin so quickly. Roy doesn’t know whether he wants to find out more about him or never be left alone with the kid. There’s something about that cocky smile, the way he flicks the stray strands of hair out of his eyes — he knows exactly how good he looks. It’s disconcerting. And it’s making Roy’s palms sweat.

So in the afternoon he keeps his head down, working on another car right at the back of the garage, when Jamie comes in to pick the Lambo up. He lets Janice sort out the handover, having given her the rundown of everything he’d worked on and what needed a tune up. He probably could have gone into much more detail if he’d done it himself. After all the late night research he’d done on the Lamborghini Urus when Jamie had brought it in for the oil change, he knows this model inside and out now. Not that he’d admit how much detail he’d gone into. Or how late he’d stayed up thinking about it. That’s none of anyone’s business. He hears Jamie ask if Roy was still around, and he hears Janice tell him that Roy’s probably underneath one of the cars in the back (true) and that he's a bit too busy to talk at the moment (not true). 

At least he won't have to see the kid again for quite a while now.

***

It’s late in the afternoon when Roy’s afternoon cup of tea is interrupted by Jamie arriving at his shop unannounced once again. He’s underneath the belly of a Toyota Land Cruiser and can hear Janice calling out a greeting from the office doorway. Their voices echo around the high ceilings for a few moments while Roy puts his tools down and wipes his hands. It’d be annoying that they’re so familiar with each other if it wasn’t also a little bit sweet. Jamie looks like he’d be easily adopted by several grandmothers to carry their groceries across the street. 

“I just fixed your car, what could possibly be wrong with it now?” Roy calls across the floor as he walks over to join them.

“Hello to you too, granddad.” Jamie cheeks to him. Roy does not respond except for the tilt of one of his eyebrows. “There’s a little rattling noise but it only happens sometimes and I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

Roy had checked every crevice of the overpriced glow stick last time and knew that there wasn’t a single thing wrong with it. But, there’s a chance he missed something. And he would be a bad mechanic if he didn’t at least check it out. 

“I’ll take a look.” Roy glances at the clock, “But I probably don’t have time tonight to take it for a drive and locate the problem.”

“Why don’t you go with Jamie now for a drive and I’ll finish up the land cruiser for collection,” Janice suggested, smiling between them.

“I don’t—”

“Yes, let’s do that. I’ll lift it down and do the final checks.” She’s already off, shooing the two boys in the direction of the Lamborghini. “Off you pop.”

Jamie grins at him, hand held out in offering with the keys. Roy sighs, knowing when to admit defeat and grabs the keys, walking over to the driver’s side door. Janice waves a hand in a wave as they reverse out the lot. Traitor. 

“Does Janice usually do stuff with the cars?” Jamie asks.

“Occasionally,” Roy replies, turning out of the side street where his shop sits, “Her husband used to be a race driver in the BTCC. She worked at the tracks. Knows her way around a car better than most.” 

“Mint,” Jamie nods, “Is her husband still racing?”

“Fuck no. He’s an old bastard and also cheated on her years ago. So she ditched the bloke, and took the vintage 1965 Ford Falcon in the divorce.” 

“Bad ass.”

“No kidding.”

They turn at the cemetery, heading down the main road to pick up some speed. The car is still suspiciously silent. 

“Do you follow footie?” Jamie asks, almost hesitantly.

Roy lets out a scoff. “Fucking of course. Would be un-English of me not to.”

“Nice, nice,” Jamie nods, lips pursed in thought.

Roy takes the bait. “You’ve been playing pretty well recently. Sitting pretty high on the table.”

Jamie’s head whips sideways to look at Roy directly. “You recognise who I am?”

“Of course I fucking recognise you. Your face plastered on the wall of the train station.” The large posters are still up from the last cup Richmond were playing in. They’re faded and graffitied all over, but Jamie’s larger than life face is front and centre in all of them.

“That’s a pretty good photo of me. I look fucking fit.” 

“Pretty sure some kids drew a monobrow on you. And a dick on your forehead.” He wasn’t lying about that.

Jamie scoffs in outrage. Clearly he hasn’t been riding any public transport lately if he hadn’t noticed. Roy was tempted to add to the vandalism last time he saw it. Just for a laugh. Didn’t have a pen though. 

“Well I bet I still look fit,” Jamie pauses, “Even with a dick on my face.”

Roy’s not going to think about that too much.

“Well have you ever come watch me play?” 

He’d thought about it recently. Didn’t really want to admit that to Jamie though. Might give the kid a bigger head than he already does. “Not in years. Haven’t got too many weekends off.”

“Ah,” Jamie says, nodding his head in a slow understanding, “Well…if you ever wanted to come along, I could hook you up. With tickets, I mean. If you wanted. Obviously if you don’t happen to be working. No pressure or anything. Just let me know…”

The tips of Jamie’s ears have gone pink during his rambling. Would be nice to get out for once, maybe he’ll take his niece one of these days. “Thanks,” he nods.

They turn down North Road, heading back towards the garage when Roy drives over a speed bump, the car jostling as they roll over it. A rattling noise reverberates through the car, softly but still loud enough to be heard. Roy keeps going, waiting to hear it again to locate its origin. They approach another set of speed bumps and Roy leans closer to the dash as he goes over a bit more aggressively than the first time. The sound repeats itself, coming from the passenger side. He pulls over to the side of the small street and pops open the glove box, reaching in between loose receipts and empty protein bar wrappers to pull out— 

A tin of mints. 

He turns slowly to look at Jamie, who is wincing at the sight of something so obvious. Roy rattles the tin in his direction. “Would this be the rattling noise you’re hearing?”

Jamie sucks in a breath of air through his teeth. “Ah yep. Yep, that— uh— yeah that might be the one.”

The drive back to the garage is in silence. Janice just laughs at them when they get back and sends Jamie on his way with a biscuit and a promise to try the cafe on Golden Court they’d be speaking about. Traitor. 

***

“Please don’t tell me you replaced your ugly, expensive car with another ugly, expensive car.”

Roy is looking at a Noble M600. It’s a fucking rare car, and truly not the ugliest luxury car he’s seen, but the bright orange paint job is an eye sore and a half. Made in the UK, it's mainly a stainless steel and carbon fibre construction that uses a twin-turbocharged Volvo/Yamaha V8 engine to put out up to 650 hp. Which basically means it’s fast as all hell but completely overpriced in Roy’s opinion. But a job is a job.

“Nah, this is my mate Colin’s ride.” Jamie pats the hood, smoothing his hand over a noticeable scratch and dent above the front headlight. “Fair warning, Colin can’t drive for shit.”

“I can see that.” He’s really not looking forward to this service. His account balance is though. “How did you get stuck bringing it in?”

“Oh you know, he’s on the other side of the river at his boyfriend’s house so I said I’d drop it on the way to training.”

Sounds complicated. “Okay...”

“And I figured you’d ban me from coming here if my mate crashed into your shop.”

“You’re fucking right about that.”

Jamie chuckles. “Anyway, I’ve got to head but I'll be back later, yeah?”

Roy grunts in acknowledgement, nodding at Jamie as he heads back out to the street. He keeps trying to work out when seeing Jamie rock up to his garage started to be a somewhat pleasant experience instead of filling him with dread. 

—

Roy is grateful when he hears the ceramic clink of a mug being placed on the bench above him in the afternoon. This service was taking longer than expected and though one of Janice’s terrible cups of tea wouldn’t fix all his problems, it was a good reprieve. “Thanks Janice.” He blindly reaches up and brings the mug to his lips, prepared to sip the weak and overly milky beverage. Except it’s not terrible. It’s actually kind of perfect. Steeped well, a dash of milk, and slightly heavy handed with the sugar, like one teaspoon was added and then just a sprinkle more. His eyebrows raise in surprise, leaning back to ask Janice how it’s taken her 60 years to finally make a good cup of tea.

“Since when—” 

Except it’s not Janice. It’s Jamie, standing sheepishly over him. 

“Hi. Sorry if it’s shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Janice gave me vague instructions so I kinda guessed.”

“It’s… perfect.” It was. “Thanks. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Nah you’re all good. You had the power tools on when I came in so I’ve been chatting to Janice.”

“Right…We’ll I’m not quite done here,” Roy gestures to the open Noble, “You can come back in a while or hang around.”

“I’ll hang around,” Jamie smiles, “If you don’t mind. Promise I won’t get in the way.”

He was well behaved last time. Even Roy can admit that. And it’s not like anyone else would be coming into the shop at this time.

—

“That’s not a toy!”

Jamie has found the creeper board and is currently using it as a chair, rolling across the floor like a child.

“Then why is it so fun?” He pushes off the ground, rolling back towards where Roy is working. “Relax granddad, I'm not gonna fall off and ruin my career.”

“And if you crash into a fucking tool cart and a wrench drops onto your head?”

“You’re no fun!”

“I’m not getting sued by you or fucking Richmond or the whole fucking Premier League because you decided to be a fucking muppet in my garage!”

This kid will be the death of him. Didn’t he used to have a ‘no visitors’ policy? He clearly remembers having that rule in place. When did it apparently get tossed out? Probably around the time the mop of blonde hair and puppy dog smiles walked into his garage.

The beat of silence lasts too long for Jamie apparently because after a moment of quiet, he blurts out. “So what are you doing?”

“Fucking hell,” Roy growls. “I’m not explaining every single fucking thing I’m doing to you. How did you even get this far in life and not know a single thing about cars?” Roy asks. 

He sees Jamie’s shoulders go up in an exaggerated shrug. “I dunno. Just never did.”

“Didn’t your dad ever teach you how to at least change a tyre?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Jamie locks up, shoulders clenching together, and looks away immediately. “Nup.” He won’t look at Roy as he says anything. “Wasn’t around for that shit.”

Roy freezes, unsure of what to say and no intention to pry. “Noted.”

“Mummy didn’t have a car back in Manchester for a long while,” Jamie adds. “The buses were right shit but it’s what we did. Didn’t even get my licence until my first contract.” 

Roy nods. “Buses are always shit.”

The silence settles again. Roy lets Jamie sort out the buzzing in his head and shake off the change in demeanour. It doesn’t take long. He does another slow spin around with the board before fixing his attention back to Roy. 

“So how do you even know how to fix so many different cars?” Jamie asks, tilting his head trying to see what Roy’s doing.

“I learnt.”

“Well yeah but I mean, aren’t they all, like, different? How is working on fancy shit like Lambos and Ferraris the same as a Kia?”

Roy sighs, reminiscing about the times when his garage was silent. “It’s like…” he hesitates, trying to think of a metaphor that won’t confuse Jamie, “It’s like a door. I know all the parts that should go on a door. Wood, handle, hinges, all that shit. Even if the door looks different, it all needs the same shit. Some fuckers name things different - call a handle a premium fucking gripping device. Some add fancy shit like door stops and kick plates. But as long as I know all the things that make up the door, I can fix it…Also Youtube.”

“Hm…so kinda like baking? Once you know all the ingredients and ratios and stuff, you can make lots of shit from memory.”

Roy hesitates and thinks for a moment. “Yes. Almost exactly like that.”

“Wicked. So you’re, like, super smart then?”

“Tell that to my doctor sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“No, I don’t. Forget I said anything.”

“Come on Royo!” 

“Shut it.”

“Is she hot? Ow!” The towel Roy threw across the floor hits Jamie square in the face.”This is fucking filthy!”

***

“What teammate have you stolen this one from now?”

Roy is staring as Jamie gets out of another different car. At least this one was properly booked in so Roy was actually expecting it. Janice sent him the model details a few days ago and he had had a chance to read up on the specs and familiarise himself with the sedan. The Aston Martin is beautiful. A bit older, the 2014 Rapide S model was subtly flashy. In a way that simply driving an Aston automatically makes it flashy. Having the four door model makes it slightly more approachable, almost family friendly. Roy is really hoping there are no painting defects on this thing because the Amethyst Red colourway was only released in its debut year and custom mixing to colour match was not one of Roy’s specialties. 

Jamie chuckles as he closes the door. “Actually…this one is mine.”

“Adding to your collection? At least it’s nicer than the fucking traffic light you’ve brought in before.”

“The Lambo’s gone,” Jamie scuffs the bottom of his sneaker against the concrete floor, “Didn’t feel right for me anymore. So I sold it.” His hands roll at the bottom cuff of his shirt, body twisting side to side with shy energy. 

“Oh,” Roy mutters, unsure of what brought on the change. “Well, it’ll be ready for you to pick up this afternoon. Janice will sort you out.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says softly, bottom lip snagging between his teeth. “I’ll see you later.”

—

It’s just before midday when a single mum comes in with an emergency. Car broke down, she’s got to pick the kids up by three thirty and her engine won’t start. He takes it without a second thought but spends three hours working on it instead of Jamie’s Aston. As it’s getting closer to five o’clock, he knows there’s no way he’ll have the service done before pick up, and he's gonna be in for a late night.

“Janice!”

“Yes dear?” Janice pops her head out the office. 

“Can you give Jamie a call and tell him the Rapide isn’t gonna be done today?” He does a quick mental check of everything still left. “I’ll finish it up tonight but he can come pick it up in the morning.”

“Of course. I’ll be sure to tell him of your plans.”

That was an odd phrasing of words. But Janice is often saying cryptic things to him lately. Asking if he’s met any new people recently, or if he’s thought about taking some more time for himself. Weird shit. He’d ask about it later but he’d rather not have that discussion.

—

There’s a knock on his garage door at 8pm. It’s mostly closed except for a small peek at the bottom to let the breeze circulate the warming summer air. If it’s Chris from next door coming over to yell at him for the window lights shining into his fucking backyard, he’s going to lose it. He lifts the roller door but it’s not Chris. It’s Jamie, standing with a bag of Indian takeout between his fingers.

“What are you doing here?”

“Janice called earlier, told me about the delay and said you’d be working late and that you have a habit of not eating any proper food when you’re here. So,” Jamie lifts the bag higher, “dinner.”

Maybe he should be lecturing Janice about proper client interaction behaviour. She’d probably say something about a pot and a kettle. “Fine,” he gestures Jamie inside, “but there better be garlic naan inside that bag.”

“Of course there is, I’m not a fucking monster,” Jamie scoffs.

Roy grabs some cutlery out of the office kitchenette, and they set up on the garage floor, Jamie having claimed his favourite seat on the creeper board once again. Jamie’s clearly not one for extended silences. Not that Roy hadn’t noticed that by now. He becomes so animated as soon as he’s found a topic for his brain to stick on, rambling each and every thought without lingering before sharing. It’s invigorating. Roy’s impressed at how much food he’s actually getting into his mouth at the same time. 

In a small lull, Roy finally asks, “So where did this car come from? 

Jamie takes a second to look at the Aston, tracing the shape with his eyes, like he’s seeing it for the first time in years. 

“It was the first car I got when I came out of the academy with City. Everyone is fucking loaded there, obviously. And I knew shit all about cars, clearly still dont, but I knew I wanted something nice — something that would earn me some respect when driving in that first time with it.

Mummy really wanted me to buy something for myself. I used so much of my money at the beginning helping her out, doing nice things for the house and her clothes. But she wanted me to spend it on myself. So I spent weeks researching what I could get. All the Lambos and Ferraris were too expensive at the beginning, and I knew I’d get shit for having an old one. But then I looked at the Astons. I grew up watching James Bond movies. Mummy was obsessed with Sean Connery. He was so classy and posh and all. Always saving the day and looking fucking fit doin’ it. And he had that classic Aston Martin. So I found someone selling a second hand one. Obviously not an old bond one, but still an Aston. 

When I transferred to Richmond, I was being a bit of a prick. Got a pretty big signing fee and thought I was top shit coming into a team like that. So I got the new Lambo a year in. To be honest I only bought that one because the Urus reminded me of Uranus which gave me a laugh. But I’ve been through a lot of changes the past couple years. Stopped being such a massive prick. And it doesn’t feel like me anymore. So I got rid of it last week. Pulled this one out the garage. It reminds me of why I did this all in the first place. Not just to play footie, but to be able to provide for mummy. Make her proud.”

“I know something about that.” Roy doesn’t mean for that to slip out. It wasn’t like he was in the habit of sharing personal feelings with almost strangers. But the way he feels like he’s just been given a gift, a peek into who Jamie really is, has him wanting to open up unintentionally.

“Who are you trying to make proud?” Jamie asks gently, not wanting to push Roy too far too soon. 

Roy looks over Jamie’s head to the sign sitting above the office door. Kent Auto Repairs. He keeps his eyes focussed on the lettering, the faded paint, the scratches from years of wear.

“My granddad started this garage when he was a young lad. He’d been working as a mechanic ever since my grandma got pregnant. My dad was four when grandad bought the property and started his own shop. There's a photograph in the window of the first day he opened. I loved coming ‘round here as a kid. Even when grandad got a bit too old to work full time, he was still around, talking with the customers, doing the odd fix while the other guys took care of the big repairs. His brain was a fucking encyclopedia of knowledge on all things cars. I never found a question he couldn’t answer. 

When I was nine, he passed away. And we stopped coming around here. But it was still running, one of the blokes stepped up to manage it. I was seventeen when I found out that dad was going to shut down the business and sell the property. I did everything to try and convince him not to but he wouldn’t listen. Didn’t care. And then I found out that grandad had left it in my name. That’s why dad wanted to sell. Because he knew that in a few months, I would legally have ownership over it. 

So I got a used all of the fuck all money I had saved up and got a lawyer to stop him. There wasn’t much of a case, it was in my name. End of story. And then dad disowned me, told me it would be my downfall if I kept clinging to the past. I did everything I could to keep it afloat. One of the old timers here taught me everything grandad never had time to. And every time I look up at that sign, I remember that it’s him I’m doing this for.”

When Roy finally drops his gaze from the sign, Jamie is staring at him, mouth gently parted and understanding in his eyes.

Jamie clears his throat. “Dad’s can be a bit shit, hey?” His voice cracks slightly at the end. 

Roy doesn’t say anything back. But he nods. 

Finally, he turns and looks at the Aston. “This thing isn’t going to tune itself.” He pushes the takeaway containers aside and groans as he pushes himself upright and stretches out his hand toward Jamie. “Come on. Let’s fix it up.”

Jamie's lips pull up in a smile. “For grandad.” And he grabs the offered hand. 

They work in tandem, Roy running the rest of his checks on his mental list, Jamie holding tools and cleaning up oil spills and listening intently to every piece of information Roy relays as he works. 

When they finish, Jamie’s designer shirt is halfway ruined and Roy feels a little lighter than he did before. The engine is purring beautifully and the roller door is open, ready for its departure. 

Jamie is standing next to the open door, ready to depart with it. “Thanks,” he says, all soft smiles and earnest eyes. “Obviously for the car. And the mechanics lesson. But mostly for the conversation. Was good to know a bit more behind the gruffness.”

Roy grunts in acknowledgment, trying to remember any other words. “No problem.” 

There’s a pause, like they should be doing something else. Like a moment is passing them by. 

“I’ll call you,” Roy blurts out, to fill the gap. 

Jamie’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, “You will?”

“When the tyres come in.” The tune up was all good but the Aston definitely needed new tyres and they had to be ordered in. It would be a week or so before they arrived. 

“Right, yeah, of course,” Jamie stammers, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course. I’ll see you round Roy.”

He gets in the car and closes the door, waving out the window as he pulls out into the dark side street. Roy doesn’t know how long he stands in the open doorway before he remembers to reach and grab the roller door, pulling down the veil of the warm night. 

***

A week has passed since that night, and Roy is carrying on as if nothing is different. Even though he has developed a nasty habit of Jamie popping into his head every couple of hours. He’d watched Richmond’s match last weekend, eyes glued to the way Jamie traversed the pitch, weaving between players and orchestrating plays, always in perfect control of his movements and position. It was a thing of beauty to witness. Almost made him want to watch live for the first time in years. Be able to feel the pulse of the game, the vibrations of the crowd’s cheering reverberating through his bones, the magic of the players right in front of him. But that would be silly. He’s not going to a game just to watch one of his customers play. 

Jamie had dropped the Aston off at the garage on Friday. Richmond were playing up north for an away game and wouldn’t be back until today. So Roy had taken the car in overnight and changed the tyres, as scheduled. And maybe did another top of fluids. And potentially gave the headlights a polish. And possibly a quick interior detailing. Okay maybe it was an extensive interior detailing. There weren’t many other cars in his shop that weekend. Kind of. 

Now, Roy’s working on an old restoration, which probably wasn’t the smartest choice given the weather. It’s a boiler of a day. Not ideal for taking apart an old shell and carrying around old engines. Every conversation has either been about how hot it is or when everyone thinks the heatwave will end. Unsurprisingly, there is no air conditioning in the shop, so all the roller doors have been wide open and a small army of pedestal and desk fans have been running, gently blowing the hot air around in circles. 

“Fucking hell.”

Roy hears the noise and looks up from where he’s been standing over the workbench, rag in hand, cleaning off the excess grease from a wrench set. Jamie’s standing in the open driveway, in a pair of gym shorts so obscenely short that it’s taking Roy a lot of willpower not to stare at the way his thighs are bulging out of them.

“Jamie,” Roy says in greeting instead of commenting on the strip of skin he can see underneath his slightly cropped shirt. 

Except Jamie doesn’t return the greeting straight away. He’s staring at Roy instead, eyes fixated on his body like there’s something on him.

There’s a high chance of that as well so Roy glances down at himself. His white tank top is littered with grease stains and dirt smears from the old machinery, and there’s a decent sized sweat mark dripping down from his neck. No wonder Jamie’s frozen, he’s probably scared Roy will stain the thousand pound workout gear he’s got on if he gets too close. Roy pulls the rag out of his jeans pocket and wipes as much of the oil off his hand as he can, which proves to be difficult with how dirty the cloth already was.

“Uh… hi, hey,” Jamie finally replies, eye snapping back up to Roy’s face. “How’s it going?”

“Yeah. Hot.” Get a grip Kent. “The Aston’s all done.” He points over to the waiting car. 

“Mint.” Jamie walks over to take a closer look, kneeling down to run a hand over the front tyre. As he looks up, he notices the shine on the front. “Did you put in new headlights?”

Roy comes closer, tapping his finger on the hood of the car. “No. Just polished them up. Had the stuff laying around so.”

Jamie tilts his head up at him, an indecipherable look on his face. “Thanks.” He stands back up, glancing through the window and then opening the door, sticking his head inside to see the detailing work Roy had done. “Jesus, Roy it’s fucking sparkling in here.”

Roy swallows extra hard and drags his eyes away from the way Jamie’s got his ass in the air as he leans in the car, the short shorts riding up further. “It’s not a problem.” Jamie straightens back up, the expression on his face unreadable to Roy. Because it isn’t. He’s happy to do it, which is an odd feeling for him. Taking care of someone's car is one thing, sure. But he wants it to be nice, to be perfect. For Jamie. Bringing this car out was such a big moment for him, Roy just wants to help in any way he can. For once. He still doesn't know why. “I’m—I’m happy to. For you.”

Jamie closes the door with a soft click, eyes not leaving Roy’s. He takes a deep breath and walks towards Roy, not stopping even as the space between them dissolves and Jamie reaches for Roy’s cheek, holding his face steady as he crashes their lips together. And then Jamie is kissing him.

Jamie is kissing him.

He freezes out of surprise, mind going completely blank. But Jamie is hesitating, about to pull away. Roy wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him back even tighter. His brain finally responds, tilting his head and melding his lips with Jamie’s, tasting the small gasp of shock that escapes his mouth. 

Roy let’s Jamie push his weight into him, leaning back against the grill of the car before remembering the state of his clothes. He pulls Jamie in even tighter, taking his weight and flipping their positions, pushing Jamie gently down on the hood, never losing contact between their bodies. 

Between the sweet taste of his mouth and the way his hands won’t stop roaming, Roy can’t keep track. Jamie’s hands are everywhere. Combing through his hair, running over his shoulders, sliding up the side of his tank, fingers raking over the soft hair on his stomach. If his plan is to drive Roy insane, it’s working. And the soft noises he’s making. Every little gasp or moan or whine each time he tilts his head; a sinuous roll of his hips pushing their bodies closer and closer. 

Roy pulls back first, gasping with his first full breath of air in over three minutes. Jamie’s mouth is wet as he looks down at him, chest rises and falls fast as well, catching his breath. “What was that for?”

Jamie chuckles, throwing his head back, blonde hair in a halo across the deep red of the car. “Wanted to do that since the moment I saw your grumpy ass.” Roy didn’t know that was a fucking option. And now he feels like an idiot. Well he would if he didn’t have a handful of pretty blonde and thick thighs taking up his attention. “I figured there was a fifty percent chance of you head butting me once I got too close but I had to find out. Also I was starting to run out of excuses to come and see you. Was going to have to cut my own brake lines next.”

Roy can’t help but chuckle into his shoulder. “You wouldn’t be able to find your brake lines even if you were looking for them.” He was ridiculous, they both were. “I’m fucking filthy.”

“It’s hot as fuck.” 

Roy could guess by the way Jamie was still running his hands over every expanse of Roy’s uncovered skin but it was good to have the confirmation.

“We need to get off the hood. Do you know how fucking expensive this car is?”

“It’s fine. My mechanic is pretty great.”

Jamie flashes his favourite smile he’s seen so far. Not cocky and not hidden. This one is unbridled joy, directed straight at him. Because of him. Now if that isn’t a smile he wants to keep seeing every day, he doesn't know what is.