Thread: Boys and their Toys (Isis and Sigurd)

Jo didn't like the rain. At least, not where bikes were concerned. First, there was having to ride in the tire tracks of cars. Second, there was the whole dirt-on-your-new-paint thing. Third, there was the smell of wet leather steaming from her jacket- fuck, it reminded her of rotten hamburger meat. And fourth, there was the whole getting soaking wet when your day was already shitty deal. And the fact she hadn't had a good boning in a month, but really, that had nothing to do with the GODDAMN TORRENTIAL FUCKING WRATH-OF-THE-GODS RAIN THAT WAS POURING FROM THE SONUVABITCH SKY. Jesus, it felt good to get that out. She'd just been asked to make a run for Tony, the chief mechanic and the guy who owned the Bike-n-Bar, the banged up old building in which Josephine sold drinks and motorcycle parts to old men with beer bellies. It was a Come for the bar, stay for the bike talk and tips sort of place- which meant half the men in the bar were over fifty, and the other half had tits and mullets and probably weren't men, but one could never be too sure. At least no one tried anything too shifty. Well, they tried, Jo just threw them out or kicked them so hard in the balls they'd never jack off again. Pulling up along side the damned place, Jo accidentally splashed some poor asshole who was in her way. She was about to dismount- God, she couldn't leave her baby outside. Not her Aprilia. Not her Betty Paige. Dammit. She hopped back on and smoothly drove into the open garage, sliding off her bike like a drop of water. As luck would have it, Tony was in the garage, spiffing up a V4. With his usual Italian harrumph, he motioned to her wet hair and dripping body. The hell happened to you, Smith? It's fuckin' raining, Tony. Here's your paint. Catch. She threw the little cherry-red bottle to him, her aim deft. I gotta clean off Betty. Mind watching the bar for a bit? Jo, you know they don't buy from me. You gots the face for sales. Now go make me le mula, or it's out on your ass. I'll take care of Miss Paige. Tony smiled a gruff, crinkly, chubby, greasy smile, nodding to the door. You old bastard. Jo laughed, even though she sorta wanted to stay and be with her bike and her wrenches and her transmissions and her pipes and her nuts and bolts and parts. But she knew Tony would do Betty Paige good. The man was an excellent mechanic, and a sweetheart once you got down to it. He didn't mean anything by that whole, 'out on her ass' thing- he was just a greedy little prick was all. But Jo loved him anyways. Fuck, but she was cold. The bar was cold, too, when she stepped back inside, hair and clothes dripping. Finally she took off the leather jacket- great. Fuckin' peachy. Her clothes were clinging to her body tits, waist, hips. Ass. All perfectly outlined a dark silhouette against the glow of the TV behind the bar. It wasn't that she was embarrassed. No, she boxed and worked hard to keep herself fit. It was a hobby. She just didn't want to throw anyone out today. She set to cleaning, trying to scrub away the chill in her bones. Aw, fuck. The door just opened. That meant company and puddles and oh, fuck, she hated people. Really, really hated them. Sweeping her long, black hair up into a quick ponytail, Josephine Autumn Smith put on her best smile for whatever poor prick just walked into the shit-hole- not to mention her horrid temper. Hello, welcome to the Bike-n-Bar. How may I help you?