» Journal: We'll use this one here, to make it easy.
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» Birthdate/Age: February 1988, which makes me 26
» Characters Played: nobody yet
» Re-App Status: n/a because no
CHARACTER FACTS
» Name: George Skogstrom
» Canon: Sons of Anarchy
Rat decided he hated the collar.
It wasn't that it was uncomfortable, at least it hadn't been at first. It fit well enough, snug but not too tight, only a constant presence, a constant reminder that he didn't have a choice in this damn situation. Not that it was a bad place, really, it was warm and pretty enough, and at least he had family here, his brothers from the MC and Gemma and sure, at least half the time dealing with them was like getting stuck in the Twilight Zone and he was pretty sure he was going to go insane if he had to keep his mouth shut about things any longer but at least having them around was like home.
This damn collar, though, now that was going to be the death of him.
He'd been here for what. A couple weeks? And sure, Tig had explained them, between a few dozen BDSM jokes, got the main point across, but having the fact that the collar started fucking choking you if you went too long without getting your dick wet was one thing, having it actually happen was something else entirely.
He'd been in the shop, working on the latest project when it happened, and it pulled him up short, right in the middle of a tune-up; the collar pulled, pressed against skin and it wasn't really more than a surprise just yet, but it was plenty to make him drop the screwdriver with a curse dragged out reflexively. He reached for the screwdriver all the same, pulled himself to standing and did his level best to act as if everything was fine, but of course Tig was there, of course he noticed, and the bastard only grinned knowingly at him.
Rat promptly flipped him off as he went back to work, made it another hour before the damn thing started digging into skin, more insistent now since he'd been doing his best to ignore it. He wouldn't be told what to do by a strap of leather, he refused, but as it pulled tighter, pressing against his windpipe, it became more a matter of survival than pride. He coughed and pulled at the band then finally gave it up, stood again to stalk off towards the communal bathroom, studiously ignoring the smug look Tig gave him as he walked by; if it was just sex the damn thing wanted, any kind, it should get better if he just jerked off, right? Then he could get back to fucking work and it would be fine. It would've been one thing if he was off, at some bar or something, but he was busy, he didn't have time for this shit.
He didn't even bother to get to a stall first, only stopped at the sink long enough for a squirt of soap -- because it was either that or engine grease and he'd be damned if he was going to deal with that later -- before he had his jeans open and his hand down his pants, but at this point it was either pass out because he couldn't breathe or risk a little workplace humiliation later. No contest. He'd been a little dubious he could even get hard, considering he was quickly starting to worry the damn thing would kill him before he could give it what it wanted; one stroke, then another, and another, but he stayed maddeningly limp, and of course the more worked up he got about the fact that it wasn't working the more insistent it seemed to be about it.
Stop. Take a breath. He tried to ignore the sensation of slowly being strangled, tried to dampen the rising panic about it because he knew it wasn't as if that would help. He needed something else. He thought back, tried to find inspiration, and there was always Brooke. That quick, furtive fuck before anybody got back, but then that had been pretty much ruined and he just needed to stay on track and then his mind started wandering. Faces he'd seen so far, and there was that chick, the one who hung out with Juice, the one with perfect dimples and good curves who knew her way around the garage seemingly as good as the rest of them, and as if mind and dick were finally on the same page it only took a few strokes and a bit more mental wandering before it rose to the occasion. Survival instinct does a lot of crazy things.
It was fast and rough, one hand gripping the edge of the sink as he worked himself over, head bowed low and eyes closed, hand knowing exactly what it needed to do to get him off as quickly as possible. Her hand working him as expertly as any tool in the box, better yet her mouth, and he bent further over the sink, breaths ragged now, fingers in a white knuckle death-grip on porcelain as he quickened the pace until he finally crashed over, managing to react only enough to shoot his load in the general vicinity of the sink and partly on the mirror, which was at least better than all over himself.
The collar at least had the decency to loosen.
He cleaned it up the best he could after tucking himself back in, then stepped back out into the shop, flipping Tig off again on his way back to his station after his oh-so-helpful quip that "Looks like somebody finally popped his cherry".
"Yeah, I left you a present back there. Can I get back to work now?"
» Reference: wiki entry with most of the information you could ever want
» Canon Point: season seven, episode five
» Gender: male
» Age: early thirties
CHARACTER INTERPRETATION
» Appearance: Niko Nicotera is the PB, but for more in-depth assessment;
George, known to the club by his nickname "Ratboy", is a young guy in his early thirties, of average height if a mess of gangly limbs and overgrown, scraggly Van Dyke that only succeeds in making him look like he is chronically up to no good, not that the leather generally helps. He looks like his namesake in human form, a shady character with a narrow face and dark shaggy hair, with dark beady eyes that regard the world with alternately bright, shining attention or affected disinterest, depending on the situation. He slouches and skulks, more likely to move through the shadows and linger in the back of the group than try to steal the limelight for himself, although since getting officially patched in he's started to develop a little more confidence in terms of his place in things, and thus in his demeanor. Like the rest of his brothers he can generally be found in worn jeans and his leather kutte over various varieties of plaids and heavy boots; he's pretty low-maintenance and his general appearance reflects that, considering he generally gives the impression of an unwashed, skeevy criminal type. Unlike the rest of the members of the club he really doesn't have anything in the way of tattoos, and he's pretty low on impressive scars to commemorate the time and energy he's put in, but then he's still only been an official member for a year or so. It's early.
George, known to the club by his nickname "Ratboy", is a young guy in his early thirties, of average height if a mess of gangly limbs and overgrown, scraggly Van Dyke that only succeeds in making him look like he is chronically up to no good, not that the leather generally helps. He looks like his namesake in human form, a shady character with a narrow face and dark shaggy hair, with dark beady eyes that regard the world with alternately bright, shining attention or affected disinterest, depending on the situation. He slouches and skulks, more likely to move through the shadows and linger in the back of the group than try to steal the limelight for himself, although since getting officially patched in he's started to develop a little more confidence in terms of his place in things, and thus in his demeanor. Like the rest of his brothers he can generally be found in worn jeans and his leather kutte over various varieties of plaids and heavy boots; he's pretty low-maintenance and his general appearance reflects that, considering he generally gives the impression of an unwashed, skeevy criminal type. Unlike the rest of the members of the club he really doesn't have anything in the way of tattoos, and he's pretty low on impressive scars to commemorate the time and energy he's put in, but then he's still only been an official member for a year or so. It's early.
» Suitability: n/a
» Orientation: all canon romantic entanglements, as well as general presentation with others, have thus far pointed towards heterosexual, most notably his current relationship on the show with a teenage girl the club took in after her father was killed in an accident they were partly responsible for. While there is a great deal of...questionable talk in the various banter sessions he has with Tig, he never indicates any particular interest in anything but women even while pointing out Tig's increasingly apparent out-of-club-norm leanings, going so far as to become visibly upset and unsettled when the older biker forces him to simulate giving him a blow job in an attempt to throw off the men they're supposed to be watching. I'm sure there are plenty of things that could be read into in terms of the reasons for that, but at baseline it's safe to assume heterosexual until something else comes along to disrupt that.
» Personality: Rat has come quite a ways since his first appearances on the show. He began as a prospect, or an individual essentially applying to become a member of a motorcycle club, much like a pledge to a fraternity, and considering the level of hazing that went on, he was comparatively much less self-assured, much less confident in his place. He's shown in these seasons as a quiet observer, quick to volunteer and lend a hand and steadfast through whatever they ask of him, eager to prove himself worthy of the patch. It's a rough period, prospecting to a motorcycle club, but Rat routinely rose to the challenge, whatever it took. Even when the methods of that became extremely harsh and borderline abusive; when a kilo of coke disappeared from their stock, all the prospects were interrogated, in ways that would generally break your average person. The more senior members in charge of the process were aggressive, shouting accusations at everybody who was a suspect, and when that didn't work they turned to harsher methods, including Russian Roulette and a cage match. But Rat stuck to his guns, endured whatever they put him through without cracking, without shouting a confession just to make the process stop or trying to blame somebody else to shift the attention, only accepted the trials and stuck to his plea of innocence, proving himself to be far tougher than he looks. He's never going to be the type to seize the leadership for himself, he's not ambitious enough for that, but he's proven himself extremely loyal and tenacious, as willing to put his life on the line as any patched member. He might not be the biggest member SAMCRO has to offer, or the toughest, but he's scrappy, quick on his feet and with his mind, and he Believes in the club, has adopted it as his family as solidly as the rest of them have, and he would do anything for it.
As the seasons developed, Rat seemed to come out of his shell a bit more, to become something closer to a fully fleshed out and realized character rather than only an extra body to use as cannon fodder, as most of the other prospects have become. He's the only one of the last couple batches to survive the process, let alone be fully patched in, and the milestone was truly momentous for him because of this.
As he found his footing and developed as a character across the seasons, settling into the club dynamics in his own right and finding his own voice, he's shown a taste for sarcasm, for responding to teasing barbs with a snarky response of his own. He'll take what they give him, sure, do what he's told because someone who outranks him told him to, but that doesn't mean he won't complain about it if he feels it's unfair, doesn't mean he won't lash out verbally at whoever he feels is safe to; he does have a certain amount of tact, an awareness of when certain things are and aren't appropriate to say, but he generally seems to prefer the more straight-forward approach, the path of least resistance. If it's a little rude but honest, well at least he made his opinion known, and honestly given the crew he runs with a little rough around the edges isn't exactly outside expectation. They're criminals and miscreants, part of an entire culture built off the idea that regular society is too confining, too restrictive, and while Rat doesn't generally come across as quite as conservative as the older members, that basis is still there. And the fact remains that he runs with a "one percenter" crew, a term used for the small fraction of motorcycle clubs actively engaged in criminal behavior, a fact which comes with a certain outlaw leaning, a willingness to do things that are overtly illegal without much of a second thought. He's also shown himself to be able to roll with the punches, to think on his feet. He'll lie if he has to, something simple and believable, and then commit to it as long as he needs to; case in point when he and Tig were sent to do recon on a white supremacy group. Tig made up a name on the spot, something not exactly subtle, and proceeded to feed a bunch of half-truths, which Rat then adopted even if he didn't think they were the best lies in the world. Tried to sell it the best he could, to commit to the role as long as they needed the act for, and even though it didn't last long, it wasn't for lack of trying on his part. He's also, more recently, lied about how he knew a man they were looking for, on the spot and with all the right lingo to sell it. He makes up for any physical lacking with a quick mind and determination; he knows he's never going to be the bruiser, but that doesn't mean he can't do the best he can with what he's got.
Even though he's a full member now, because they don't have any more prospects and being that he's the newest member, he often gets assigned the tasks that nobody else wants or will do; digging up bodies, cleaning up, running errands. He gets paired up with Tig a fair bit of the time, and it's clear the older biker is rubbing off on him, or at the very least giving him the means and arena to let a little more of himself out; while he seems reluctant to talk back to the officers, he has no difficulty mouthing off to Tig and giving as good as he gets, no matter how obscene the comeback gets. He's demonstrated a certain amount of tact, at being able to read a situation and figure out what kind of response is necessary, and while he does have a habit of getting himself in deeper than he's entirely prepared for, talking a bigger game than he's maybe capable of, he does generally show some sense of being able to recognize when he has gotten in too deep and making an effort to try not to make it worse. He's instinctively respectful of those ranking higher than him, as demonstrated by his habit of calling Gemma ma'am until she trains him out of it, but as with most of his ilk this really only extends to those connected to the club; cops or anyone in any legal capacity, with the exception of the ones already in the club's pocket, get viewed with no small amount of suspicion just on general principle, and non-club friends are a low priority. The club is your family, your brothers, and as things have started to unravel with the death of the president's wife and all the ensuing paranoia and mistrust that came from that, the instinct to insulate themselves, to rely on each other and nobody else, has only become more paramount to their survival.
That being said, it's been pointed out in multiple instances by multiple characters that there tends to be something of a disconnect that happens when you entangle yourself in the club, or at least become a member. When acting as a member of SAMCRO, it's more useful from a survival standpoint to become harder. Coarser. Rougher. They're rude and crude and gruff, arrogant and disdainful of the law, more inclined to violence and harsh words because it's necessary to the work they do, and easier to swallow that work if you give the impression it doesn't bother you. It's only when they're "off duty" that it's easier to see how the members are under their vests, what they're like on their own. Rat's just as susceptible to this as anyone who's been a member longer; when the kutte's on he's close-lipped about what the club's up to, wary of outsiders and more aggressive, although in his way it's generally understated until the situation makes it necessary. When it's off, or when they're not on business, he's just another smart-assed ruffian, generally awkward around ladies but sweet on his girlfriend, a guy who fidgets when he's nervous or bored and has a tendency to get carried away when he's having a good time.
Things will be...interesting, to say the least, coming into Amat. He's from near the end of available canon, at a point where the club's in something of a difficult spot, navigating their various relationships with other clubs with a big stick and soothing words after. Operating in the shadows about what they're really up to while presenting a friendly face to anyone they come across. Tara's dead, killed by the Triad as far as the club knows over some perceived trouble between the two over guns and drugs, resulting in widespread manipulation of other clubs to try to bring about their downfall. Times are tough, the club banded together in grief. He'll be relieved to see Tara again, because no matter the stress and strain she put on the club before her death in her efforts to save her sons from the life, her death has put her in something of a better light. She wasn't going to rat them out to save herself, after all, was going to try to salvage things. Her death, as far as the club is concerned, was a slight against all of them. A declaration of war. Chibs and Tig, well they're brothers, on good footing last he left off so he'll be appropriately respectful with Chibs and his usual snarky self with Tig, the constant give-and-take of trying to find where the line is. Gemma still intimidates him more than she doesn't, so he'll tread carefully with her, respectful of her former position even though she's technically not much rank-wise in the club anymore now that her former husband isn't club President.
The most notable change, however, is with Juice. Juice has been on the outs with the club since the beginning of season 7, for collaborating with the police and going against Jax. There's a hit out on him currently, because he's a liability and betrayed the club. More personally, he's the reason Rat got interrogated as a prospect for the missing coke, and is personally responsible for the death of at least one member. Suffice to say Rat's not going to be exactly thrilled to see him around, and will likely need some coaching to tone his reaction down.
As the seasons developed, Rat seemed to come out of his shell a bit more, to become something closer to a fully fleshed out and realized character rather than only an extra body to use as cannon fodder, as most of the other prospects have become. He's the only one of the last couple batches to survive the process, let alone be fully patched in, and the milestone was truly momentous for him because of this.
As he found his footing and developed as a character across the seasons, settling into the club dynamics in his own right and finding his own voice, he's shown a taste for sarcasm, for responding to teasing barbs with a snarky response of his own. He'll take what they give him, sure, do what he's told because someone who outranks him told him to, but that doesn't mean he won't complain about it if he feels it's unfair, doesn't mean he won't lash out verbally at whoever he feels is safe to; he does have a certain amount of tact, an awareness of when certain things are and aren't appropriate to say, but he generally seems to prefer the more straight-forward approach, the path of least resistance. If it's a little rude but honest, well at least he made his opinion known, and honestly given the crew he runs with a little rough around the edges isn't exactly outside expectation. They're criminals and miscreants, part of an entire culture built off the idea that regular society is too confining, too restrictive, and while Rat doesn't generally come across as quite as conservative as the older members, that basis is still there. And the fact remains that he runs with a "one percenter" crew, a term used for the small fraction of motorcycle clubs actively engaged in criminal behavior, a fact which comes with a certain outlaw leaning, a willingness to do things that are overtly illegal without much of a second thought. He's also shown himself to be able to roll with the punches, to think on his feet. He'll lie if he has to, something simple and believable, and then commit to it as long as he needs to; case in point when he and Tig were sent to do recon on a white supremacy group. Tig made up a name on the spot, something not exactly subtle, and proceeded to feed a bunch of half-truths, which Rat then adopted even if he didn't think they were the best lies in the world. Tried to sell it the best he could, to commit to the role as long as they needed the act for, and even though it didn't last long, it wasn't for lack of trying on his part. He's also, more recently, lied about how he knew a man they were looking for, on the spot and with all the right lingo to sell it. He makes up for any physical lacking with a quick mind and determination; he knows he's never going to be the bruiser, but that doesn't mean he can't do the best he can with what he's got.
Even though he's a full member now, because they don't have any more prospects and being that he's the newest member, he often gets assigned the tasks that nobody else wants or will do; digging up bodies, cleaning up, running errands. He gets paired up with Tig a fair bit of the time, and it's clear the older biker is rubbing off on him, or at the very least giving him the means and arena to let a little more of himself out; while he seems reluctant to talk back to the officers, he has no difficulty mouthing off to Tig and giving as good as he gets, no matter how obscene the comeback gets. He's demonstrated a certain amount of tact, at being able to read a situation and figure out what kind of response is necessary, and while he does have a habit of getting himself in deeper than he's entirely prepared for, talking a bigger game than he's maybe capable of, he does generally show some sense of being able to recognize when he has gotten in too deep and making an effort to try not to make it worse. He's instinctively respectful of those ranking higher than him, as demonstrated by his habit of calling Gemma ma'am until she trains him out of it, but as with most of his ilk this really only extends to those connected to the club; cops or anyone in any legal capacity, with the exception of the ones already in the club's pocket, get viewed with no small amount of suspicion just on general principle, and non-club friends are a low priority. The club is your family, your brothers, and as things have started to unravel with the death of the president's wife and all the ensuing paranoia and mistrust that came from that, the instinct to insulate themselves, to rely on each other and nobody else, has only become more paramount to their survival.
That being said, it's been pointed out in multiple instances by multiple characters that there tends to be something of a disconnect that happens when you entangle yourself in the club, or at least become a member. When acting as a member of SAMCRO, it's more useful from a survival standpoint to become harder. Coarser. Rougher. They're rude and crude and gruff, arrogant and disdainful of the law, more inclined to violence and harsh words because it's necessary to the work they do, and easier to swallow that work if you give the impression it doesn't bother you. It's only when they're "off duty" that it's easier to see how the members are under their vests, what they're like on their own. Rat's just as susceptible to this as anyone who's been a member longer; when the kutte's on he's close-lipped about what the club's up to, wary of outsiders and more aggressive, although in his way it's generally understated until the situation makes it necessary. When it's off, or when they're not on business, he's just another smart-assed ruffian, generally awkward around ladies but sweet on his girlfriend, a guy who fidgets when he's nervous or bored and has a tendency to get carried away when he's having a good time.
Things will be...interesting, to say the least, coming into Amat. He's from near the end of available canon, at a point where the club's in something of a difficult spot, navigating their various relationships with other clubs with a big stick and soothing words after. Operating in the shadows about what they're really up to while presenting a friendly face to anyone they come across. Tara's dead, killed by the Triad as far as the club knows over some perceived trouble between the two over guns and drugs, resulting in widespread manipulation of other clubs to try to bring about their downfall. Times are tough, the club banded together in grief. He'll be relieved to see Tara again, because no matter the stress and strain she put on the club before her death in her efforts to save her sons from the life, her death has put her in something of a better light. She wasn't going to rat them out to save herself, after all, was going to try to salvage things. Her death, as far as the club is concerned, was a slight against all of them. A declaration of war. Chibs and Tig, well they're brothers, on good footing last he left off so he'll be appropriately respectful with Chibs and his usual snarky self with Tig, the constant give-and-take of trying to find where the line is. Gemma still intimidates him more than she doesn't, so he'll tread carefully with her, respectful of her former position even though she's technically not much rank-wise in the club anymore now that her former husband isn't club President.
The most notable change, however, is with Juice. Juice has been on the outs with the club since the beginning of season 7, for collaborating with the police and going against Jax. There's a hit out on him currently, because he's a liability and betrayed the club. More personally, he's the reason Rat got interrogated as a prospect for the missing coke, and is personally responsible for the death of at least one member. Suffice to say Rat's not going to be exactly thrilled to see him around, and will likely need some coaching to tone his reaction down.
» Re-App Changes: n/a
SAMPLES
At least one sample MUST demonstrate your character's feelings about or reactions to sex! If this is a re-app, samples should reflect changes covered in the Re-App section above and demonstrate their awareness if they retain memories. The Sample Prompts can be found at: http://amatmods.dreamwidth.org/23598.html
» First Person Sample Choice: Prompt One
[VIDEO]
[There's a scruffy man seated in front of the screen today; his face may be familiar, it may not be, but honestly all he really cares about is this whole fucked up situation. He's trying to be serene, trying to keep his cool, but the way he's rubbing his face, the way he can't quite seem to be able to sit still, betrays the irritation and wariness underneath.
Rat's completely nude, or at least as much as can be seen of him on the screen, an angle he's careful to keep above...most things just because he's not as cool as some people he knows at the whole...public nudity thing.
Well. "Public". Not that he even knows where it's coming out on the other end, although he's got his suspicions. It's either Tig's idea of a joke or he's in deep shit, and all things considered he's at least hoping for the first. He keeps pulling at the collar around his neck, a low-key thing that seems to be designed more for function than aesthetics, something that looks suspiciously like a dog collar, except he can't get it off.
The biker huffs and grumbles under his breath then schools his expression into something more reasoned, a tight smirk pulling at his lips because he refuses to be the butt of some joke and he's pretty sure that's all this is.]
Funny. Real comedian. You tryin' to say something here? 'Cause this shit was funny a year ago, maybe, to some people with no taste, but now it's just bullshit. Why don't you leave the leash and the treats too, go the whole way. You want me to bark?
Fucking assholes.
[VIDEO]
[There's a scruffy man seated in front of the screen today; his face may be familiar, it may not be, but honestly all he really cares about is this whole fucked up situation. He's trying to be serene, trying to keep his cool, but the way he's rubbing his face, the way he can't quite seem to be able to sit still, betrays the irritation and wariness underneath.
Rat's completely nude, or at least as much as can be seen of him on the screen, an angle he's careful to keep above...most things just because he's not as cool as some people he knows at the whole...public nudity thing.
Well. "Public". Not that he even knows where it's coming out on the other end, although he's got his suspicions. It's either Tig's idea of a joke or he's in deep shit, and all things considered he's at least hoping for the first. He keeps pulling at the collar around his neck, a low-key thing that seems to be designed more for function than aesthetics, something that looks suspiciously like a dog collar, except he can't get it off.
The biker huffs and grumbles under his breath then schools his expression into something more reasoned, a tight smirk pulling at his lips because he refuses to be the butt of some joke and he's pretty sure that's all this is.]
Funny. Real comedian. You tryin' to say something here? 'Cause this shit was funny a year ago, maybe, to some people with no taste, but now it's just bullshit. Why don't you leave the leash and the treats too, go the whole way. You want me to bark?
Fucking assholes.
» Third Person Sample Choice: Prompt Three
Rat decided he hated the collar.
It wasn't that it was uncomfortable, at least it hadn't been at first. It fit well enough, snug but not too tight, only a constant presence, a constant reminder that he didn't have a choice in this damn situation. Not that it was a bad place, really, it was warm and pretty enough, and at least he had family here, his brothers from the MC and Gemma and sure, at least half the time dealing with them was like getting stuck in the Twilight Zone and he was pretty sure he was going to go insane if he had to keep his mouth shut about things any longer but at least having them around was like home.
This damn collar, though, now that was going to be the death of him.
He'd been here for what. A couple weeks? And sure, Tig had explained them, between a few dozen BDSM jokes, got the main point across, but having the fact that the collar started fucking choking you if you went too long without getting your dick wet was one thing, having it actually happen was something else entirely.
He'd been in the shop, working on the latest project when it happened, and it pulled him up short, right in the middle of a tune-up; the collar pulled, pressed against skin and it wasn't really more than a surprise just yet, but it was plenty to make him drop the screwdriver with a curse dragged out reflexively. He reached for the screwdriver all the same, pulled himself to standing and did his level best to act as if everything was fine, but of course Tig was there, of course he noticed, and the bastard only grinned knowingly at him.
Rat promptly flipped him off as he went back to work, made it another hour before the damn thing started digging into skin, more insistent now since he'd been doing his best to ignore it. He wouldn't be told what to do by a strap of leather, he refused, but as it pulled tighter, pressing against his windpipe, it became more a matter of survival than pride. He coughed and pulled at the band then finally gave it up, stood again to stalk off towards the communal bathroom, studiously ignoring the smug look Tig gave him as he walked by; if it was just sex the damn thing wanted, any kind, it should get better if he just jerked off, right? Then he could get back to fucking work and it would be fine. It would've been one thing if he was off, at some bar or something, but he was busy, he didn't have time for this shit.
He didn't even bother to get to a stall first, only stopped at the sink long enough for a squirt of soap -- because it was either that or engine grease and he'd be damned if he was going to deal with that later -- before he had his jeans open and his hand down his pants, but at this point it was either pass out because he couldn't breathe or risk a little workplace humiliation later. No contest. He'd been a little dubious he could even get hard, considering he was quickly starting to worry the damn thing would kill him before he could give it what it wanted; one stroke, then another, and another, but he stayed maddeningly limp, and of course the more worked up he got about the fact that it wasn't working the more insistent it seemed to be about it.
Stop. Take a breath. He tried to ignore the sensation of slowly being strangled, tried to dampen the rising panic about it because he knew it wasn't as if that would help. He needed something else. He thought back, tried to find inspiration, and there was always Brooke. That quick, furtive fuck before anybody got back, but then that had been pretty much ruined and he just needed to stay on track and then his mind started wandering. Faces he'd seen so far, and there was that chick, the one who hung out with Juice, the one with perfect dimples and good curves who knew her way around the garage seemingly as good as the rest of them, and as if mind and dick were finally on the same page it only took a few strokes and a bit more mental wandering before it rose to the occasion. Survival instinct does a lot of crazy things.
It was fast and rough, one hand gripping the edge of the sink as he worked himself over, head bowed low and eyes closed, hand knowing exactly what it needed to do to get him off as quickly as possible. Her hand working him as expertly as any tool in the box, better yet her mouth, and he bent further over the sink, breaths ragged now, fingers in a white knuckle death-grip on porcelain as he quickened the pace until he finally crashed over, managing to react only enough to shoot his load in the general vicinity of the sink and partly on the mirror, which was at least better than all over himself.
The collar at least had the decency to loosen.
He cleaned it up the best he could after tucking himself back in, then stepped back out into the shop, flipping Tig off again on his way back to his station after his oh-so-helpful quip that "Looks like somebody finally popped his cherry".
"Yeah, I left you a present back there. Can I get back to work now?"