Sunday, August 10, 2014



*Story contains M/M relations and graphic sexual scenes.*

The metal should have felt hot in his hands, but years of abuse had made palms of leather and fingertips of iron. He hefted the steel, flipped it, and tweaked the settings on the machine. He fed straight metal into one end, manipulated it to fold in on itself, and form a perfect channel. He quickly checked his job sheet again, returned the metal to its cradle, and gently bent it into the angle shown on the diagram. He worked cautiously, the slightest deviation enough to render the entire channel, and previous twenty-five minutes of work, completely useless.


He almost didn’t catch the word through the hearing protection. It was just an odd sense that he ‘thought’ he ‘might’ have heard his name that made him turn. Safety glasses, hardhat, and a matching uniform stood waiting, tapping the watch the figure wore on one wrist. A clone, a minion, just another being inside dirty blue coveralls to the vaulted ‘them’ that sat within the locked corporate offices, but Cary knew the person under the plastic shield and cotton. After ten years of day-to-day, face-to-face, one got used to the shapes and sizes that made up the men underneath the grime and the sameness.

Cary nodded, dropped the piece he’d been so careful with only seconds earlier, and hit the power button. Moving parts ground to a stop, one less sound amidst the chaos of the factory, and Cary followed his teammate towards the shop exit. Heavy steel doors led to a quiet hallway, and Cary dug plugs out of his ears just in time to get body-checked. He spun fluidly, playfully grabbing his attacking team member, and tackled him into the wall.

“Dudes,” a dirt-smeared redhead from the top of the stairwell poked his head over and shouted down. “Euchre game after your smokes?”

Cary considered taking the time to wash his hands, thought better of it when he saw his foreman, Paul, chatting self-importantly with another co-worker in the change room, and instead made a bee-line for the one bright light at the end of the corridor.

He was already digging for his smokes and lighter when he pushed through the door and released himself into daylight. Yellow sun forced his eyelids to slits; heat instantly clung layers of work clothes to his skin. Cary lifted his face towards the glow, cigarette stuck to dry lips, and brought the lighter to the end of the tube through habit and intuition.

“Get the fuck outta the way,” grumbled a voice behind him, and Cary stumbled from a light-hearted shove.

“Fuck you, Daryl.” Cary laughed as the man walked past.

Daryl turned and grabbed his crotch. “Suck it.”

Cary flipped him off. “Is that supposed to be a threat? Or an invitation?”

Daryl grinned and shook his head. They’d known each other for a long time – long enough that neither of them took offense. Most of the guys at the shop knew Cary, knew who he was and who he loved. And most of them were okay with it. The ones that weren’t learned soon enough to keep their mouths shut and their opinions to themselves. With the tolerance came the teasing, just to balance everything out, and Cary took it in stride.

Daryl stopped before completing his usual trek towards the picnic table that sat under the one and only tree on the property. “Hey,” he called.

Cary looked up, shrugged a ‘what’, and Daryl pointed. Cary followed the man’s hand, finger, and took a sharp breath.


And fuck if he wasn’t a sight for sore eyes. Delicate, slim, blond – he was a schoolgirl’s dream and a dirty old man’s fantasy. Clean where Cary was dirty, polished where Cary was rough; the light to Cary’s dark, the yin to his yang.

Cary’s other half.

Just watching Andrew, standing nonchalantly against the car, could re-light Cary from the inside out. The way the man leaned, ankles crossed and tips of fingers pressed into his pants—watching the sky—while a breeze that seemed only to visit Andrew picked up and played with his hair. Everything about him bespoke of the awesomeness that was Drew. His Drew: the man who picked Cary over the multitude of others.

Connection alone pulled Andrew’s gaze from the sky to Cary’s. A timid smile broke across a passive face. A hesitant hand lifted into a wave that Cary quickly returned.

Cary yelled at Daryl, “Hey, tell Paul I’m taking a full hour today, will you?”

Daryl shrugged. “OK. But he won’t be happy. That order’s supposed to ship this afternoon.”

Cary snorted and began to walk. “Too damn bad. I get an hour, and I’m taking an hour if I fucking want to. And if he don’t like it,” Cary copied his friend’s earlier move. “Tell him I said he can suck my dick.”

Daryl laughed, waved Cary off, and Cary twisted away with a smirk. He approached Andrew quickly, his steps suddenly lighter, the sun a tad less brutal. “Hey, baby,” Cary tilted his head. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Andrew said, fixing bright baby blues on Cary’s less-impressive greens. Instant attraction reached out and grabbed Cary by his guts.

“Nah,” Cary said. “It’s lunchtime. Glad you’re here. Everything okay? Anything wrong?”

Andrew shook his head and a tumble of hair spilled over his shoulder – a curtain of gossamer, a swatch of sunshine. Cary had to fight the urge to reach out and touch it, to brush it back. His filthy fingers had no place being anywhere close to something so beautiful. And the ache the denial inspired in Cary was so real it was physical.

“No,” Andrew replied. “Nothing’s wrong. I just missed you.” He smiled. “I can go, if you’re busy.”

Cary rested a hand on top of Andrew’s, instantly forgetting the previous creed not to touch, and drew him away from the car. “No way,” Cary insisted. “I love that you’re here. I was just thinking to myself: ‘Self, today could only get better if something hot and tasty showed up for lunch’. And, ta-da! Here you are!”

The tiny smile on Andrew’s face grew to a grin. “Car ride?” he asked.

Cary grinned right back. “Oh, yell, yes!” He snatched the keys from Andrew’s grip. “I’m driving.”

The minute he was in the car, Cary pressed the button to retract the roof. Sunshine and fresh air filled the interior. Cary watched Andrew tie back hair. High cheekbones and a delicate profile took Cary’s interest now that the usual length of hair had been pulled away. Cary moved his hand towards the gear shift, paused, and waited.

It took only a second for Andrew to register Cary’s unspoken request. Andrew slipped his hand between Cary’s and the knob and gripped it. Cary laid his over top, and they laced their fingers together. Cary, Drew, and the Integrity – one machine. They left the parking lot with a chirp of tire and a plume of dust.

Two left turns and one right merge brought them to the highway. With the heat of the sun above and the blur of the roadway beneath; with clasped hands and squinted eyes; they drove. Wind whipped all manner of clothing and hair – a jet plane would not have seemed faster. There was no need for the radio, sound would have been pointless. Cary took curves with the fluid movement of a water snake, acceleration performed effortlessly.

Cary sent a cautious peek to the right, drawn by the sensation of being watched, and found Andrew’s stare. He tightened his hold on Andrew’s hand. God, but he loved that look.

Four minutes and seven kilometres later, Cary merged to the right and let the car slow. The city was giving way to the softer green of suburbia, and the sign ahead advertised a place for drivers to pull over and rest. Cary knew the spot as well as he knew the expression Andrew still wore. The two would work well together.

Cary didn’t let go right away. Not even after he’d taken the car out of gear and put on the parking brake. They sat in the shade of tall trees, with the engine pinging and birds chatting. The surrounding forestry soothed the sounds of the highway to a soft drone, and the flickering leaves eased the heat of the day. “Nice spot,” Andrew said, releasing his hair from its band.

“Nice car,” Cary offered in return.

“Nice driving.” Andrew smiled and twisted to look at Cary directly.

Briefly Cary tightened his fingers again. “Nice surprise.”

Andrew hummed, pleased. “Nice day.”

Cary lifted a finger and ran it along Andrew’s jaw line. “Nice eyes.”

Andrew laughed. “Nice move!”

Cary chuckled. He laid his hand on Andrew’s cheek and used his thumb to trace Andrew’s lip. “Nice... mouth.”

And suddenly Andrew was pushing at Cary’s chest, moving over the console. “Seat back,” Andrew ordered. “All the way.”

Cary didn’t hesitate. Fingering the switch on the side of the seat he pressed the requisite control to move as far back as possible. He watched in anticipation as Andrew lifted up and over, straddling his lap. Cary pressed the next toggle and the seat began to lean. Andrew followed the movement but didn’t stop when the back of the seat reached its limit. Their lips met.

“Drew,” Cary whispered. “I’m pretty dirty, baby.”

“Don’t care,” Andrew said back, peppering his words with sweet oral punctuation. “Don’t (kiss). Fucking (kiss). Care (kiss).”

Then neither did Cary. He took both hands and threaded them into gold silk. There was always desperation in the way Andrew kissed, and Cary loved it – loved the way he felt the need in it, loved the way Andrew seemed to pull fulfillment from Cary’s mouth. More than anything though, Cary loved the way it made Andrew’s body react. The way it encouraged his own body to fill and lift. The way it lured both of them to move against each other.

Had it been another time, a quiet weekend afternoon, a lazy holiday, Cary could have gotten lost for hours in the thrill of Andrew’s mouth. But as it stood, their stolen minutes would go by far too quickly. Cary had no intention of wasting them all on kissing. And with the way Andrew pushed into him, he seriously doubted necking had been Andrew’s goal, either.

Cary released Andrew’s head to trace his hands down Andrew’s spine. He almost regretted the marks he would leave on the back of Andrew’s tan slacks, but that didn't stop him. It never failed to amaze Cary how flesh could feel so firm and yet so pliant at the same time. He leaned his head back against the seat, lying almost flat, while Andrew tasted steel and sweat on his neck and shoulders.

“Sit up?” Cary asked, and then lost words to sensation when the new angle brought pressure in the most awesome of places. Andrew lifted himself and fisted the front of Cary’s shirt. Cary looked up, the sun shining behind Andrew like it was his own personal halo.

“You’re teasing me,” Andrew sulked.

“Never,” Cary said. “Just getting a better angle, babe. Here." Cary persuaded Andrew to let go with gentle finger tugging and pressed on his chest until Andrew sat straight. Cary reached for the front of Andrew's pants.

Nothing could make Cary feel higher than the way Andrew watched him unfasten clothing. Unless it was the way Andrew sighed when Cary exposed needy flesh to air. Or the way Andrew’s eyes sought out his own when Cary wrapped his fist around Andrew’s cock. Cary held Andrew’s gaze and began to stroke. Rough, calloused fingers worked magic on skin so perfect it could have been satin.

Cary never had to stop and wonder when it came to Andrew and sex; the man did not lack in his ability to vocalize. Andrew’s sighs, broken praises—the litany made of Cary’s name—did things to Cary’s body he would never admit to. But it was the way Andrew began to mumble, and then pant requests, “God. Yes. Please. Fuck. Please...” that really drove Cary wild.

Andrew slid his hips in time with Cary’s grip. Pressure and friction and movement of body, sensory stimulation through sight and sound, emotional fodder at the act of providing pleasure not only to someone beautiful, but to someone who cared about him – was all enough to blow Cary’s mind.

Andrew groaned, reached down, and grabbed Cary’s wrist. “Cary! Fuck! Stop...” But his hips lifted and his thighs gripped tighter, and everything about Andrew screamed, ‘More’.

Again, Cary unclasped Andrew’s hand, one finger at a time. “Lift,” Cary demanded, and tugged on Andrew’s hips, easily yanking the slimmer body upward. Andrew’s knees scrambled over Cary’s chest, and his hands flailed for purchase against the frame of the car while Cary pulled him level – cock to mouth – and swallowed him with a soft hum.

There was only a second of hesitation before Andrew came. Andrew cried out, a sound reminiscent of word, yet unintelligible. It might have been Cary’s name; it might have been a curse. It could very well have been an invocation for all Cary cared. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to Cary was running his hands over Andrew’s thighs while Andrew shivered and white-knuckled steel.

Andrew paused for a moment, breathless, watching Cary’s tongue tease his body into twitches, before he worked his way backward, shins and elbows cautious. He wiggled until he rested in Cary’s lap, and lowered his mouth to whisper against musky lips, “Thank you.”

Andrew slipped his hands between their bodies and palmed Cary through fabric. “My turn.”

And hell yes, Cary thought, if that didn’t sound like the best goddamn idea of the day.
Andrew grabbed for the door handle and slid to his knees when it opened. He settled on gravel and brushed away some of the more annoying stones. He lifted his eyes and smiled at Cary’s impatience.

Defiantly, almost angrily, Cary’s cock twitched in his pants and Cary couldn’t stop the moan from rumbling out of his throat. Need took over and Cary swivelled in the seat, righted himself, and fumbled free from his pants. There were a million things they should have been thinking. If they could be seen from the highway. If anyone was close by. How late it was. How long it would take for Andrew’s knees to start to bitch about the rock-strewn laneway. Cary should have been wondering when he’d find time to eat or that he hadn’t stopped to clean up. But when Cary’s eyes locked with Andrew’s, and Andrew rubbed palms up Cary’s thighs... when Andrew’s breath ghosted over Cary’s straining body... the only thing Cary thought was, ‘Fuck, yes’.

Perched on the edge of the seat, legs out of the car while toes attempted to excavate gravel through worn work boots, Cary let Andrew push him the last few steps that the grinding hadn’t been enough to complete.

Andrew’s mouth was just... so warm. The movement so perfect. Andrew’s tongue so skilled. And Andrew watched. And, oh God, if Cary didn’t just fucking love it when Andrew watched him. When their eyes locked as Andrew slid over and down... when the… whatever emotion it was that darkened the blue of those pretty spheres, sparked. Because damned if Cary didn’t believe, almost, that it might have been adoration. That Andrew actually loved doing this to him, for him, liked the taste of him... and then there was no more thought. Cary reached for the back of Andrew’s head, fisted blonde hair, and forced himself deeper. With a grunt through gritted teeth, Cary came.

Even as cum still shot from his body, Cary’s stomach muscles were already hitching. Skin over-sensitized by friction and desire twitched and fought against the slick, wet tease. Cary couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “Enough,” he laughed and pushed Andrew away.

Andrew paused to swipe his tongue over the tip of Cary’s cock one last time, and smirked at the way Cary’s body trembled. Cary reached out to help him rise. “Quick now,” Cary urged. “Or I’m going to be late.”

Andrew didn’t bother walking around the car. He crawled over top of Cary and watched while Cary re-established clothing, the seat, and the door. Cary waited for Andrew’s hand, squeezed lightly when he got it, and leaned over the console. “Best lunch ever.”

Andrew beamed. “Love you, baby.”

“Love you right back,” Cary said, and started the car.


Cary barely made it on time. And he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face no matter how hard he tried. Not that he was trying all that hard. He’d chuckled at Daryl’s headshake and smirk. He’d sauntered past his foreman’s evil glare without even batting an eye.

Cary was whistling when he popped the button to start the machine. He took a quick glimpse at the clock on the wall. It was five after one. Only two hours and fifty-five minutes to go. He picked up the column he’d been working on before lunch and stroked a palm down the smooth edge of the metal. Two hours and fifty-four-point-fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six...

The End

Copyright © 2011 AF Henley

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