Roadtrip [MM] [Fiction] [Mast] [Voy] [Oral]

I hate driving. Around the time all my friends were getting licenses and going on about finally being free to go wherever they wanted I was perfectly happy to hang out at point A while point B went right off and fucked itself. Sure, I’d catch a ride from a friend if there was something going on or get picked up by a girlfriend if we had a date. But for the longest time what I saved on gas and car payments went into a affording a place within bicycle distance of necessities. I finally picked up a license after I had to call 911 for a friend who cut themselves pretty bad at my place. He would have survived a drive to the emergency room, but couldn’t drive himself. I helped pay the bill for the ambulance ride because that was pretty much my fault.

 

So if I picked up my license for emergencies only, what am I doing cruising down the I-80 to fucking Seneca, Kansas? A family friend’s family. My parent’s next door neighbors, previously mine as well, are great people. Honestly, I mean it. They didn’t care if I hung with the adults even though I was, like, ten. Which was cool for me because around the third beer they and my parents forgot I wasn’t about six years older and started talking about basically anything. When I was twelve they got really drunk and started talking about some pretty explicit sex stuff. Then, and I swear to god I’m not lying, my mom turns to me and asks what my favorite sexual position is, point blank. Now, at this point I’m twelve and have internet access, so I’m not completely out of the loop. I grok the question. Earlier in the night I’d finally worn them down and got them to let me try some booze. They had already started down the path of inebriation that would lead to the situation I mentioned earlier. So one of them gives me a shot, honest truth. My memory is a little hazy that far back but I swear it might have been a double.

 

So now my not-quite-grown body is more than a little buzzed and I’m in top form. My mom hits me with the question and I immediately snap back, “Retrograde Wheelbarrow.”

 

Pretty witty for a twelve year old, right? Maybe, maybe not. See, the brilliant part is that they then ask me what that even is. So I tell them. Que riotous laughter. The next day my parents had sobered up and boy was I in trouble.

 

So we’re close with the neighbors. My sister would play with their sons and I’d hang around the adults slowly becoming a corrupted youth. But I haven’t talked to them since last Thanksgiving at mom and dad’s place. So when I get the call from my parents asking me to drive one of their kids to Seneca I’m obviously fucking stoked.

 

Their dumb kid, the middle one, because it’s always the middle one, managed to sneak off of a plane somehow. Then make it home on his own. My parents sounded mystified but he either hitchhiked or used one of the emergency debit cards they insisted on their children having to get a taxi ride. Whatever either way, right? The kid’s eighteen, he doesn’t need to get dragged off to watch his great uncle once removed slowly choke to death on his own snot.

 

But no. They need him there. To show familial solidarity or to keep an eye on him? Couldn’t tell you. My parents obviously can’t drive him out there, they don’t want to drop money on another plane they can’t trust him to board, so I’m clearly the best option. Maybe they think some of my upstanding morals will rub off on him. After all, I’m basically the most straight edge kid from the neighborhood. Sitcom laughter. I have an out though! I don’t have a car and my insurance had lapsed even if I did. I crow triumphantly.

 

No dice, they have a second car the driving age kids use and their insurance provides nominal coverage for other drivers. I can’t use work as an excuse because I have, like, a week’s worth of vacation days I’m required to use by the end of next month and my parents know it. Fucking traitors. They’ll get theirs come the 4th of July family barbeque once I find three girls willing to pretend I knocked them up.

 

So that’s it, the neighbor’s wire me money for gas, food, and lodging plus extra. The extra is a nice thought but money alone wouldn’t have convinced me to go if it gave magic blowjobs and dispensed cocaine. No, it took good old fashioned guilt tripping. I pack some shit, my parents pick me up and bring me back to the neighborhood. The kid’s packed and ready to go, and I have no idea how they got him to cooperate with this shit but not sit on a plane. So we load up the car and hit the road.

 

As implied by my lapsing insurance, I swear I’m getting around to catching up on it, I haven’t driven in a while. I get the theory, I know the rules, and I can play Burnout like a champ. But other drivers are an unknown quantity. Specifically an unknown quantity of psychotically suicidal jackasses. By the time we hit city limits I swear we’ve nearly died at least a dozen times and actually died at least once and just haven’t noticed.

 

Out of city and suburb my knuckles finally upgrade from off white to eggshell. So of course the kid speaks up.

 

“Hey. I’m gonna put some music on, that cool?” He sort of asks.

 

“Fuck it, might as well.” I respond because music helps me relax.

 

He puts on some emo shit that was popular when I was, like, fourteen and he was about ten. You might think this bothers me. It does not. The nostalgia is pretty great and I start muttering the lyrics under my breath while trying to keep focused on the road. The look he gives me when he realizes is scathing. The current stretch of road is basically empty so I take a second to flip him off. He spends the next hour or so staring out the window.

 

“Are we stopping soon? Sun’s almost down.” He asks, basically out of nowhere.

 

I frown, what kid who’s age ends in ‘–teen’ cares when the sun goes down? I mean, I did. But only because the night meant freedom from solar tyranny. I don’t expect everyone to go that far though.

 

“Wasn’t gonna. Less idiots on the road at night.” I let him know what’s up.

 

He decides to sass me. “Well, there’ll be at least one.”

 

“At least he isn’t driving.” Boom.

 

He mulls that over for a bit.

 

“Witty repartee aside, why?” I ask, “Afraid you’ll turn into a werewolf by the light of the moon?”

 

“Nah, team Edward, bitch.”

 

Against my better judgement I’m starting to like the kid.

 

“Go ahead and drive, as… stimulating, as this conversation is I’m going to nap.” He says, resting his head against the window.

 

So here I am. Cruising the I-80 to fucking Seneca, Kansas. At night. With a sleeping teenager in the passenger seat. Living the life.

 

Another hour goes by and the kid is definitely out. I think he’s drooling on the window a little. The road isn’t exactly challenging my driving skills, modest though they be, so I take a few sidelong glances at my passenger. The poor kid probably hates this more than I do. Which is a hell of a thing. I didn’t associate with him much when we were kids, what with him being four years younger and me being busy teaching adults about sex, so I try to build a picture of him from what I can see from sidelong glances and what I remember from when I picked him up.

 

For starters I guess he’s pretty. I’d qualify that with ‘for a dude’ but he doesn’t really look like one. So make that ‘a little too pretty’. Even studying his face won’t give you more than hints, and most only if you’re looking for them. He’s short, like five-five or five-six, and he’s slender too. Until you get to his hips, right around there he fills out in a kind of uncomfortable way. Today he’d seemingly decided to cram a little too much ass into not quite enough jeans. A fact I only noticed in retrospect and that was getting a little weird to think about. Though now that the thought was fresh in mind it occurred to me that his shirt is also little too tight. Him leaning away from me had hiked it up enough to reveal quite a bit of his stomach. I decide to shift my focus back up to his pretty, pretty face. You know, before things get creepy. His black and seafoam? green hair is… longish? I never could figure out what was normal after a six year no haircuts streak that was only ended by needing to interview for work. He has a smattering of piercings, earlobes, other ear parts, two on the lower lip. One in his tongue too, if I’m not mistaken. He’s got nice lips… This needs to stop.

 

So yeah. That exercise is bust. Turns out you can’t tell too much about a person by how they present themselves. Other than how they like to present themselves. What you can get from looking at people for a while is that funny feeling they teach you about in elementary school. I sigh heavily and remind myself that I’m already going to hell for bigger potatoes than thinking the neighbor boy makes a pretty cute neighbor girl.

 

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for fear is the mind killer, the little death that brings total annihilation. I will face my fear because this is just a show, and I should really just relax.” I intone with great seriousness.

 

That little mental exercise serves as an adequate distraction. It’s also a reminder of what a nerd I am. Or, as my sister put it, ‘how badly you need to get laid’. Of course, I lost my virginity during a marathon of X-Files reruns. So I guess she underestimated me.

 

Lost in thought I nearly run us off a cliff. My smooth recovery wakes the kid back up, somehow.

 

Hopefully that smack to the window didn’t give him more than a minor concussion.

 

After a second of recovering he screams at me, “What the fuck was that!?”

 

Screaming isn’t helping anyone. I decide to calm him down with a little humor. “Relax, it was a hitchhiker. That’s like twenty points. You’ve got the scorecard, right?”

 

“Fuck you, my uncle is dying from getting hit by a car!” I didn’t care for his indignant tone.

 

“Nice try. But I know for a fact that it’s just some old person thing, cancer, systemic organ failure, drinking from the wrong grail, something like that.”

 

“You get called to drive me to my uncle’s deathbed and you ask what he’s dying of? How did you even work that into the conversation?” Again with the tone.

 

“Nah, just guessed. Was too angry about getting dragged out of my apartment to pry into personal stuff.” His frown brings a spark of joy to blackened heart. “Anyways get on your little technological leash and figure out where the next motel or whatever is before I kill us both.”

 

He rolls his eyes and grabs the phone. He fiddles with it for a few seconds, looks up, and points out the window. “Right there, asshole.”

 

I hadn’t seen it. God’s honest truth. “Fuck. I told you I needed sleep.”

 

He looks directly at me. “No, I said I needed to sleep. You said you were going to enjoy the lessened traffic.”

 

He has me there.

 

It takes a little bit to figure out how to get back to the motel. Like thirty minutes ‘a little bit’. But we make it. Alive. So we hit up the nearby gas station, grab some ‘food’, and head in to the motel. The service sucks. We manage to negotiate the acquisition of a room though. Two beds, even. Settling into the lap of luxury, after checking for bed bugs, we pop on some enthralling after hours programming, late night Skinemax, and partake of convenience store bounty, Doritos and Mountain Dew. I crash basically as soon as I run out of food substitute, no telling about him.

 

Next time I wake up, probably a combination of caffeine and needing to pee, it’s dark. But not dark dark. The moon is pretty bright. Prime werewolf weather. I’m about to roll off the bed and hit the restroom. Which, ironically, the need to use is keeping me from resting. At least I think that’s irony. Anyways, I’m about halfway to the edge of the bed when I hear something sort of unusual. A fleshy slapping sound. Okay, I think, the walls here must be a little thin or something. Did I leave the T.V. on? Yeah, no, and no. It’s the kid. He’s sprawled out naked and fucking going at it. He must have been used to some hardcore sleepers. Or at the very least people who actually sleep through whole nights in one go. Either way, he’s jerking it about six feet away from me.

 

The smart thing to do is make some noise rolling over, wait for him to panic a little and cover up, then hit the bathroom. Smart people do not always do smart things. I decide, since I’m already properly oriented, that I’ll just watch and see what happens. My memory of waking up isn’t so hot but I think I heard him whispering something and fuck if I’m not both nosy and curious. So I lay there and watch this kid I’m basically responsible for over the next couple days stroking himself off.

 

Moon or not I can’t quite make out fine details, but I can see a lot more than I strictly need to. Like how his back is stretched into a hot little arch. He’s clearly working himself pretty hard with his hand, but watching closely I can see his curved hips bucking into his down stroke. He’s trying keep quiet but I can make out his breathy little moans in the silence of the night. He shifts a little and suddenly the noises get muffled and slightly distorted. It takes me a second to realize what happened, he’s shifted his free hand and is sucking on a couple fingers. I’m suddenly reminded of my earlier appraisal of his appearance. ‘Suddenly’ here meaning ‘from the moment I decided to watch’. Needless to say, but stated for the record, I’m rock fucking hard. Literal rocks, I could fuck them. I am not going to have the tables turned on me though, my hands give my groin a wide berth.

 

When my attention finally comes back around to the erotic display in front of me it sounds like he’s stopped sucking off his fingers and is back to trying to hide just how good he’s feeling. Then the whispering starts up. He’s muttering to himself. He’s not voicing the words so it’s a little hard to make out with one ear in a pillow, but it sure sounds like he’s begging someone to fuck him. Specifically, to fuck him harder. There’s a name too, he’s got it bad for someone. Hot. But something about his position catches my attention. His back is still arched, but he’s raised his hips a little bit. I can’t quite make out his free arm either. Until a truck rattles by with its high beams on. He doesn’t even notice, he’s so far into it. I get a brief but clear image of him flashed into my retinas. I found his arm, it’s under him. I can’t see his hand because it’s hooked under his (sweet) ass. Oh, and I catch the name too. He says it a little louder. Probably because he’s in the middle of cumming like there’s no tomorrow. If you guessed it was my name, you win. No prize, just congratulations on your victory. Meanwhile I’m lying there in a shitty motel room with a raging boner for a boy I barely know who’s six feet away from me, basking in the afterglow of finger fucking himself to orgasm and pretending it’s me he just got fucked by. He rolls over, pulls the covers back up, and is snoring in about five minutes. I lay awake for hours and don’t even remember to go to the bathroom until morning.

 

 

Next morning rolls around. I feel like shit, but a road trip is a road trip so we hit up the convenience store again because if we’re going to go out, we’re going to go out on top and in a blaze of sugar and preservatives. I shotgun a pair of energy drinks because I’d rather sip my own fucking piss than drink one of those things over any appreciable period of time. Needs tended to we hit the road again.

 

After about thirty minutes I decide the car has been a little too quiet for a little too long. I’m compelled to break the silence. “So, kid. Got anyone special in your life? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Vibrating fleshlight?”

 

The question actually seems to catch him off guard, he must have been as zoned as me. “I… wait. Did you really just call me ‘kid’? You don’t remember my name do you?”

 

Evading the question or actually offended? I figure he’s actually offended. Because he’s totally right. “Do so. Llllll… Allll… Alex! Right?”

 

“Lexington, you stupid fuck. Call me Lex.” Yeah. He’s pissed.

 

“Okay, Leeeeeeex. My question still stands.”

 

“Answer your own fucking question, douchebag.” Holy shit I’m bad at people.

 

“Vibrating fleshlight. Last girlfriend moved away and didn’t want to force the long distance thing after she hooked up with a local couple.” It had been tragic, I needed two whole ice cream cartons to get over it.

 

“Oh. That’s pretty rough, man.” I think he expected me to claim something ridiculous, like that I was seeing three Olympic gymnasts-turned-pornstars at the same time. If anyone asks, by the way, I am totally doing that. He thinks for a moment and gives his own story, “I had a girlfriend a couple years ago. It went south pretty quick when we figured out we weren’t, you know, bedroom compatible.”

 

“You were a torx but she wanted a phillips head?” I am a master of metaphor.

 

“What?”

 

“They’re screwdriver types.” I hate explaining my jokes.

 

“No shit. What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“No clue. Pulled it right out of my ass.” With all the crap I pull out of my ass, you’d think I would be less full of shit.

 

“See, that’s the problem. She wouldn’t put it in.” It takes him a moment to realize what he’s just said and quickly look away.

 

That was basically something I would say, in exactly the way I’d say it, if it were true. “Hers or yours?”

 

Still looking away from me. “M-mine.”

 

“Yeah, I can see that putting a gal off. But people have a right to decide what makes them uncomfortable.” I try to comfort him. He sighs and continues to stare out the window. “But she was a totally a complete wuss.” I finish with a smile.

 

He looks at me, but I’m back to focusing on the road. I still smile though. He leans back in his seat and stares out the window at all the beautiful nothing we we’re driving through.

 

“I’ve got my sights on someone though,” he says, suddenly uncharacteristically chill, “liked ‘em since I was little.”

 

Is it me? I bet it’s me. “Yeah? You sure they haven’t found someone themselves yet?”

 

“Nah, I checked it out already, they’re lonely and vulnerable.” I think I hate the chill act.

 

“So you’re just going to swoop in and fill that void?” Metaphor and double entendre. I am a master of metaphor and double entendre.

 

“No. I wouldn’t want to just take advantage of the situation. But they’ve dropped a couple hints before that they might be interested.” Uh oh. Am I wrong about who he’s into, or am I wrong about how good I am at subterfuge? Also, he still sounds kind of smarmy.

 

I swerve across the empty road, hard. He’s almost jolted out of his seat.

 

“Fuck! You weren’t falling asleep that time!” That’s the Lex I’m looking for.

 

“No passenger shall be relaxed while I am forced to drive!” I cackle maniacally.

 

“You’re psychotic!” How dare he accuse me.

 

“I am many things. Artist, mastermind, pervert, visionary, and sometimes patriot! Not a psycho though, your accusations wound me!”

 

He looks concerned. “Are you okay?” It’s a serious question.

 

I actually don’t get what he means for, like, a minute. “Oh god, I’m sorry. It’s the caffeine, I go a little overboard when I’m wired.”

 

This seems to placate him.

 

“You think you’re a pervert?” He asks after some thought.

 

“Yeah, why not. I maintain a wide portfolio of kinks that interest me. I shuffle some in and out occasionally to keep things from stagnating.” I resist the urge to lay claim to the extremely perverse and stick to a fairly honest answer.

 

“Come on, everyone’s a little kinky. Remember what I wanted to do with my girlfriend? Are you calling me a pervert?” He seems pretty earnest with the question.

 

“I read Fifty Shades without someone holding me at gunpoint.” I deflect his seriousness because I’m not in the goddamn mood for that shit any more.

 

“Fine,” He says, throwing his hands in the air, “you’ve got me there. You’re a perverse bastard. The kind we should still be hanging!”

 

“Are you suggesting erotic asphyxiation?” I ask, winking at him.

 

His face is a mixture of mock anger and repressed laughter. He flips me off.

 

I turn back to the road, still not much going on. “You’re fun to get a rise out of. I love it.”

 

He practically spins to look out his window and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “I’d love to get a rise out of you…”

 

We drive for a while in silence. It’s not so bad this time, but eventually I voice a question that’s been nagging at me almost all day. “Did you sleep okay last night? In the car I mean. I… was thinking about driving late again. Maybe not as late though.”

 

He looks at me, unblinking, for, I swear, thirtyish seconds and asks, “Do you actually want to know if I slept okay, or do you want to know if I caught you staring at me?”

 

I focus on the road and sighed heavily, “I dropped a hint?”

 

Out of the corner of my eye I see him nodding, “Mhmm.”

 

He puts his hand on my knee for a second. Then slowly slides up to squeeze my thigh. “Did you like what you saw?” He asks me quietly and more than a little suggestively.

 

I’m losing control of the situation. I don’t like losing control. Except under very specific, very sexy circumstances. This situation is getting sexy, but not that sexy, and definitely not while I have to drive.

 

“Yes, “ I answer, also quietly. Almost a whisper, but with a smirk attached. “But the show you put on at the motel was better.”

 

He locks up, digging his fingers into my leg. “Caught that, did you?” There’s a menacing edge to his voice. “It sounds like you are a pervert. Perverts get punished.”

 

“So are you actually going erotically asphyxiate me or-“ I don’t get to finish.

 

“Drive,” it’s a command, “Whatever I do, you keep driving. Slow down or stop and I take off and you get to explain to my mom how you lost her son in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere.”

 

What.

 

“What?”

 

He digs his nails into me in earnest, “You heard me.”

 

He has me there. “Drive, no questions. Loud and clear. Roger Rodger!” I sure as hell wasn’t smirking now.

 

“That’s right. You’re going to want to focus real hard on driving in a minute.” Again with the vaguely menacing tone.

 

I don’t really need to ask questions any more, though. There are only a few possible outcomes here, really. Sure enough, he moves over in his seat a bit and slides his hand back down my leg, moves it to the inside, and very slowly traces my inseam back up. All the way back up. There is now a slender, delicate hand making itself at home with my junk. He must have been in some kind of hurry, god knows why, it’s not like the road is running out, because he quickly transitions from feeling me up outside of my pants to diving right into them. Add soft to the qualities associated with his slender, delicate hand. Because it’s that too, and it’s in my pants rubbing my quickly hardening dick. I’m becoming very focused on my driving.

 

My focus is split between the road and my rod. To the point that I don’t hear his seatbelt unbuckle. The first I know of it is his breath in my ear. He pulls his hand out of my pants and wraps his arm around my shoulder. He reoccupies my underwear with his other hand, now at a better angle for the action.

 

I’m pretty nervous about this new set of developments. “Hey, you should sit back down. If something happens…”

 

His mouth is practically in my ear. He whispers, “Nothing’s going to happen, not as long as you drive safe.”

 

He’s jerking me in my pants now as he nibbles on my earlobe. When he eventually removes his hand I actually feel a brief sense of loss. In my briefs. Zing. But it’s only temporary, he’s simply unzipping my pants. I shift in my seat for him, letting him pull my pants down just enough. His hand wraps back around me and I shiver as he trails kisses down my neck. Then he starts to hum. He strokes me gently as he kisses me, humming softly the entire time. But the kissing stops as he shifts position again, sliding back towards his door and leaning forward toward my lap. He’s going a bit further than I predicted, I have to admit. The humming doesn’t stop.

 

My knuckles go white on the steering wheel as his lips meet the tip of my cock. He kisses his way down my shaft. He slips his hand back between my legs, gently massaging my balls as he licks from the base of my penis back to the tip. He does have a tongue piercing, I had not been mistaken. I feel him wrapping his lips around my head, still fucking humming. Then I notice it in my mirror. There’s a truck coming by. I’m not really interested in speeding up so I maneuver to let him pass and hope the driver doesn’t see anything. By this point he has half my fucking dick in his wet little cocksucking mouth. I know that’s redundant. Also. Still. Fucking. Humming.

 

So the truck starts passing and I swear to god he hears it because he starts bobbing his head and teasing mine with his tongue on each rise. I probably look like a nut job, sweating and panicking and shit so the truck driver looks down as they’re passing by and, seeing the rather unmistakable activity, gives me a nod and a thumbs up before pulling ahead.

 

I breathe a sigh of relief and then immediately suck it back in because the little fucker just bobbed his head all the way down. That humming he’s been doing? It feels a little different when the tip of my dick is right up in there. The road is currently pretty straight and completely deserted. Which is good because I can barely focus on the road now. He’s face fucking himself on my dick now. One minute of that and I just fucking loose it. I let go of the wheel with one hand and the next time he bobs down I weave my fingers into his hair and hold him down, grinding my dick into the back of his throat. I don’t last two seconds. I tense up as I shoot my load into his throat, I’m still holding him down and only, finally, let him up when my orgasm finally subsides.

 

As soon as I can adequately function again I pull off the side of the road and slam the car into park. Basically safe, I collapse panting onto the steering wheel and wait for the adrenaline to subside. Beside me I hear Lex chugging something, probably from the water bottle in the cup holder. Earlier I think I heard him choking a little.

 

“I can’t fucking believe you fucking did that!” Lex must have finished his drink. “What the hell?

 

“Fuck you, that’s why.” I don’t look up from the steering wheel. “We could have fucking died you asshole!”

 

“Argh! Fuck you you… you… you…” Lex is at a loss for words. Instead he grabs me by the collar and yanks me towards him. I’m worried he’s going to hit me but instead he pulls me into a deep kiss. This takes any fight I might have had left right out of me. So we just kind of lock together for a minute, swapping spit. A little extra too, I don’t think that water washed the taste of me away entirely. Not that I give a shit at this point.

 

We finally break away and just look at each other. I look at Lex. Lex looks at me. I slump back into the driver’s seat and readjust my pants. He slumps back into his seat and buckles in. I throw the car back into drive and pull back onto the road.

 

“Can we bunk up early today?” Lex doesn’t take his eyes off the horizon

 

“Yeah, probably. If we make up time tomorrow. Any particular reason?” I don’t take mine off the road.

 

“I need to change my pants.”

 

 

(Edit: My Little Paragraph: Line Breaks Are Magic)

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3ioy8j/roadtrip_mm_fiction_mast_voy_oral