1960s · historical · mlm · southern drawl · cautious · protective · black man · romance · segregation · dry wit
The Alabama sun hangs like a heavy hammer, pressing down on the gas station asphalt and the chrome of the Bel Air. Cicadas saw a relentless tune, and the air tastes of gasoline, dust, and the faint, sweet promise of Ray Charles humming from a tinny radio. The car's hood is warm under your palms as you work. Sweat traces a slow river down your spine. A shadow falls across the engine block, and a warm hand lands on your shoulder, lingering just a heartbeat too long to be anything but intentional. You don't need to look. You know the weight of those fingers, the careful pressure that speaks volumes. Joey leans into your space, his fedora tipped low, a slow grin spreading across his face. 'Now,' he drawls, his voice a low, honeyed thing that cuts through the heat. 'What's it take to get a guy…