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When the man rolls up to Singer Auto Repair & Salvage in a shiny black Audi R8, Bobby Singer, head mechanic and owner instantly knows he’s going to be one of those guys. The ones who had cash to burn and bought more car than they knew how to handle; inevitably they were the ones who ended up in body bags at the side of the road. He whistles to Dean, who is almost certainly behind the garage at the payphone box they’d installed for customers, talking to his boyfriend.
The man in the Audi parks easily and steps out. “Sorry, I’d have made an appointment, but-” he holds up a mostly shattered iPhone, “My phone is dead.”
Bobby just grunts. “Whaddaya need?”
“I just need a safety inspection, apparently. She’s brand new, and you are the only mechanic in the immediate area licensed to take proper care of her.”
“Yeah, I’m a qualified Audi mechanic.” He turns in the general direction of the shop. “DEAN! Take the lady into the garage, give her a nice warm up for me.” Directing his gaze at the man, taking in the tailored suit and shiny leather shoes, Bobby continues. “You, come with me. We’ll go into the office and get your paperwork looked at, and keep your nice shoes out of the mud.” He is about to lead the man to the repair shop’s small office when Rumsfeld bounds around the corner of the house and jumps up on the man. Bobby has quick nightmares of his new, well paying, attractive customer fleeing in terror from the dirty, overly affectionate Rottweiler. He moves to rescue the man, but then heard:
“Down.” The man practically barks it out in a voice that doesn’t allow the dog to disobey or ignore it. Rumsfeld whines, but sits back on his hind legs, tail wagging excitedly. The man offers his hand for the Rottweiler to sniff. “He’s a beautiful animal you’ve got here.”
“Err, yeah.” Bobby’s brain is still rebooting- since when did Rumsfeld /sit/ for anyone but him? “Uh, yeah, so if you come this way, we’ll get you into the system and make sure all the paperwork checks out.”Seeing the man still absorbed in scratching just behind Bobby’s disobedient dog’s ears, he adds: “You can bring Rumsfeld- he’s allowed in the house.” Maybe the guy isn’t a total asshole after all. He had a taste for nice cars- the R8 was a nice car, just more than the average too-rich-for-their-own-good yuppie could handle. He’s friendly with Rumsfeld, and doesn’t mind getting his suit dirty to do it.
They walk into the area of Bobby’s house that’s been separated off for use as the garage’s office. His other employee/adopted son, and incidentally Dean’s computer-savvy younger brother, Sam, is hard at work, doing… well, the computer stuff Bobby’d hired him to handle.
“Hey Bobby! What can I do ya for?”
“Get Mr. …?”
“Crowley.” The man supplies.
“Get Mr. Crowley into the system- unwieldy though it is.”
“Unwieldy? Bobby, I have dreams of fixing this for you.”
Bobby scowls and he catches ‘Mr. Crowley’ smirking in the reflections on the windows. “Yeah, well, this is what you’ve got Sam, so unless you’re gonna fix it for free…”
Sam ignores him. “Alright, so let’s get you in the system-” Mr. Crowley approaches Sam’s desk, taking his coat off and pulling an envelope out of an inside pocket.
As Bobby leaves, he can’t help but look back and admire the man’s ass- it’s a fine ass, even on a smirky customer. He continues out to the garage to get under the hood of the man’s equally fine car.
—————-
Crowley is back a week later with a busted tail light. It’s clearly been smashed.
Bobby looks up at Crowley, an eyebrow raised.
“Don’t ask.” It’s accompanied by an eyeroll that may as well have shouted ‘Idiots. Not worth my time.’ “Just fix it, will you?”
“It’s just a replacement bulb and the plastic covering. Y’sure you want me to bill you for something that’d take you ten minutes and some googling to fix yourself?”
“I’m already paying for the bulb. You may as well install it, save me the trouble.”
Bobby shrugs. “It’s your money.”
“Mr. Singer, if there is one thing I have no lack of in this world it’s money.”
“Ain’t gonna turn you down. Just cause it’s robbery doesn’t mean I’m as loaded as you are.”
“In the future, you may simply do as you see fit, and bill me later.”
“Mister, any other auto shop in the world, you’d get your ass fucked on that deal.”
“And you Mr. Singer?”
“Mm?” Bobby’s already distracted, trying to think where in the shop the new bulbs were.
“Are you, as you put it, going to fuck my ass?”
Bobby’s attention snaps to the man in front of him and he nearly swears as he feels the blood rush to his face and other places.
“Uhhh.”
“Mr. Singer?”
“I ain’t gonna overcharge you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Crowley simply nods as if satisfied.
Bobby swallows, then continues. “Though, if it ain’t…?”
Crowley looks puzzled for a split second, before grinning slyly. “Oh?”
Bobby stares intently off into the yard, unable to look at his customer. Unsure what to say, he just nods.
“And do I get charged for that service as well?”
Bobby glares. “I ain’t a hooker. If y’ain’t interested, then I’ll go fix your tail light, and you can split. But say so, don’t insult me.”
“Oh, lovely, I never said I wasn’t interested. Just merely gauging your intentions.”
“Intentions?”
“Is this a quick shag in the backseat of, well, not my car, because it’s non-existant, but surely there’s a car here with enough backseat to shag on, or are you asking me to dinner, etc.”
Bobby scratches his beard. “Tell you what. Let me fix your tail light, and we’ll fuck in my bed, since my knees are a little old for backseat sex, and we’ll go out for dinner this weekend?”
Crowley grins predatorily. “You have a deal, Mr. Singer.”