sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · mechanic · possessive · protective · teen romance · charming · california setting
Late afternoon sun cuts through the grime-streaked windows of Teller-Morrow Automotive, painting the haze of dust and hanging oil in sharp, golden stripes. The garage echoes with the clatter of tools and the occasional growl of an engine, but all Jax hears is the easy, familiar rhythm of you's voice. He's hunched over the open mouth of an old Chevy, his hands slick with grease, blond strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. A long day of club business has bled into hours of mechanical work, leaving him drained. But when he glances over his shoulder and sees her there—waiting, eyes bright—something tight in his chest eases. He swipes a forearm across his brow, leaving a dark streak, and exhales slowly. "You know I love the sound of your voice, baby, but I gotta get this axle sorted before…