You know it. [he smirks, then stroooolls down the aisle between the cars, swinging his golf club like Dick Van Dyke on a jolly fucking holiday with Mary]
[hums as she bops around the garage, her hands behind her back as she looks over the cars. After one lap she stops by the car she'd been oggling before. She runs her hand along the hood and up the side of the door, caressing it.]
[for a second he's really wishing she'd boosted herself into the backseat, instead - but then he remembers they have Important Shit To Fuck Up, and the work is more important. way, way more important. they can have crazy monkey teenage sex once they've gotten the message out sufficiently. he finally finds a good pair of pliers and a thick pair of gloves so he doesn't zap himself into a Christopher Lloyd haircut for the next two weeks, then skips back over and skids the last few feet to the car, coming to a slide stop perfectly next to the door]
Always. [he flips up her skirt and sticks his head under there, shamelessly, nipping at her knee before popping back up and crawling in to pry open the console under the steering wheel]
...
... the garage. he hefts his nine iron at the lock until it bursts, with a wicked cackle of glee, then hollers over the din]
HEY, NO~RAAAAAAA!
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Hey whaaaa~aaaaat?
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[he gestures to the beat-up doors with his club and bows gallantly out of the way, like a circus ringleader with a cane]
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Oh, baby, but I didn't get you anything.
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Promises, promises.
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So, which one?
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This one.
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Mmmm. I dunno. It's a hell of a car.
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[he snickers, and starts tearing apart the workbench, looking for tools he can hotwire it with]
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[gives him a lecherous grin as she boosts herself up, falling backwards over the door into the driver's seat]
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Hey lady, you order a mechanic?
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That depends. Do you want to take a look under my hood?
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Anything I can do to help?
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