Warning; this is an adult story. I am not going to apologise for the content, which includes – or may extend to include – sex scenes, bdsm, alcohol and drug use.
I wrote this chapter before remembering that in the US you guys drive on the opposite side of the road and your cars are manufactured accordingly. In Australia the driver sits on the right-hand side.
He has beautiful skin, lightly tanned with a healthy pink glow, and the golden hairs on his arms are glinting in the summer sun. His eyes, as clear and blue as ever, are set perfectly in a face that is almost impossibly flawless and his smile reveals straight, white, teeth.
'I missed you,' he remarks.
One of the little wheels detaches itself from my suitcase and rolls across the hot asphalt of the car park. I scowl, irritated by the fact that there is not one single thing in life I will ever be able to own without in some way damaging or destroying it, or worse, having it destroyed by someone else. In this case, I blame my disintegrating luggage on the baggage handlers. I should have known it was impossible to go from Brisbane to Dubai and back again without having at least one bag wrecked.
'I missed you too,' I reply, putting the suitcase upright and collecting the stray wheel.
Michael places my carry-on bag down on the ground. He stares at me as I try to figure out how to reattach the wheel. 'Why don't I bring the car over? It's probably not worth trying to fix. Once we're home we can throw the suitcase out entirely.'
'I don't want to have to buy another one,' I point out. 'This is my third in two years.'
'If that's the case, then maybe you should start spending more than twenty dollars apiece on luggage,' Mike suggests in his dry-humored way, picking up my travel bag. 'In the meantime, I'll go and get the car. It'll probably take you a good twenty minutes to put the damn thing back together.'
'Will not,' I grin. There's a certain, un-ignorable, truth to Michael's words.
'Oh Brett, you know you're fighting a losing battle.'
'Huh. And where's your engineering degree, oh genius one?'
'Hon,' he replies, ruffling my sweaty hair. 'It's your degree that makes you incapable of fixing your suitcase.'
He saunters off towards the car carrying nothing but my laptop and backpack. The view I get of his arse is magnificent. Really, Michael has a butt that you have to see to truly appreciate, and when you've gone four and a half months without having sex with anyone but yourself, it's impossible to concentrate on a twenty dollar suitcase when you can instead focus on your lover's jean-clad bum.
I'm sitting on my (still broken) suitcase five minutes later when he returns with the car. His navy blue Subaru, much like himself, is immaculately kept and smells faintly of vanilla air-freshener with an undertone of 'new car scent'. Fourteen months after he bought it, the Outback still smells like it was driven off the dealership only a fortnight ago. If he ever actually sells the thing, the resale price is going to be terrific.
'God, how do you manage to stay so perfect?' I complain as I throw the broken suitcase into the boot. 'Everything of yours stays nice. Everything of mine gets wrecked and broken. Even I'm wrecked and broken. I have BO and body hair and I had to get two root canals done last month.'
He pats my hand. 'You poor thing. Did it hurt?'
'It hurt my wallet. Insurance only covered a quarter of the cost.'
Michael kisses me. 'You get tighter and tighter every year.'
I touch his cheek. Shit, I've missed him. 'It's not serious. I'm only mucking around.'
He takes my hand in his and leads it away from his face. 'I know,' he agrees, stroking my thumb. 'Come on, let's go. We're alone until four o'clock. The sooner we get home…'
I raise an eyebrow. 'The sooner we get home…?'
He drapes an arm around my hips and leans in and kisses my neck. 'The sooner we get home, the sooner we can unpack your broken suitcase.'
Ignoring what's going on down the front of my pants, I nod. 'I thought so.'
Michael walks around to the driver's side door, and I take my place in the passenger seat. I fiddle with my shirt and wonder if, this time, we'll manage to get home, make love, and properly greet each other before the fighting starts. We always fight when we're reunited. It's hard for him to give up partial control of our home after being in charge for months on end, and it's hard for me to readjust to having people demand love and attention from me. When I'm away, I get accustomed to being selfish, to only having to think about myself, and my work.
We talk about Brisbane and Dubai, and the differences between the two, as we drive home. My eyes keep drifting over his body in a half lusty, half loving, way and when he catches what I'm doing, he throws me a quick, knowing, smile. Michael is nothing if not sexually knowledgeable.
'Almost home,' he remarks.
'Yeah,' I agree. 'Almost time to…unpack my suitcase.'
We laugh at the crappy analogy. Suitcase, schmootcase, we've been together for almost an hour and we're yet to argue. It looks like we'll get sex before we start shouting.
Michael pulls into the driveway and parks the car in the carport. 'Welcome home,' he offers.
He leans in so I can give him our first, proper kiss in months. Our lips touch, and I snake out a hand and wrap it around his shoulders. The kiss deepens, and he gives me a little tongue, in that playful, cheeky way of his. I mumble happily and pull him across, so that he's on my side of the gear stick. He raises his eyebrows ever so slightly and releases the seat mechanism, so that we're lying down instead of sitting up.
I manoeuvre his legs into a comfortable position and start hitching his shirt up. My hands move appreciatively over his torso, remembering how good his warm, hard, body feels, as he plants a few, gentle kisses on my neck.
'Shirt off,' I mutter.
He shakes his head. 'Not in the car. We have to go inside.'
Nonetheless, he lets me remove his shirt and when I loosen his belt and unzip the fly of his jeans, he doesn't protest. He remains mute as I pull his jeans and trunks down to his thighs revealing neatly trimmed dark blonde pubic hair, six inches of rigid cock and smooth, waxed balls.
Given that on one side of the carport is a six foot fence, and our house is on the other side, I'm not concerned about anyone seeing us. I've waited months for this, and no, I am not going to stop and go inside, and then restart proceedings.
I retrieve a sachet of lubricant from my pocket (I thought ahead) and keep it tucked in my hand as my boyfriend lies on my stomach and starts to kiss me. My hands find their way to his ass and I try and reach in between the pert, tanned cheeks.
'I need to take my jeans off,' he comments.
'Will you?' My voice is hoarse, husky. 'Can you take them off in here?'
He smiles. 'I can try.'
He has to return to the drivers seat before he can remove his socks, shoes and jeans. The sight of him in the nude makes my mouth dry. No matter how many times we fuck, no matter how many nights he sleeps naked alongside me, I will never stop being impressed by how blissfully beautiful he is.
Mike leans over and kisses me. 'Take off your shirt.'
'Are you sure?'
He slips the top button out of the eye. 'Mm-huh,' he confirms, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. 'Pull down your pants, too.'
My shirt is thrown into the back of the car, and my pants pulled down to my thighs. Michael smiles coyly and moves onto the seat next to me. He's lying on his side, with his back to the gear stick. My on own back is pressed painfully against the passenger side door.
I nip at his lower lip playfully. He responds with a deep, seductive kiss that makes me physically hurt with desire. I need himI need him straddling me with his legs apart and my cock nestled within his arsehole. I need to see him masturbate himself as he's fucked, I need to watch the expression on his face change as his excitement increases. I don't merely want him, or crave him, what I feel is a physical requisite that's only going to be satisfied by a carnal solution.
My hand finds his rigid length and I roughly masturbate him. He groans and moves my hand back, back over his balls and perineum. This is his sign; his way of telling me he's ready.
I tear open the lubricant with my teeth and squeeze it into my hand. Michael holds his legs apart, his eyes shut, and his mouth slightly open. His eyes flutter open as I move my slick fingers between his cheeks, and he moans loudly when I insert my index finger and find his prostate.
I remove my hand and pull him onto my stomach. The move is difficult; there isn't a lot of space to the front passenger seat, especially when it's fully reclined, with two grown men on top of it.
'Come here,' I order, gesturing to my lap.
He awkwardly straddles me, and hovers over me patiently while I wipe the remaining lubricant onto my cock. The muscles in his thighs are outlined beneath the pale, blonde hairs and I observe with interest the pre-cum that's leaking from the head of his erection. With the pad of my thumb I touch the clear liquid before trailing my hand down and back, so I'm in direct contact with his tight ring of muscle.
Michael waits patiently as I loosen him. He rests his arms on either side of my head, and stays crouched over me while I scissor and spread and contract my fingers, checking and judging and deciding he needs a little more work, before I'm eventually satisfied that he's ready for me.
I rest my hands on his hips, and he pushes himself up and back so he's positioned directly over my cock. From here he takes over, grabbing my erection and slowly guiding it in. I stare down at my groin, watching as I'm slowly engulfed in his body, entranced by my lover's seemingly effortless ability to be fucked in any and ever position you could imagine.
One of my hands grips his cock, and the other rests on his hip. He covers my hands with his, and starts to jerk himself off, moving our hands up and down his length. Mikey whimpers and starts to thrust up and down, fucking himself in the way he prefers.
There isn't enough friction for me to reach orgasm, but that doesn't mean I'm not enjoying watching my lover get himself off. He's so damn perfect, so blonde and tanned and toned, so seductive in the way he touches himself.
Michael makes a short, sharp sound of pleasure when I fondle his balls. I glance up at him, and he catches my eye for the briefest second, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He continues rocking himself, his movements growing increasingly quicker and more frantic.
I lick my lips and wait for his climax.
I'm not disappointed when he orgasms just seconds later. He moans loudly as he comes, thick white cum splattering onto his chest, and dripping through his fingers and onto my stomach. He's rough with himself, his hand is squeezed tightly around his length and he's bouncing himself up and down.
'Brett,' he groans, as the last droplets of white drip from the slit on his erection's head.
'Michael,' I smirk. 'Was that good?'
I raise my eyebrows and move my hands to his hips. 'Then keep going. Show me how good it can be.'
He wipes his sticky hands on my chest. 'Of course.'
Michael adjusts his position to suit my preferences. He moves back, towards the dash, and tilts his upper body back. He rests his forearms against the roof of the car and moves his legs into a position where they can better support his body weight.
My hands eagerly grasp him, pushing him up so that my cock is almost entirely free of him, before pulling him back down. Michael doesn't say a word. I don't care in the slightest. I ask him if we can move, if he can move a little to the left, but he declines. He can't move, there isn't enough room.
'Fuck,' I swear.
'You'll still come,' he replies confidently.
I watch my cock moving in and out of his asshole. 'Maybe,' I reply doubtfully.
He laughs and slowly moves off my cock, leaving only the head engulfed. 'You're going to stuff me full of your fat cock and then not come?'
I yank him down onto my erection. Fuck, he does good, good, things to me. 'Are you gonna talk dirty to me?'
He reaches one hand forward and touches my sweaty chest, where his cum is rapidly drying. 'You pig. You let me wipe my mess all over you, you stick your fingers up my ass, and now you want me to talk about how much I want you?'
His cock, which was flaccid a second ago, hardens as he talks. A prickling feeling spreads through my groin and I realize that yes, I will manage to orgasm despite our awkward position.
'Yes,' I mutter, digging my fingers into his flesh. 'Tell me.'
He leans back and fucks himself harder and faster. He's now fully erect, and his hard-on jolts with each movement he makes.
'You slut,' he snickers breathlessly, as sweat trickles down his chest. It's hot and humid in the car and the scent of sex is thick. 'I missed you when you were gone. I always had my hands down my pants when I was thinking about you. I jerked off with all sorts of stuff shoved up my ass. I wanted you, but I didn't have you. I even took photos, to show you.'
He clenches his arsehole and lowers himself steadily onto me. 'God, yes. You should see the toys I have. Nothing worked, though. I needed you.'
It's exactly the sort of bullshit my male psyche loves, and you'd want to believe it when I tell you I have one bloody good orgasm.