The Mechanic’s Apprentice – Part 13

Everyone in this story is 18+

Grease and Grit

My bedroom was filled with the low hum of the TV, its faint glow casting shadows on the walls. Something from Netflix was playing—Tiny Pretty Things, Connor’s choice, of course. But I had to admit, some of the scenes got me a little hot. Outside, the crisp autumn cold was beginning to take hold, a sharp contrast to the warmth and coziness inside. I lay on my bed, my head propped up against the headboard, while Connor sprawled beside me, his arm draped casually over my stomach. It was kind of weird how fast we’d gotten here. But hanging out almost every day—boxing together in my cellar or, well, him helping me with my fast release issue—those lessons were definitely the most fun.

He fiddled with the hem of my shirt, tracing random patterns against the fabric, while I stared at the ceiling, trying to shake off the day. The faint scent of sweat and grease lingered on me from the shop. I hadn’t showered yet—hadn’t had the energy—but Connor didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to like it, leaning in close every so often, his nose brushing against my neck.

“You smell like work,” he murmured, his voice soft and teasing. “I like it. It’s… you.”

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “Pretty sure that’s just motor oil and sweat.”

Connor grinned, propping himself up on his elbow. “Still you,” he said, his dimples flashing. “Besides, it’s not like I smell like roses after ballet class.”

“Yeah, but at least you don’t smell like a garage floor,” I shot back, smirking.

He laughed, and for a moment, the tension in my chest eased. Connor had a way of doing that—lightening the weight I carried, making the world seem a little less serious. I reached up and ran a hand through my messy hair, sighing.

“You okay?” Connor asked, his tone more serious now, his fingers stilling against my shirt.

I shrugged, not sure how to answer. “Just thinking about stuff.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze stayed on me, warm and patient. Connor wasn’t pushy, but he had this way of knowing when something was on my mind, even if I didn’t say it.

“I know you’ve got a lot going on,” he said quietly. “Work. Your friends. Or, uh, not your friends anymore, I guess.”

I frowned, the mention of my old crowd pulling me back to reality. Cutting ties with them had been the right thing to do, but it left a void I hadn’t figured out how to fill yet. Connor, though, had slid into that space without me even noticing. He’d become the person I could talk to, hang out with, and, if I was being honest, blow off steam with when things got too heavy.

“You’re a good friend, you know that?” I said, my voice softer than I’d intended.

Connor blinked, surprised, before his expression shifted into something warmer. “I try,” he said, smiling faintly. “Not sure that’s why you keep me around, though.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not just that,” I muttered, feeling my face heat up.

He chuckled, his fingers trailing down my stomach, brushing against the waistband of my jeans. “Good thing I don’t mind being your go-to stress reliever.”

“Connor—” I started, but he cut me off with a kiss, his lips soft and familiar. I let him take the lead, his hand slipping under my shirt, his touch warm against my skin. My heart raced, but there was that same reluctance—an invisible wall I couldn’t quite break through.

This was only the fourth time we’d kissed. The first time, I’d turned away, caught off guard. The second time, I’d lost control after he’d jerked me off, kissing him in the heat of the moment. Now, it already felt natural. His lips were softer than my ex’s—someone whose name I barely even thought about these days.

Connor shifted, propping himself up on his elbow before trailing his fingers down my stomach. His touch was light, teasing, and when he reached the waistband of my jeans, his grin turned even more playful.

“Let me take care of you right now,” he said, his voice low and sure, as he pulled me free, his hand wrapping firmly around my dick.

I chuckled breathlessly, my chest tightening as his lips brushed over my tip. “Yeah, please do,” I managed to say, my voice barely steady. He leaned closer, his nose pressing into my pubes, inhaling deeply as he took in the musk of me. The sound he made—a quiet, almost contented hum—sent a shiver straight through me.

Then his lips wrapped around my cockhead, his tongue trailing slowly, teasing, deliberate, before he started to take me deeper. My breath hitched as he moved, his warm, wet mouth slowly making my dick disappear inch by inch, his pace maddeningly perfect.

“Are you getting close?” Connor asked, his eyes locking with mine, a glint of naughtiness dancing in them as I let out a low moan.

“No, I’m still good. Go on,” I whispered, my voice strained but steady.

Connor smirked, his confidence palpable, and leaned in again. He was controlled, deliberate, and enticingly good at this. His tongue swirled around me, his movements precise yet unhurried, keeping a steady rhythm that had me gripping the duvet hard enough to crumple it in my fists. My breath increasing, the sensation almost overwhelming, but I focused on holding on, determined not to lose it too quickly. I applied some of the tricks Connor had taught me— I focused hard on holding back, steadying my breathing and shifting my thoughts, applying the tricks Connor had taught me to stay in the moment without losing control too soon. and the sharp edge of my imminent nut eased just enough to keep me in the moment.

The pressure was unbearable now, every part of me begging for release. Connor’s mouth worked faster and harder, his tongue tracing along me in ways that sent surges of heat spiraling deep into my gut. My fingers twisted into the duvet. I clenched hard, using the pelvic floor exercises he’d taught me, a last-ditch effort to delay the inevitable. But Connor wasn’t letting up, his rhythm perfect, his focus on my dick.

“Fuck, yes!” The words ripped out of me as everything inside me snapped. My hips jolted forward against his hold, my body tensing as a rush of heat tore through me. I pulsed hard, uncontrollably, the pleasure rolling in waves so intense it left me gasping for air. My thighs trembled, and I couldn’t stop the ragged sounds spilling from my throat as I spilled into his mouth, feeling every agonizingly overwhelming second.

Connor stayed with me, swallowing without hesitation, his tongue still flicking gently, drawing out every last jolt until I was completely spent and my balls drained. Slowly, he pulled back, his lips wet, his eyes glinting with something between continued desire and pride. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, smirking as his gaze locked with mine.

“Not Bad, someone’s definitely been practicing,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

“Yeah, I might have,” I admitted, still catching my breath. “That felt amazing, Conn.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to object to the nickname, but I cut him off with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm, and I leaned into it, feeling bold. My hand moved down his chest, fumbling slightly as I reached for his waistband. Connor froze for a moment, surprised, before letting out a low chuckle as I tugged his pants down.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but I shook my head, lowering myself between his legs.

“Hey, I want too.” I said with a grin, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Connor didn’t argue, though his amused expression stayed as I took his pretty dick in my hand, hesitating for only a second before leaning forward. I was inexperienced, no doubt about it, but I was eager to learn. My tongue traced along his purple head awkwardly at first, but when I heard the quiet sounds he made, it encouraged me to keep going. I tried to mimic the things he’d done to me, hollowing my cheeks and taking him deeper, though I gagged a little when I went too far.

“Ryder,” Connor murmured, his voice soft and breathless, his hand resting gently on the back of my head. “That’s it. You’re doing so good. Just… like that.”

I kept going, adjusting to his quiet cues—the slight arch of his hips, the faint tremble in his legs. His breathing quickened, light and melodic, almost like a song. His fingers curled in my hair, not gripping but anchoring, as if he needed the connection as much as I did. Every sound he made was delicate yet charged, each whisper of my name sending a rush through me.

When he finally gave in, his entire body tensed, his chest lifting as a soft, high-pitched cry escaped his lips. His thighs quivered under my hands, his voice breaking into a whimper as I felt the first salty rush on my tongue spill into my mouth. I swallowed quickly, clumsy but determined to keep going, enjoying the way his hips twitched and the tiny sounds that followed.

As his body relaxed, his breathing came in short, shaky bursts, his head falling back against the pillow. “Oh my god, Ryder,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, his cheeks flushed pink as his hand slipped from my hair. He looked down at me, his dimples just starting to show, his smile shy but full of something I couldn’t quite place.

Connor exhaled slowly, looking at me with something softer than amusement. “You really didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Hey, it’s only fair,” I replied, leaning back against the headboard with a grin. “This fuckbuddy thing has to be a two-way street.”

Connor chuckled lightly, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. He hesitated for a second, then said, “Yeah, sure. About that…”

I frowned slightly, noticing the way his voice caught. “About what?” I asked.

Connor shook his head quickly, looking away. “Nothing,” he said after a pause. Then, with a forced smile, he added, “But I do have a ballet recital coming up. Want to come see it?”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. I didn’t want to send the wrong signals, not when I wasn’t ready to go there yet. And the thought of Joe being there didn’t help.

“Maybe,” I said finally, dragging the word out. “I’ll see. Joe’s been pushing me to work a lot lately.”

Connor’s smile faltered for just a second before he nodded, lying back beside me. “Yeah, okay. No pressure.”

The room fell quiet again, the hum of the TV filling the space between us. I turned my head slightly, catching the flicker of something in his expression—something I couldn’t quite place.