(Sorry, baby. You were right all along. How did I ever forget that?)
While in retrospect the scene did not deserve such agony--mostly for my poor critique partners--I thought it might be fun to share.
Please stop over at Slash and Burn for the blog and then pop back if you want to read the scene.
After complaining about the leg room in Ryan’s Honda, David insisted Ryan drive around the back so he could transfer his briefcase to the Mustang more easily. When Ryan rolled his eyes, his brother punched his arm.
“What? It’s hot out.”
“It’s July. It gets that way every year this time.” So much for just slowing down long enough to drop David off.
“Well, some of us have to wear ties to our job.”
Ryan wondered if it had been a mistake to come back to St. Cloud. Every time he and David were together, they acted out the same sibling drama, and it was even worse with Mom in the mix. If he’d settled somewhere else, maybe he’d have been able to escape feeling like he would always be the lesser of Sean McRae’s two sons.
“Some of us were smart enough to go into a field where we can wear comfortable clothes all day.” He stopped as close as he could to where the Mustang was parked.
David left his briefcase and suit coat in the car as he got out. “Wait for me. I want to make sure everything’s all set.” He slammed the door shut before Ryan could answer.
He felt like an idiot sitting out here with the a/c running, would feel even dumber wandering around the lot. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like cars, especially classic cars, but if he got out, it would be like he was looking for an excuse to run into tattoo guy; if he sat in the car, it was like he was avoiding him.
He shut off the car. The heat hit him instantly. After two minutes, the air was impossible to breathe. He opened the door. A bike was between his car and the back entrance to the garage, and he examined it as he passed, squinting past the mirrored chrome. He’d thought about getting a motorcycle. It would save on gas in the summer, and he thought it would be fun—if unexpected and certainly something else for his mother to clutch her rosaries over. But he really had no one to teach him how to ride, and really couldn’t see himself getting tricked out as some kind of leather Daddy cliché.
In the blinding sunshine, the dark opening was too tempting to resist and Ryan ducked inside the garage. It was cavernous, cluttered without being messy. He could see David off in the far corner at some kind of counter and even at this distance with his brother between him he see the light brown brush cut on the guy settling his brother’s bill. He went back out into the heat and glare.
He looked at the bike again, tried to picture himself on it, laughed and walked down past what he guessed was an early sixties Thunderbird in primer and stopped between a gleaming Camaro and a disintegrating car from a 1930’s gangster movie. The car looked like it had given birth Alien-style, with a gaping hole exploding out from the roof. He tried to figure out what could have caused it. A grenade in the back seat?
He looked up in time to see his brother peeling out of the lot in the Mustang. He ought to head back to his car, but the sun baked in a lassitude that kept him looking at the rusted out car. Maybe it was a relic from a real gangster, taken out when police had lobbed a grenade through the window. Did cops use grenades then? He was reaching a hand toward the fragmented metal when a voice said, “Tree.”
“Huh?” He turned. Tattoo guy had come up behind him.
“A tree did it. Grew right through the floor and tore right through the roof. It’s going to be gorgeous when we get her fixed up though. A ’37 Buick.” The guy’s voice curled over his ears like smoke. A deep graveled-edge hugged the words, and there was another reason not to get involved, smoke made his eyes all red. And only a pack a day habit could get that kind of perfect sexy rumble over the larynx.
The guy was definitely not taking gay for a test spin. He was subtly teasing the edge of Ryan’s space, his eyes holding his a little too long to be misinterpreted as anything but interest. Ryan wondered if the guy even remembered him from that night.
He returned the look, watching the way the unbuttoned grey workshirt stretched across his shoulders, framing a grease-smeared white undershirt. Sweat plastered the undershirt to hard pecs. Ryan bit his tongue to keep from licking his lips. He really wished mechanics still had names stitched above the pocket.
As if he was reading his mind, the guy stuck out a hand. “Jeff.”
He reached for the Jeff’s hand, but before he could offer his own name, Jeff was saying it in that husky voice. “Ryan, right?”
“Oh.” He couldn’t wait to get that phone call.
Jeff shook his hand firmly, but not in some kind of out-to-prove-who’s-butcher way, and then didn’t let go. Heatstroke, that was it, or maybe it was the way Jeff’s muscles moved under that dark-streaked t-shirt because everything he’d told himself about tattoo guy went out the window when Jeff used his hand to pull him in to meet his kiss.
When Ryan opened his mouth, he decided Jeff must have had a spark plug on his tongue. The shock of that slick contact ran through him burst hotter than the midday sun overhead. His dick swelled and throbbed in his shorts. He licked into Jeff’s mouth, tasting diet soda and a trace of pepperoni, but no hint of tobacco. A deep breath gave him the flavor of Jeff’s skin, clean sweat, the metallic traces of his work coating his tongue.
Jeff’s free hand cupped the back of his head, keeping him tight against his kiss as he untangled their hands and stroked up beneath the hem of Ryan’s shirt. The rasp of those calloused fingers against his skin stole his breath and he had to break off the kiss. Since he didn’t want Jeff to get the wrong idea, he mouthed along his jaw, feeling the start of stubble, tasting all the way back to the softer skin under his ear.
Jeff’s hand dropped to rub Ryan’s cock through his shorts, and his head dropped back. As he arched into that delicious pressure his thighs hit the hot edge of metal behind him and he remembered where they were. There had to be someplace inside to take this. Because if he stopped now, his balls might mutiny.
“Hey. Is there, I mean—” Ryan waved at the grassy lot.
“I locked the gate. And Mike always takes a two hour lunch.”
The wet tongue lapping his neck and the hands unbuttoning Ryan’s shorts gave every indication that Jeff was about to hit the grass with his knees and at that point Mr. Happy and the twins decided they were no longer taking orders from Ryan’s brain.
Jeff shoved the shorts down and followed them onto the grass, fingers finding and stroking every inch that was tenting Ryan’s thankfully-stain free navy briefs. He braced his hands on the burning metal behind him as Jeff slipped the elastic carefully over his straining cock.
In a breath, Jeff took him in, mouth, hotter than the July sun or the car hood searing Ryan’s fingers. He held on and didn’t care if his fingers blistered because he needed the support. His knees buckled as Jeff slicked him with spit and took him right to the back of the throat and banished every last question Ryan had about his sexuality. Jeff absolutely knew what to do with a dick in his mouth.
Ryan’s mouth opened to let out a gasp as Jeff backed off to tease the head with his tongue, swirling around the rim before stabbing at the slit with a pressure that turned Ryan’s gasping breath into moans. Jeff pulled off with a last lick and mouthed his way down to his balls, hand keeping a lazy stroke on his cock as he drew one and the other into his mouth, rolling them over his tongue. One thumb stroke, then a swipe of tongue on the skin below his balls, and Ryan felt his fingernails scratch paint as he bent his knees to get his legs farther apart.
He braced his hips against the car as Jeff licked his way back up his dick and then screwed his mouth down around him again. He got him almost to the root and then swallowed, and Ryan wondered if he was going to leave a dent in the hood with his fingers. He pried one hand free to thumb Jeff’s cheek in the hollow made as he bobbed and sucked, felt himself hard on the other side as Jeff pulled up and down, sliding fingers inside along Ryan’s dick, wetting them.
Everything low went tight and hot at the thought of why he was slicking those fingers. It had been way too long since he’d been fucked. He just hoped he wouldn’t burn his dick off on the metal of the hood when Jeff bent him over it. His body jerked at the first intrusion, then he opened around it, pushed down until it burned his nerves with a surge that fired up his balls. The pressure increased as Jeff slid in a second finger.
“Sorry.” He breathed as the sudden jump in size had him bucking forward.
If Jeff cared, he didn’t give any sign, just fucked his fingers into Ryan’s body a few times before curling them and pressing up until he hit that sweet gland. Jeff’s mouth tightened impossibly hot and wet and good and God please Ryan wasn’t going to make it. He tried to twist away, push Jeff’s head off him, but Jeff hung on, pinning his hips back against the scorching metal as the heat burst through him, out of him, pumped into Jeff’s throat as a supernova blew behind his squeezed shut eyes.
Ryan sagged against the car and sucked the air back into his lungs. He looked down his belly, past his shining wet red cock to find Jeff, lips swollen and dark as his mouth opened around a moan. Jeff had his dick out of his jeans and was jerking himself hard and fast. Ryan sank to his knees and covered his hand with his own, finding the rhythm before pushing Jeff’s hand away. He watched the shine of that thick, almost purple head sliding in and out between his fingers, the girth and length making him seriously regret not having been able to hold on long enough to finish this bent over the car with Jeff pounding inside him.
Jeff’s breath whistled between his teeth as Ryan sped up his strokes, watching precome pulse from the slit. Just when he thought he finally had the energy to lean down for a taste, he felt Jeff go all tight, the muscles in Jeff’s stomach jerking against his knuckles as his hips stuttered forward. An echo of satisfaction rumbled through Ryan as he watched Jeff shoot milky streams that landed first on Ryan’s shirt and then his own.
Ryan gentled his strokes until Jeff knocked his hand away and rested his head on Ryan’s shoulder, gasping for air. Ryan licked the salt off Jeff’s neck and breathed in the sweat and come trapped between their bodies.
In a minute he’d be getting up and fixing his clothes and climbing back into his car, going back to his life where he’d spring wood every time David mentioned the Mustang or he saw a Camaro, but for now it was good to just rest here under the sun with bone-melting satiation pooling heavy in his body.
Jeff took a deep breath and lifted his head. “Let’s do that again.”
Ryan laughed. “I know you said Mike takes a two hour lunch, but I may need half of that to recover, good as you are.”
Ryan felt the heat in his cheeks and was relieved he was too tan to show much of a blush. “Fine. Great.” God knew what he might have yelled when Jeff’s fingers had stabbed his prostate while his mouth was sucking him into heaven.
“I think I can find a rag inside if you want to clean up.”
“Nah, I was just going home.”
Jeff rolled up to his feet and tucked himself back into his jeans. “I’d still like to.”
“Do that again.”
Ryan’s pulse jumped. He definitely did. That and more. “I would too.”
“I can get out of here by six, if you want to meet me.”
For more sex in the back lot?
“If you bring beer, I’ll bring pizza.”
“Sounds great.” Ryan straightened and pulled his shorts back up. He headed toward his car.
He turned back surprised at the way his gut tightened as he thought Jeff was changing his mind.
Instead Jeff winked. “What do you like on your pizza?”